Page 57 of Chained

I squeeze my eyes tighter as my legs shake, his laboured breathing coming to a slow. I did this to him. If I'd just stayed in the cells, he wouldn't be here.

"Last chance, Amora."

I can almost feel the smile on Vincent's lips. Hear the laugh that's threatening to escape. I want there to be anger, to be fury over my betrayal, but there isn't. He's amused by my attempt to save John, to save us both.

I open my eyes, the dark clouds hovering above as Vincent towers over us both, his eyes staring straight into mine.

Don't die for us both.

John's words settle, weighing down on my chest. He's right. He's dead, no matter what I did or how much I begged. There's no changing his fate.

There's a strange kind of grief in realising you can't save someone. A grief that arrives before death itself, settling into your bones early like it already knows what's coming. I feel it now, cold and heavy, dragging my body down even as every instinct screams to stay exactly where I am.

"I'm so sorry." I let the apology tumble as my insides break. I force myself to move, despite the weight in my legs. He nods in response. I don't know if he believes me; I don't know if he ever will.

I turn to Vincent, whose eyes have never left me, with a smile so sinister it forces me to look away. My legs ache, shaking with every step. I hear John's whispered pleas, and with every word, something inside me breaks further. Parts of me I didn't even know existed. I can't do this. I can't.

I drop to my knees, head bowed and eyes fixed on the ground.

Is this what you want? Compliance? To break me? Congratulations, you win.

I want to scream the words at Vincent, but I bite them back. My eyes sting as tears slide down my cheeks.

His hands find my hair, gently caressing my scalp as he steps past me.

"Good girl."

I hate him more than I've ever hated anyone.

But in this moment, I hate me more.

I hate the girl kneeling on cold stone with her head bowed like a good little pet. I hate that some small, animal part of me is relieved it's over, relieved it isn't me feeling that whip. I don't know how I'll ever look at myself again after this. How I'll ever separate the person I was before the manor from whoever this is now, kneeling in the dirt and thanking God silently that she's still breathing.

He moves quickly past me, stepping in front of John as the guards tighten his chains, pulling his arms and legs further apart. I turn, watching as his limbs stretch.

They're going to pull him to pieces.

I pull my gaze back to the ground as the lashings come again. Harder this time, his screams louder than the last. I don't move. There's nothing I can do.

It'll be over. It'll be over soon. Just breathe.

I count instead, the way I taught Hailee, the way no one ever taught me. One. Two. Three. It does nothing. The numbers mean nothing against the sound of a man's back opening beneath a whip, but I keep counting anyway because the alternative is screaming, and screaming will only make Vincent smile wider.

"You still have the fucking audacity to look at my woman?" Vincent's tone is darker, more menacing. I find my way to my feet, moving back as Vincent hovers above John's messed-up body, his head hanging in shame, blood pouring from his back.

Don't answer, John. Please don't answer.

"I didn't—" John spits blood on the ground, his breathing laboured.

"Silas." Vincent never looks away as another man—bigger than anyone I'd seen before, easily 6'8—steps beside him. His arms are bigger than my waist, with long, black hair tied back at his nape. He doesn't speak.

"Get the bucket."

He grunts with a nod and moves through the crowd and on his return, he's carrying a silver bucket.

"Let the birds take his eyes, they'll make better use for them." Vincent moves back beside me, gripping me hard.

My stomach drops so fast and so hard I nearly stumble, the words taking a second too long to register, like my mind is refusing them entry. Surely not. Surely even here, even in this place built entirely out of cruelty, there's some floor beneath which they won't go. I'm wrong. I'm always wrong.