Page 98 of Sinner's Fury

“Promise me something?”

“Anything, brother.”

“He dies. No matter what happens to me. He fucking dies.”

“Give you my word.”

Mercy walked over, leaning against the seat in front of us. “Sinclair just texted me the message. I sent it to O’Malley.”

Nodding, I looked back out the window and muttered, “I should have never brought her back here. I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t tell her no.”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen, Fury. Don’t beat yourself up.”

I sneered at my VP. “I brought her back to the city, where that fucker easily got his hands on her. If I had just taken her to California like I wanted, then none of this would have happened.”

“You don’t know that, Fury,” Lynk stated, looking across the aisle at me. “Carly has lived her entire life hidden from the world. Since meeting you, she has finally tasted freedom. She was free of the chains that bound her. You did that for her. All Carly has ever wanted was to live her life on her own terms, but she knew that would never happen because of who she is. In her own way, she’s accepted it. It doesn’t matter where Carly hides, because there will always be someone after her. Shame knew that. That’s why he hid her in Davenport Tower. He knew if he should fail, you would be there to pick up where he left off. And don’t count Carly out just yet. That girl is a lot stronger than you think.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Carly

TRIGGER WARNING:This chapter contains a graphic representation of sexual assault and physical abuse from multiple assailants. If you suffer from any triggers, PLEASE, PLEASE, take extreme caution before reading this chapter. Your health is more important to me than my fictional story.

“Get up, Charlotte!” my instructor yelled. He continued to taunt and teach me a lesson I would never forget. For months, he tried to be logical, civil, to be circumspect with his actions, but Mother was not happy with the results, and when he hauled off and backhanded me across the face, I fucking knew this would be a lesson I would always remember.

“Success in a fight is contingent upon a thorough knowledge of one’s opponent, requiring careful study and analysis of their capabilities and strategies. Situational awareness is the best weapon in the tool of any fighter. More so, because you’re a woman. So, tell me, Charlotte. What do you know? What do you see?”

“I can’t,” I cried, spitting blood on the mat.

“Yes, you can!” he shouted, kicking me hard in my stomach.

“Stop. It hurts.”

“Pain is nothing but a feeling. What do you do with your feelings?”

“Ignore them,” I muttered, holding my stomach while I looked up at him, just as his fist collided with the side of my face.

“Just because you are a woman doesn’t mean the world will be kind to you. Men beat, rape, and kill women every day because women won’t defend themselves. That will never be you. So, get up and fight!”

“You’re too strong.”

Grabbing my hair, he yanked my head back, roughly jabbing his finger against my forehead, and said, “There will always be someone stronger, Charlotte. Your greatest asset is your mind. Use it. There isn’t any situation you can’t get out of. How do you get out of this? Look at your surroundings. Anything can become a weapon. Fight!”

A blurry haze surrounded me as Steele circled, his vile taunts ringing in my ears, his laughter sharp and clear. “Remember me, Charlotte?” he spat out, his words dripping with disdain. The contempt and hatred in his voice were palpable, a chilling contrast to the pounding of my own heart, which hammered a frantic drumbeat, warning me of the present danger and the undeniable reality of my situation.

I was acutely aware of my predicament, the gravity of it settling heavily upon me.

I was a woman who held a vast knowledge of a great many things. As a female, Mother molded and designed me from the moment I was born to be a leader in a world of depraved men. Sadly, I was grossly familiar with sexual harassment, having faced threats and even sexual assault on previous occasions. Over my years in Mother’s world, I sadly learned a significant number of the men present were simply looking for an opportunity to make physical contact with a woman, but a small few had more sinister and predatory intentions in mind.

Men like Steele had a predictable pattern in the way they approached women, often methodical and linear. A man like Steele only saw a victim to assault. He attempted to overpower me swiftly, despite being aware of my extensive training and expertise. He wouldn’t want anyone to think I gave him a tough fight, that he had to struggle to defeat me.

Concurrently, a hidden fear lurked deep within the depths of his eyes. A fear stemming from a slight possibility that I possessed abilities exceeding his capacity to control me. His aura held a strong sense of foreboding, of his own failure and of something he might be powerless to escape. Which was why he had to make it quick and banish the fear—to protect his masculinity. Men like Steele’s type typically relied entirely on the element of surprise when attacking a woman. Their lack of other strengths or skills left them unable to compensate once they lost the advantage. However, when Steele’s predictable pattern fractured, the shift was immediate and profound, altering the dynamics completely, like a sudden crack in a dam.

And Steele broke that pattern.

He knew me.

He had seen what I could do, even watched with Mother many times to observe and offer his constructive criticism. So, when I left Christian’s penthouse and went down to my apartment to retrieve the book I needed and saw him, I expected an immediate attack. Not for him to smile and say, “Time to go home, Charlotte,” as someone came up from behind me and injected me with a sedative.

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