Page 99 of Laila Manning
Recognizedme.
As her husband’s torture toy.
She took a step toward me and pointed her manicured nail at me, “He should have killed you when he cut that bastard baby out of you! But he was too obsessed with you! With fucking you! Whore!”
I didn’t think or decide—I didn’t even know what I was doing until my fist slammed into her face. Pain vibrated up my wrist and arm all the way to my shoulder as her head snapped backward, blood spraying across my face as she fell on her ass.
There was no noise surrounding me, though I could see her mouth opening and closing as she screamed more vile things at me, but I couldn’t hear them.
I couldn’t feel them.
I just attacked her.
My hands grabbed handfuls of her perfectly styled hair, ripping it out in clumps as I slammed my hand into her face, over and over again, gouging and scratching, pulling pieces of her flesh apart with each swing of my arms.
I should have stopped, I should have left her to someone else to deal with, but I couldn’t.
For the first time in my life, I had the upper hand.
People moved around me, men searching the house and securing other staff on the property, holding them at gunpoint.
But I didn’t stop until she stopped fighting back.
Was she dead?
Did I care?
“Laila.”
The voice sounded so far away I ignored it at first. But then something touched me, a hand on my shoulder, and I turned, slashing my hands at the new outlet.
“Whoa,” Diesel said, gripping my wrists tight in his hands and immobilizing me as his eyes roamed my face. “You did well. She’s done. You did well.”
His words weren’t quite penetrating my brain, as if there was an invisible force field scattering them into a garbled mess.
But then he said something that made it through.
“We found Kade.”
My muscles stopped tensing against his hold. My bones locked up tight, immovable as my brain fought for control again. “What?” I asked, not even sure it was clear.
“He needs you.” Diesel said, loosening his hold on my wrists but not letting go completely. “It’s bad, Laila.”
“Where?” I yanked my arms free, blinking off whatever rage-induced tantrum I had fallen victim to and focused, “Where is he?”
“Come on,” Diesel nodded, and I followed him, glancing down at the woman lying in a pool of blood, chunks of flesh missing from her plastic face. “This way.” Diesel stopped at the top of a set of stairs leading to a basement.
I could tell even from where I froze behind him that it was nicer than any basement I’d ever been in before, but still.
Basements rarely had other exits.
“Don’t touch me!” A hoarse scream ripped through the air from below, and my heart cracked when I recognized the pain in it. “Don’t come near me!”
“Oh God.” I whispered, pushing past Diesel and running down the stairs and down a long hallway. Men cleared the way as I shoved past them, some patch members, some Zeke’s men as I got to the opening.
A cell.
A cell of horrors, I found so many familiar similarities to the one I lived in for a while.
