Page 58 of Queen of Madness

“Up, Onyx.” Uncle Antonio takes another swig of water. Even while fighting cancer, the man is an unstoppable force.

He wakes up, goes to chemo, comes home and eats, before beating my ass for four hours straight. Well, not always beats. Sometimes he drowns it, smokes it out, then drowns it again before beating it. I’ve learned every possible way I can die, be tortured, or used in any way. And while death is no longer something I fear, the pain is. It’s everlasting, and just when I think it can’t possibly hurt any worse, it does.

He wants me to beg for death, and when I do, he always finds a way to make it hurt more.

I see now why my father wanted me to wait for so long. This is... it... it fucking sucks.

And without the boys, I don’t think I’d make it. Every night, they come to take care of me. Kilo runs around the house, grabbing everything Cat needs to heal my day’s wounds. Trick playsDonkey Kongso I don’t dwell on the pain, and Trigger massages my muscles, telling me what I can expect next, and helps get me prepared.

They’ve been through this whole ordeal with my uncle already and knowing that they went through those terrible withdrawals as mere children, then had to survivethis, makes me see them in a much different light.

No matter what, you have to get it. No one is going to be able to finish this but you.

Trick’s words act as my mantra, looping in my mind until I force myself to my feet.

My uncle’s dark gaze pierces me, but he nods. “I know you have the boys, and guards, and all the protection in place that money can buy. But you’re not invincible.” He looks down at his hands and sighs. “My brother wasn’t.”

My heart burns at the memory of my parents. It’s been four hundred and twelve days since their deaths. Since their murders. Yet it feels as if it just happened this morning. The pain is searing, burning through my veins when I let my thoughts linger. The air becomes stifling and suffocating at the same time until no amount of air is enough and I’m gasping for it.

They were everything.Myeverything.

And they were stolen from me.

“Stay on me.” It’s the only warning I’m given before he swings his right arm.

I block, shuffle back, and only end up absorbing a fraction of his hit. But he keeps coming, moving faster than I can keep up. One after the other, he throws his fists. I duck, dodge, and do my best to not get my teeth knocked out.

“How will you kill anyone when you can’t advance? When all you do is block and run? Find an opening, Onyx!”

Frustration bubbles in my gut, his constant probing and prodding like a fireplace poker to ignite the dormant fire. But it does nothing more than overwhelm me. If I had my father here, he would empower me. My mother would encourage me.

If they were here, I’d have another year before needing to learn how to be beaten down by a man four times my size.

I’d get to scream at them and tell them how the black belt I have didn’t prepare me to be whipped with the blunt end of a gun while still keeping my head straight. How it didn’t explain what to do when hanging from chains or ropes or being bolted to the wall as someone poked a needle under my nails.

If they were here, I wouldn’t be drowning.

I’d be able to breathe.

I’d find a hole to advance and show my uncle that I can protect myself.

But they aren’t here, and I’ll be damned if I join them without killing everyone involved in ruining my life.

Finally, I see it. The small shift he takes on his feet when he’s about to swing with his right. I duck under and connect a quick jab to his kidney, and swing around, hooking an elbow around his neck and putting all my weight into yanking him down.

He falls back, collapsing on the mat with a chuckle. “There we go, princess.”

My head whips around. “I’m not a princess.”

“You’re damn sure not a queen yet. Again.” He stands, brushing his hands over his joggers.

So we fight. Again. And again. For what feels like days until my legs beg to give out, my lungs can no longer hold more air than half a breath, and my muscles seize with every move I make. That’s when he shackles me to the pipes and leaves.

Five hours later, with the stench of my own urine clinging to me, I climb the steps as though I’ve rested a full eight hours. I keep my head high as I pass the guards, though even in this state, they know better than to chance a look. My feet are quiet as I ascend the stairs.

My shower heats quickly, and when I step inside, I contemplate breaking apart. I think perhaps a good cry could help release some of the pain that grows inside me every day. Perhaps it will irritate a bit of the darkness that threatens to swallow me whole.

But then what?

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