I hear a rhythmic thud of something hard hitting a wet, thick object, each impact making a sickening sound.
I try to move, but the ropes scrape the wounds that have formed around my ankles and wrists.
Then a shadow hung over me.
“No—”
“I’ve got you, baby. Tranquila.”
For a moment, I thought it was Julian, back to hit me.
But I see his blonde hair and blue eyes.
Andreas.
His voice is a grounding buzz that breaks through the ringing.
For a fraction of a second, his gaze drops to my bare chest. But before I feel any shame, he moves with grace and reaches out to adjust the shredded fabric, pulling it back over my exposed breast to restore a sliver of my dignity.
I feel the cold bite of the dull side of his knife as he cuts the ropes restraining my wrists. Then he moves forward to cut the wires around my ankles. When the last of it snaps, he wraps his arm around me to help me up.
He takes off the tactical jacket he was wearing and puts it on me, making sure to zip it up so I don’t get exposed again. He grips my shoulders for a heartbeat, trying to stop the violent tremors racking my frame.
Soon, the blood rushes back into my fingers, sending pins-and-needles that made me gasp. I don’t wait for my legs to steady. I didn’t care that they felt like frayed wire. I reach for him when he stretches his arm to carry me up from the bed.
But when my feet hit the floor, I tumble over the uneven terracotta tiles. My bare feet slip in a pool of thick, spreading liquid. Andreas straightens me up. When I look down, the realization of what I am sliding in sends a jolt of horror up my spine.
Blood.
Instinctively, my eye traces the source.
When my eyes land on them, I flinch, and a chill runs down my spine.
Damiano is on top of Julian, pinning him to the floor. His fists pummel Julian’s face like a possessed man. His expression is twisted in fury, jaw clenched, teeth bared.
“Damiano! Stop!”
My scream tears through the room. Andreas tries to hold me back, but I shove him aside and throw myself at Damiano’s back, arms clinging around his waist. My fingers dig into him, but he’s unmovable, lost to a violent fit.
He doesn’t even notice me.
“Damiano, no!” I cry.
I pull him with all that is left of my strength, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. In my peripheral vision, I could onlysee red. Julian is lying in a pool of his own blood, unmoving as Damiano’s fists continue to rise and fall.
I don’t try to save Julian; I no longer care if he rots on these tiles.
But I can’t watch Damiano kill another man for me. I don’t want to see the man I love disappearing into the gore, turning into a hollowed-out monster right in front of me.
I can’t watch violence become all he is.
His arm raises again, his knuckles raw as he prepares to deliver another blow to the pulp of the man beneath him.
“No!” I shriek, sliding in front of him, effectively pushing him off Julian.
When I look behind, my breath catches in my throat.
Julian is dead.
