Chapter 19
Arcane
A seeping chill settles in my marrow, my eyelids fluttering as the dimly lit room gradually appears. Heart in my throat, I attempt to sit up, only to realize my limbs are restrained by chains biting into my skin, cutting off the blood circulation.
Panic surges like a live wire through my veins as memories flood back in disjointed fragments—a near-success operation retrieving the drive from the submarine, only to realize Viper never made it into the building. A sledgehammer pounds in my skull, and I groan. A lethal concoction of emotions threatens to suffocate me.
What happened to him after the guards held him back? He appeared battered, hair ruffled with a split lip and bruises forming around his eye—signs of a fight having taken place.
“Angel, they lied to you. They fucking lied to you.”
If I could, I would press my palm against my mouth to stem the tide of bile rising, but I can’t. Nausea overtakes me, and vomit spews out of my mouth, splattering onto the floor by my feet. Tears brim the corners of my eyes as a heavy feeling settles in my gut.
The Valentis lied to me.
A single light bulb dangles from the ceiling, casting shadows in the barren room. Memories swirl like debris in the storm of my mind, making it hard to piece together. Yet, I vividly recall the unforgiving eyes of Peter Grimaldi looking at me with hatred and disgust. Years of neglect from him, of trying to fit into a family that never wanted me, have left me unable to shake the fear I felt standing before him.
I never thought I’d have to face him again, especially when I’m not the one punishing him. His stance, paired with a clenched jaw and eyes that pierced through me, made bile rise up my throat, as if I were nothing but a stain on his impeccable suit.
I try the chains, fruitlessly tugging at them in a desperate attempt to break free. The metallic bite of pain sears through my skin as the chains dig deeper, drawing blood.
Like a whisper carried on the wind, a soft voice breaks through the silence, making me startle. I whip my head around, trying to find the source, but darkness obscures my sight. Did I imagine the voice?
“It won’t work,” the voice says, tone filled with resignation. “I’ve already tried getting out. It doesn’t work.”
Slowly emerging from the shadows is a woman, her hands bound tightly in front of her stomach, feet secured to the wall by iron hooks. Disheveled hair frames her face, giving her a crazed appearance, while a glint in her eyes hints at untold emotions and stories.
“It’s impossible,” she tells me.
“Who are you?” I demand, confusion marring my features.
She doesn’t answer, her gaze locked on the ground as if lost in thought. Frustration wells inside me as I realize she offers no answers. Tearing my eyes from her, I scan the room for any means of escape, but I come up empty in this room of barren walls.
A whimper escapes me as I tug at the chains, ignoring the pain as they tear through flesh. Desperation fuels me until the pain becomes unbearable, and the realization that I won’t get out of these godforsaken chains fills me.
“I told you so,” the voice mutters, and I shoot her an annoyed glare.
——————
The creaking of the door from above snaps me back to consciousness, my heart racing instantly. Straining my ears for any sound, I’m met with silence, leaving me staring at the ceiling. Disorientation fills me, and I realize I must have woken up from sleep.
“They always come and go,” the soft, feminine voice floats across the room, her eyes trained on mine.
She looks different now, her hair untangled without any visible dirt on her. A faint scent of soap lingers in the air, and I frown at her in confusion.
She sighs exasperatedly. “If you’re obedient, they allow you to clean up.”
Disbelief coats my words. “What the hell?”
She merely shrugs, as if this is an everyday occurrence for her.
“Who are you?” I press further, but she offers no response. “What brings you here then?” I try again, but her gaze remains fixed on her clean nails while avoiding mine.
“They came to collect a debt,” she finally reveals.
Her words are cryptic, leaving me more confused than ever. There’s a profound sadness in her eyes that reflects years of pain and suffering, mirroring my own struggles. I recognize that look—the anguish of pain etched into her soul.
“Do you know where we are?” She remains silent, retreating into her mind to escape the cruel reality we’re in. “Hello?” I call out again.
Before she can reply, a loud noise echoes through the space, causing her to tense.
“Keep quiet and look down. Do not disobey them,” she hisses, right before a man in uniform steps into the room.
His stance is imposing, sending a surge of fear racing through me like a violent thunderstorm as he approaches, each step like a doom to an inevitable confrontation. My eyes travel from his pointed shoes to his black slacks, giving way to a buttoned-up shirt. Finally, his face comes into view—features I never want to see again.
I flinch at the sight of my foster father’s smirk, his expression conveying my insignificance, as if I’m about to be crushed like an ant in his path.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my beloved Arcane,” he sneers, crouching before me while belittling me with his cruel presence. “I knew I would one day see you again, daughter.”
Without hesitation, I spit on his face, saliva dripping down his cheek. He backhands me just as quickly, my head snapping to the side while a fiery sting spreads across my cheek.
His eyes narrow into razor-sharp slits, but I maintain an indifferent expression, knowing that predators feast on fear, and I refuse to fuel the fire.
“Where am I?” I manage to ask, masking my emotions.
The laughter that follows is cruel and taunting. “Your pathetic ‘family’ betrayed you,” he mocks. “You’re alone, Arcane. No one cares about you, and no one would ever love you enough to stay.”
His words cut deep, carving a wound in my soul. I hold myself perfectly still, refusing him the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
I trusted them, and they betrayed me.
Inside, I’m screaming from the agony tearing me apart, but on the outside, I merely blink at him.
“How?”
“I suspect you already know the ‘how,’ my darling daughter. You simply refuse to admit it. They’ve been working with us all along.”
A heavy weight settles in my stomach, pressing on my lungs until it feels as if they will cave in and I’ll never recover again. This is it, I think. This is the moment all of the pain from the past and present will catch up with me until there’s nothing left of me but burnt ashes fluttering in the wind.
Mr. Grimaldi’s gaze reveals the cruel intent behind this encounter—how he relishes in my suffering, whether through words or actions. But unlike before, he never touched me, only inflicting mental abuse.
“They’ve been betraying you, feeding us their secrets. Did you truly believe it was that easy? That I wouldn’t have the foresight to tighten our security?” His voice drips with disdain.
All blood drains my face, and I fight to conceal the turmoil raging within when all I want to do is crumble apart.
“They’re too greedy for power. And you were the price. I can’t wait to fucking break you again. You thought you escaped, you little shit. But I won’t let you get away again. You’re mine to do with whatever I please, and you’re going to obey your father,” he spits in my face, and I can’t hide the disgust evident in my expression.
“Fucking break me! You think I haven’t been broken before? You think I haven’t felt the abandonment? I don’t fucking care anymore,” I retort, truth lacing my words.
After dedicating years to seeking revenge, there’s nothing left to lose. Taking down the Grimaldis was my last goal, and even if he breaks me, I will not crumble. I’ll find a way to get back at them.
“Shut up,” he growls, backhanding me once more.
Before I can react, I’m hauled to my feet, the chains biting into my flesh. A loud gasp escapes me from the pain, and my foster father grumbles in annoyance, unshackling the chains. I stumble, my legs unable to keep me upright, but he doesn’t care.
I steal a glance at the woman in the room, her eyes filled with pity and worry as she watches me being dragged away.
My heart pounds vividly inside my chest as I’m led out of the room into the stone stairwell. Dread twists in my stomach, nausea churning within when I see exactly where we are.
The Grimaldi base.
Memories assault my senses that I have a hard time containing, pain rippling through every being of me until I can scarcely draw breath. I look around in terror, the walls of this place a reminder of the horror I endured, once believing in the love of a foster family who ultimately betrayed me.
I was pathetic.
Entering my foster father’s office, I’m pushed against his desk, stripped of dignity as my shirt is torn away. Humiliation mingles with fear as I struggle to suppress tears, clinging to whatever composure I can muster against his cruelty.
“We’ll have quite the time together, daughter. I’ll love watching you break.”
Fear grips me like a vise, suffocating me as memories threaten to pull me under into a swirling abyss of despair. It was here I endured countless reprimands and reminders of being a mere pawn in a game made and ruled by men.
Here, I found out about my foster brother’s death.
I hear my foster father grab something from a shelf before he draws closer. His associates eye me with greed, their intentions evident.
Without forewarning, the first blow lands on my back, searing pain erupting through me and forcing a scream from my lips—giving them exactly what they want. The whip cracks through the air, lashing out like poison and igniting a wildfire across my shoulder blades. I bite down hard on my tongue, tasting blood and metal.
Again and again, the whip descends upon my back, each strike tearing through flesh and bone with merciless precision. My foster father’s words cut deeper, slicing through the fragile walls I built around my heart. “No one has ever wanted you. Fucking no one.”
Every part of me aches—my heart, my back, my soul. I wish I wasn’t affected by his words.
Beaten within an inch of my life, I’m dragged back to the basement, meeting the eyes of the unknown woman. They’re full of worry again, looking at me with an unreadable expression.
They don’t bother chaining me again, knowing I’m too goddamn weak to try to escape.
——————
Days pass, marked only by the woman’s daily trips upstairs when she’s allowed to shower. Today is the fourth day of my imprisonment here, enduring relentless torture at the hands of my foster father, Peter Grimaldi. They chained me again two days ago.
My eyes throb painfully, and every movement sends a wave of agony that threatens to make me faint. Everything hurts, and my vision is hazy as I slump against the floor, avoiding putting pressure on my back. Yet, there’s only one thought crossing my mind—I have to escape because no one else will help me.
Glancing at the woman as she sleeps, her troubled breathing betrays the nightmares she must have.
Throughout the days we’ve spoken, I’ve learned that she’s been captivated for over a month, taken as collateral for a debt owed to the Grimaldi family, but little else. There’s a determination inside her—one I recognize in myself. It reveals she wants to survive and fight despite the horrors I glimpse etched into her eyes, like scars on her soul.
Yesterday, she told me that Saturdays are when Peter Grimaldi leaves the mansion to gamble at the Ivanovas’, leaving only the associates to watch out for us. A plan has formed in my mind, one that will either fail or succeed. At this point, it doesn’t matter.
On the morning of the sixth day, as the woman is led back into the basement by a Grimaldi made man, I notice she’s freshly clean, but new bruises mar her skin, coloring her cheek green and purple. Blood drips down her fingers, landing on the floor, revealing two of her nails have been ripped off from her fingers. Anger boils within me at the sight, simmering just beneath the surface.
“Bitch,” the made man snarls as he chains her to the wall again, making sure to step on her hand and making her whimper before quickly concealing that she even made a sound.
“Hey, asshole!” I shout at him, my head pounding, but it’s now or never—now’s my chance to get my hands on this forsaken family.
His eyes snap to mine. “What?” he snarls, coming over to me.
I meet his gaze with defiance, and he doesn’t like that because he reaches out to grab me in a bruising hold. I grit my teeth, feeling the woman’s eyes on me, and for a moment, I meet them while the made man is busy staring me down. She has a broken piece of a mirror in her hand, and giving me a silent nod, she scoots it over to me.
Summoning every ounce of strength within me, I drive my knee into his groin, causing him to double over with a cry of pain.
“Fucking bitch,” he groans.
I take my chance, clutching the glass shard the woman sent my way before I aim for his throat. It tears through his flesh with a sickening sound until blood gushes, and he splutters and gasps for air. He falls above me, hands clawing at my throat, and I fear he might kill me before he dies himself.
I’m choking as he restricts my flood of oxygen, but I hold out—feeling his grip loosening.
The Grimaldi made man collapses to the ground, life draining from his vacant eyes. He’s dead, and I’m one step closer to taking them all down.
“There’s a key in his pocket,” the woman says, her voice not the least bit affected by the horrors that have transpired.
I swiftly search his pockets until my fingers close around the key. It slides smoothly into the lock of my chains, and with a satisfying click, the restraints fall away. I scramble to my feet, turning to the woman as I unlock her chains as well.
Wordlessly, we share a nod of understanding before springing into action, creeping toward the basement door in a desperate attempt to free ourselves. Adrenaline surges through me, making me unaware of the pain trying to sink me under the surface of lava.
But then, the door suddenly creaks open with an ominous sound that sends a chill down my spine. I freeze in place, seeing Peter Grimaldi standing before me, his eyes blazing with unleashed fury.
Behind him, his associates hinder any chance of escape, and panic surges through me. He’s supposed to be with the Ivanovas now. I curse inwardly, feeling the first onslaught of pain searing through my battered body when they attack. Each blow is a cruel reminder of reality—how I got Viper back after years of believing he was dead, only to lose him again.
What I wouldn’t do to be in his arms again…
I’m pushed to the ground, a sensation of lightning lashing across my already torn-up back as my resolve crumbles under despair.
In this very moment, I come to terms with my grim reality.
It’s all fucking hopeless.