Ruins (The Jewel Project #6)

31. The Real Psycho

Angie had been brought back to the torture chamber after a brief stay in her cell. It had been so fast and so sudden, she'd been unable to compute anything. And once she was back there, the scream had torn her throat open.

Because Cannon had left Tom unconscious and bleeding on the floor, his arms cut up from his shoulders to his wrists, as if the psycho had tried to permanently etch a spiderweb on them. She'd spent the next hours trying to stop the bleeding with her shirt and crying herself silly.

Even if in the back of her mind something screamed that she should stay strong, hold on to hope, she couldn't bother. This was hell and she and Tom were both better off without the pain, the constant fear. What was the point of holding tears in, pretend that seeing him like this didn't tear her apart, that she wasn't terrified?

After a while, the bleeding subsided so she sat next to him and pulled his head in her lap. It was very little comfort, but sitting there, playing with his hair, was the only thing that stopped her from going crazy.

"I wish you were awake," she said to the empty room. "Though not really. I bet it hurts like hell." Worse than hell. Worse than anything in this life. "Maybe not the whipping."

Why did it have to happen like this? Why did she have to realize how much she loved him, wanted to be with him now? All the time she'd wasted, all the drama which could have been avoided if she hadn't been as stubborn as to not tell him what had really happened when her family died, pushed him back when he finally got over what he did. Try to act like they didn't belong together. Yes, their relationship had always been difficult, complicated, but it worked for them. Because they made each other feel safe, built each other up. Made everything better.

And yet... She'd slept with him and ran away. And she refused to get the message even when that didn't make him give up on her.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she whispered, stroking his forehead. "I promise you that if we get out of here, I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you. I won't belittle your problems anymore. Or mine. We are who we are, and that's what makes us right for each other."

The left behind. The broken ones.

She was definitely insane. But she was at the end of her rope. Her entire body ached, her soul bled, and she'd lost all hope of even returning to their cage, let alone the outside world. It would have been less cruel if they'd died frozen in that room the first time.

Footsteps outside had her muscles tensing and her first impulse was to scurry away into the darkest corner. But she couldn't leave him alone to be the target of those sickos. He'd saved her and now it was her turn to do the same for him.

The wooden door slammed open and Cannon filled the frame, that sick grin twisting his hellish face. In spite of her best efforts, Angie couldn't hold in the whimper that escaped her lips.

It only made the sicko grin, his yellowing fangs glinting in the little light.

"Please tell me he's not dead. I'm not done playing with him."

"Stay away from him!" Her voice was high and desperate.

"Oh, I plan to. He's no fun like this." Cannon shook his head as he stepped inside the room. Two men lingered in the doorway behind him, obviously unwilling to come any closer, witness whatever he had planned.

"I'm not even sure he can talk anymore. I will miss his witty comebacks."

Angie couldn't help it. She scurried back on her hands and heels, as far away as possible, until her back hit the wall. Cannon grinned at her, obviously satisfied with her reaction,  but he didn't follow. He stopped next to Tom and prodded him with his boot as if to assess if he was any good anymore.