Page 68 of Corrupting Lily

But there is no time to recover. I need to find Holly and get out of here. It has been days already. I’m not sure how many, but I heard the doctor talking about how Rocco has been missing for four days now. Thankfully, I was afraid when I woke up that he would have had his way with me while I was unconscious. So far, I have managed to avoid that fate. I just hope Holly has, too.

A terrible thought plagues me. What if she were sold? What if she wasn’t even here anymore?

I shake my head slightly, praying to a god who doesn’t exist that those concerns are unfounded.

With a deep breath, I prepare myself for another feat: sitting up.

To take my mind off it, I think of the man with silver-grey eyes who haunts my every unconscious moment. My husband. Surely, I would know if he were dead? I would feel it, wouldn’t I? But I don’t feel it. However, I also know that he would have come for me by now if he could. A sob escapes me when the thought of him no longer being around comes front and center once again.

I am nearly upright when everything goes black. For a heartbeat, I wonder if I have passed out, but the commotion in the distance and the red emergency light flickering on in the passage tell me I am not.

This is my chance. Whatever is happening, this is exactly the distraction I need. I pull on the rope of my dirty white hospital gown and clench it between my teeth as I hop off the bed. The impact sends a shockwave of pain through my body, and I stumble forwardas dizziness threatens to knock me out. I spit out the material that has helped stifle my scream and hold onto the bloody operating table within reach. Hunched over, I focus on the floor and the cigar end that was snubbed out minutes ago. If I stayed, I would be used as the ashtray, as I had been on so many occasions. I would rather die than go back to that life. When my vision becomes blurred, I close my eyes and wait for the worst to pass before hobbling out of the room. The commotion that was once in the distance is now closer. People are screaming, and gunshots can be heard. I look left and right, trying to decide which way to go.

A sign near the stairwell on my left draws my attention. It is a floor plan. I locate my position on the map and trace a path to level one. A large room called the ‘pain dispenser’ captures my attention. A fitting pun for the name of a room where you are strung up and whipped. Bastards.

I open the stairwell door and head down one flight before turning right as I exit the passage.

Shit. I press myself against the wall, hearing voices from the room at the end, the one I am heading to, which makes me hesitate. Approaching slowly, I can finally make out what they are saying.

“Get her out of there. And you better pray it's not her brothers here to get her. Those fuckers do not forgive easily.” It’s the man who was shocking Holly, I recognize his voice. I hear the clattering of a cage door as the lock opens and then the swing of the door as it hits the one beside it.

So there are two men. Could I handle two? I doubt it, but I have to try. When I peek through the gap in the door, I see that both men have their backs to me. They are quite big. The one whose voice I recognize is dragging a tiny woman from the cage, her body bloodied and bruised. They had been torturing her as well. The cage beside her,where Holly was, is empty. My heart drops, and the little bit of hope I had shatters. Perhaps the woman beside her, the one with whom they are currently occupied, will know. Violet, I think her name was.

When I glance to the side, I can hardly believe my eyes. The black object he used to shock Holly is resting on the table.

“Is she still alive?” the other man asks, hunching down as he grasps her limp wrist, searching for a pulse. I seize this momentary shift in their focus and close the distance to the table, gripping the scalpel in one hand and my new weapon in the other.

Slowly, I tiptoe toward the men, deciding which one I should shock first. The bigger one, who is hunched down, would be better, but the one standing has the advantage of being quicker to react. So, without further ado, I extend my hand and push the button.

“What the h—” He falls to the floor, his words turning into a groan as the sound of the taser blends with the sounds of pain.

I aim the object at the other man, but I am too slow. He grabs the middle of it and pulls it hard, shifting my finger off the button. I almost lose my grip but swing the scalpel toward his hand. He lets go, but because I am still pulling, I stumble backwards, tripping over the woman and falling on my back.

Blinding, sharp pain engulfs me, consumes me, and for the first time in my life, I scream. Spots swim in my vision, and then the next thing I know, he is on top of me, the weight of his body on my chest forcing the air out of me as his hands circle my neck. He squeezes tightly, and the dots swimming in my vision multiply as I jerk against his hold. No air comes in, and panic consumes me. This is it. This is how I die.

It's not my entire life that flashes through my mind during my final moments. No. Most of it was shit. It is the man who gave me the most beautiful moments of my life in the short time we were together. Adangerous man who fixed me in the darkness, who put my broken pieces back together and made me feel whole again. The darkness to my light. Dominico. What I would give to see him one last time. To touch him. To hear him say my name.

I must be conjuring him up because before I black out, I hear it. I hear him.

“Il mio fiorellino, I found you.”

But it's too late.

Chapter 42

Dominico

Ange de la Mort. I have become my nickname. Blood drips from my hands and rage fuels my steps as I reach the fucker whose hands are tightly squeezing my little flowers throat in a grasp meant to kill. He is up and in the air in a second, his feet dangling off the ground. With one punch to his shocked face, bones crack and blood bursts from his nose, spraying my already blood-soaked shirt. He is dead, the punch so forceful that it has crushed his skull and snapped his neck. I toss his body in the opposite direction, and the loud thud of him hitting the ground is both satisfying and disappointing. If it weren't for my little Lily lying in god only knows what state on the floor, I would have drawn it out. I would have made him pay slowly and painfully. He would know what it was like to call for death.

“Il mio fiorellino, I found you.”

Gently, I cup her head as I lean forward and put my ear to her mouth. Fuck. Please don't die. The prayer silently plays over in my head as fear engulfs me, threatening to strangle me in the same fashionas my Lily has been.

"Please, breathe for me, little flower."

I hold my breath, waiting for hers. And then I feel it, a little breath that fans my face, giving me a feeling I don't fucking deserve. Relief. Joy. Redemption. For without her, this world would burn. I would become the avenger created by her death. All would pay. All would suffer.

I pull back, watching her eyes flutter as she fights to regain consciousness. I brush a strand of her hair from her face, the pale complexion of her face contrasting against the red hand marks around her neck. Scratch marks litter the area, where the asshole had dug his nails into the skin. My eyes drift down, and I gently lift one flap of her dirty white gown, revealing bruises and scratches dotting the skin I can see, varying in hue. Some are already healing, while others are clearly more serious and will require more time. Cupping her shoulder and gently lifting her reveals blood on the dirty floor from the large stain of blood covering the back of the gown.

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