CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

AVERY

WHEN MY BROTHER AND I walk into her room, she’s sitting on her bed. Her back against the headboard, her knees pulled up to her chest. She looks so young. So frail. And my chest tightens at how much we’ve missed. If only she hadn’t ruined me, things would be so much different.

“I’m not changing my mind, Tristan,” she says to him, lifting her chin. I don’t know if I should be proud of her or sick to my stomach. Maybe a little bit of both.

“I’m only here to help,” he assures her.

She looks away from him and back at me, waiting for an order.

“Lie down, Bunny.”

She unfolds her legs and scoots to where she is on her back. She lifts her arms above her and it pulls up the T-shirt of mine she has dressed in. The only other thing she wears is a black thong.

I go to the head of the bed and restrain both her wrists. Then I go to the foot of the bed and do the same with her ankles—spreading them wider than usual. She has to be pulled tight in order for this to work. I don’t want her to have slack and jerk her leg, causing me to slice a major artery.

Fuck, my brother was right. This is a horrible idea.

I reach out my right hand, and my brother places the filet knife in it. I sit down on the bed and look up at her. She stares up at the ceiling as if she’s cool as a cucumber, but I can see her chest heaving beneath my shirt. Her breathing has picked up.

“I don’t have to—”

“Do it,” she says flatly, interrupting me.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My brother comes to stand beside me. He leans over and places his hands on her upper thigh, pushing her farther into the bed.

“Those ropes aren’t gonna be enough,” he says simply.

I nod and place my hand on her leg. Grabbing the skin, I can feeling her leg already shaking. She sniffs. “Bunny—”

“Do it,” she snaps.

I look up at my brother, and he lifts a brow as if to question if I can do it. Do I have the balls to hurt the woman I once loved? And still do.

I stand and tell him, “Give us a minute.”

“Avery,” she growls when he walks out. She starts pulling on the restraints, and I go to the bed. Tears run down her face. “Please,” she begs, and I hate how my chest tightens. “I need it off,” she chokes out.

“Bunny, I can’t …” She starts to sob. “I can’t hurt you. Not like this.”

She closes her eyes tightly. “You’ve already hurt me,” she whispers. “Why is this so different?’

“What do you mean?” I ask.

She opens her eyes and looks up at me. “I know, Avery. I know why I’m here.” I shake my head. She has no way of knowing. “I know Damon wants me.” My heart stops. “I know that a madman wanted to make me his slave. But you got jealous.” Her eyes narrow on me. “I know you didn’t want anyone else to have me, so you took me instead,” she yells, lifting her head off the bed. “You’ve been hurting me this entire time. I told you in New York I never wanted to see you again, but you didn’t fucking listen! You should have walked away, Avery. You should have never brought me here,” she yells, her face slick from tears and red from anger.

“Bunny …”

“You’ve beat me. You’ve fucked me! All for your own sick pleasure! Now I’m asking you to do something for me, and you don’t have the fucking balls to do it!” she shouts.

My hand tightens on the knife, and my jaw clenches. How does she know all this? Darrell must have told her. He must have spoken to her before she was taken. Because I know it wasn’t afterward. We had eyes on him all the time, hoping he would take us to her. And Vaughn wouldn’t know all that.

Her head falls down onto the pillow, and she closes her eyes. “I’m tired,” she whispers. “Either cut off the mark or untie me.”

She’s right. If I was being honest with myself, I’ve been hurting her every day since the moment I took her. This will cause her a lot of pain, but in the end, it removes a piece of pain. Because it will always be a reminder. Even covered up by a tattoo. But I think she is missing the point. It will still be a reminder. Even if I cut off the skin, we will both have to look at it until we die and see that I cut her. Maybe that’s how she will see it. She will see it as a time I was able to take away something so terrible. Maybe she’ll see me as her hero and not her villain.

I walk over to the door and open it up. My brother stands there and looks at me with no emotion, but I know he heard what she said. And we both know it’s all true. He walks in, shutting the door behind him and sits back down, placing his hand on her thigh.

Tightening my jaw, I take the blade and slice through her skin.

PRESLEIGH

Tears run down the sides of my face, and my body shakes uncontrollably. But I don’t make a sound. I can’t. It’s as if my mouth is paralyzed.

My arms and legs are freed from the restraints by Avery as Tristan goes to work on my leg. He rubs something on it, and I hiss in a breath when he starts wrapping it tightly.

Avery moves onto the bed next to me and pulls me into his arms. I go willingly, burying my head against his chest. He holds me tightly, running his hand down my hair.

It hurts like fucking hell, but it hurt worse knowing it was there. As if it was alive. I needed him to kill it. To save me again. And I knew he could do it. I had to bait him, but it worked. Avery never could deny me, and I played off that.

The sick part is he could have drugged me, but I wanted to feel the pain. Knocking myself out would only let that sick bastard who hurt me win. I am stronger than Victor. I’m a motherfucking survivor. And I needed that reminder that I could still feel.

Avery did it like the man he is. One slice and it was gone.

Tristan gets up and leaves without a word, and Avery kisses my hair.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and I feel him stiffen underneath me.

“Please don’t thank me, Bunny,” he says, and his voice is pained. “Don’t thank me for hurting you.”

I sniff as my bottom lip starts to tremble, and his hand stops moving in my hair. “You’re safe now,” he assures me, and I bury my head into his chest to muffle the sob that I can’t hold back.