Page 108 of The Beautiful Dead

The first crate hit the dock with a dull, wet thud. A ripple of unease slithered down my spine, cold and uncertain. Something was wrong. The usual noises had vanished, the distant grumble of a passing boat and the faint screech of gulls overhead. The occasional scuttling of rats through the shipping containers. Gone.

The silence was suffocating, as thick as the fog itself.

Domino noticed it, too. I saw the subtle shift in his posture—shoulders squared, jaw clenched. His head tilted slightly, listening.

A sound. Soft. Barely there. Like breath against the mist. I inhaled sharply, drawing in the damp night air. And that’s when I smelled it.

Not salt. Not rain.

Something sweet.

Chemical.

Thick enough to drown out everything else… Chloroform.

Realization hit a second too late. I turned toward it, and a hand clamped over my face. The scent flooded my lungs, thick and cloying. I jerked, but my body wasn’t listening. My limbs felt heavy. Slow. My vision wavered at the edges, the world warping like oil on water.

I struggled, twisting and wrenching against the unseen grip. But it was like fighting through wet concrete. My ears rang, mybreath shallow and useless as it drew more of the chemical into my burning lungs.

Domino, his name rang in my head like a fading echo. Through the haze, I saw him. His head snapped toward me, his body already in motion. A blur of black against the eerie white mist.

His gun was raised, his mouth open?—

Then—blackness. The night swallowed me whole.

Pain draggedme from the depths of unconsciousness. A sharp, throbbing ache pounded against my skull, the kind of deep, relentless pain that made my vision blur at the edges. My throat was raw, my mouth parched, each breath scraping against the inside of my chest like sandpaper. The air was thick, grating against my raw throat like shards of glass.

Something cold dug into my wrists. I shifted, a sharp sting blooming where the restraints had already rubbed my skin raw. My shoulders screamed in protest, wrenched behind my back, leaving my body slumped, legs sprawled uselessly in front of me.

A haze crawled through my veins, making everything sluggish. My pulse was too slow, my movements too heavy. I sucked in a slow breath and forced my eyelids open.

A gun was pressed against my temple.

The pressure was unmistakable. A silent threat. A reminder of where I was. I blinked rapidly, the blur of unconsciousness receding as my surroundings sharpened into focus.

Cold concrete floors. Dim light flickering against damp walls. The air reeked of rust, sweat, and the faint metallic bite of blood.

And the knowledge that I wasn’t alone.

Shapes loomed at the edges of my vision. Men. Their presence curled through the space, thick and oppressive, shadows shifting in the dim light. I was tied to a thick wooden beam, my arms pinned behind me. On display. Like an animal in a cage.

But my thoughts weren’t on them. They were onhim.I forced my head up, searching desperately for Domino.

Movement a few feet away caught my eye. A slumped figure.

He was still unconscious, hanging from a rusted pipe overhead, his arms bound and suspended, thick steel cuffs biting into his wrists. His body—always sharp, always primed for violence was disturbingly slack.

My stomach twisted. The sick bastards had left him shirtless. Bruises and deep, fresh cuts marred his skin, a grotesque canvas of whatever welcome party they’d thrown while I was out. His dark hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes, but I knew what I’d see when he woke—rage. Cold, lethal, unrelenting rage.

I exhaled a slow, deliberate breath, trying to control the ice creeping into my blood. This was bad.

But I took comfort in the sight before me. His broad chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. I watched his fingers twitch, muscles coiling even in unconsciousness, and I knew—his body was already recalibrating. Already preparing for war.

My pulse roared in my ears. I wrenched my gaze away from him and swept the room again, the details snapping into sharper clarity now that my mind had burned off the haze.

A group of men. Watching. Waiting.

They lingered in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They were predators who had cornered something dangerous. A wounded animal. But even still—not one of them looked at Domino without unease. There was a silent understanding among them.

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