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“Got nothing to say anymore now, hey?” he taunted, voice light. “They never fucking do.”

I lifted my head slightly anyway. “You talk too much,” I managed. My stomach cramped violently, breath catching, but I forced it down. I straightened as much as the chains allowed, forcing my shoulders back even as my body trembled. “Come on,” I taunted. “Or are you done already?”

The whip rose again.

If Evie can do it, you can fucking do it, I berated myself, baring my teeth to the wall, my muscles tense as I prepared for the fourth hit. The whip sliced through the air and I tensed at the sound, my body locking up as…

“Wayne!”

My eyes snapped open as Evie’s voice came from the top of the staircase, her frantic cry piercing through the unfathomable pain. I looked over my shoulder as Wayne lowered the whip and turned towards her. “What are you doing down here, darl? You know better than to disturb me,” he chastised her.

“I-I accidentally cut myself. Please…help me,” she pleaded, her left hand outstretched with blood dripping from her closed fist. I forced myself to stay steady, blowing upwards at the sweat on my forehead before it could reach my eyes.

“Cut yourself? Fuck are you doing up there?” he complained, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, voice soft and shaken. “It was an accident.”

“Fuck sake,” he muttered.

The irritation snapped back into him like a switch. He pushed off the mattress, already losing interest, already done with me. Only then did I realise he’d been halfway through removing his pants. Fucking hell. He pulled his pants back up with rough, impatient movements, the sound of the zip loud in the tight air. “Always causing trouble, that one,” he grumbled as he moved, boots heavy on the floorboards, already heading for the stairs. I waited until it slammed shut before I faced the wall again, leaning my head against the brick. I bit back the sob that wanted to break free. No. I’m not breaking now, I fucking refused. Not when she’d been through worse, not when she just fucking cut herself for me.

“We’re getting out of here,” I muttered, body still trembling from the aftermath of what just happened.

“We’re fucking getting out of here.”

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

EVIE

Crack!

My hand stilled on the knife pressed into the tomato on the chopping board as the sound cut through the kitchen. Wayne had gone downstairs five minutes ago, but I thought he was going to work on the grotesque lampshade he was creating out of…out of Christopher. He wouldn't—he never tortured during the day.

Crack!

I didn't even think. I just acted, lifting my left hand and sinking the blade into my palm. I gasped, whimpering as the pain took my breath away. I watched as the blood trickled down my arm, cascading down my elbow and dampening my dress.

Crack!

I spun and sprinted down the hallway, arm going numb as I pushed against the basement door. “Wayne!” I cried, staring down at the scene in front of me and trying not to break down. Jackson’s back was…oh my God.

“What are you doing down here, darl? You know better than to disturb me,” Wayne complained, dropping the whip onto the mattress.

“I-I accidentally cut myself. Please…help me,” I cried, holding my hand out, the blood dripping from my fists and splashing onto the wooden boards beneath me.

“Cut yourself? Fuck are you doing up there?” he chastised, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

I choked back a sob and looked up at the wood beams. “I’m sorry, it was an accident,” I managed to say through the pain.

“Fuck sake,” he muttered as he pushed off the mattress and pulled his pants back up. He mumbled something to himself, but all I could hear was Jackson’s ragged breathing. “Come on, then,” Wayne muttered, his grip clamping around my forearm hard enough to bruise as he dragged me toward the bathroom. I bit down on the scream clawing up my throat, because his hands were wet from Jackson’s blood. “Why would you do something so stupid?” he said. “You know I can’t take you to a hospital.” He moved quickly, ripping my bath towel into strips and wrapping it around my palm. The faded green cotton darkened almost immediately, blooming red beneath his hands.

“I’ll have to go to the chemist now,” he muttered. “Fix it myself. For fuck sake…” When he was done, I leaned against the vanity, cradling it to my chest as he walked down the hall. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe like Jackson told me to. In. “I’m going now!” And out. The front door slammed shut. In. The engine roared to life. And out. I glanced down at the bandage—at the blood slowly seeping through.

Loving Jackson had never been easy.

But it was the only constant in my life.

I’d lost friendships, grown up, found hobbies and dropped them a few months later—but my feelings for Jackson never strayed. If anything, they only grew stronger as time went on. And even when I was certain he’d never feel the same, I still held on to the invisible tether binding us together that he couldn't see yet, loving him enough for the both of us until he eventually latched on.