His head hangs low, chin pressed to his chest. His arms are bound tightly behind the chair, legs spread and strapped to each leg of the seat. Dried blood crusts his hairline, and his lips are swollen, already split. Someone worked him over before we got here.
Gianna stops in the doorway. I see it, the sudden intake of breath, the way her feet hesitate, but then she steps inside. I follow close behind. I've never seen her like this before. Her eyes scan the room slowly. She swallows hard, and that's when I look away, because I know this is wrong.
Declan walks forward and places a metal tray on the table beside the chair. A selection of tools shines under the overhead bulb. A pair of pliers, a short rod, and a box of nails.
"Pick one," Declan says to her.
Gianna doesn't move. I step forward, about to tell him this is all a waste of time, but she reaches for the rod, gripping it like it's heavier than it is.
The man in the chair lifts his head, his eyes brimming with pain.
"Tell me," Declan begins, walking a slow circle around him, "did you give the Italians the location of our Boston shipment?"
The man groans. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Declan nods at Gianna. "Then make him remember." She doesn't hesitate. I watch her eyes dart between me, Declan, and the man. Then, she steps forward and presses the hot iron against his thigh. The man screams. Gianna doesn't flinch. Her eyes close for a second, but when she opens them, they're hard.
I hate this. I hate that Declan is using her like this. The man screams again, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Gianna pulls back the rod, and Declan steps in closer. "Tell me what you know," Declan says again with a calm voice like he's just ordering a coffee.
"I didn't... I swear... I didn't tell anyone..."
Gianna remains frozen there, but I see it, the way her shoulders shake every time the man cries out. The way she tries not to look at the burn she's left. "Again," Declan says coldly. She raises the rod. I can't take this anymore. She's putting up a front, trying to appear strong, but I can see the horror behind her eyes.
I know Declan hardly cares about the man tied to the chair. This is a test, not for loyalty, but of cruelty; of how far Gianna will go before she breaks. Watching her slowly fall apart in this room is worse than any torture I've ever witnessed.
The torture continues. The man's screams echo in the room, becoming more and more familiar. Declan makes Gianna switch between torture devices: the rod, a knife that she digs into the man's wrist, pliers that she uses to pull his fingernails. It is brutal. When Declan finally has enough, he leaves the room, but not before giving Gianna a nod. William and the guys follow after him almost immediately.
The iron rod drops to the floor from Gianna's hand as the door closes behind them. The room is quiet for a second, and I don't know how to comfort her. I'm the coward who let this happen. I can't believe I called her a coward when I'm the same.
"Gianna," I call, slowly walking around her like any slight misstep will make her crumble. She doesn't reply to me. Her shoulders sag, and my heart drops to my stomach when I see her face. She looks like she just saw a ghost. The man in the chair has passed out from all the pain, but her eyes remain locked on him.
"Are you okay?" I ask even though I already know the answer to that. "Gianna. Say something," I plead, my fear visible in my voice. She finally raises her head, and tears swim in her eyes. She raises her bloodied hand to her face, trying to say something, but no words come out.
Her eyes meet mine, and I see her eyelids slowly drop before her body catches up. I reach for her in a rush before she hits the floor. "Gianna. Gianna." I shake her, but she doesn't budge.
CHAPTER 16
Gianna
The man'sscreams are too loud, too loud. There's blood everywhere, on the floor, on my palms, and Declan's smirk as he watched me torture the man makes my insides churn, my throat and tongue feeling like bile.
The screams grow even louder, and I raise my hands to cover my ears, but nothing changes. The wailing is intense, and just when I think it won't stop, I jolt awake, shooting up from the bed in panic.
My breathing is ragged as I try to steady myself. I feel a hand wrap around me.
"It's okay... It's okay, Gianna," Finn's voice cuts through my panic. His voice is soothing, slowly sealing away the panic I feel. "It was just a dream."It was just a dream.Slowly, I begin to relax into his touch as he gently strokes my hair. The effect of the dream vanishes slowly, but the memories of what I did play in my head on and on.
I can't believe I went through with it. I did that to that innocent man. I close my eyes trying to push away the memory, but it's evident a memory like that will stick with me for a long time.
Finn slowly pulls away, but I can't bring myself to look at him. My eyes drop to my palms, and they're clean. I remember them being stained with blood before I... before I passed out.
"I cleaned them up," Finn says, bringing his hand over mine. I look up at him, and his eyes do all the talking. He looks so worried, like he's afraid I'll break apart. "Thank you," I say, looking away from him to realize I'm not in my room. Everything is different; the bed, its location, the closet, the mini office resting at the corner of the room. Even the color is different.
My room has a color mix of beige, cream, and lavender. This room is a mix of earthy green, brown, and white. "You're in my room," Finn says, and my attention snaps back to him. "I was really worried after you passed out. I brought you here, and a doctor attended to you."
"A doctor?" My stomach tightens before I can stop it. A doctor means hands, means questions, means things I can't afford to have anyone find.
Finn must read something on my face, because his thumb strokes the back of my hand. "I didn't let him do much. He checked your pulse, your head where you hit the floor. Gave you fluids. That was all."
