Page 131 of Savage

“That’s a little different from breaking both your thumbs, Tank.” I shake my head and admit, “I’m afraid.”

“You don’t gotta be afraid, darlin’. I’d let you break every bone in my body if I thought it would save you,” he whispers, kissing my mouth. “Now come on. Let’s get this shit over with before he comes back.”

On shaking limbs, I climb off his lap, and I kneel on the floor beside him. I lean over and take his belt buckle in my hands, unclasp it, and thread the belt through the loops until it’s free. I fold the leather and place it between his lips. He nods. And then I take hold of his wrist and gently slide the cuff down as far as it will go. It pulls on the metal embedded in his hand, and he closes his eyes tightly shut. A strained groan escapes around the belt in his mouth.

I yank my hand away as if I’ve been burned. “I can’t do this.”

Tank growls and sets me with a look. I swallow hard.He was right about always making me do things I don’t want to. I slide my fingertips along the hard edge of his forearm, over bulging veins and down over his clenched fist.

Not even when I’d hated him mid-detox for withholding drugs from me, not even when he’d dragged me up to his cabin and kept me isolated from everything, and when I’d begged, kicked and screamed for him to give me the poison I was so eager to pump into my veins, had I ever wanted to hurt him like this.

I might have shot Killer for a fix, but it was purely accidental. I was so blinded by adrenalin and the fear that I had the coke in my hands and mightn’t get to taste it before he could snatch it away again. I hadn’t meant to shoot him, and I hadn’t meant to hurt Tank ever. I hated that this was our only option, but I steeled my courage because I’d rather he lived—we lived—than die down here.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and his body stiffens as I grab hold of his good hand and press the pad of my thumb against his joint. I force it down hard until I feel the knuckle give way under my fingers. He screams, but it’s silent, internalised, and made that much worse because of it. I want to be sick, but I keep it together as best as I can while Tank’s whole body tremors. He takes short ragged breaths in and out through his nose as I apologise over and over.

I slide the cuff down his wrist. More trembling. More silent screams swallowed up by the leather belt in his mouth. His hands are too large for the loop, even after I broke his thumb. I feel the bones shifting beneath the cuff the more I work it back and forth. It’s not just the thumb I broke that’s the problem—every tug of the metal pulls on his partially skinned hand and seems to bury it deeper. It’s another few minutes of what I’m sure is agony before I can work the cuff over his thumb and slip it past his fingers. The other, the partially skinned hand looks much worse than it did before, and the empty cuff that isn’t embedded in his flesh dangles like a macabre bracelet. His anger is a living, breathing shroud around him. And though I know it’s not directed at me, he won’t meet my gaze when I crouch down in front of him and remove the belt from his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” I chant over and over, and I press my hand to the side of his face, so he’ll look at me. When he opens his eyes, they’re lit with fire and agony and rage. It’s a scary combination, but it gives me the strength I need to steel my resolve. I take his elbow and help him up, but he’s so blinded by pain that he stumbles and I wind up grabbing hold of his arm to keep him upright.

He holds his broken hands aloft as he wraps me in his big arms and squeezes me as tightly as he can with only his biceps to anchor me to his body. “We’re gonna get out of here. I’m going to get you out, and I’m going to put a knife through that fucker’s skull.”

“How?” I say, carefully stepping out of his embrace to see him better. “How do we get out? Both your hands are broken, and I weigh next to nothing. We’re no match for him, Tank.”

“I’ve never met a man I couldn’t kill, babe. Why the hell do you think I’ve been around to annoy you for so fuckin’ long? I’m gonna need your help, though. You’ll distract him while I move in. First, we gotta kill the light.”

I shake my head. “The lamp I can turn on and off, but the switch for the overhead light is outside the room.”

“I need you to smash the light bulb, babe.”

“But the noise will bring him running.”

“Exactly.” Tank leans down and reaches for the belt, and I help him when I realise what he plans to do with it.

“Your hands are broken,” And my voice sounds pitying and small, even to me. “How are you going to hold it tight enough?”

“Don’t you worry about me. Listen, when I wrap this thing around his neck, I need you to promise me you’ll run. Get outta here, flee, and don’t you dare fuckin’ look back. You run as far as you possibly can, and then you call Prez for help.”

I shake my head. “I’m not leaving you. He’ll kill you.”

“He’ll try.”

“You can’t fight him with two broken hands,” I argue.

His eyes placate me. They hold me in an embrace when his arms can’t. “I told you I’d break every bone in my body to keep you safe. I meant it.”

“This is crazy, There has to be another way.”

“We gotta do this now, Ivy. Promise me you’ll run, no matter what you hear. You run, and you keep runnin’.”

“I promise,” I say through my tears, but I’ve broken promises to him before.What’s another one?No way am I going to leave him down here at the mercy of my father.

“Thatta girl,” Tank says, and he kisses me before gritting his teeth and wrapping the ends of the belt tightly around his hands. His arms shake as he does this, and his face twists with pain, but then his eyes meet mine, and his determination spurs on my own.

I nod, and then I wait until he moves back into the shadows on the other side of the room before I yank the lamp from the wall. I hurl it at the ceiling. The light bulb shatters, the lamp splinters into what sounds like several pieces on the floor and glass rains down all around us, littering the ground. The room is pitch black, save for the light that creeps in through the tiny gap around the door.

Above, I hear footsteps through the living room, and then on the stairs. My heart races, and I wish I could see him in the dark. When my father slides the locks free and opens the door, I get a glimpse of Tank’s outline, a warrior, a gladiator veiled in shadow, just waiting for the right time to strike. And then I have to avert my gaze, so I don’t give everything away.

My father stands in the doorway, the dim glow from the stairwell burning my eyes after the long seconds of darkness. He’s silhouetted by light, and it isn’t until he moves that I realise he’s holding the axe in his hands. My blood turns to ice in my veins, and all of the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A small cry escapes my throat as he moves into the room.

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