Page 58 of Chained

Silas moves without hesitation, dragging his fingers through the bucket beside him. The smell reaches me before anything else—rancid and thick, turning my stomach instantly. I press my hand to my mouth.

Fish guts. That's the smell. I peer at the bucket and then back at John. No. He wouldn't—surely he wouldn't.

John doesn't make a sound at first. Not until Silas crouches in front of him and presses his fingers to his face, smearing it slow and deliberate across his eyes. Then he makes a sound I'll never forget, something between a groan and a sob, his head wrenching back against the restraints as the sting takes hold.

I turn my face, I can't watch this. I can't watch them do this to him, but Vincent spots it immediately. His hand grabs my face, digging in hard as he forces me to watch. His mouth is close to my ear, spit landing on my shoulder as he speaks.

"You'll watch, and you'll remember what happens when you fucking defy me."

"Stop, please I can't⁠—"

"You can and you fucking will."

His hands stay firmly on my face, forcing me in place as fish guts are rubbed onto John's eyes. The squeals from the birds above sound as they begin to flock overhead, the crowd screaming with enjoyment.

I want to close my eyes even with his hand gripping my jaw, want to retreat somewhere far behind my own skull where none of this can reach me, but I can't even manage that small mercy. My mind abandons me. I don't see anything. All I can hear is the screams. All I can feel is Vincent. Rage begins to bubble inside me, making it impossible to bite back my words.

"You're insane." My voice so low I don't even know if I truly spoke. He pulls me into him, my back pressed against his chest, his erection growing in his suit trousers as he grinds against my bum.

"Insane?" His lips press against my throat, his teeth grazing against my skin. "No, Amora, I'm monstrous, I'm obsessive. I'm everything that exists in the deepest parts of your worst nightmares, but insane?" He spins me around to face him, his eyes dark as he flickers from mine to my lips. "Never that."

The air is filled with an intensity which almost feels suffocating, the crowd cheering louder as the squeals from the birds above become louder. His face doesn't stop moving, closing the distance between us as he presses his lips against mine. I taste whiskey and smoke, warm and deep as his mouth moves slow and deliberate against me, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be. His tongue traces mine, and I hate that I remember this—the weight of his mouth, the certainty of it. The first time felt like a claim. This feels like a reminder of everything I have to lose but somewhere deeper—of everything I've still yet to gain.

I hate that my body doesn't fight it the way my mind is screaming to. I hate that somewhere underneath the horror there's a small, traitorous part of me that's learning how to survive this by disappearing into it, by letting him have the version of me that kisses back so the version that's still fighting can stay hidden, safe, untouched. I don't know which one is real anymore. Maybe neither. Maybe there's no version of me left that hasn't been shaped by his hands.

His hands slide around my waist, pulling me flush against him until there's no space left between us, the fabric of his suit pressed against my skin. His fingers curl into the small of my back, holding me there as his lips part mine wider, deeper, the whiskey taste bleeding into something else entirely. He's consuming me with his kiss, reminding me with each and every second his lips linger against mine that this is what happens when you cross him.

Then John screams.

I pull back fast, turning before Vincent can stop me. My hand flies to my mouth. The crows are already there, black and sudden, descending on him in a mass of wings and noise, their calls loud and merciless as they find his eyes. John's head wrenches back, his scream tearing through the courtyard and through me, his body thrashing against the chains that won't give.

I've never in my life seen something so horrific. I want to pull away, to slam my eyes shut, but I'm frozen in fear. Watching as John's body writhes against his restraints, his screams, his sobs all mingling into one. A sound I don't think I'll ever forget.

Vincent's lips find my jaw, unbothered by the sight of the man he's just condemned. He trails kisses along my throat, whispering softly in my ear, "Eyes forward, my love."

I swallow, every inch of my skin crawling with his touch as John's screams die out. The courtyard settles into a terrible quiet, the only sound the last of the crows lifting from his body. I don't move. I don't breathe. Vincent's hand stays at my waist like it belongs there, and I hate myself for every second I don't pull away. John was the only person in these walls who ever showed me a shred of kindness, and I repaid him by running. By giving Vincent exactly the reason he needed.

I did this.

Every single bit of it.

The crowd begins to disperse around us, voices picking back up like nothing happened, like they didn't just watch a man torn apart for a crime that was never his. Someone laughs, easy and unbothered, and it's that sound more than anything else that finally breaks something loose in my chest. I don't cry. I want to—God, I want to—but there's nothing left in me. Just a hollow, ringing quiet where the horror should be. I think this is what it feels like to go somewhere far away from your own body, to watch yourself standing in a courtyard covered in someone else's screams and feel nothing but the cold.

Vincent's fingers trail up my spine, almost tender, like he's comforting me instead of being the reason I need comforting at all.

"See how simple that was?" he murmurs against my hair. "No one else has to hurt, Amora. Not if you just behave."

I don't answer him. I don't think I have words left that aren't a scream, and I won't give him that, too. So I stand there, his hand at my waist and John's blood somewhere on the stone behind us, and I let the numbness carry me. It's the only way to survive, to feel nothing. To be nothing. Slowly but surely, he picks off another piece of my soul, and I fear soon there will be nothing left of myself to hold on to.

Rosa, if you can hear me somewhere. I'm sorry. I don't know how much longer I can do this and still be someone you'd recognise when I find you.

If I find you.

I let him lead me back inside, my legs moving without me telling them to, because what other choice do I have?

Chapter Eighteen

Ace