Page 101 of Slaughter

“Please don’t …” I sob, not knowing what they are about to do to me.

“You never belonged to Avery,” Victor tells me. “You were always meant to be mine.”

The blowtorch cuts off, and I swallow roughly. I suck in a ragged breath when I hear skin sizzling before I feel the pain. I scream out as the smell of my burning flesh fills the air, then it all goes black.

I taste bile in my throat at that memory and run on shaky legs to the toilet as I fall and puke up what little water Avery made me drink. Until I’m dry heaving and tears roll down my face. It has to come off. The slave mark has to be removed. If Avery won’t do it, I’ll do it myself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AVERY

“YOU NEED TO GO FIND HIM,” I tell Kayn while he and my brother stand in my study. “I don’t care how long it takes. Find Vaughn. And bring him back to the warehouse.” I have no clue why my older brother would have taken Bunny, but I will find out!

“I’ve always followed your orders, sir, but I’m not going to leave you here unarmed.” His loyalty is unwavering. Even to a fault.

“He’s not unarmed,” Tristan says, squaring his shoulders. “I won’t leave until you’ve found him. My men will stay as well.”

I leave them and head up to check on her. I walk into her room and see the bathroom door is shut. I open it with a soft knock.

She sits in the bathtub, her back to me just like she was when I found her almost dead. It’s like history is playing some sick joke on both of us.

She sits there looking straight ahead at nothing. She has turned on the water but hasn’t given herself much.

I kneel beside her, pushing ratted brown hair covered in blood behind her ear. Her color looks awful. It’s no longer that sun-kissed olive. Now it’s ashen and dry. I look at her ribs and hollow cheeks, showing her bones. She’s lost weight. He probably starved her.

I take the washcloth from the side of the tub and dip it in the water and begin to wash her. I do her face first, then move to her chest, careful not to touch her neck where she has clawed it. I go to her stomach, making sure to be gentle on the bruises. I move to her legs but pause when I see her left thigh.

“What the hell?” I whisper, feeling my throat tighten.

He branded her?

Just like my father used to do to his fucking slaves.

VD is on her left upper thigh.

My teeth clench, and I fist my hand, the water running out of the washcloth from my tight grip.

I don’t want to run the water over it, but it needs to be cleaned. It looks infected. I should tell her I’m sorry. That I blame myself for what she went through, and I swear I’ll protect her the rest of my life, but nothing comes out. I can’t speak. So much rage inside me. I will make my brother suffer just like I will Lance.

“Take it off,” she says.

I look up at her face. She looks straight ahead still at nothing. “What?”

“Take it off,” she repeats.

I look down at it, and it’s raised off the skin. It’s red and caked with blood. There are claw marks through it where she tried to remove it herself. The reminder of being a slave on her body just too much. “I can call someone,” I offer, my voice thick. “A tattoo artist. They can cover it up, but it needs to heal first—”

“No,” she interrupts me. “Cut it off.”

My eyes go back up to hers again, and her head turns slowly and then her eyes follow before they meet mine. They look so cold. Void of any emotion and my chest tightens. “What do you mean …?”

“I said. Cut. It off.”

I run my free hand through my hair. “I heard you, but that isn’t an option. I can have it covered up. That’s all we can do with it.” I growl, not even able to comprehend what kind of pain she must have went through. I remember my father once showed me what he did to brand his slaves.

“Son.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “I want to show you just what it’s like to have a slave.”

“I don’t want one,” I say, pulling away from him.

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