Page 69 of ’Til You Break

“You smell good.” The man holding me breathes the words against the back of my head. “I bet you taste good too.”

The others laugh.

Ice floods my veins.

I’ve become so used to Vik’s intensity that somewhere along the way I’d forgotten what real monsters looked like.

Vik is big. Strong. Dangerous. But he never made me feel powerless. These men do. And unlike Vik, they won’t let me simply fight until I’ve exhausted myself.

“If only we had time for a little fun.” One of the others chuckles.

In the darkness I can only make out his outline. Tall. A swollen belly. The others seem to wait for his approval before doing anything.

He’s the one in charge.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask.

I already know the answer.

But if they’re talking... They’re not killing me. Not yet.

“We’re going to kill you,” he says bluntly. “See, your boyfriend became a thorn in our side. It was one thing when he was knocking off pill pushers and street thugs.”

He snaps his fingers. The other two move immediately. They carry me into the dining room like I’m nothing more than another piece of furniture.

“But then his arrogance got the better of him. Thought he could throw his weight around with people I trust. Now I’ve got to teach him that actions have consequences.”

They tie me to one of the dining chairs, binding my wrists behind the backrest and securing my ankles to the legs.

For the first time... I get a proper look at the men who destroyed Vik’s life.

They’re older than I’d imagined. Thirty years past their prime for this kind of work. The two who carried me are twins. They share the same cold, pale green eyes. The same hardened expressions.

One has thinning hair around the crown. The other keeps his head completely shaved.

The third man—their leader—has a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. Although it’s thinned over the years, there’s still enough to sweep back into a 1950s-style widow’s peak. A scar runs down the left side of his face, turning one brown eye milky white.

I also understand now why he didn’t help carry me. He’s holding two jerry cans. Even from where I sit, the faint smell of gasoline reaches me.

“What are you going to do to me?” I don’t know why I bother to ask again.

Everything they’ve done so far—and the gas cans in his hands—answers the question. It’s not as though hearing him say it will make it any easier.

“You?” he says. “Well, you’ve gotta die. Same way his mother did.”

My heart stops. My eyes lock onto his. He remembers Vik’s mother. And he wants Vik to relive that night all over again.

“But you can rest easy knowing we don’t have anything against you, Hannah. Your death merely serves a purpose. It’ll prove to the little fish he wasn’t ready to swim with the sharks.”

He slides one of the jerry cans across the table. One of the twins catches it before unscrewing the cap on his own.

“He keep money in the house?” the other twin asks as they begin pouring gasoline across the floor.

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. I’m sure Vik has money or jewelry hidden somewhere. But I’ve never cared enough to ask where. Something tells me they don’t care about the money either.

It’s just another way to hurt him.

One last insult.