“Augustus was relentless in trying to find you.” She exhales heavily. “He wanted access to the money. Apparently, your grandfather had promised it would be his along with Charlotte when they married. When Augustus made the decision to kill your parents and her followers, staging a coup, I don’t think he understood the money wasn’t an accessible thing. He thought I could give him the access.
“So, he tortured me. Had his men rape and beat me. It went on and on, and then one day, it just stopped. He let me out, and Inever saw or heard from him again.” She glances up at me from damp lashes. “The only reason I can think of is that he thought I would lead them straight to you. Instead, I did what I’d been taught to do. I healed, I hid, and then, I made a call.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “It was Robert who came to me. He’d been working for Le Milieu in France with Henri. Your great uncle sent him and a group of soldiers here to help pick up the pieces. We worked to find as many members as we could. Those who wanted to remain in the family helped us rebuild. It took a long time, but we never stopped working.” She grabs my hand. “And we never stopped watching you. You were always safe, always loved.”
I can see it in her eyes that she truly believes that. And after hearing all that she went through, I don't have the heart to tell her the truth. That Augustus knew where I was the entire time. That he was the one who sent Eric in after me, to corrupt my brain, but keep my body whole. He was breaking me, making me into the perfect, docile woman who would accept him, be subservient to him when the time came.
I wasn’t safe. I wasn’t loved. I wasn’t cherished.
I was broken, tortured, and raped, just like her.
And I know the weight that pain causes. Know the scars it leaves. So for now, I do nothing, say nothing. I let her believe she did her best, because for all I know, she did. She just doesn’t understand it wasn’t enough.
“He won’t stop, Maddie,” I murmur, her nickname slipping through. “Augustus will not stop terrorizing our family. We need to end him.”
Her face pales and she shakes her head. “We can’t, sweetheart. It’s not that easy. He’s too big, too powerful.” Her jaw tightens. “Too evil.”
I drop her hand and shove to my feet, taking a step back. My sore fingers clench at my sides.
“He is,” I growl. “And he has my men. Four people who have been terrorized by him more than anyone I know. He’s done hateful, horrific things to them, and they were only children at the time. What will he do to them now? Now that he’s broken and unhinged? Now that he nearly had me and lost me? How bad will it get this time?”
I press a hand to my racing heart and take another step back.
“I will not leave them with him, Madeline. I can’t. I will do whatever it fucking takes to save my guys. The men I love.” I suck in a sharp breath, already upset over the vitriol I can’t choke back. “Unlike you, I can’t just sit back and watch the people I love be broken again, and again, hoping for a safe time to step in. I will not let them be ruined by that sick fucker. Help me or not, I don’t give a shit. But I’m going to get them back. With or without Le Milieu by my side.”
With that, I spin and storm toward the door.
I need to find Oliver.
I need to find Hunter.
I need the find the way out of this underground fucking prison.
And then, I’m getting my men back, even if I die in the process.
Chapter 34
“Come on, fucker,” Igrit out. My tongue sticks to my dry, cracked lips and I groan. “Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.”
I quickly tighten the torn scrap of fabric around my waist and wince, sucking in a sharp breath. The room spins and despite my annoying chants, I still manage to black out.
When I come to, I’m in the exact same position, and the fabric is loose again.
My sweaty brow furrows. Didn’t I just tighten this shit?
God. Maybe I didn’t. I’m losing track of time, each second blurring into the next as the pain in my side pulses with every heartbeat. My shirt is torn to shreds, the fabric soaked in blood as I try to replace the makeshift tourniquet I’ve tied around my ribs. It’s a poor excuse for first aid, but it’s all I’ve got.
My fingers are slick with blood, slipping as I pull the knot tighter. The pain sharpens, slicing through the fog in my mind, but it’s not enough to keep me grounded.
The cell around me is dark and cold, the concrete walls pressing in on me, suffocating.
But it’s not the cell I see anymore. It’s her.
This is my favorite part of the hell I’ve lost myself in. In between bursts of pain and sweaty, feverish moments, I see my baby girl.
Ella’s laugh rings in my ears, clear and bright, and I can’t help but smile despite the pain. The sound of her laughter is like a balm, soothing the ache in my chest, even as my body screams in agony. I close my eyes, and she’s there, running through the kitchen, her head thrown back, chocolate brown curls cascading in waves down her back. The sunlight pours in through the windows, lighting up the constellation of freckles across her face, making her glow.
I remember that day so clearly. She was so broken, so down after what that bastard did to her. She couldn’t see the light anymore, couldn’t find a reason to smile.
