Page 91 of Chained

I don't wait to see if he listens. I push through the training room doors and out into the corridor, the cold air outside biting at my split lip, the taste of copper still thick in my mouth. Behind me, I hear nothing—no footsteps, no voice calling after me—and somehow that's worse than if he had.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Amora

I hear his voice through the door, but he doesn't sound right. I hear the panic, the rush of fear through every word as he bribes the guard patrolling my door. I sit up straight, grabbing the robe from the seat beside my bed as the door finally opens.

Blood. He's covered in blood. His knuckles split, his eyes wild as he stares at me with an intensity that almost forces me to look away, but I don't. Because when he looks at me, I'm not scared. And that's more terrifying than if I was.

"Jax? What are you doing here?" I ask softly after a beat of silence that feels like a lifetime. He doesn't speak, not right away. He just keeps staring at me like he's searching for something in my eyes.

"I don't…" His jaw tightens. "I don't know why I'm here."

"Are you hurt?" I take a step closer, slowly reaching out to touch his hands. "You're bleeding."

"It's not mine," he says coldly, but he doesn't pull away.

I should tell him to leave. After everything that's already happened in this room, I should tell him to get out. I wait for the feeling of Vincent's touch to return, to give me proof that being alone with another man in this room is asking for trouble. And after Giovanni, I've already caused enough.

But it's strange. He's standing in front of me covered in someone else's blood, but for the first time in weeks, I feel a safety I didn't know existed.

Maybe I have truly lost my mind. Maybe I've become so conditioned that now my senses don't work, and I'm just openly inviting murderers into my room and weird Italian men to bid on me at poker tables.

Maybe it really is me.

"We need to clean this," I say, needing to stop the spiralling thoughts in my head. I'm already suffocating in guilt and shame, I don't need anymore. Dropping his hands, I move past him to go and get some wet towels.

My feet stop before I do. Rooting into the ground and refusing to move. Every single hair stands on my body.

The sound of water floods into my ears, the feel of burning in my lungs as I inhale every drop of bath water. I can smell the exact moment the lavender shifted into sweat and salt. It all comes rushing at me. I can't breathe. Fuck, I can't breathe.

My hand clutches at the hem of my dress, fingers scraping against my sternum as I try to catch a breath.

He isn't there. He's not there, and you're safe. It's just a bathroom. Nothing else. You can do this, you have to do this.

I push through the fear that's consuming my body, my legs feeling heavier than ever, but I don't stop. Pushing the white door open, I step into the bathroom.

I never pulled the plug. The bathwater's still inside the tub, the wet towels sprawled across the floor. I lean over the edge and rip out the plug, letting the water and the memory of my assault swirl down the drain. I can still feel him inside me. Forcing, tearing, and claiming every inch of me. His hands on my back as every thrust kills another part of me. I just laid there. I didn't fight, I gave up.

"Amora?"

I swipe away at the tears that stream down my face. "Sorry, I was just looking for towels."

He looks around the bathroom, slowly stepping in closer until I can feel the warmth of his chest behind me.

The towel covered in my blood is still on the floor from where he'd torn me. I turn away from it. It's easier not to look. It's easier to pretend it wasn't me.

"What did he do to you, Amora?"

I turn and see Jax's eyes on the towel.

"He destroyed me," I whisper, and finally, every single wall I've built crumbles. I can't control the tears, I can't control the way my chest explodes and my lungs give in. "I can still feel him, Jax, and it doesn't stop. His hands never stop. The way he touches me, ingrained on my skin. The way his breath feels against my neck. It doesn't stop, and I can't take it. I can't take it. I can't⁠—"

I can't breathe.

I can't think.

He doesn't say a word. His hands softly move around my body as he pulls me into his chest, and I fist his shirt as I let the sobs consume me. I can't survive it, I can't live with the feeling of him on me forever.