Page 81 of Colton
For any woman who has been through it.
Because we aren’t just fucking sex toys, something to use and abuse.
We’re women, and we’re strong. It doesn’t matter what they do to us, wesurvive, and even if we don’t,you can guarantee that we’d have fought fucking hard.
In the dim light of the hallway, I can almost see them nod, their faces soft with understanding. They don’t blame me. They know I was just a kid, just as powerless as they were. Sophia mouths something to me, her eyes fierce yet kind.“Fight, Lu,”she whispers, her voice echoing in my mind. My mother nods in agreement, her eyes filled with a strength I hadn’t seen since her last days.
I blink away the tears, my vision clearing. They’re gone, but their presence lingers, a warmth in the cold hallway. I take a deep breath, the air filling my lungs with renewed purpose. I’m not just fighting for myself; I’m fighting for them, for every woman whose life Xavier has destroyed.
I say a prayer for the victims, myself included, and feel a calm wash over me.
Now, to find Xavier’s office.
I pull open the heavy door that leads to the main basement level, my heart hammering in my chest.
Where the fuck had I been earlier? Hell? What’s below a fucking basement?
Someone is yelling, and I can hear footsteps. I slide my gun from my waistband and wait, bracing myself to take another life.
But then I cock my head, listening to the sound of yelling once more.
It’s not female, and...what’s that?
They’re calling for help.
It’s a man.
I stride forward, my gun held out in front of me. With each step down the horror movie-like corridor, I creep more cautiously, the yells intensifying. The man’s cries for help echo off the cold stone walls, sending a shiver down my spine. I keepmy gun steady, my finger on the trigger, ready for anything. As I round a corner, I see a heavy wooden door slightly ajar, a faint light flickering from within. I press myself against the wall, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepare to face whatever is behind that door.
With a deep breath, I kick the door open, my gun pointed straight ahead. The sight before me is not what I expected. There, chained to the wall, is Xavier—the monster who has haunted my nightmares for so long. His once-pristine suit is now torn and bloody, his face a mess of bruises and sweat. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with fear and pain, a pathetic shadow of the man who had once wielded so much power.
“Luella,” he rasps, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Please...help me.”
I stare at him, my mind racing. This is the man who has taken everything from me, who has destroyed my family, who has used and abused countless women. And now, here he is, at my mercy. I lower the gun slightly, a cold smile spreading across my face.
“Help you?” I remark, my voice dripping with venom. “Like how you helped my sister? Like how you helped my mother?”
Xavier’s eyes widen, and he begins to babble, pleading for forgiveness, for mercy. But I’m not listening. I’m not hearing his words. All I can see is the suffering he’s caused, the lives he’s ruined. I step closer, the gun now pointed at his forehead.
“You deserve this,” I say, my voice steady. “You deserve to suffer like they did. Like I did.”
Xavier’s pleas turn to sobs, but I feel no pity. I feel only a cold, hard resolve. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, the moment I’ve dreamed of. I take a deep breath, my finger tightening on the trigger.
But then, a sound behind me makes me freeze. I turn slightly, keeping the gun trained on Xavier, and see Colton standing in the doorway. His eyes are wild, his hair disheveled, and he’sholding a knife, blood dripping from its blade. He looks from me to Xavier, his expression unreadable.
“Colton,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
He steps into the room, his movements slow and deliberate. The color drains from his face as his gaze tracks each injury: the swollen eye, my savagely cut hair, the way I’m favoring my left side. His hands begin to shake, and I watch his throat work as he swallows hard, struggling to contain his reaction. A muscle in his jaw tics rapidly, and his breathing becomes erratic, like he’s fighting for control. When he sees my torn clothes, the evidence of what they did to me, a sound escapes him—something between a growl and a whimper.
The sight of him standing there, rage etched on his face, makes my heart race. His familiar scent, a mix of leather and cologne, fills my nostrils, and I can almost taste the fury radiating from him. The sound of his breathing, ragged and uneven, echoes in the silence of the room, and the heat of his body warms the cold air around me.
“Luella,” he says, my name a harsh whisper on his lips. His chest heaves with each breath, the muscles in his neck taut with fury. He steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he looks away.
I can feel the intensity of his gaze, the raw emotion pouring out of him. It’s overwhelming, like standing too close to a wildfire, but I don’t look away. I meet his stare, letting him see the pain and anger in my own eyes.
His jaw clenches as he takes another step closer, his eyes scanning my body, taking in every injury, every mark left by the men who hurt me. His breath hitches, and I can almost feel the rage boiling inside him, threatening to explode.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Tell me, Luella. Tell me who hurt you.”
