Good.
Rage makes men stupid.
Stupid makes them sloppy.
“I guess we’re about to find out.” One of Dean’s grunts steps forward, shoulders squared like he’s trying to impress someone, and grabs the back of my chair. He twists it roughly, jerking me sideways as his fingers claw at my restraints.
He smells like old sweat and cheap cologne, a cocktail that screams insecurity. The moment I’m pulled to my feet, my head snaps toward Kimber.
She’s already shaking her head at me, eyes wide, but then her fear bursts into a scream. “Stop! Leave her alone!” Her voice fractures on the last word, splintering a fragile place in my chest.
The guard who’d been watching her—an older man with a pockmarked face and eyes that are permanently bloodshot—moves faster than the others. He lunges at her, fisting a thick hand in her hair and wrenching her head back so hard her scream cuts into a strangled cry. The chair skids across the cement floor with a screech.
He leans in, lips brushing her ear, and his voice is pure venom. “You’ll be next, sweetheart. Very soon.”
A roaring heat surges through me, blinding and white. I don’t think. Ireact.“If you want to keep breathing,” I say, voice low and lethal enough to still the air between us, “you will take your filthy fucking hands off her and keep your sewer-pipe mouth away from her.”
Every guard freezes for a fraction of a second—because predators recognize a greater one when they hear it. But the bastard gripping Kimber only smirks. His tongue slides up the side of her cheek in one slow, slimy drag.
Kimber goes rigid, every muscle locking in place, but she doesn’t pull away. No scream follows. Her lips press together until they bleach pale. Terror shakes her, running beneath thesurface, but she’s smart enough to know better. She won’t draw more attention to herself or make herself a larger target.
I force myself not to move, not to scream, not to tear the skin from his face with my teeth.
Because one wrong sound from me could trigger the worst.
“Finish untying the bitch,” another man orders, stepping forward. He puffs out his chest like a rooster; all noise and no substance. They really believe they’re the apex predators here. They think the zip ties on my wrists make me prey.
Idiots.
Hands yank me backward as they finish cutting my restraints, giving up untying me.Impatient. “Come on,” one snaps, gripping my arm tight. “Boss wants you ready. After we have our fun, of course.”
They drag me toward the door. My boots scrape across the concrete floor, but I keep my head turned toward Kimber.
Her eyes meet mine—frantic, terrified, pleading.
She looks like she’s drowning.
I shake my head just slightly.
Trust me.
Stay alive.
I don’t speak, but she reads every silent word I send her.
Her chin wobbles. Tears roll freely now, streaking her face, but she doesn’t make another sound. She doesn’t fight. Doesn’t scream for them to stop.
She’s doing everything right.
I give her one last look, hoping it plants steel deep in her spine—a silent promise that I’m coming back for her, and when I do, we’ll burn whatever remains of this world to ash.
Then the door slams shut behind me with the finality of a coffin lid.
Hands shove me forward, deeper into the bowels of the warehouse. The hallway smells of mildew, metal, and old chemical stains. Every sound echoes—footsteps, heavy breathing, the distant roar of machinery outside—the pier whispering of escape I can’t yet take.
But this is exactly what I wanted.
To be inside the belly of the beast.