My shoulders burn, my bones ache, and sweat mixes with blood on my skin. My body screams, but I focus on Evi, on the small, frightened figure in the cell, on the warmth of her presence that I can’t reach but can feel. I won’t break. Not for him, not for anything.
She cries softly, low and heartbreaking, but she refuses to look away. And even if I want her to, I’m grateful that she doesn’t.
The lashes keep coming until I’ve lost track of time and space. Then my skin lights on fire as the raw, angry welts start to split open, my flesh tearing beneath the relentless barrage.
“Stop, you’re killing him!” Evi screams, snapping me back to consciousness, and my head jerks up as I realize I must have passed out for a second.
That’s what happens when you go days without food or water, followed by a brutal torture session. I’m familiar with the tactic, but Kenji’s pushing past the line—probably searching for the limits of my pain.
And yet, the terror that grips me from my wife’s attempt to interfere is far greater than any pain. My chest tightens, even as my head spins nauseatingly, but I force myself to find her gaze. “I’m fine,” I rasp, though I know the words aren’t true. “I’ll be fine.”
Still, the blows stop as suddenly as they started, and I cling to consciousness in case Kenji decides that now is a good time to turn his fury on Evi.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he approaches me and leans close to whisper in my ear. “You’ll find, Sandro, that there’s no such thing asfinedown here. Only choices. And right now, your choice is whether to talk… or watch your strength and pride be shredded with your back.”
I’m near delirium now—which is probably why I’m stupid enough to grin at him, blood dripping from my lips. “You’ll get nothing,” I whisper. “Not from me.”
This time, Kenji punches me, and I grunt through the pain as my teeth loosen beneath the force of his hit. My chains rattle. My vision blurs. My muscles scream. But the thought of Evi keeps me upright.
“You’re a stubborn fool,” Kenji says, almost gently. “But I like that. So let’s see how long you can keep it up before you beg,before you break. Don’t worry. I’ll take my time. I have all the time in the world.”
I clench my jaw, every sinew coiling. “You’ll never break me, not while there’s still breath in my lungs.”
“You’ll break eventually,” he counters, almost conversationally. “Everyone does. But I appreciate your grit. It will make the end… sweeter.”
He steps back, giving his men a nod, and I feel the tension shift, the next stage of the night looming. Every nerve screams in anticipation. My chest heaves, my arms tremble, but my gaze never leaves Evi.
Then, to my astonishment, the lever cranks, releasing the tension in my chains so suddenly that I drop like a rock onto my hands and knees.
36
EVI
My eyes sting, my heart quivering as I cling to the bars of my cell, watching the man I love get brutalized for what feels like an eternity. They don’t even seem to notice, let alone care, when Sandro’s eyes roll back and his head drops, lolling helplessly as he falls unconscious.
And even though I know Sandro told me to keep quiet, I can’t help myself. I scream for them to stop. Because if they don’t, theywillkill him. No body can survive this kind of trauma.
A wave of relief washes through me when, a moment later, Sandro’s lowered to the floor, but it’s agonizing to watch him collapse—like they’ve sucked every ounce of unimaginable strength from his massive body.
I press my lips together, muffling a whimper as I press my cheeks to the bar, fearfully searching for signs that his heart might be giving out. His back, beneath the harsh fluorescent light, is a map of gruesome welts and open cuts that ooze blood in sluggish streams down the strong cords of muscle that line his spine.
And when he spits a copious amount of blood, I can only hope that it’s from the blows he took to his face—not internal bleeding.
Kenji’s men bend to unlock Sandro’s manacles from the chains, then they each grab one thickly muscled arm and haul him to his feet. It’s no small feat, judging by the way they grunt, their breaths coming in huffs as they sling his arms around the backs of their necks and drag him back toward our cell.
I step back to clear the doorway and move against the far wall, giving them no excuse to come after me next. I have no desire to experience what Sandro just endured, but more than that—I don’t think that my baby could survive it.
They drop Sandro unceremoniously to the floor, and as soon as they retreat, I rush forward to kneel beside him.
The cell door slams shut, echoing like a gunshot in the stone chamber. Then they’re gone, the lights flicking off with their exit and casting us back into impenetrable darkness. Tentatively, so as not to accidentally brush one of the lacerations on his back, I reach out to find Sandro.
And my hands land on feverish skin as I feel the dense muscle of his shoulder. It quivers beneath my touch, the weight of his own body too much for him to hold up, and he collapses fully to the cold stone ground, his head landing with a hard thump that makes me flinch.
Slowly, my eyes start to adjust, and his silhouette comes back into view as he turns his head to face me. His chest heaves, and I’m anxious to touch him when his back is slick with blood, sweat, and grime. But he needs help. My stomach twists, and I swallow hard, trying not to panic.
“Oh, God… Sandro,” I whisper, brushing my fingers over his bruised skin, trying to ignore the warm, sticky blood staining my hands.
He winces at my touch but doesn’t push me away. “I’m fine,” he rasps, his voice like broken glass.
