She was lost and so was he.
Who knew that two broken hearts can connect to one.
Arabella's world has been rigged since the day she was born. Her fate had been decided for her much longer before she even had been conceived in the womb. So it came as...
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I grunt under my breath, trying to suppress the scream clawing its way up my throat. I feel the sharp sting of the whip crack down on my back again, and I bite the inside of my cheek—hard—drawing more blood.
My mouth is filled with blood.
My back is scattered with blood.
My face is bruised and caked with blood.
Blood is everywhere.
The only part of me not drenched in it is the black boxers I wear—the only thing they let me keep. The fabric clings to me like a soaked sponge, heavy and sticky, and the feeling makes my skin crawl. Still, I'm thankful they let me cover myself at all.
A scream splits the air from across the room, vibrating through my bones. I squeeze my eyes shut as fresh tears burn behind my lids. The pain they're inflicting on me isn't the worst part. Not even close.
It's hearing her.
Vivian.
She's farther down in the same cell. At first, she fought—tried to stay strong, to be the Vivian I knew growing up. But when the whips came harder, faster, more ruthless—she broke. Her screams haven't stopped in the past hour. Her throat sounds shredded. Each cry scrapes against my soul.
Another bloodcurdling scream tears through the room, and I lift my head from the freezing concrete floor, blinking slowly through the haze. My teeth grind together as the whip slices my back again, but I don't scream. I won't give them the satisfaction.
Laughter circles us like vultures. The guards are giddy, euphoric even, watching us suffer. Hit after hit, Vivian and I endure it. Together.
"Make him scream before the boss gets down here and makes us scream," one of them snickers from across the room. A second later, Vivian lets out another whimper as the whip cracks again.
They hit harder now. And then—something new.
Pain slices deeper than before. I suck in a sharp breath. There's metal in it this time—claws, maybe. They dig into my skin with sickening ease. There's a pause. Relief. But then the claws yank back, and with them go chunks of flesh.
The scream rips from me, raw and involuntary. My voice scrapes out of my throat, bounces off the walls, and echoes back like a mockery. I've never felt anything like it. It's not just pain—it's violation. Torture that doesn't end.
"That was music to my ears," a menacing voice says.
My head snaps up. My glare hardens even as my vision sways. I breathe hard, through my teeth, through the blood.
"Fuck you," I spit.
He raises his hand, and I instinctively brace myself. I've learned that motion. When he lifts his hand, pain always follows.
