Page 117 of Shattered In Darkness

Marcus stands, fixes the buttons on his coat. He looks down at me like I’m a broken vase in need of gluing. “I’ll be back soon. You’ll have plenty of time to reflect on your choices.”

He leaves. The door slams and darkness and poisonous air fills the room. I sit, chair freezing under me, legs shaking, wrists pulsing. My mind spins

Stay still and quiet. Never cry. Don’t give them what they want. Don’t break. Don’t break.

From somewhere above, another scream. Shredded, hopeless. I clench my jaw and swallow blood. The light sizzles overhead, strobing my terror.

All I want is to see Brody again. To touch his hair. To know he’s still alive, because of me or in spite of me, I can’t tell. My body shakes with it.

I know I shouldn’t want him, not after he kidnapped me. Not after he put me through hell. But that doesn’t change anything, he’s still the boy who took my heart.

I keep my mind in tight circles. Mantras Mom whispered when the bruises were new. Stay strong, Lola. Don’t show them weakness.

Where are you now, momma? Why couldn’t you have stayed a little longer?

The warehouse rattles. Screams echo. The woman stands sentinel.

And me? I sit, silent, refusing to break, staring into cold white light until all I can see is his face.

The Monster.

This is what I am now. A loaded gun pointed at the only boy who ever tried to save me, and all I can do is hope my finger never pulls the trigger.

Please, someone, save him, save me, save us.

But I know better. Nobody’s coming. Just the cold. Just the blood. Just the awaiting dark.

38

BRODY

Blood. That’s all I taste. There’s no light; I am in the dark, alone with my shattered heart and bruised soul.

I hang forward in the restraints. My ribs are a mess. Breathing hurts, but I savor it. Every goddamn throb, every stab under the sternum, every wet hitch in my lungs.

They want to keep me lucid. That’s the point of it. There’s a puddle widening under my bare feet, reeking of piss, blood.

The door squeaks open and Marcus enters. He brings the cold with him, a drop in the air pressure, like the breath before a storm. He doesn’t sit. Of course not. He prowls. Circle, circle, always to my left, then my blind side, then in front. Black dress shoes echo on concrete.

He pauses and studies me. Not the way a man looks at another man, but the way you’d assess a busted engine or a slab of meat you want to carve. I want to spit at him but my tongue is too heavy, and I know he’ll just have one of his dogs knock my teeth out.

“Disappointing,” Marcus murmurs. He traces a hand over his own cuff, straightening it. “You used to have more fight.”

My mouth jerks into a grin. “Little busy getting my face caved in, old man.”

He ignores the bait and keeps circling. A predator. Above all of this violence, he’s cold and detached. It’s a joke to him. Even worse than my father. He stops directly in front of me, level with my ruined face. My head hangs but I look up through bloody lashes, refusing to drop my gaze.

“Richard sent you. So predictable. I hoped you’d broken free from that pathetic leash. But you’re still a slave, aren’t you?”

“I told you. I don’t answer to him. Not the way you want me to.”

“No, not the way I’d want. But you’re here, aren’t you? And you’re going to tell me exactly what I need.” He signals with two fingers. Guards approach from behind. “Let’s try again,” Marcus says. “What did Richard want from the transfer? Why the intersection at the cabin, hmm?”

I grunt. “No idea. Wasn’t my op. Probably wanted to take your favorite toy away to see what you’d do. Just like you took my mom away from us.”

Wrong answer. A fist slams into my ribcage, direct and punishing. Something cracks. I lurch forward, bile rising in my throat.

He waits and watches. “You disappoint me.”