Page 77 of We Will Rise

“Me,” Crew and I say at the same time before staring one another down. I don’t want to watch him hurt any more than he wants to watch me, but going off the last few hours, I think I’m in a better position to handle whatever it is they throw at me.

Charles chuckles, his eyes moving between us as if it’s the most amusing thing he’s heard today. “Well, isn’t this sweet?” He turns to me, and finally I see the knife he’s got clutched in his palm, causing my stomach to drop. “But I think I’ll begin with my should-have-been wife.”

“The fact you ever thought I was going to marry you just proves how little you truly knew about me leading up to that deal coming to fruition.”

He nods as he takes a step toward me, his face contemplative. “You’re right. I should have taken more time to learn about my future wife in the lead up to your birthday. The times I had someone follow you, you just seemed like a normal teenager going to school and seeing her friends. But I should have known John was going to try to fuck me over.”

“It blows my mind that you ever believed he was going to allow you to have his firstborn child. How fucking stupid did you have to be?” I ignore the glare I get from Crew as I force Charles to keep his attention on me. “You never did tell me what made my dad make that deal to begin with. Now’s as good a time as any if you’re planning on killing me anyway.” I nod at the knife clenched in his fist. Something tells me he’s not going to be quite as trained with a blade as I am, which means I could be in some real trouble.

He hums as he approaches me. “You may be right there, pet.” The name rolls off his tongue and leaves bile climbing my throat. Every time he says it, I’m transported to that night in his apartment when he almost raped me, and it takes everything inside me not to show how much it affects me. He grips my sweatshirt between his fingers and pulls the fabric taut before he uses the knife to slice through the soft fabric.

I flick my eyes up to meet Crew’s, his mismatched gaze full of rage as he stares at the back of Charles’s head, but I keep my attention on him, ignoring the cool air that rushes around my torso with each inch of skin he uncovers.

Don’t flinch.

Don’t cower.

Don’t let him see you weak.

My father repeated those words to me over and over as his men tortured me, and while I hoped I would never need those hard lessons he taught me, I’m glad I have them.

The blade doesn’t pause until it rests at my throat, just an inch of fabric left before the garment parts completely. The tip of the knife rests against the center of my throat, and I turn my attention to him, forcing myself to appear bored.

When he doesn’t get the reaction he was hoping for, a growl escapes his throat, and he slices through the neck of the sweatshirt, leaving my top half almost completely bare to him. Thankfully, Crew helped me into a sports bra when I was too sleepy and exhausted to dress myself.

“Such a pretty body,” Charles says to no one as he drags the knife along the tops of my breasts before trailing a path over my bra and to my bare stomach. “It’s a shame I never got to have my way with it. Well, I suppose it’s not too late.”

I press my eyes closed to warn off the panic that lodges itself in my throat, and when I open them again, I’m staring right at Crew, his own panic clear in his usually guarded eyes. This is what my father always warned me about. Weakness. Love. They exist hand in hand. Except, I’ve learned that that’s only the case when we allow it to be. Love has just as much opportunity to make you strong. To make you resilient. To make you the best version of yourself.

“Tell me about the deal,” I say, my voice even despite the anxiety running rampant through my body.

He sighs. “Very well. A long time ago, your mother and I were quite close. We were best friends for many years, and then our fathers struck up a deal for us to marry one another. I’d been in love with her for as long as I could remember, probably longer than I even knew what that word meant. But she didn’t love me the same way I did her. She loved your father.”

My mouth drops open at the revelation. Did my dad promise his firstborn in the name of love? Is that why he always taught me that it makes you weak? Because love was the reason he would eventually lose me as well?

My head spins, and I struggle to focus on the words he’s saying, barely even aware of the fact he’s still speaking at all.

“I could have kept your mother, of course. She didn’t have a say in the matter because, unlike you, she knew her place in this world. All she needed to know was how to be a good wife and mother. But I was young and stupid, and if she was never going to love me, what would be the point in forcing her into a life with me?” He tells the story as if he’s still in that moment, which leaves the knife resting against my belly.

I keep my breaths shallow in an attempt to stop it from cutting me, but with each inhale the blade drives deeper.

“But when I agreed to the deal, your father took her from me and refused to let me see her or speak to her. So one minute, the woman I loved was my best friend, and the next she was no one to me and I was no one to her. Like I never even mattered.”

If it weren’t for the fact he’s holding a knife to my body right now, I could probably find it in myself to feel sorry for him. But when his dark eyes flick up to meet mine and the story falls away, the malice staring back at me makes my stomach sink. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him to tell me about the past.

Almost too quickly for me to catch the move, he presses the knife deep into my stomach. Pain engulfs my entire body, but I force my mouth to remain shut and my tears to remain unshed.

I won’t give him the satisfaction, even if it’s the last thing I ever do.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

KOVU

Every hour they’re missing is longer than the last. Especially when we’re still trapped within the walls of this apartment with twenty other people.

And I can’t take it anymore.

I’ve spent days in this gym. Not eating. Not sleeping. Not doing anything other than hoping my little lamb is safe and slamming my fists into the punching bag. But occasionally the window has called to me, tempting me to go against the plan and take matters into my own hands.

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