Page 59 of Ruined By Blood
Low at first, then building to something that makes even the men holding me shift uncomfortably. It's not a sound I recognize coming from my own throat, promising violence beyond anything they've ever witnessed.
The room goes silent except for my laughter.
"You think this is funny?" he snaps, his free hand going to his gun.
I let my laughter die down to a chilling smile. "No, what's funny is that you still think you're leaving here alive." My voice drops lower, ice coating every syllable. "You touched her. Worse. You hurt her."
I lean forward despite the gun barrel pressing into my spine. "I'm going to peel the skin from your body while you're still breathing, starting with your fingers. Then I'll move to your face."
Jackson's expression falters for just a second.
"Your mistake wasn't finding us," I continue, my voice conversational now. "Your mistake was putting your hands on her hair, making her cry. See, I was going to kill you quick. Professional courtesy. But now?" I smile wider. "Now I'm going to take my time. Days, maybe. I know techniques that will keep you conscious through things you can't even imagine."
"Shut the fuck up," Jackson snarls, but I can see the first hint of uncertainty in his eyes. If he had orders to kill me he'd already done that. Sterling wants something from me. And for now that's my only hope.
"I've been working in the family business since I was fourteen," I tell him, voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "Twenty years perfecting the art of making men talk who don't want to talk. Making them beg. Making them pray for death." I tilt my head, studying him like a bug I'm about to crush. "And you just guaranteed yourself the full experience."
I can feel the men behind me shifting uncomfortably.
"Let her go now," I say softly, "and maybe I'll consider making it quick."
Jackson laughs at Enzo's threats, but something flickers in his eyes. It's subtle. A tiny muscle twitch at the corner of his mouth, a momentary hesitation before the sound leaves his throat. The laughter is cold and fake.
He's afraid of Enzo.
"Look at you," Jackson sneers, yanking my hair harder. Pain shoots across my scalp. "Feretti's guard dog making all those big threats while he's tied up like a Christmas present."
But the tremor in his voice betrays him. The other men shift their weight, exchanging glances.
Jackson turns his attention to me, dragging me closer with a vicious tug. The towel slips dangerously, and I clutch it tighter with my free hand.
"And you," he hisses, breath hot against my face. "Wereyou too stupid to run away from Daddy? Or did you think this psychopath could actually protect you?"
His words slice through me, but I keep my face blank.
"Did you know?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. "Did you know what my father did to me?"
"What are you talking about?" The false confusion in his voice makes my stomach turn.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." My voice drops to a whisper.
A slow, ugly smile spreads across Jackson's face. "Of course I knew. Everyone on the security team knows what happens behind closed doors." His eyes trail down my body, lingering on the towel. "Some of us have been waiting our turn. Maybe Cortez will let me have a taste after he's done with you."
Something breaks inside me—not in the way things usually break, splintering me into smaller, more frightened pieces. This breaks differently. This breaks open, releasing something hot and fierce that races through my veins.
Before I can think, before I can stop myself, I gather every ounce of hatred, every moment of fear and pain I've endured, and I spit directly into Jackson's face.
The saliva lands across his eye and cheek. For one suspended moment, everything freezes—the men with their guns, Enzo with his dark promise of violence, even the air in the room seems to hold its breath.
Jackson's expression transforms from shock to rage in an instant. He releases my hair only to raise his hand, palm open and ready to strike.
"You little?—"
Jackson's hand connects with my cheek in an explosion of pain. The force of the blow snaps my head sideways, and I taste copper as my inner cheek tears against my teeth. Myvision blurs, the room tilting as I stagger backward, desperately clutching the towel against my body.
"You fucking animal!" Enzo roars. I've never heard such rage. It fills the cabin, bouncing off the walls as he strains against his restraints. The veins in his neck bulge, his muscles cording with tension.
The ropes around his wrists begin to give as he twists and pulls, blood trickling down his forearms where the fibers slice into his skin. One of the guards steps forward, pressing a gun barrel against Enzo's temple, but he doesn't even acknowledge it.
