Page 24 of Curse

A crash snaps me back to the moment, my hearing suddenly flooding back to me. Shouts, heavy footsteps, and a dull thud immediately follow as another body hits the floor.

A scream erupts from my throat, but it’s muted by a gag I didn’t realize was stuffed in my mouth. I struggle to breathe, the fabric stretching my cheeks painfully, a thick piece of tape across my mouth holding it in place.

Desperation claws at me, and I wriggle against the bindings, the coarse carpet biting into my skin as I attempt to shimmy out from behind the desk. I don’t know where I’m going, but staying here is a death sentence.

A low, guttural laugh freezes me in place.

Big brown boots appear in front of me, their leather cracked and worn. My heart races as their owner crouches down to my level, blowing the rancid smell of stale coffee and weed in my face.

“Hey there, little girl,” he drawls, his voice dripping with malice. His yellowed teeth flash in a grin that turns my stomach. “You look so pretty all tied up, like a presentjust for me.”

He grabs my chin roughly, yanking my face up to his. I flinch, trying to pull away, but his expression darkens, the grin morphing into an angry sneer as his face flushes a mottled red.

“What, you don’t want a kiss?” he snarls. His hand comes down hard against my cheek, slamming my face into the carpet. Pain explodes through my jaw, and starbursts of light dance in my vision.

I barely register the sharp tug of his hand in my hair as he drags me upward again, my torso awkwardly half-suspended in his grip. His hot, sour breath washes over me as he leans in close, spitting as he speaks.

“That was me being nice,” he hisses. His tongue snakes out, rough and wet, dragging up the side of my face. My stomach revolts, twisting violently.

“Hey, AJ!” A voice cuts through the tension, startling both of us. It’s a voice I recognize, but it’s confusingly out of place here.

AJ glances over his shoulder, his grip on my hair unwavering. “What?” he snaps, irritated.

“What you got there?”

AJ rolls his eyes and rises up on his knees. “Ah, you know. Just a little hot pussy bonus for a job well done.” He yanks my head up higher like a trophy.

“Count me in.”

Dragging me up by my hair, AJ hovers the top half of my body a full foot above the floor, and I come face to face with Franco.

Shock shoots through me like an icicle, and my heart soars with hope for a split second. He’s here to help! But thatthought is crushed before I can complete it as I watch his expression harden into a sickening leer, his gaze flickering over my body.

He doesn’t seem to recognize me. The side of my face is burning, and I’m sure it’s either red, swollen, or both, plus I have tape covering the lower half of my face.

When he does realize who I am, he recoils, the color draining from his face.

When he speaks, his voice is low, and I can barely make out the words in the confusion. “I thought you were dead.”

His words throttle through me like a physical blow.

He thought I wasdead?

It takes me a minute to process what he said, my mind reeling. Why did he think I was dead? I can’t comprehend what’s happening.

Emily is dead, he thought I was dead, and yet here he is, showing up in the middle of an attack, casually joking with a man who’s threatening to…

AJ sneers, oblivious to what is happening between Franco and I. “This bitch is mine. Find your own,” he says, jerking his head toward Alexandra’s unconscious form.

Franco glances at her, then back at me nervously, like I caught him with his hand in my purse. I stare at him, willing him to do something—anything. To say I’m his sister, to tell this monster to stop, to defend me.

But he does nothing. Just stares at me, looking… scared.

AJ turns his attention back to me, his smile warped with sadistic glee. His tongue snakes out again, scraping against my skin, and I lock eyes with Franco, who hangs his head, unable to watch. But I can’t tear my eyes away from him as AJ continues his assault.

Franco. My big brother. A cop. A dirty cop. A dirty cop connected to the men who killed our sister. Connected to Matti, the man who wants me dead.

I’m not a crier. I haven’t shed a tear since my father’s funeral when I was ten, and that was more than twenty years ago. Even now, I don’t feel like crying, as I lay on the floor hog-tied and staring at Franco, a man eight years my senior who is supposed to be my big brother.

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