I didn’t react, wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
Then I saw the hook hanging from the ceiling. They shoved it through both of his legs while he was unconscious.
Remembering it made bile rise in my throat. Even now, I could still hear it. That wet, tearing noise.
They hoisted him above me like slaughtered livestock.
The first drop hit my forehead warm. Then another landed on my chest. It just kept coming.
Blood soaked my hair, my face, my clothes. Ran into my eyes while I fought against the chains hard enough to rip skin from my wrists. Father just stood there and watched.
Baciu woke up screaming, and the sound still fucking haunted me. One of Father’s men shoved fabric into his mouth after a few seconds, muffling it into broken animal noises.
I couldn’t do a fucking thing.
Father stepped closer, dragging his knife slowly up Baciu’s stomach. “This is all your fault, Cezar. Everything is always your fault. Useless piece of trash.”
They left us there. Baciu choked above me while I drowned beneath him. I cried so hard I threw up. Begging anyone to listen. Begging Baciu to hold on even though I knew he couldn’t.
I fucking showered in his god damn blood.
The room smeared around me as the memory morphed with the present, the scent of iron and rust swallowing me whole.
The box slipped.
The spear launched straight into my shoulder.
Chapter 38
CEZAR
The impact stole the air from my lungs so violently that for a second, all I could hear was ringing. I shook myself hard, trying to force adrenaline through the pain before Father came back.
The spear hadn’t punched all the way through, though it sliced deep enough to tear into muscle. Somehow, it missed the bullet wound.
Small fucking mercy.
The pain was brutal, radiating through my entire body while blood trickled down my arm.
Welcome home, Cezar.
I knew I’d been lucky with the bullet. Lucky to still be alive. This wasmanageable. Just my shoulder. I could still move my hand. I wanted to look at the damage, but I didn’t dare yet. Hot liquid continued to seep down my arm, sticky and warm, urging me to fight. I kept my focus on the ceiling, trying to ignore the pain.
The box remained in my hand. I had plans for it later.
A click echoed through the room, then the spear was freed from my shoulder, dragging shredded tissue with it. I winced, biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep the groan in. The doctor made his way over—Father’s little pet, loyal to him since before I was born—and started stitching me up. No anesthetic.No warning. Just needle and thread dragging across open wounds while the room spun.
Once he finished, one of the goons hauled me from the chair and tossed me to the ground. My arms couldn’t brace me. I hit the floor with a jolt that shot agony up my entire side.
“Fucking worthless piece of shit, as usual. Should have aimed it for your heart or your stomach.” My father jeered.
I clenched the box, its edges digging into my palm.
Part of me panicked, wondering if I was about to die in this room, bleeding out without Lina holding me. The other part pictured her at my funeral. I think she would be sad, and I hated making her sad. That image burned in my mind.
One of the men approached me, and I snapped. I tightened my hold on the box and swung with everything I had. The crack was loud. The collapse was immediate.
Pretty sure I killed him. Good.
