Zeke pauses at the threshold like a man admiring a fresh work of art. He drinks in the sight of them with a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes, breathing in the metallic, salty smell of their blood and sweat that lingers in the air.
“Look at them, Lena, your captors, all condemned in one place, ready to face justice,” he murmurs, voice smooth and dry like old wine. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”
I force myself to look at them, keeping my expression flat. Even now, Zeke gives away his true intentions. What he’s doing isn’t justice for me; it is revenge for him and punishment forthem having everything he wanted, for being better men than he could ever dream of being.
Cole’s head lifts as if he is only now realizing they aren’t alone. His eyes open into slits swollen with bruises and try to find me through the haze. When he sees me, there’s a flicker of fire, of the Cole I know, protective and strong. Even like this, some part of him is still watching over me, wants to fight for me.
Rex’s chest rises in a shudder as he looks at my impassive face, noting how clean I am, the dress, and how I stand close by Zeke’s side. His eyes are clearer than the others, sharper, and filled with something I don’t want to name. Not yet.
Judge glares at Zeke like he’s memorizing his face for the day he gets to repay every blow. He clenches his jaw so tightly that the muscles flutter beneath his skin—a vein throbs at his temple like a ticking clock. If Zeke were fool enough to let Judge go, I know he’d mete out his own brand of justice.
When my eyes land on Doc, I nearly break. It was Doc who once told me that kindness wasn’t weakness, that forgiveness and love are strengths, that being independent isn’t always a good thing. He blinks slowly, the chains creaking as he shifts. When he sees me, his mouth parts like he might say my name. He doesn’t. He can’t. But something in him softens. Doc of all of them will know what I’m doing and why. He looks at me with understanding, forgiving me for what I’m about to do.
They don’t ask why I’m here. Not with words.
Zeke grins, a knife glinting between his fingers as he toys with it like a magician with a coin. “Now, Lena, while we’ve been getting to know each other better,” he says, voice syrup-thick and venom-sweet, “It’s become apparent that these kidnapping monsters are in love with you.” He chuckles, as if the notion isridiculous. “And that theyactuallybelieve you could ever love them back.”
He looks at me directly now, and I freeze, like a deer trapped in headlights. My fight or flight instincts are racing. I won’t run. And I can’t fight, not with my fists anyway. So I have to use the only option available to me. I have to manipulate Zeke without him even knowing it.
“So, to prove you’re not theirs,” he says, “to prove that you aremine, I want you to pick one.” He gestures toward the men with a lazy flick of his blade. “Pick who goes first.”
My stomach drops. For a heartbeat, I’m not in my body. I’m floating, watching myself from the ceiling, a ghost in a girl’s skin.
I’d rehearsed for this. I’d planned for this. A hundred cruel phrases lined up in my mind like knives. Cold enough to convince him. Subtle enough to spare them.
But now, in the light of their pain, all my lies feel thin and shivering.
I force my shoulders back, make my spine steel. I try to channel Mary Beth’s dismissive sneer, the way she used to look at people like they were ants.
“I don’t care, each of them deserves what’s coming to them,” I say.
It slices through the room like a blade.
Rex’s gaze snaps to mine. For a moment, a terrible, heart-wrecking moment, he believes me. He thinks I mean it. That the woman who has loved him from the first moment we met is now willing to let him die without blinking. That I don’t care if he lives or dies.
His brows twitch together. Pain and resignation settle into his expression. The trust collapses, and I can’t breathe. But I don’t break. Iwon’t. Because if I do, Zeke wins.
Zeke’s smile stretches wide, teeth like a wolf’s glinting in the dark. “Cold,” he says approvingly. “Beautifully cold.”
He stalks over to Rex and grips his jaw, forcing his face upward. “She says she doesn’t care about you. How’s that feel, lover-boy?”
Rex doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fight. But the sound he makes behind the gag breaks another piece of me. It’s the sound of grief wrapped in silence.
Zeke doesn’t wait to see if I’m watching; he knows I can’t look away.
He drags the knife across Rex’s chest, producing a shallow ribbon of red, and then punches him hard in the ribs. The sound is hollow and booming. Rex jerks, gasps through the gag, convulsing against the restraints as blood bubbles from his nose.
I lock my knees to keep myself from falling.
Zeke is deliberate. He doesn’t simply beat them; he curates a different brand of torture for each one. A broken bottle to Judge’s knuckles, slow and grinding. A boot to Cole’s stomach so hard that he vomits blood. A backhanded slap to Doc’s handsome face that snaps his head sideways like a marionette with its strings cut.
They don’t scream. Not the way you’d expect. It’s worse, it’s the sound of men trying not to break even as they’re being torn apart, limb from limb.
Doc tries to crawl toward the others, his brothers, chains clattering, teeth bared in agony like a man who knows he’salready dead. A guard yanks him back. The thud of his body hitting the wall makes my ears ring. I want to scream. I don’t.
“You could beg for them,” Zeke whispers near my ear.
I turn to him, putting on my mask. “Beg? For what?” My voice is as flat as the edge of his knife. “Mercy? Forgiveness? You and I both know those words don’t come out of your mouth.”
