Page 120 of Shattered In Darkness

He leaves me like that. Tied up, bleeding, the video still looping. Lola’s cries echo off the cement, burrowing under my skin.

All I can do is watch.

I’m so sorry, Bambi. You were right. I didn’t believe you. I let him do this. I failed you again and again.

But never again.

Now there’s nothing but the promise. My promise.

Marcus, you’re a dead man. For every second she whimpered, for every bruise, every shiver of dread, every lie you ever spun, I will see you shredded. Kneeling. Begging.

I’m coming.

The chain creaks as I strain against it. Muscle tearing, something in my arms giving way. My vision goes black at the edges, I don’t succumb to looking away. Not even when the pain becomes everything. Not even when my body collapses and I’m left gasping on the floor, eyes glued to the screen.

The screen keeps going. Lola’s voice—her screams—are the only sound in the world. They loop, over and over, stitched into my muscles, into the marrow of my fucking bones.

I want to die. I want to kill. Which comes first, I don’t care.

Lola’s body on that screen twists, folds, submits. Sometimes she tries to fight, and that’s when it’s the worst. That’s when Marcus hits her harder. That’s when she cries out for help—my name, almost, sometimes, before it’s choked off. I failed her. I failed her even when I wanted to be her savior.

I see her flinch, shatter, go silent. I see her dead inside, long before the bruises fade. The pain inside me isn’t human. It’s something older, blacker. I want to tear free. I want to rip my own arms off if that’s what it takes. The chair groans under my weight as I thrash.

Her screams never fade. They’re everywhere. In the walls. In my chest. In my head. I can’t breathe.

I’m sorry, Bambi. God, I’m so fucking sorry. I should have believed you. I should have come sooner. I should have burned him the first time I saw you cry.

The video jumps. Lola’s knees buckle. Marcus drags her up by the hair again, again, again. I can’t look. I can’t look away.

My body shakes, convulses. The restraints bite deeper. The video loops again. I focus on the screen, memorizing every detail. I want this pain to last. I want to carry it into the moment I rip his heart out.

“I’m coming, Bambi,” I whisper, voice turned to gravel. “I swear to you, I’m coming.”

Your world is ash, Marcus. I’ll watch you choke on it.

Lola’s cries fill the air.

The hatred for Marcus keeps me alive, and the need to see Lola again, so I can show her how fucking sorry I am.

Darkness closes in, and I fall into it.

39

LOLA

Nine paces left. Nine paces right. I keep moving. If I stop, the ache in my ribs spreads and the defeat creeps in.

I watch the shadows, hunt for cracks, count my breaths: one. two. three. four⁠—

I stop, turn, and sweep the door with my eyes again.

My body aches everywhere. My shoulder, still hurting from being thrown here. My cheekbone is red, thighs burning from the struggle.

Snatches of memory haunt me: the way Marcus looked at me before he left. That flat stare. Eyes that promised more pain, or worse. The absence of it, that dead-eyed neutrality that drains you until you’re nothing but a thing in his collection.

He is a dead thing walking. A cruel, demonic being.

I hear movement outside of the door. I know it’s him; it’s that sense of panic I always feel when his presence is near. Like how an animal freezes when they sense a predator. My nails bite my palms and my heart stutters. Not with fear, but with the readiness that only comes before violence.