Page 25 of Psycho Sinners

I touched my throat, the warm water easing the ache of Cristian’s brutality marring my flesh.

Would I even survive a month at his hands? I shuddered as I washed myself, the water doing little to soothe the darkness that had settled over my soul.

I’d survived a lot this world had thrown at me, even…

I closed my eyes, pushing the thought from my mind. The brutality of these men was not something I was unfamiliar with. Mankind was cruel, and I’d learned from countless years that there were plenty of people who hid a darkness behind pleasant smiles.

At least these men didn’t try to mask it. There was some reprieve in that, if only a little.

The hot water had finally washed away the nausea by the time I stepped out, but the stench of bile lingered on my clothes heaped on the bathroom floor. Disgust curled up in my nostrils as I eyed the vomit-stained fabric. A knock at the door snapped my head up.

"Got something for you to wear," Ty's voice filtered through the wood, gruff with impatience.

I wanted none of his charity, but the thought of slipping into those filthy rags again made my skin crawl. With a resigned sigh and towel wrapped around me, I yanked open the door, and was met with Ty's towering frame. He held out a bundle of clothing—plain, clean, impersonal.

"Thanks," I muttered, more to the universe than to him, and snatched the clothes from his grasp.

"Kitchen's got food. Coffee might need a zap in the microwave." Ty didn't wait for a reply as he turned on his heel, his mind evidently elsewhere. "Got a meeting."

"Great," I said, the word dripping with sarcasm. "And what am I supposed to do?" My throat’s ache returned, the relief from the shower gone in an instant.

No answer came; he was already striding away, his heavy footsteps marking his exit. Left standing there stupidly, a surge of rebellion bubbled up inside me. Fuck him and his brothers. I’d find a way to make this whole thing difficult for them, although I’d take care to not have the fallout hit my best friend or Ray. They were the only reason I was even entertaining any of this shit.

I was not someone who knew how to play nice and submit.

I ground my teeth as I got dressed, gargled some mouthwash, and made a mental note to request a toothbrush before I made my exit. There was no point hiding in the bathroom, they’d made it clear they’d get to me.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Cristian and Julian were nowhere to be seen, but I knew it was far too soon for me to let my guard down. I eyed the countertop with a mix of suspicion and relief. A cheese sandwich, nothing more than two slices of bread hugging a piece of cheddar, sat there looking about as unappetizing as my situation.

But I needed food, especially since my last meal had been lunchtime yesterday.

"Better than nothing," I muttered to no one, washing it down with the coffee that had gone lukewarm, not bothering to warm it up. It slid down my throat, a bitter reminder that this was real—no dream to snap out of. The queasiness in my stomach settled, not from the makeshift meal but from the sheer will to keep moving and stay ready.

A part of me wanted to curl up into a ball, sleep away the remnants of my hangover and pray I’d wake up somewhere safe, far away from here.

I rolled my eyes at the silly thought. Curling up wasn't an option. Not for me. I had to stay strong and survive this ordeal.

The apartment was quiet, too quiet. No sounds from outside, no mind-numbing stream from a TV. Just silence.

I took some slight solace in it, having enjoyed my alone time far too much over the years in the quiet. Silence, after all, asks no questions. Silence doesn't judge. It just is. And for now, that's all I wanted to be.

I’d been my own worst enemy since day one. Always snapping back, never knowing when to bite my tongue, a skill I’d only somewhat attained in recent years, although it still failed me at times.

I couldn't help but wonder about what I'd left behind—my possessions, my past life with Tommy. Mostly junk, really, but among the knick-knacks and photos were pieces of me—now just memories. Legalities on paper, the important stuff, sure, but everything else? Replaceable. I’d start from scratch when I was free.

At least Tommy would be regretting the pain he’d caused me now.

That brought me the slightest smile. So he’d lost a hand, that was a shame. One less appendage to sin with.

I rolled my eyes at my morbid thoughts, knowing it was my dark humor trying to keep me calm.

A door creaked from behind me, and I spun around, my stomach plummeting as Cristian's frame filled the hallway. His eyes met mine as a smirk twisted his face. At least he’d opted to be fully clothed in a far too form-fitting black tee and slacks. I wanted to hate him, although a part of me burned at the sight of him.

Why did my wretched captor have to look so damn fine?

"Look who's got more color to her face,” he called out, loud enough for his absent brother to hear if he was here. "Seems a shower and a little food goes a long way."

His smirk told a story of control, of knowing he held the upper hand. I held his gaze, refusing to be the one to break away first. He didn’t know just who he was messing with.

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