Chapter 42
Just a bit more. Stay strong a bit more.
The concrete floor bit into my knees the moment they shoved me down. My wrists were raw from the ropes, the abrasions screaming at every shift.
Every muscle in my body protested, every bruise and scrape like a bell tolling the failure of my fight.
My chest heaved, the cold seeping into my bones as if to remind me that warmth and safety were lies told to others, just not to me.
They didn't rush. They never did. They circled, eyes calculating, measuring, savouring. The kind of silence that only exists in rooms made for breaking people.
I could feel them before I saw them, the smell of sweat and cigars and cold metal brushing against the edges of my senses.
They were predators, all of them, playing a game I hadn't chosen, but had been dragged into.
One stepped forward, a cloth in hand. My heart thumped like a warning drum. Then the water hit, icy, sharp, relentless. It flooded my nose, stole my breath, burned down my throat until my lungs were nothing but fire and panic.
I tried to resist. I tried to stay still, to hold onto consciousness, but my mind rebelled, flashing memories like static—Asvika's laughter, Zorian's voice as we rode past the night sea. Then nothing but water.
"Stay still, princess," a voice hissed. "It'll be easier if you cooperate."
I spat, the spray of blood and water mingling. "Don't call me that, you bastard," I rasped. My voice cracked on the word. My defiance was all I had left to give.
They didn't care.
The next wave came harder. Water after water, until my head snapped back, until my lungs screamed for air, until the humiliation became worse than the pain. Being rendered small, helpless, exposed, while men laughed and watched.
Like I was some exotic animal learning to kneel.
A blow struck my ribs and pain exploded through my side like lightning. I fell, twisting on the floor, lashing out blindly, elbows meeting boots, fists meeting nothing. Every strike was punished. Every gasp for air was earned in blood.
The ropes dug into my wrists with every twitch, every futile attempt to rise. My body trembled uncontrollably, not only from exhaustion but from the cold, from the humiliation, from the feeling of being turned into something less than human.
The skin along my back burned where they had dragged me. My face throbbed where they had struck.
They didn't need words anymore. Their silence was louder than any taunt.
A bucket scraped across the floor. The sound made my pulse spike, my stomach knot. My body knew before my mind could process it.
"On your knees," he said.
I hesitated. He kicked the back of my legs and I went down.
The water hit me again, cold, sharp, unforgiving.
My head snapped back, my throat convulsed, the air turned to knives in my lungs. I gasped, choked, begged my body to keep going.
Every laughter they gave was a nail hit into my chest. Every second stretched like a lifetime.
Minutes, hours—it didn't matter. Pain erased time. And then, through the blur, I saw him.
Zorian.
Tied to a chair, blood on his lip, fury in his eyes. His jaw was tight, like he was holding back the entire world. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second, and that single second hurt worse than every blow. Because he saw.
He saw me broken.
He saw them destroy me.
He saw what I'd become.
One of them leaned close, voice dripping with poison. "You thought he'd never betray you, didn't you?"
"He wouldn't," I breathed, though I barely believed my own voice.
The slap split my lip open. Sharp. Merciless.
"Everyone breaks, princess. Even him."
A boot met my side again. Pain flared white-hot. My ribs screamed. I curled into myself, shaking, breath hitching, fear twisting with defiance.
One of them finally muttered, almost impressed, "We shouldn't keep going. She's making us look like women-beaters."
"She's no woman," the first replied coldly. "She's the heir to the Versace mafia. Treat her like a man. She'll survive worse than us."
The other scoffed. "Such a pretty face yet messed up heritage."
They backed off, leaving me curled on the floor, shaking, half-conscious. My chest rose and fell in a broken rhythm. Every part of me screamed, but I was alive. And that was enough.
I was cold.
They took Zorian out next. I heard the struggle, the scrape of boots, his voice rising, hoarse, desperate.
"I'm not giving you anything. Stop torturing her."
"Tell us what she said, who she does business with," one hissed. "One detail. One word. We'll ease her suffering."
"Not a chance."
My throat ached. My head pounded. I wanted to tell him not to, wanted to scream for him not to break, but no sound came out. Only air.
The hours stretched thin.
His voice, faint through the concrete, kept me tethered to life. Every echo of him was a thread I clung to, a reminder that I wasn't completely gone.
Then the door opened again. Footsteps. The smell of blood.
Zorian was dragged back in.
For a second, just a second, hope rose in me. Hope that he'd held on, that he hadn't—
Then one of the men leaned down, voice soft like venom. "You promised. If I told you, you'd stop."
The words didn't make sense at first. Then they did. And when they did, they shattered something inside me that no torture could touch.
Memories hit like bullets, his voice, his promises, the way he'd looked at me under the streetlights that night.
The bike. The wind. His laughter. The quiet between us.
"I'm starting to think this whole 'prodigal princess' act isn't new either." He’d spoke.
I laughed, dry. "You think I woke up knowing five languages, how to run arms, manage three smuggling routes, and lie with a smile?"
"You forgot threatening people with a smile."
"That too."
He stepped beside me. Not too close. "Why me?"
"What?"
"Why let me see this side of you?"
I hesitated.
Then, "Because you're my shadow. I can't really run from you. And around me, you're always in danger."
"And that's a good thing?"
"It means you always have the kind of information that can save your life. Don't die for me, Zorian. If they want me dead, they won't care if you're still breathing."
The wind picked up. I didn't flinch.
"I'll never betray you."
"You scared of me now?" I asked, low.
"No," he said. "I'm scared of the version of you that has no one to pull her back."
That version stood in this room now.
And she was done breaking.
It didn't take me long to tell. The word ripped out of me, raw, jagged, trembling between rage and heartbreak.
"YOU BASTARD!"
Zorian froze. Guilt flashed across his face. The kind of guilt that begged forgiveness before it was even asked for.
He betrayed me.
My chest heaved. My fists trembled. My throat burned with unshed screams.
He had better hope they kill him, because I will drag him to hell with me if I can.
Shadows were never to be trusted. They were shadows for a reason, lowlife twats who jumped at any form of elevation they could grab.
It wouldn't have hurt if he hadn't made that empty promise.
If he hadn't looked at me like I was the only thing holding him upright.
After all, he was just a man.