Page 172 of Retribution
Yes we will,Grant says smugly as I glance at him. The bond is only half complete, but it still feels nice.
I love you,I tell him as I organize my thoughts.
“Ophelia‘s go-to form of punishment is to put my arms and legs into wood stocks. They’re heavy, make me feel unbalanced, and very uncomfortable because I can’t move well in them. I was interrogated a lot by her men, and when I said something they didn’t like, they’d hit the bottoms of my feet with a thin cane,” I say.
There’s silence in the bed and I wince.
“That’s the position that I’d sleep in if I was allowed to sleep. I’m tired…” I hint.
I don’t want to relive the rest of what happened. The echoes of memory are sure to be just as bad.
“Okay,” Lucas finally says, and Grant pushes the slider switch until there’s only a hint of light.
The door to the room is closed, it’s quiet, and I’m already slipping into sleep as Grant pulls me into his arms to use him as my own, personal body pillow.
Fuck Ophelia. She’s going to die screaming for a mercy I don’t have in me to give her.
Grant
My face is half numb as I lay on the ground. I’m confused as to why there’s crying, and I can’t move my arms or legs.
This isn’t my dream, but Isolde’s, I quickly realize. She’s lying with her body contorted, her ass up in the air. I hear a scream, and then her stomach growls before I realize with horror how demeaning this position is. Isolde is laying in her own filth, half asleep on the ground as she suffers.
I’m getting snapshots of her time with Ophelia, and I try to change the scenery. Her mind is trapped, and I’m being slapped by Ophelia as I kneel now instead of laying prostrate.
“You stupid cunt, you’re ruining everything!”
Isolde refuses to say anything, and I realize that I’m just as trapped in this dream as she is. I see memory after memory as she cries in her dream, her body in the real world still snuggled against me.
I can feel everything as the alphas violate her on stage, my body screaming in horror. Groaning, I feel myself crying in my body as I hold Isolde tightly, unable to shake myself awake.
“Lucas!”I scream in my head.
Fuck, how is Isolde able to survive this? She pretends she’s fine, but then there’s a baseball bat being pressed against my ass and it’s shoved into my hole?—
A slap across my face in real life pulls me out of the nightmare, and I gasp in pain as my eyes fly open.
“Grant, what the fuck?” Lucas asks, his face pale with fear. “Is she still asleep?”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “Really fucking bad nightmare. Come on, Isolde. Wake up for me, baby.”
My fingers push her hair out of her face, and I can feel wetness along her cheeks. It was horrifying for me, but she’s reliving all of it.
“It’s not real,” I hiss, turning so I can cage her body underneath me. If I regret this position because she decides to knee me in the knot so hard I’ll sing soprano, then so be it.
I need to get through to her.
“What…why are you crying?” Oliver asks, his brows drawn down as he sits up.
Lucas turns the lights up so the room is brighter, and my chest heaves from the weight of emotions I’m experiencing. I didn’t even live through this, and I want to kill everyone.
“I was in her dream,” I explain. “We were trapped together, and Lucas slapped me to wake me up. I don’t really want to hit Isolde to pull her out of this. Wake up, Little Nightmare, and see that you’re safe.”
A whimper comes from the bassinet and Isolde moans underneath me. My hand rubs over her chest to attempt to use sensory input to get her mind to focus on me, but she just can’t seem to wake up.
“Fuck,” Alesso mutters, getting up to pick up Leila. “Come on,bambina.Let’s help your mommy, okay?”
“What are you thinking?” I ask, watching as he cradles Leila in his arms.
