Page 97 of When We Fall: Part Two
“Rosalie. Please. She’s your sister?—”
“And I will love her as such,” he answered in a low voice. “She will never want for anything. I will take care of her.”
“Don’t hurt her,” I choked out. “Whatever your brand of care is, she deserves to be free. Please. Give her that freedom.”
A muscle thrummed along his jaw as he gazed back at me.
“Give me your word that she will always be safe and free. That she will be happy. She needs to leave with Anson,” I rasped. “It is my dying wish. I’m begging you.”
He said nothing as he looked back at me. Finally, he stood and kicked his chair back before pulling his knife from his boot. I watched as he cut his hand before he leaned in, his lips at my ear.
“Deal,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Now let’s make your death come true. You know the drill. Scream for me. Make me believe it.”
A scream ripped from my throat as he drove his blade along my chest, my blood dribbling out. He pressed his bloody palm to the mess as Asylum twirled his fork.
“I love believability,” Asylum said as Dante pulled away.
I stared fearfully at him. My cousin. My family.
“This will only hurt for a moment. I really do love your eyes.”
I was sure all of Chicago heard my screams as he pushed his fork against my eye.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ETHAN
“Please. No,” I managed to choke out as I was strapped naked to the cold metal chair. “N-No more.”
I wasn’t in my right mind. I didn’t even know if any of this was real at this point. Nothing made sense.
I was having sex. Lots of sex. I knew I was being fucked. Sucked. Beaten. I was sure I’d even been pissed on.
They said I was a good boy, but I felt so dirty and sick. When the fog would lift, I’d weep and beg, but then they’d just poke me with needles again. They’d ask me questions.
Sugar. Sugar. Sugar.
Never.
No.
Please.
Always the same answer.
I promised Fox.
“Rosalie?” I called out weakly as I saw her come into the room with me. “Sweetheart?”
My heart lurched. It was her. It had to be. Her hair didn’t look quite right. It was straightened. I hadn’t seen her straighten her hair since Ian had cut it. And it wasn’t the right shade of red. My sweetheart had vibrant red hair. Like a candy apple.
She was wearing a short dress. Not her typical sundress. This was too short. Too low cut. Not sweet like my Rosalie wore.
I couldn’t see her properly. Everything was so hazy. So fuzzy.
I felt sick.
“Mm, Ethan,” her warm breath feathered across my lips. “I’ve missed you. They let me in to see you.”
