Page 116 of Shattered In Darkness

He enters.

Marcus moves through this place like he owns it. Which he does. Suit perfect, shoes shining, and black gloves, tailored to every finger. Nothing is out of place. Not a hair, not a thread.

He stops and looks. Slow head-tilt, lips curling at the corners. That smile, always a smile, like the idea of pain is just funny to him. His eyes go down me, up, then back again, and there’s no warmth. Just calculation.

For a second, I act like I don’t care. I glare at him, try to square my shoulders, but the restraints make it look pathetic. Weak.

“Look at you,” he says, almost soft. He drags the chair out from the other side of the desk and lowers himself, leg cross, hands folded. “Messy, aren’t we?” He lets the silence hang. “You do understand the situation now, I hope. I presume it took hard lessons, but some girls only respond to pain.” He studies the bruises, the way my jaw swells left of center, the cut above my eye. “Disobedience makes for naughty assets, Lola. It’s unfortunate. I trained you better than this.”

He talks like he’s at a fucking board meeting. All courtesy, no soul.

I hate him.

His gaze flicks to my hands, to the cuffs, then to my chest and up to my eyes. “Sit straight. You still represent my interests.”

I don’t move. I couldn’t if I tried.

He waits. I watch the clockless wall, the flickering light. He’s in no hurry. He wants me to squirm.

He leans forward, voice dropping in pitch, a whisper meant only for me. “I’d hoped to avoid this. Truly. If you’d simply listened, we could have avoided a great deal of unpleasantness. But you had to run, Lola. You had to make it a spectacle.”

Cabin. Snow. Blood in the snow, pain, Brody’s voice and the sound of boots on the porch.

I can’t think about it.

“You forced my hand. I don't like mess. And now look.” He gestures vaguely, at the bruises on my arms as if they’re water rings on a boardroom table. “You compelled me to be harsh. You did this. Not me. I act only as circumstances require.”

Don’t show him fear. Don’t fucking give him that pleasure.

He shifts, hands gloved and still. “Do you want to know what’s become of your little hero?” he asks. “Your Brody.” My stomach lurches. I don’t let it show. “He’s here. Down the hall. Alive, barely. Maybe less so, if you continue these antics.” Marcus drinks in my reaction like wine. “I hear it took four men to contain him. He fights like a beast when provoked. There’s something in him. It’s not strength. It’s stupidity. I blame you for that, too. All that potential, wasted on obsession over a girl who doesn’t know her place.”

He lets that hang. Lets it sink in.

Marcus leans in. “Would you like to hear how hard he bled for you?” I want to look away. I force myself not to. “He screamed for you, you know. All the way out into the snowy dark. Calling your name, begging us to stop. It doesn’t take much to break a creature like that. Just the right lever. And you, Lola—you are the lever.”

He waits for a reaction; watches every microscopic twitch in my face.

“He’s alive?” I say, feigning blankness. I try to sound bored, above it. “If you’re going for guilt, you’ll have to do better.”

Marcus grins, amused. “Deflection. Oldest trick in the book. You always were clever. That’s why I had hopes for you.” He sits back, surveying his work. “Listen. Here’s how it’s going to proceed. I have no plans to waste further resources on your rebellion. If you don’t comply, Brody pays. If you do, perhaps he doesn’t die in agony. Simple.”

He says it like he’s reading a spreadsheet.

“If I sense even one hint of defiance, I’ll bring him in here and make you watch. I’ll break him in front of you. Or maybe, if you’re useful enough, I’ll let you see him, after. Just enough to remind you what you cost him.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. The iron taste calms me.

He leans in again, eyes almost kind, but there’s nothing human in them. “You’re not a person to me, Lola. Not anymore. You’re a weapon. A tool to break my real problem. You’ll help me destroy Brody, whether you want to or not. Even if all you do is scream.”

I want to spit in his face. I want to tell him he’ll burn for this. But all I do is stare, dead-eyed.

“I want to see Sophie,” I say, voice flat. Anything to draw him off script. Anything to disrupt.

His face doesn’t move. “The little charity case? She’s safe. For now. But that can change at my discretion.” His smile says, ‘Try again.’

I push. “I’ll do what you want,” I say, lying so hard I almost believe myself. “Just don’t hurt them. Not Brody, not Sophie. You win.”

“You never learn. There’s only ever been one winner, sweetheart.” He signals and the guard enters. She doesn’t look at me. Just slaps the cuffs tighter, enough to cut off circulation. My hands go numb, tingle, burn as she pushes a wad of something rough into my mouth. Cloth, maybe. Tied cruelly at the back of my teeth.