Page 246 of Safe Word

And I finally let that sob tear out of me before I even realised I was breathing again.

His rage still hummed beneath his skin like an aftershock. He didn’t stop moving, eyes scanning the room, looking for something to break or save – until his eyes landed on a rusted hammer with the rest of the tools in the corner.

He snatched it, staggered to the base of the column anchoring the beam where the chain hung, and climbed despite the blood and wounds.

Rebar and cables gave him footholds as he hauled himself up, grunting through pain.

I watched him reach the bolts. He raised the tool and brought it down with a grunt.

And though my body ached from bruises and wounds, I flinched whenever he did.

I couldn’t keep my head up. I let it hang as the clang of metal-on-metal rang through the concrete tomb like a war drum. Each swing sounded heavier, slower. Once. Twice. Three times. And then—

It gave.

My body crumpled as the tension snapped.

My limbs ached, my body useless.

A heartbeat later, his arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely breathe, but I didn’t want him to loosen. Not yet.

His heart thundered against my cheek as I sagged against him, too broken to hold myself up.

‘Paula…’ he whispered, like it hurt to say it.

His hands shook as they gripped me with a gentleness that contrasted what I’d seen earlier. One slid up to cradle the back of my head, the other pressed into my spine as if he were trying to fuse us together.

He carried me out of that room, his arms shaking from strain and fury.

I cracked one eye open, dizzy, vision swimming. I needed to see the way out – to know I was leaving it behind.

My gaze caught the dark streak of blood on the floor. It trailed across the path.

Both my eyes snapped open then.

Tucked in the far corner, half-hidden by shadows and debris, sat the machine. The machine.

The memory came crashing down like a wrecking ball – Trionfo’s basement. Ghost’s message…

My breath hitched so violently it burned. The fog thinned just enough for horror to cut through.

It wasn’t Cain that night. It wasn’t…

My God…

A sound ripped from me – half sob, half strangled denial – as memories collided.

I buried my face in Cain’s chest, pressing the cry into his shirt, tasting dust and salt and grief.

He said nothing to me. I said nothing back. We were both caught in the web of our past and our present, each unravelling in our own way.

He held me tighter, his stride never faltering, but I felt the shudder go through him too – from this night. From what we’d endured. And I hated myself for it.

On the ground floor, the atmosphere thickened, turned metallic, wrong.

Cain halted so suddenly I felt the shock ripple through his body into mine. His biceps drew taut, breath locking as if something had punched the air from his lungs.

I turned my head—