“Yeah,” the man on the far left replies—the same one I shook hands with earlier, and the answer hits me like a knife to the gut.
Oh God.
“What have you done?” I whisper, a single tear falling down my flushed cheek while I stare at Law. “What did you let him do?”
He stays silent, and the silence destroys me more than anything.
“WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?!” I scream, lifting my head sharply as the full repulsion crashes over me.
“You let them come in here, into our bedroom, and rape your wife while you just stood there and watched?! And you have the audacity to ask if I fucking came?”
Law blinks slowly, completely unaffected like I’m nothing to him or never was.
I start hyperventilating, panic swallowing me whole, feeling like the room is going to collapse in on me. I try to move, to get out of here, but my body won’t listen—it’s locked, shocked and useless.
“Take her,” Law suddenly commands.
Reality hits like a sledgehammer, my eyes snapping up to see him turn and walk out of the room without a backward glance, disappearing into the dark corridor like I’m already dead to him.
Without warning, one of the men grabs my ankle in a bruising grip and viciously drags me off the bed. My body slams onto the hard floor, pain exploding through my bones.
“NO! PLEASE! NO!”
He pulls me across the floor like garbage, my half-naked skin burning against the wood as I grab desperately at nothing.
Her harrowing shrieks tear through the mansion like something dying.
They ricochet off the walls, fractured, inhuman, and frantic, growing louder as she’s dragged down the stairs.
The sound should disgust me as her husband, but instead, it stirs something dark and satisfying in my chest.
I stand at the bar in the dimly lit snooker room, slowly pouring myself a double whiskey over ice.
The cubes click softly against the glass—a calm and measured sound that sits in contrast to my wife’s breaking cries ringing through the house.
By the time I’ve screwed the lid back on the bottle and set it down, they’ve already dragged her into the room, still by her ankle. Her half-naked body scrapes across the floor, leaving a faint trail of sweat.
I side-eye them over my shoulder, one brow raised in mild interest, then bring the glass to my lips. I take a long, slow swig until the amber liquid burns smoothly down my throat.
With a satisfied hiss, I pull it away, and use the reflective surface like a mirror.
In it, I watch as two of the men hoist her up and slam her down hard onto the green felt of the snooker table.
Her back hits the surface with a heavy thud, knocking the air from her lungs mid-scream. Then, her wide and utterly destroyed eyes dart around the room until they finally find me.
“Law… please…” she chokes out, voice hoarse and cracking. “Don’t do this… I didn’t mean too…”
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the ice shift. But her cries do nothing, they never fucking do.
Without responding, I cross the room to an armchair in a shadowed corner, settling into it with an unnerving calm, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.
“Do what you want with her,” I order without looking into Blaire’s eyes, “and make it permanent.”
“What?” The word slips from her trembling lips, small and shredded, wet gaze pleading.
Her body is slick with fear, every muscle screaming to run, to fight and to vanish. But she can’t. Not from me.
“Hurt me,” she rasps. “Punish me. Even… even fucking kill me. But not this. Please.”