Page 74 of Sardonic Burn

“He wouldn’t kill you for provoking him, but for pointing a gun at his cousin? Yes, definitely.”

“But, but—” He stammers for a moment. “She’s unharmed.”

“Harming her would’ve gone in your favor in this scenario. Otherwise, it looks like you’re trying to say you have the power to scare a De Santis. They don’t take threats lightly.”

I walk over to him and take a seat. He’s still shaking, so I rub his shoulder, trying to soothe the paranoia. I’m not sure what Hudson will do next. If it’s killing Dylan, there’s nothing I can do. It’s justified, and I’m not currently in a position to pick Dylan over Hudson.

“Dylan,” I say, softening my voice. “What happened? Tell me everything, and don’t miss a thing.”

He takes a deep breath, stands up, and walks toward the kitchen. I hear my cabinets open, then close. After a minute, Dylan returns with two glasses of whiskey.

“I had a meeting with a business associate.” He laughs a bit. “One thing led to another, and we grabbed a drink together afterward in the bar close to the company. I had one too many, and, well, I was barely able to walk on my own. I was on my way to my car, and I just felt something hit my head. I lost consciousness and woke up in that motherfucker’s basement.”

I take a deep breath. “What did he do to you?”

“At first, it was just… some stupid questions that I didn’t even understand. He didn’t like that, so he’d starve me and try to pry information out of me.”

Blood freezes in my veins.

That’s too far, even for Hudson.

The anger slowly starts to resurface, wiping away any improper thoughts of Hudson. I swallow and bite my tongue from saying something I’d regret later on. My eyes are glued on Dylan, and I’m trying my best not to go back to the venue and strangle the shit out of him.

“What kind of information?”

Dylan gulps down the whiskey and closes his eyes.

“About you.” It’s barely above a whisper, but I can hear it perfectly. “He wanted to know every detail about you. Your hobbies and… your weakness.”

I narrow my eyes. “I don’t have any weaknesses.”

The only weakness I do have is my little sister, Jane. But she’s far from my reach, let alone Hudson’s. Besides, I doubt he’d go through all the trouble of flying to Russia and trying to insert himself into the Bratva to kill a teenage girl. He’d be dead before he even reached the gate of Bogdan’s castle.

“I know.” Dylan sighs and rests his head on my shoulder while I sip on the alcohol. “But he just… wouldn’t stop asking questions. And then…”

“Then, what?”

Slowly, he stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He turns his back to me and, with shaky hands, removes his clothes.

A loud gasp slips past my lips, and the glass slips from my hands. It shatters on the hard, wooden floor, my feet covered with small pieces of glass and whiskey.

“I’ve been in there for weeks. And this is the result of my silence. For each time I didn’t want to say anything. I managed to escape three days ago. That’s why I couldn’t see you immediately.”

Dylan’s entire back is covered in whip marks. His skin is scarred in lines, deeply cutting his flesh. There’s not a little space left; all of it is covered in deep, red, painful-looking blemishes.

All I can see is red.

My lips tighten, my nostrils flaring as I stare at Dylan’s back. My eyes widen, and I’m on the brink of tears.

Slowly, I rise to my feet and walk over to him. Carefully, I trace my fingertip along his wounds and hear him hiss in pain.

Regret settles in, and a tear slides down my cheek.

I don’t love this man, but he’s my friend. He didn’t deserve this, and he definitely shouldn’t be caught in between Hudsonand me. My heart is weighing heavily in my chest, nearly snapping into pieces.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. This is all my fault.”

He turns around and wraps his arms around me, holding my head closely to his chest and softly stroking my hair. I’m careful not to touch his wounds more, so I just hold his forearms, clinging onto him.

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