Page 176 of Hymns of the Broken
I latch onto that hope like a lifeline. My hands are shaking, but I force myself to focus.
“Micah—go through the video again. I want every fucking frame. Sound, background, anything weird. If you see a reflection, a shadow—I don’t care how small—pause it.”
Micah’s already moving, hands flying over the keys, jaw clenched with adrenaline. “I’ll slow it down, I’ll scrub the audio, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Dex is pacing, phone pressed to his ear, muttering, “Cabin… woods… Blake’s family. Someone has to know where that is.” Every word is a promise of violence.
Jace curses under his breath. “If it’s Blake, he’s not getting away this time. I swear to God.”
Ash is staring at the screen, knuckles white. “She did mention that whoever it is didn’t know how to pleasure her anyway. So it’s somebody she’s been with. We get a lead on where he is, I say we go—no waiting for cops. We find her first.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. I can’t sit still. My whole body vibrates with the need todo something. “Check every detail, Micah. Run his voice through filters. See if there’s traffic, wind, birds—anything that can help us narrow down where she is.”
Micah nods, not looking away from the screen. “There’s a window. I see a tree outside, but it’s dark—I’ll enhance it.”
Silas grabs my shoulder, squeezing hard. “We’re close, Riot. I can feel it. Don’t lose hope.”
I say nothing, grit my teeth and stare at the screen. All I can see is Sawyer—her eyes, the way she tried to fight, the way she broke and kept going. My chest aches with love and rage.
I swear to her, right then:
I’m coming. I will tear the world apart for you.
SAWYER
I lay there, broken. My body aches, my wrists burn, and shame floods my veins like poison. Tears come, silent and unstoppable, soaking the mattress, shaking my entire frame. I can still feel Blake’s hands, the cold press of steel, the sickening hum of the vibrator.
I hate him. I hate myself. I hate how he made me come, how he watched, how he loved it.
I don’t know how long I lay there, shaking, empty. But eventually, I run out of tears. I stare at the ceiling, numb and hollow.
And then something hardens.
No.
He doesn’t get the last word. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
I replay every second—his voice, the way he paced the room, the sounds outside the window, the way the floor creaked under his boots. There has to be a clue, something I can use. A crack in the boards. A light under the door. The echo of his footsteps.
I swear to myself that if I get out of here, it’ll be because I fought.Hecan break my body, buthewill never take my mind. Never.
I close my eyes, searching for anything he might have slipped up on, any weakness at all. I’m not giving up.
The sound of the door yanks me from my thoughts. Blake strides in, shirtless, moving with a predator’s confidence that makes my skin crawl. I shrink back on the mattress, but I already know it’s useless. He carries the keys, the power, the certainty that no one is coming for me.
He never removes the chains from my wrists. Instead, he drags me to the bathroom, strips my top off like I’m not even a person—just a possession. The cold air bites at my bare skin, making me shiver, but I hate that the goosebumps look like a response. Like he can take credit for anything my body does.
The shower is huge—stone tile, expensive, like something out of a magazine. But the metal hook on the wall kills any illusion of luxury. I knowheput it there just for me.
He clips the chain to the hook, leaving me standing, arms above my head, body stretched and exposed. My wrists burn from the pressure; my muscles are screaming from being forced into this position. Steam curls around us, but the room feels colder by the second.
I stare at the wooden beams overhead, trying not to look at him, trying to be anywhere but here.
But my mouth runs before I can stop it. “Why are you still wearing that dumb mask? You’re ridiculous, Blake.”
He laughs, the sound echoing off the tile. “Your cunt didn’t think so when she was squeezing my knife.” His words cut deeper than the blade ever could. I flinch, nausea clawing its way up my throat, hating my body all over again for betraying me, for reacting under fear and pain when I wanted nothing but to disappear.
He moves closer, voice almost gentle, but there’s nothing soft about it. “I took a video of it, you know. Sent it to your precious boys. Bet they’re pissed at you. Probably don’t even want you now.” He shrugs and brings his hand up to my face. “But I do. I always have. No matter what.”
