Though it feels like we’ve been staring at each other for hours, I know it’s only been seconds. Still, I can’t stand to look at him.
I tear my eyes away from my father, my stomach churning with disgust. Finally, I look down at the woman standing before me, a small, fragile figure that’s almost swallowed up by the cell. Her head is pointed to the ground, her posture one of either submission or fear, perhaps even shame. I can't tell.
She’s wearing next to nothing, a tiny dress that barely hides her minimal curves. Bruises and cuts cover her exposed skin. Her body appears impossibly thin and my fists tighten, making the chains rattle.
I'm the one pinned to the wall like a bug caught in a web, unable to move even an inch, but as I take in her fragile appearance, it becomes painfully clear that she's the one who looks imprisoned.
Gus stomps over to her and she tenses in anticipation of his cruelty.
“Don’t,” I growl, my voice low and lethal.
Smirking, his hand slides down her bare back, her tiny dress offering no protection, and grips her hip before his hand comes down harshly on her ass. A pained breath escapes her lips, and she flinches, the sound echoing through the cell, making me shake.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Meet Diamond, son,” my father taunts proudly, his voice laced with amusement. “She's a well-trained little thing, don’t you think?” His laughter fills the room as he enjoys the spectacle of her suffering. “Say hello, Diamond,” he snaps, commanding her compliance with another harsh blow.
“Enough!” I roar as the cuffs collide with the wall, again and again.
Gus chuckles and slowly, so painfully slowly, the poor girl looks up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Her voice is a fragile whisper as she utters a broken, “Hello.”
I swallow hard, the taste of copper and rocks in my throat, my breath stalling in my chest.
No.
Fuck.No.
Katarina Garza, Dolores’ daughter.
Her dark eyes flicker with recognition, with sadness, and my heart breaks. We tried, we tried so fucking hard to find her after that day in my father’s clubhouse. The day he raped her while we had no choice but to watch while held at gunpoint, all because we’d made a decision to save her instead of kill her weeks prior.
She’d gotten wrapped up in some bullshit job Gus sent us on and for that, she was forced to suffer the weight of our failure. I promised then and there that I’d rescue her, I’d get her out somehow. But then she disappeared off the fucking planet. Gus said he was going to sell her. I had no idea she’d ended up right back in the Devil's hands.
“Here's what's going to happen,” my father snaps, his voice dripping with malice. “I'm going to ask you questions, and if you don't answer, Diamond will make you.”
My eyes flit down to the tiny, fragile girl before me, and a wave of nausea twists my gut. Horror and desperation flood my senses, and my head begins to shake involuntarily before I can even formulate a response.
“Leave her out of this,” I manage to grit out, my voice a low, trembling growl.
Gus chuckles, running his fingers through Diamond's hair in a twisted display of mock kindness. Her eyes squeeze shut, as though she senses the lie, feels the danger in the air.
“No,” my father replies, a single word that carries the weight of cruel determination.
I clench my fists, every muscle in my body coiled with fury. “What do you want?” I manage to force out through clenched teeth, my gaze locked onto him with a burning intensity.
With another slap to her ass and a harsh gesture I can’t see, but makes her whimper in pain, he spins around, giving me his back. My eyes fly around the room to check for backup, for cameras, for guards. Anything to tell me he’s unprotected, as if I can actually break free and snap his fucking neck.
Nothing.
I look back at Katarina, but she’s already staring at the ground. Gus sighs as he shrugs nonchalantly, sliding his hands into his pockets. Then, he does what he always does and begins to pace, slowly, as if he’s got all the time in the world.
It’s infuriating.
“Information,” he rasps, his accented voice taking on a weaker, less commanding tone. Even his gait is different—a limp, a stumble, a sway. My eyes narrow as I watch him closely, and a chilling realization dawns upon me.
He's different. Something’s changed.
