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"Please, if anyone can hear me. Protect her. Save her."

I know no one's listening. Maybe the guards; maybe my prayers are giving them a bit of a kick as they hear the desperation in my voice. The thought only infuriates me more. She'd said I was nothing. Well, she was wrong. She was fucking wrong.

I'm still me.

Even after every punishment. Every night of begging and pleading for a safety I know will never come. Even after every bargain with God above to end me and save Rosa, I'm still me.

My hands ball into fists, nails digging deep into my palms as my body thrashes inside the box. The wood scrapes against my skin, my knees connecting with the wood over and over again.

"Let me out, let me the fuck out!" I scream, God, I scream so loud my throat turns raw.

They can cut my hair. They can take my body. They can do whatever they want. But they'll never break me again.

Closing my eyes and sucking in a breath, I think back to that night on the ledge when I truly felt like nothing. I remember Jax's words.

It only gets better by fighting through it.

His voice in my ears sounds so real, triggering the feel of his fingers against my cheek. His touch always so soft, so gentle, like he was always so scared to break me even though every second he spent with me, he risked being broken himself. The last time he looked at me was so different to how I've ever been looked at before. I didn't want to admit it then—that the night we spent together had been more than just a way to feel something other than Vincent, because it was more than that. It'll always be more. I hang on to that like a life raft. Because that's what he's become, in the wreckage of the stormy seas that has become my life, he's been the raft that kept me afloat.

"I hope you're right, Jax," I whisper. "Because I'm trying, I'm trying so hard, but I need you. I'm trapped on this rock, and I'm waiting."

Closing my eyes, I try to think back to that moment on the balcony. His touch really had made me feel alive. Every second his lips pressed against mine, it was easy to forget, to pretend. In walls built to make you feel trapped, he made me feel free.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Ace

Tucked deep inside one of the alcoves in the main lobby corridor, my palm grips against the handle of my gun. I've never been more steady, my stomach fizzing with anticipation that this will be a moment I won't feel guilt for. A slaughter that won't haunt me.

Boots fill the main lobby, too many to handle alone. Their voices flood the halls.

"You think we've created enough chaos?" one of them asks, his voice tinged with an accent.

"No. Not until we've got what we came for: Vincent's head on a spike and the whore in the breeding shed," another replies, his voice more familiar, but I can't picture the face.

Staying hidden, I wait for the sound of their boots to make their way through the halls. Wait for the screaming to pick back up again. My phone buzzes in my pocket, another warning text most likely from Jarrod that he's sent to all the staff.

I push out, moving slow and precise. My eyes dart from every dark, shadowed corner of the hallway until I break out into the lobby. Fuck, bodies lay scattered everywhere. Pools and pools of blood, the maid, the guards—fuck, even one of the cooks who'd been caught going back to their chambers. All laid face down in their own blood.

Stepping over them, my boots splash against the crimson liquid that's staining against the ivory marbled floor. I spot one of the guards in the corner just below the spiral staircase. His hands grip his chest, mouth spewing out blood as he tries to breathe.

Rushing over, kicking my way through the limbs, I duck beside him, covering his hands with my own as I try to slow the bleeding. The thick liquid crawls along my fingers, sticking to my skin.

"Ace…" he croaks, his pupils dilated and face paler than the white walls of my bathroom.

"The woman who's always with Vincent. The captive girl. Where is she?" I ask, applying pressure. His eyes roll to the back of his head, I slap him to try and bring him back round, my fingers smearing blood onto his cheek. Fuck, he's passing out. Either that, or he's dying before he can tell me what I need.

"Ace…" he splutters. "Too many."

"Yeah, I know. Come on now, the girl. Where is she?" I push. He's dead either way. My hands can't stop the bleeding, and I won't stop till I've found her.

"Att—" He takes a breath, and I fear it might be his last. I shake him hard, his head lax, but his eyes fly back open.

"Where?" My voice is colder.

"Attic."

She's in his room. I drop him to the ground, content with leaving him to bleed to death. But as I take a step away, I hear the small plea fall from his lips.