Page 87 of Lie to Me

When I think of my brother, this is the place I would usually think of. The place where we could just be ourselves, not havingto put on our public mask. This is where we would come to share our secrets, to share our worries.

This is the place where Finn once told me his truth, and in return I told him about my truth, about Marco and our relationship.

But now it’s tainted. The thought of this cabin will no longer bring me comfort and remind me of my brother, and instead will just remind me of one of the worst times of my life.

That is, if we ever get out of here.

Nolan keeps us locked up tight, not giving us an ounce of hope for escape.

He’s inflicted pain on us both, but Marco’s had it worse. If there’s one thing Marco is good at, it’s masking his reactions. So when it comes to me being the one in the spotlight of my uncle’s torture, he’s able to hide his horror better than I am.

Which means Nolan has been focusing more on inflicting pain on Marco, simply because he likes the reactions I can’t help but let out.

I try. I really, really do.

But I can’t help the cries and whimpers that escape my mouth as I see Marco’s blood run down his skin, as I see the bruises forming on his body, as I see the winces he’d trying to hold back to shield me from seeing his pain.

The slices into my skin were nothing compared to the deep cuts he gave Marco. The bruises covering my skin are almost incomparable to the ones that litter Marco’s battered body.

Nolan only comes in for an hour or two a day, though. So, the rest of the time, I’m left alone with Marco. The only good thing about this whole ordeal is that the chains that connect me to the wall are long enough so I can be close to him. I’m not sure I would’ve gotten this far through this whole thing if they didn’t.

My uncle left us some things we’d need to patch up our injuries—nothing that could be used against him though, of course—andbasically said it’s up to me to keep us both alive. So usually as soon as he leaves the room, I patch up Marco’s injuries while he complains about how I should be focusing more on my own.

Stubborn asshole that he is thinks I should be paying more attention to the cuts and bruises I have than to his more life threating wounds.

I’m an ER nurse, not a damn trauma surgeon, but I’ve been doing the best I can with what I have. Which admittedly, isn’t much.

Marco’s fading more as each day passes, and I’m not sure how much longer his body can hold on. I’m not sure how much more he can endure before his body finally gives up on him.

“You good, little warrior?” he whispers, his voice a stark contrast to the previous silence that ran through the cabin as he slept. His eyes are sunken and his skin is a sickly shade of grey. Dirt partially covers his face. I want nothing more than to get us back to his apartment and take care of him until he’s better, after a trip to the hospital, of course.

“Are you?” I respond.

How the hell can he focus on me right now?

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” he grunts as he attempts to sit up and I shift closer to help him.

“I’m fine,” I say softly as his eyes meet mine. The pain and torment shining behind them breaks my damn heart.

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” he mutters and looks away, but I reach out and guide his face back to me.

“None of this is your fault,” I say, my tone hard and unrelenting.

“I should have protected you better. I knew we were being targeted, and we still left the apartment without a whole team of guards surrounding us. I didn’t think it would come to this, since we hadn’t heard anything lately, and I honestly don’t think I’llever forgive myself. But youwillget out of here, Sloane, even if I have to die to make it happen. I will get you out of here.”

“No,” I croak. “You’re not fucking dying on me.”

“If I have to die to make sure you’re okay, then that’s exactly what I’ll do, baby,” he whispers and runs his thumb along my cheek. “I love you, Sloane. So fucking much.”

I open my mouth, about to return his sentiment, when the cabin door opens and Nolan walks in, a sadistic look in his eye. Our conversation finished, we both turn towards him.

“Ah, my little prisoners looking all cozy,” he murmurs. “Too bad for you I’ve had enough of these little games we’ve been playing.”

He approaches us, keeping his eyes trained on Marco, and I take him in. I’m not sure how I didn’t recognize him at first, because the closer I look, the more I see my father in him. They share the same nose and eyes with their batshit crazy personalities to match, too.

He pulls a knife from the pocket in his jeans and runs it along his palm, looking at the thing with awe in his eyes, further confirming his insanity, and crouches down in front of us. He brings the blade to Marco’s cheek and uses the flat edge of the blade to caress his skin.

“You’ve worn out your welcome, Romano,” he mutters, boredom in his tone. “I think it’s time to make things more exciting. And how exciting it will be, watching my precious niece cry as you bleed to your death.”

---