Page 22 of Born into Darkness

He’s such a fucking bastard that he thinks that will sway my decision, that I’m such a coward I’d throw her to the wolves, and as long as I don’t have to see the abuse, I can ignore it. Well, fuck him and his entire fucking cartel. It’s never going to happen. My hand will heal, hopefully enough for me to play again, but Talia will never recover from this, and I’d never forgive myself for allowing her to endure it.

“Fine,” I tell him while Talia sobs and shakes her head at me.

In Russian, she says, “Don’t do it, Max. I can survive it. I know I can. I don’t want to be the one responsible for taking your music from you.”

I meet her dark eyes, trying to not let her see how terrified I am of what’s about to happen. “I can’t let them hurt you. My hand will heal.”

“Please don’t do this,” she begs.

I watch her thrash against Lorenzo, begging me to let her undergo a horror that deep down we both know she’d never survive. Even if she could mentally overcome it, the physical damage of being brutally taken by so many men would be the end of her. No medical attention and a diet that’s not even close to supplying everything she needs means she’d be going into this in a weakened state and already at a severe disadvantage. I know the cruelty men are capable of, and I’m guessing her family has protected her as best they can. What she’s imagining in her head isn’t even close to what Lorenzo is threatening to do to her.

She doesn’t understand what she’s begging me to allow, so I make the choice for her, and say again, “I agree to the deal. You leave her alone in exchange for my hand.”

Lorenzo laughs and shoves her towards Mateo, who quickly grabs onto her before she can fall. She struggles against him to get to me, but he tightens his grip, refusing to let her go.

“Brave man,” Lorenzo taunts. “Let’s see if you regret your choice.”

I’ll never regret my choice, but I don’t bother telling him that. Men like him will never understand the sacrifice I’m making. The truth is I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to use my hand again after they’re through with it. I can’t imagine my life without music, without being able to play the notes that are always in my head. The mere thought of it makes me feel like I can’t breathe, like an integral part of myself is about to be taken from me.

I’m terrified, more scared than I’ve ever been in my life, and my body starts to shake when Miguel walks over to me. Juan and Jose come to restrain me while Lorenzo watches over everything, a cruel smile playing at his lips as he aims his phone at me to record what’s about to happen. Mateo says something to him in Spanish, but he barely spares his son a glance, waving off his words with a sharp retort that I don’t understand a word of. If he was pleading for mercy on my behalf, it was obviously denied.

My wrists are still cuffed when the two men grab my arms. They shove me to my knees and pin me between them. Miguel smiles down at me and then points at first my left hand and then my right, like he’s debating which one to ruin. I’m right-handed, so if I have a choice, I’d rather lose the left. I’m not at all surprised when he grabs the right one. He isn’t content to just cause damage—he wants to break me, destroy me piece by piece until there’s nothing left. What he’s about to do is going to be far worse than any beating he’s given me. He knows it, and I know it. The sick, excited glint in his eyes confirms it when he grabs onto my index finger.

The anticipation has sweat beading on my forehead. I try to brace myself for what’s about to happen, but when he quickly twists my finger, popping it out of alignment, a guttural scream tears from my lungs that I’m unable to control. I thought I knew pain, but I was wrong. This is unlike anything I’ve ever known, unlike anything that I ever thought was possible. I barely register the sound of Talia’s screams as I try to catch my breath. My mind refuses to accept the fact that I have four more fingers to go. I don’t know how I’ll fucking survive it.

When he dislocates my middle finger, I taste vomit in the back of my throat and nearly pass out. Tears stream down my face. It’s impossible not to cry. The pain is too all-consuming. It radiates through my fingers and up my arm—a relentless, excruciating sensation that makes it impossible for me to focus on anything other than my ruined fingers. My world narrows down to one thing and one thing only—complete and utter agony.

If they hadn’t put me on my knees, I would’ve already fallen to the floor. Even now it’s only Juan and Jose that are keeping me upright. My whole body is trying to collapse in on itself to protect my hand, but the two men are refusing to give me any relief.

To dislocate my ring finger, Miguel holds onto my forearm and roughly pulls on my finger, using enough force to pop it out of alignment. He laughs while I let out another yell that leaves my throat sore and my breathing ragged. I can feel my hand swelling, the metal of the cuffs digging even harder into my skin. The sob that escapes my lips when I feel him grabbing onto my pinkie finger is one born of absolute desperation, a primal response, the sound a plea for mercy when my mind can no longer form words. Language is beyond my comprehension right now. There’s nothing but sensation. A raw, unyielding agony that has Miguel giving another laugh before he wrenches my pinkie finger back. The audible pop of the dislocation is a sickening sound that I will never forget as long as I live. It will haunt me until the day I die.

I dry heave as nausea hits me hard, and when he reaches for my thumb, I know I’m seconds away from passing out. My head lolls back, and I hear Mateo’s voice like he’s yelling from a distance. All I want is to pass out, but my body hangs on, ignoring my desperate pleas to let the darkness overtake me.

The hands on my arms loosen, letting me go as I crumple to the floor. I cradle my arm to my chest, groaning when I get a better look at my hand. He’s ruined it, completely and utterly destroyed it. My fingers are twisted and bent at wrong angles, and it’s so swollen I barely recognize it. In seconds, Talia is next to me, her face hovering over mine as her tears hit my cheeks, mixing with my own before falling to the cement floor.

“The handcuffs,” she yells. “His wrist is swelling. Please, you have to take it off.”

She begs on my behalf while I drift in and out of consciousness. I feel pressure on my arm as Mateo squats down and unlocks the cuff on my right wrist. I’m sure it hurts when he removes it, but I’m in so much pain that I can’t distinguish where it’s coming from. My eyes start to roll to the back of my head, but I force myself to stay awake. As much as I want the escape unconsciousness will bring me, I don’t want to leave Talia alone with these men.

Mateo’s dark eyes meet mine, and before he stands back up, he says just loud enough for me to hear, “I didn’t want this to happen.”

Even if I wanted to respond, I’m unable to do so. The pain is growing in intensity, a thing I didn’t think was possible, and the swelling is getting worse, too. The skin around my joints is a bright red, and I can’t imagine my hand ever working properly again. A moan escapes when I think about a life without music.

“I’m so sorry,” Talia whispers, leaning down and resting her forehead against mine. “I’m so sorry, Max.”

The lights shut off a second later before I hear the door close.

There’s nothing but darkness and pain and the sound of Talia’s sweet voice begging me for forgiveness.

Chapter4

Talia

“I’m so sorry.” I whisper the words against Max’s skin, feeling the fever that’s starting to take hold. “Please forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,svetik moy,” he whispers back. “This is not your fault.”

I cry harder at his words. I can’t imagine the pain he’s in right now, and instead of lashing out at me, he’s trying to comfort me. If I didn’t already know I was in love with him, this moment would’ve made it abundantly clear. He saved me. He willingly let them destroy his beautiful hand to save me the horror of being raped. I don’t even know how to begin to thank him for that kind of sacrifice, but it’s not going to stop me from trying.

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