I open the door. "Out."
Skinny doesn't move. Staying as far as I can from his wet pants, I grab him by the back of his neck and drag him with me. He stumbles out, legs barely holding him up.
"Please—man—I told you?—"
"You haven't told me anything yet."
We move toward the heavy steel door. The back entrance. No sign. No welcome. Just cold, dead metal. I push it open and pull Skinny inside. My anger simmers on a barely contained level.
"What is this place?" he asks, voice rising now as more panic creeps in.
Mauro nudges him wordlessly forward. The floor is all concrete, no tile or carpet here. The walls are industrial, efficient. Everything is built for one purpose.
At the far end, a reinforced chamber waits for us. Beside it sits Clark, the manager. He looks up as we enter, knowing that coming in through the back means only one thing.
He nods toward the chamber. "First burn doesn't start until noon."
I don't give a shit about what is scheduled. I don't work with schedules; they work for me. My gaze lands on him. For a moment, I allow the barely contained anger to show. That's enough for him to pale instantly and break into a sweat.
"Right. Right—my bad," he stammers, already moving. "I'll get it ready."
Behind me, Skinny's breathing turns frantic.
"What is this place?" he demands again, louder now. "What am I doing here?"
Mauro pokes Skinny once in the ribs. Points toward the steel door where Alessio had a sign bolted above it. It's simple. No engravements or adornments. Just words. Enough to make anybody freeze. They're in Latin first: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.
Translated into English below, still large enough to read:Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
Skinny reads it. He most likely has no idea where those words come from, but the meaning is crystal clear even to a douchebag like him. His knees almost give out.
"Please," he whispers. "Please, man—I don't?—"
I step in close. Grip his jaw. Force his head up.
"You said they'd kill you," I murmur.
His eyes lock on mine. Terrified. I lean in just a fraction closer. "Let's find out which is worse."
A broken sound leaves his throat. Behind us, metal clanks. The chamber door, unlocking. Clark hurries back in. "It's ready."
I release Skinny. He sways. Doesn't run, not because he knows better, but probably because his legs are betraying him.
I nod toward the door. "Inside."
He shakes his head immediately. "No—no—please?—"
Mauro grabs him and drags him the last few steps. Skinny starts fighting then. Too late. Way too late.
Oh,the audacity. I slam the door to my room so hard the frame rattles, then lean back against it, chest heaving like I just ran ten blocks. My blood is boiling. My skin is too tight. And worst of all—worst of all—my stupid, treacherous body is still humming from the way he looked at me out there. That dark, hungry promise in his eyes that said if I didn't walk away right then, we were going to end up exactly like last time: furious, naked, and devouring each other until nothing else existed.
I hate how much I wanted it.
I hate even more that I almost stayed.
"Goddamnyou, Gabe," I whisper, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Nobody—and I meannobody—has ever made me this furious. Not even Razor in his worst moments. This man walks into my life, pays for everything, rearranges my entire existencewithout asking, and then has the nerve to tell me what I can and cannot do like I'm some fragile little doll he gets to keep locked in his tower.
