Page 65 of To Hell

“You stay put, or you get hurt,” Someone cocks a gun, and I scream but it’s in my head. Nothing seems to be making it past my lips.

I start to fight back before he pulls the trigger and kills her like they did with my father but my bones are weak and my legs are crippled.

“Zoe!” Ettore bursts through the hallway, two handguns in his blood-stained hands, his face covered in crimson. He opens fire instantly, dropping two of the men as he approaches like he couldn’t care if he died.

“Get her out of here,” the one pointing the gun at Valerie throws me to some of the men and pulls Valerie as a cover to himself.

“Ettore!” My lips crack open and I holler. My body picks up and fights back, scraping and scratching as they pull me away, heading for the back exit.

I’m frantic as I kick and punch.

It’s the last time life will take anything from me without me fighting back. It’s the last time I will let anyone victimize me.

My tears burning my cheeks and my heart going cold from pain, I kick and punch at everything and anything I can touch.

“Zoe!” Ettore roars as more gunshots follow, but he is out of sight now.

I’m dragged through the back door and into a waiting van.

“Get off me,” I roar as I kick one of them in the crotch. He groans, seething in pain.

I’m angling for another but the door of the van slams shut in my face, plunging me into darkness. The van speeds off, making me hit my head against the hard metal interior.

I’m trying to come back from the ping of the hit when hands ruffle me up to bind my wrists and feet, bending me in a crutch-like position with my knees drawn to my chest.

“Why are you doing this?” My voice is unrecognizable. It’s rough and croaky. “Why are you doing this?” I spurt into the darkness, “Why me? Why now? Why, why, why?” I bark, my tears freefalling down my cheeks.

How do I find myself here again?

Dejà vu.

Just as I’m about to make a breakthrough in my career, I’m tossed into another oblivion of darkness. How long will it take? Another fifteen years?

“What did I do?” My voice drops to a shuddering whisper. The question is more for me than anyone in this van with me.

“You'll find out soon enough,” a cold, steely voice thrums, his tobacco-staunched breath puffing into my face, “So this is you,” he tuts in disappointment. “Lights,” he clips, and a bulb starts to flicker, revealing a sinister figure with stony eyes.

A chill washes over me.

I’m staring at the face of death.

And its owner’s features look way too similar to Virgilio’s.

If it weren’t for the age of my captor, I would think it was him; back from the dead, to drag me to Hell.

Chapter Thirty-Four

VIRGILIO

“Fuck,” I growl, punching the double-padded glass wall in my study, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I sweep my hand across a row of books on the shelf by the wall, and they clatter to the ground.

I feel itchy.

I growl as I drag my shirt, the buttons flying off. I rip the damn thing off me and toss the fabric that was made by her delicate and dedicated hands.

I couldn’t save her.

I couldn’t fucking save her.

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