Page 42 of My Masked Savior
His eyes snap open, wild and unfocused. He jerks against the restraints—thick nylon straps secured across his wrists and ankles. “What the fuck?” His voice comes out hoarse, panicked. He yanks harder, the straps biting into his skin. “What the fuck is this?”
I lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him struggle.
His gaze lands on Morgan standing by the door. Something shifts in his expression—fear transforming into rage.
“You bitch,” he snarls. “This is what you’re into now? Playing kidnap games with your new boyfriend?” He glares at her with such hatred. “You always were a fucked-up whore. Needed a real man to straighten you out, but you couldn’t handle it.”
Morgan flinches, her face draining of color.
“I should’ve finished what I startedbefore you ran like a coward.” Marco’s lip curls. “Thought you were special? You were nothing. A pathetic little?—”
“Shut the fuck up.” My voice cuts through his tirade like a blade.
He turns his venom on me. “Or what? You gonna save her? She doesn’t need saving, she needs?—”
I’m across the room in three strides. My hand wraps around his throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off his air. His eyes bulge, feet kicking out.
“One more word about her and I’ll make your torture last days instead of hours.” I lean close, letting him see exactly what waits behind my eyes. “I’ll keep you conscious for every cut, every break. I know exactly how much the human body can endure before it gives out, and I promise you’ll beg me to end it long before I do.”
I release him. He gasps, coughing.
Morgan’s voice cuts through the silence. Clear. Steady.
“Do it.”
I turn to look at her.
She’s stepped forward, away from the door. Her hands are clenched at her sides, but her chin is lifted, jaw set.
“Torture him.” Her dark eyes meet mine without wavering. “Kill him.”
Pride surges through me, hot and possessive. I cross back to her, cupping her face between my hands.
“That’s my princess,” I murmur, searching her eyes. “My brave, strong girl.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away.
“You crazy bitch!” Marco’s voice erupts behind us, shrill with panic. “You’re both fucking insane! You think you can?—”
I grab a clean rag from the supply cabinet, ball it up, andstuff it into his mouth mid-sentence. He gags, trying to spit it out, but I secure it with surgical tape wrapped around his head. His muffled screams die to desperate whimpers.
I turn back to Morgan, gentling my voice. “Princess, you should step outside. Wait in the living room. I’ll come get you when it’s done.”
She shakes her head, the movement sharp and immediate.
“No.”
“Morgan—”
“I need to be here for it.” Her voice trembles but doesn’t break. “I need to see he’s really gone. To see him go through the pain he inflicted on me.”
I study her face, looking for cracks in her resolve. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, jaw tight. But her eyes—those dark eyes that first captured me—they burn with something I recognize. The need to reclaim power. To witness justice when the world denied it.
“You understand what you’re asking?” I step closer, voice low. “Once you see this, you can’t unsee it. It changes you.”
“He already changed me.” Her hand grasps mine, fingers entwining with surprising strength. “Five years I’ve been running. Five years of panic attacks and nightmares. Of jumping at shadows.” She glances at Marco’s thrashing form. “I want to watch him become nothing. I want to be there when the fear leaves his eyes and he realizes no one’s coming to save him.”
The words settle between us like a contract signed in blood.
