Tangled Hearts.

~Chapter 44~

~Raelyn~

The world around me was a suffocating blur of pain, fear, and cold shadows.

I don't even remember when I lost track of time—maybe after the second punch, or the third. Maybe after the car door slammed shut, leaving my body limp in the back seat like a ragdoll someone had gotten bored of. Everything bled together. The silence. The ache. The cold. The smell of leather and gasoline. My thoughts floated like dead leaves on black water.

Snap out of it. Stay awake. Stay awake.

I could barely hold onto the sensation of the icy air biting my skin, the harsh thud of my heart pounding like a desperate drumbeat against my ribs. Every breath clawed its way through my throat like shattered glass. My head throbbed with dull hammering—too many fists, too many betrayals. I was hanging on by threads.

A sudden, screeching halt flung my body forward. My shoulder slammed into the door, jarring me out of my daze.

"Get off me!" I croaked. My voice was hoarse, like I'd swallowed fire and coughed up ash.

Billy turned, his face ugly with hatred. His knuckles crashed into my cheek.

"Shut up, bitch."

The world spun.

My body slumped against him as he yanked the door open. The pavement felt far away, like I was being dragged through some alternate reality. I tried to scream, but the sound got trapped behind my teeth.

He slung me over his shoulder like luggage. My ribs protested. My hip bone cracked against his shoulder, and stars danced in my vision. I tasted copper in my mouth.

They were taking me somewhere new. Worse. I could feel it in the way the air got colder, meaner, like even the wind didn't want to follow us.

Liam was already inside the house—he wasn't the one carrying me. But he was here. I didn't know if that meant I should feel safer or sicker.

Billy kicked open a door and dumped me onto the floor like I was nothing. Cold wood slammed against my knees. I crumpled, unable to catch myself.

"Jesus," I whispered, teeth chattering.

The stench hit next—mildew, rot, old blood. Maybe even death. Something primal in my brain screamed at me to run, but my body didn't respond. My limbs were heavy. Bruised. Useless.

Rough hands grabbed me again. Again. No warning. No breath to recover. I was yanked up like a broken doll and dragged into a grimy living room that looked like it belonged in a meth horror movie.

Three men sat on a collapsing couch, heads turning like sharks scenting blood. Dallas. Jason. Tyler.

They looked at me like they were starving.

My stomach flipped.

Dallas was first to move. He didn't wait for anything. No hesitation. Just violence.

He lunged, grabbing my wrist with a grip that crushed bone. I tried to pull away. I screamed. I fought.

"Don't touch me—get the hell off me!"

They didn't listen.

Jason's hand shot out, catching my other arm. Tyler grabbed my ankle. I kicked—hard—but I had nothing left. I was already bleeding. Already broken.

They laughed.

Dallas shoved me forward, and I fell to my knees. My palms scraped against filthy floorboards, leaving behind streaks of blood and grime. The rug smelled like mildew and piss.