Page 35 of Poisonous Savage

Towelingoff,Icaught a glimpse of the bed, disheveled and wrecked.Thesheets were twisted, telling tales of lust and depression.Splattersof my blood, now dried, made me smile.Lookingdown at my bandage,Iripped it off, tracing the fine lines.Replacingit with some ointment underneath,Ipulled on a black turtleneck.Sure, it’s not sexy, but it’ll hide the large bruise forming fromHunter’sbite.Andmy wrist.Blackleggings, complete with a bright red hair tie, pull my hair away from my face.There.NowIfelt whole.

“Rosie?”Marco’svoice from just outside my door startled me. “Wewere thinking of taking you shopping… for some new clothes and stuff.”

Hesounded nervous; it was kind of cute.

“Coming!”Iyelled asIlooked at myself one more time.Yes.Thisis exactly whoIwas meant to be.

Aqueen.

ROSALIND

TWO WEEKS LATER

Iblinked awake, consciousness slapping me in the face.Oneminute, in our bed, the next here.Hunterhad been called out on an emergency warehouse issue… but where the fuck wasMarco?Wherethe fuck amI?Thechill of the concrete floor bit into my bare skin asIshifted, every muscle screaming in protest.

Theroom reeked of piss and mold, a stink so thick it coated my tongue.Myeyes watered, but not from the stench.No, that was the least of it.Grimywalls closed in on me.Iwas in a cell of some kind.

Asliver of light mocked me from high above—a barred window too small, too damn high to offer anything but a tease of freedom.Theremight as well be no window at all.Iwas trapped, an animal caged, left to rot in the belly of some godforsaken place.

"Fuck,"Imuttered.Ishoulda figured something like this would happen.Havingkilled my dad, it would make sense for them to make a move.Ijust figured it wouldn’t have been me.Wegot too complacent.

Ilost track of time.Itall blurred down here.Everyinch of me was a canvas of black and blues—a masterpiece of pain.Mystomach hollowed to the point whereIcould count each rib, an emaciated ghost of the girl who used to dance in the sunlight.Thereflection in a shard of broken mirror in the cell next to mine didn't lie; it showed a creature with haunted dark eyes and sunken cheeks, barely recognizable beneath the swelling and bruising.

"Christ,"Iwhispered, the word scraping against my parched throat.Ilooked and felt a complete fucking mess.

Thedoor creaked open, wrenching me from my silent inventory of wounds.Hestrolled in—Angelo, the motherfucker who took over for my dad.Somuchfor familial loyalty.Satisfactionoozed from his pores as his gaze swept over me, drinking in the sight like a fine wine.

"Lookat you," he purred. "OnceDaddy'slittle princess, now nothin' but a fuckin' rag doll."

Isquared my shoulders, refusing the urge to recoil from him.Iwas a goddamnThorn.Wedidn’t cower.Hispresence suffocated, thicker than the grime on the walls, heavier than the chains they'd clamped around my wrists.Angelothrived on this—the power, the dominance.Itdripped from him, a toxic aura that left no room for mercy.

"Stillgot that fire, huh?"Heleaned close, his breath hot against my bruised skin. "Huntersure picked a wild one.Toobad he ain't comin' for ya.Beentwo weeks, little girl.Iwonder when your fucked up asshole will figure out you’re missing?Maybehe’s too busy with some other pussy that’s not a blown-out hole.Oh?Youdidn’t thinkIknew he shared you with that beast?Oh.Iknow everything,Rosalind.Everything."

Hislaugh, a cruel and jagged sound, echoed off the walls, promising nightmares.ButIheld his gaze, letting the embers of defiance glow bright in my eyes.RosalindThornwould not be snuffed out—not by him, not by anyone.

"Fuckyou,"Ispat.Angelo'sgrin only widened as he leaned in.

"Spicy," he mocked, stepping back with a flourish. "Butwe'll see how long that lasts."

Heturned on his heel, leaving me locked in the grip of shadows that whispered of darker torments to come.Alone,Ilet the mask fall for a moment, allowing the tremors of fear and exhaustion to shake my frame beforeIcomposed myself once more.

Rememberwho you are.Grimdetermination settled like armor over my battered body.Survive.ForHunter.ForMarco.ForyourselfForvengeance.

Andwith that,Iswallowed the lump of terror in my throat, steeled my spine, and prepared for whatever hell they planned to unleash next.

Thedoor creaked open, a harbinger of fresh hell.Angelo'sshadow spilled across the filthy concrete floor, his presence a malignant force that choked the air from the room.Theguards looked up, pausing before they finished unlocking my cell.

"Boys," he said with a raised eyebrow. "Remindour little rose here of her thorns."

Steel-toed boots clomped ominously closer, the sound sinking claws of dread into my gut.Itensed, every bruise and cut screaming in silent protest.Thefirst blow landed, knuckles to the flesh, a sickening crunch that echoed through the grimy walls.

"Fuck!"Ihissed, pain flaring bright, searing through my beaten body.Anotherfist connected with my side, a rib bending under the force, threatening to snap.

Icurled inward, gasping, spittle and blood painting the floor.Eachhit was a hammer against my will, each grunt from them a twisted fuckery of violence.Mymind reeled, dark spots dancing at the edges of my vision, butIclung to consciousness with a vice grip.

"Isthat all?"Itaunted through clenched teeth, tasting iron.Goadthem,Rosalind.Don'tgive them the pleasure of breaking you slowly. “Ifyou’re going to kill me, just do it, spineless fucks.”

Laughter, cruel and sharp, cut through the haze of blows.Theirfists were relentless, but so wasI—a cornered animal, wild and fierce.

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