Chapter4

On the screen, the footage of my mother being dragged into the dark room played on an endless loop.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pure reflex.

Zzzt—

A massive jolt of electricity ripped through the black collar around my neck, sending my body into violent, unyielding spasms.

"Keep your eyes open." Damian slouched in a chair two paces away, idly turning the shock remote over in his hand. "Close them, and I press the button. You're going to watch exactly how she was broken until she took her last breath."

I lay collapsed on the concrete, my eyelids twitching and half-open from the lingering muscle spasms. On screen, they pinned her down, tearing at her clothes. The video cut seamlessly to the pitch-black room, echoing with her desperate, agonizing screams as those three men went to work. A bloody handprint sliding down the wall was magnified, frozen on screen.

I dry-heaved uncontrollably, my stomach completely empty.

For three grueling hours, the video played. I’d lost count of the loops. The relentless shocks had battered me to the brink of incontinence, my vision a blurred smear of physiological tears and blood.

Damian finally hit pause.

"Seen enough?" He stood up and flicked a finger. A bodyguard stepped through the heavy door, carrying a deep stainless-steel bowl.

It was half-filled with a thick, ash-white sludge. A bizarre, acrid stench of something scorched hit the air.

"You’ve been throwing quite the tantrum these past few days. Barely eaten a thing." Damian looked down at me, his eyes dead. "Eat it. Consider it a reward."

The bodyguard stepped up, grabbed a fistful of my matted hair, and yanked my head back violently.

"No..." I clamped my jaw shut.

That wasn't food. I didn't know what it was, but my entire body—pure, screaming instinct—was rejecting it.

A second guard didn't hesitate; he jammed metal forceps into my mouth, prying my jaw apart. The sludge was forced down my throat.

"Mmph—hack!"

I gagged, clawing frantically at the guard's meaty forearm, but the paste slid down. I choked down more than half of it before he finally let go. I collapsed back onto the floor, the sickening taste of ashes coating my tongue.

Damian crouched, watching me writhe and gag.

"How does it taste?" he asked, his tone radiating a spine-chilling calm.

A feral hiss rattled in the back of my throat.

"The guys at the crematorium said their incinerator is getting a bit old." He reached out, pinching a trace of the grayish-white powder from the rim of the stainless-steel bowl. "Doesn't burn as fine as it used to. Still some bone fragments left in the mix."

My deadened gaze shifted agonizingly from the dust on his fingertips to the half-empty bowl.

"Didn't you keep preaching that you'd give your life for the people you care about?" Damian stood, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his fingers. "She was cremated. I had them mix her into your slop."

"Now, mother and daughter are brought together. Forever."

Gag—!

I went manic, shoving my deformed fingers down my own throat.

Get it out! Throw it up!

I thrashed against the floor, purging violently. I smashed my head into the filth, a guttural, inhuman howl ripping from my chest.

Mom... The same woman who was making me hot soup just days ago.

I snapped my head up. My eyes locked onto the pulse at Damian's throat.

Kill him.

Even if they grind my bones to dust, I'm going to tear his throat out!

My hind legs propelled me off the concrete. Covered in gore and muck, I launched myself straight at him.

He was fast. He jumped back a full two paces, his face darkening. "Looking for a death wish," he barked. "Release the hounds!"

Outside the iron cage, the two handlers instantly dropped the heavy black leather leashes.

Two massive Dobermans surged into the room, snarling viciously. Starved for two days and driven mad by the stench of fresh blood, they vaulted onto me from both sides.

Pure agony struck. One Doberman's razor-sharp fangs sank deep into my left shoulder, while the other clamped its jaws mercilessly around my deformed tail. But I couldn't feel the pain.

I was no longer human. They had turned me into a beast, so I was going to fight them like a beast!

I didn’t pull away from the fangs in my shoulder. Instead, I leaned into the strike, throwing my arms around the dog's thick neck. I opened my mouth, exposing the teeth they had so cruelly modified, aimed for its carotid artery, and bit down with psychotic force!

The Doberman shrieked. I refused to let go, violently wrenching my head back and tearing a massive chunk of flesh from its throat. The second dog caught the scent of fear. It released my tail, scrambling backward. Blood dripping from my jaws, I pounced. I drove the brutal claws of my front limbs deep into its eyes.

A few piercing yelps later, the two massive Dobermans were nothing but dead meat on the floor.

Chest heaving with violent breaths, I turned my head, glaring through the blood at Damian standing out in the hall.

He stared at the mangled corpses, a flicker of genuine shock betraying his icy facade.

"Beat her half to death. But do not let her die," he commanded coldly. Then he turned on his heel and strode out of the basement.

The guards swarmed in. Heavy stun batons slammed brutally against my spine. Stripped of every last ounce of strength, I collapsed flat into the pooling blood.

Before the absolute darkness claimed my consciousness, my hand instinctively clutched my chest.

Hidden against my skin hung a mother-of-pearl pendant. My mother had fastened it around my neck on my eighteenth birthday. She’d told me it was a family amulet—that no matter what happened, I must never take it off.

During the chaotic bloodbath, the Dobermans' blood and my own had completely soaked the pendant.

Drenched in the warm gore, the once-freezing shell suddenly began to radiate heat.

In the fading periphery of my vision, I thought I saw a hairline fracture splinter across the smooth surface of the pearl.

Then, my eyes slid completely shut.

Click. Clack. Click.

The crisp cadence of high heels echoed off the concrete.

Smack. The harsh overhead lights of the holding pen flickered on.

I forced my swollen eyes open just a sliver. No guards. No Damian.

Vivienne stood alone outside the iron mesh, wearing the haute couture silk nightgown that used to be mine.

She leaned down slightly, staring through the grates at my half-dead body and the puddle of ash-laced vomit on the floor.

A blatant, unhinged smile tore across her lips, slick with cherry-red lipstick.

"So pathetic, aren't we?" she whispered.

"You know... let me tell you a little secret. Actually..."