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When the right hand was done and five bloody stumps were left where fingers used to be, Sterling moved to the other hand. He used the same slow cuts…and Harvey gave the same loud screams. By the time he finished, Harvey was sobbing, snot and tears mixing with the blood on his face.

I should’ve been horrified. I knew that in the distant, rational part of my brain that still remembered how people were supposed to react to something like this. I should’ve been turning away, closing my eyes, telling myself it was over.

But I didn’t.

I watched. Every single second of it.

Sterling looked over at me every couple of slices, his attention catching and holding for a fraction longer each time. He wasn’t just checking that I was still conscious or that I hadn’t passed out.

He was checking that I was still watching…and there was pride in his eyes every time he saw that I still was.

My pulse stumbled, heat spreading through me. We were both aware of what it meant, of what it said about me that I could sit here and watch this without breaking.

But it was beautiful.

Sterling sat back on his heels, wiping the blade on Harvey’s shirt. “You thought you could break her,” he murmured.

He reached for the iron chastity belt, the cruel, medieval thing Harvey had been about to force on me. He held it up, letting Harvey see the thick, rusted spike curving upward from the center plate. Harvey’s eyes went impossibly wide, a choked sound escaping him.

Sterling grabbed Harvey by the hair, yanking his head back so hard his throat stretched taut. Harvey’s mouth opened on a panicked gasp.

“You wanted to violate her,” Sterling said softly. “So I’m going to violate you.”

He forced the iron plate between Harvey’s teeth, prying his jaw open wider until something cracked. Harvey’s screams turned muffled, but Sterling didn’t hesitate.

He shoved the device forward—hard.

The spike slid past Harvey’s teeth, past his tongue, and punched straight through the soft tissue at the back of his throat. A wet, choking gurgle filled the room as blood bubbled up around the metal. Harvey’s body convulsed as the pain swept over him.

Sterling kept pushing until the plate was flush against Harvey’s lips, the spike buried deep and lodged in place. Blood poured down Harvey’s chin, dripping onto his chest in thick, dark streams. His body jerked once before going still. He was still breathing…just broken beyond repair.

And I loved it.

Harvey’s head lolled forward as Sterling let go of his hair. The iron contraption kept his jaw pried open, and blood bubbled with every ragged, dying breath.

Sterling wiped his hands on his jeans, calm as ever, then grabbed Harvey by the arm and hauled him toward me, dragging him across the floor.

Once he’d reached me, he lifted my still unfunctional hand and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the knife he’d used earlier. My pulse jumped, but it wasn’t like I could pull away.

Sterling leaned in close and brushed his lips against my ear. “You don’t have to,” he whispered. “But if you want to…I’ll help you.”

I stared at Harvey—choking on his own blood, his eyes wide and glassy, the same pleading terror I’d felt so many times staring back at me from the mirror. The man who’d wanted to break me, mold me, turn me into something quiet and obedient through pain. Just like David. Just like every man who’d ever thought he could own me if he hurt me enough.

The spark inside me roared to life.

No more.

“Yes,” I garbled out, forcing my fingers to tighten around the knife even as my arm stayed heavy and useless. The word came out mangled, but Sterling understood.

He guided my hand until the tip rested against Harvey’s exposed throat, right above the collarbone. Harvey’s eyes widened in recognition, in terror, and for one perfect second I saw the fear he’d once forced on me reflected back at him.

Together we pressed the blade forward.

The knife slid home with a wet, final sound. Harvey’s last breath was a gurgling choke as the steel severed artery and windpipe. His body jerked once, brutally, then stilled, his eyes rolling back as blood poured across the ground.

I stared at him, my chest heaving and the knife still clutched in my hand with Sterling’s steady grip over mine. The room was quiet now except for the drip of blood and my own ragged breathing.

I felt it then—catharsis, pure and vicious, rushing through me like fire after years of ice.