Levi watches me for a silent minute as the tears fall and splash against my chest. “Sorry, little one,” he says, his eyes darkening like haunted shadows during the coldest night, not a hint of regret swarming in those obsidian pits of torture. “Not good enough.”
And just like that, Levi nods toward Roman who turns and walks out of the small room, taking the tweezers with him as he goes. I look up at Levi as the door slams shut behind Roman, leaving us alone in dead silence. I know that this is going to be hell.
He steps in closer and my heart races with fear, terrified of what he has in store for me. He reaches down and pulls the strap back over my body, tightening it with a hard tug until the breath is forced out of my lungs. “Hold still, little one,” he tells me, skimming his gaze over my body. “This is only going to hurt a little.”
4
Shivers take over my body as I hear the haunting noises of Levi’s drums coming from deep within the castle. It’s been over twenty-four hours since he walked out of here, leaving me a bloody mess. He was cold and calculated, using everything he knew about me, using my own fears and nightmares against me.
The way he tied me down, the way he took that knife and trailed it over my skin. I’ve never screamed like that. Not when they first kidnapped me, not when they chased me through the maze, not even when faced with death.
Levi is brutal. He’s relentless and lacks any kind of decent human traits. He didn’t hurt me the same way Lucas Miller had, he didn’t leave me gasping for breath or bleeding out on the table, yet somehow his fucked-up mind games were so much worse than anything I’ve ever endured.
Levi DeAngelis is a psycho. He gets off on my pain, loves the way I flinch when he comes near me, yet every time he met my eyes, there was something there, something deep inside him telling him he should stop. But the years of relentless torture from his father, drilling into his sons that giving up is weak, that was the voice that kept him going until he saw it right through to the end.
To stop is to show weakness and Levi DeAngelis is anything but weak.
So why the fuck am I lying here in a pool of my own blood, desperately wishing that I could forgive him? Deep down, he’s a broken soul who needs a ray of sunshine to break through the darkness. His drums offer him a release from his binds, but the moment he puts those sticks back down, his binds tighten and he’s stuck in that relentless cycle.
Why do I do this to myself? Until I start seeing them as the bad guys, I’ll never be free of this.
Roman though, he can go and fuck a donkey for all I care. He’s callous and cruel. When Levi was left to torture me, I could see a shimmer of hesitation in his eyes, but not Roman. He was ready to go for the kill, to end it all with the flick of his wrist, but he won’t, not until he gets the answers he thinks he’s looking for.
The brothers have been back a few times, switching out turns, both of them determined to break me, both relentless in their tactics, their manipulative little mind games, and sickening skills. I’ve never wished for death like I do at their hands. Fuck, I thought being taken by Lucas Miller was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. How could I have ever known the three men who swore to protect me would be the very men to bring me down?
I stare up at the ceiling, my body shaking, but it’s almost impossible to tell why. Maybe I’m cold, maybe it’s out of pure fear, or maybe I just need to close my eyes and sleep off the mental and physical exhaustion. All I want is get out of here and never look back, but that’ll never happen. Since the moment the bullet plunged into Marcus’ chest, my fate was sealed. I should embrace it. Hell, Roman and Levi would probably like that. It’d make their torture sessions that much easier on them. After all, no one likes to go to work, only to be stuck with someone screaming at them the whole time.
Fuck that and fuck them. Hell, even if I did somehow get out of here, where would I go? My apartment would already be housing some other poor fucker, and I can guarantee after a million missed shifts, I no longer have a job. I bet my turd-tastic landlord enjoyed cleaning out my bedside table and discovering what a little whore I am for those things. May you rest in peace, Tarzan. It was fun while it lasted, but don’t be fooled, the moment I can, I’ll be replacing that little bastard with Tarzan 2.0.