Page 14 of Born into Darkness

The sick, twisted look on his face and the way Jose and Juan are side-eyeing him like they don’t know what the fuck is going on has all kinds of warning bells going off in my head. Keeping my eyes on Miguel, I say in Russian, “Don’t look. Close your eyes and ears and think about your family and Wallace. He’s not going to kill me, but I don’t want you to see this.”

Miguel has no idea what I’m saying, but he assumes I’m talking shit since I haven’t taken my eyes off him the entire time. Pissed at the imagined insult, he starts punching, and this time he doesn’t stop. I try to be quiet, but it’s impossible. Groans and grunts spill from my bloody lips, and when he focuses on my cracked ribs, I let out a ragged yell, unable to suppress it. The pain is blinding and all-consuming, and all I want is to pass out. When my vision starts to darken again, I welcome it with open arms.

One more punch to my kidneys is enough to make my body release its hold on consciousness. The last thing I hear is Miguel’s cruel laugh before I willingly slip into darkness.

Chapter2

Talia

Ikeep my arms wrapped around my legs and my eyes squeezed shut. Every groan of pain makes me feel like I’m going to be sick, but I know it’ll be worse for Max if I let on how much this is bothering me. Miguel is a sick, twisted fuck of a man, and he’ll never stop if he thinks this is causing me unbearable pain. My cheek rests on my knee so my face is turned away from them, and I’m ignoring every instinct I have that’s telling me I need to scream and beg for him to leave Max alone.

My body flinches when I hear the ragged yell that fills the room right before Miguel gives a sickening laugh. I hear them lower Max’s body, and then the sound of him being dragged back over to me. It’s not a good sign that he’s not walking back, but I refuse to lift my head and look. I’ll close the distance as soon as they leave.

When I feel someone kick my foot, I finally lift my head to find Juan staring down at me. He’s holding two plates of food and a couple more bottles of water. I reach up and take what he’s offering, knowing Max is going to need his strength if he’s going to survive all these beatings. The food on the plates isn’t nearly enough, but it’s better than nothing.

Ignoring my desire to check on Max, I set our food down and take a lazy drink of water while watching the three men slowly make their way to the door. Miguel smirks, giving me a wink before leaving. Juan is the last to step out, and I’m surprised when he leaves the light on so I can see to eat. He isn’t usually that considerate, but instead of questioning it, I take full advantage of it and quickly crawl to Max. His beautiful face is bloody and swollen, every part of him bruised and hurting, and when I cup his face and he doesn’t even stir, panic starts to set in.

“Max, wake up.” I keep my voice low in case they’re listening at the door. My fingers run over the sharp line of his jaw before tracing along his eyebrow. Miguel’s opened the deep cut that had finally started to heal. Blood drips down his face, landing in small puddles on the cement floor. I brush aside the dark strands of his hair and lean in closer.

“Please wake up,” I beg. Resting the side of my face gently against his chest, I listen to the steady beat of his heart, letting it convince me that he’s okay. My eyes close as I fight tears, and when I feel him give a soft groan, I quickly lift my head to look at him.

“Are you okay?” I ask, watching him wince and slowly blink his eyes open.

The first thing he does when he sees me is reach a hand up to touch the side of my face while the corner of his mouth lifts in a small grin. “Svetik moy,” he whispers, and my heart gives a jump at hearing him call me his light. He was just beaten and he’s obviously in an excruciating amount of pain, but the first words from his busted lips are sweet enough to make me momentarily forget about the hell we’re currently in. For just a few precious seconds, I lean into his touch, savoring the feel of his skin against mine.

“You need to drink some water and eat,” I finally say, knowing our time with the light on is limited and that we need to take advantage of it. That doesn’t stop me from holding his palm to my cheek for one more second, though. I kiss his hand, wondering what kind of music these long fingers can make, and then force myself to release him.

“Can you sit up?” I ask. “Do you think anything is broken?”

He winces again but manages to sit up, and when he’s leaning against the wall, his breaths are quick and shallow, and I’m more than a little worried about him.

“I’m fine,” he says, reading the worry that’s written all over my face.

“You passed out,” I remind him, “and you can’t even take in a deep breath.”

“But I’m still breathing, and that’s got to count for something.”

I know he’s trying to look on the bright side, and he’s right, we’re both still alive and that’s the most important thing, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some serious internal injuries going on. I’m terrified he’s going to get an infection, and when I scoot closer and rest my hand on his forehead, trying to feel for a fever, he smiles while his grey eyes study mine.

“I don’t know how anyone can look so good after having their ass kicked,” I say, making him give a soft laugh.

“Maybe it’s just because I’m so used to it. Miguel’s been kicking my ass at least once a day since I got here. I’m a pro at it now.”

Relieved that he doesn’t feel hot to the touch, I drop my hand and grab one of the bottles of water for him. Opening it, I put it in his hand and say, “Something tells me you could easily kick his ass if you didn’t have your hands cuffed.”

Instead of being cocky about it, he just shrugs and takes a long drink. While he’s busy, I turn and grab the food. Before I turn around, I quickly take some of the meat off my plate and put it on his. He needs the protein more than me. He’s watching me when I turn to face him, and when I put the plate on his lap, he looks at it and raises the brow that’s not cut and bleeding.

“Hurry up and eat before they turn the lights off,” I say, ignoring the curious look he’s giving me. I take my own plate and sit next to him. We didn’t get forks today, just a wrapped tortilla with chicken and rice. I’m grateful the food isn’t rancid and that we’re actually being fed, but it’s never enough, and I’m hungry all the time. My pants are loose around my waist, and my sweatshirt feels baggier than it did when I first got here. I have no idea what Max looked like before he came here, but I’m guessing he’s lost a lot of weight too. His shoulders are still broad, his body obviously fit and toned, but something tells me he was even more magnificent before the cartel got their hands on him.

Sitting next to him, I take a bite of my tortilla, relieved when he does the same. We eat in silence, both of us forcing ourselves to take it slow. I was saving food, but one day Miguel caught me doing it, and he took it from me. The devastation I’d felt at losing that small amount of precious calories was enough to ensure I’ll never try it again. Now, I clean my plate, eating every single thing they bring, forced to blindly trust that it won’t be my last meal.

Max chews slowly. His busted lip must cause him pain every time he takes a bite. He never complains, though. I may not know a lot about the man next to me, but I know he has integrity and honor, and I feel safe when I’m next to him. I look up when he places a piece of chicken on my plate.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to give it back.

He gives me a small smile. “I know you gave me some of your food. I appreciate it, but I’m not taking it from you, Talia. You need your strength, too, and you’re losing weight too quickly.”

I try again to give it back to him. “But I’m not being beaten. You need it more than I do.”

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