Emotions are running high right now, and we’re all feeling things more extremely than we usually would, thinking differently from usual. I refuse to allow him to make such life-changing promises when he’s exhausted and drowning. It’s just not going to happen.

  “But I want to,” he pleads.

  “I know you do, and you have no idea how much that means to me, Alex. But right now, we need to take one step at a time. Life isn’t going to be normal again for a—”

  “Ever. It’s never ever going to be the same again.”

  I stare at him as his eyes fill with tears. He blinks them back, fighting them, and I do the same right alongside him.

  “What’s happening today? Are you heading back out on the search?”

  He nods, a dark expression crossing his face.

  “Theo’s gonna come and get me. Emmie and Stella are going to come hang out with you.”

  “I told them about me and Daemon,” I blurt. Although he surely figured that out when I briefly spoke to Seb.

  “What did they say?”

  “Honestly, I think they were too exhausted and delirious to really register any of it.”

  “I get that,” he agrees, lifting his scratched-up and bruised arm to push his hair back from his brow. “I’m fucking struggling to compute anything right now.”

  “Tell me about it,” I mutter as his phone pings in his pocket.

  He slides it free, frowning at whatever stares back at him.

  “They’re on their way down,” he sighs, dropping forward and resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head.

  “You might find him.” There’s a hopeful lilt to my voice that I don’t really feel.

  He looks up, his dark eyes holding mine.

  “I—” He swallows, not wanting to say the words that are on the tip of his tongue. “We haven’t pulled anyone out alive for… d-days.”

  “I know. Fuck, I know. But there’s still a chance, right? When things like this are on the news, they find people days later, shocking everyone.”

  “Sometimes, yeah,” Alex confesses. “But the chances are slim.”

  “What if he got out?” I ask, knowing it’s stupid and hopeful, but I can’t help stop my fickle heart from coming up with these wild scenarios where this could be okay.

  I’ve lost Dad. I know that, and while it doesn’t feel real, I know it’s going to fully hit me at some point in the coming days, but I’m not ready to give up hope. I can’t.

  He deserves for us to have more faith in him than that. After everything he’s been through, everything he’s endured in his short life, he needs us to keep hope. To believe in him. To believe in the unthinkable.

  “Calli,” Alex sighs, conflict warring in his eyes.

  “But there is a chance. There’s always a chance, right?”

  “I guess. But please… don’t get your hopes up, because that chance is—”

  “Small, I know. But I need him, Alex.” My hand slides to my flat stomach as my insides knot.

  I’m terrified. Fucking petrified at the thought of having to do this alone.

  My hand trembles as Alex slides to the edge of the sofa.

  “I’ll do anything I fucking can, Calli. But I need you to be realistic.”

  “I am. I just also need hope right now, because otherwise, I have no idea how the hell I’m meant to keep going.”

  “I know. But you’ve got us. All of us are here to keep you together, yeah?”

  “I haven’t told them about… about the baby, and I’d prefer it—”

  “Whatever you want,” he promises.

  “Just for a while. Until I’ve had a chance to come to terms with it and I’m further in.”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You want it to be just between us, then that’s how it’ll be.”

  “Brianna got me the test. She’s going to be demanding answers soon. But she’s trustworthy.”

  “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  The door knocks a second before the locks disengage and voices float down to us.

  “I asked Theo to give you access to everything in this building so you can come and go from here as you wish. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  My heart jumps into my throat at his generosity, but then thoughts of another flat in this building pops into my head, and my eyes fly to the wall that divides the two.

  “C-can I get in there?” I whisper, as footsteps and voices get closer.

  “Yes.”

  “Calli,” Theo breathes, racing around the sofa and dragging me up to wrap me in his arms.

  “Hey cous, how’s it going?” I mutter into his chest.

  “Fucking shit. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Daemon knew this was going to happen.” My body tenses at the mention of his name, but Theo doesn’t react. I can only assume Emmie told him and that he’s aware of the situation. “He fucking warned us it was a stupid thing to do, but we stood by my dad, by Uncle Evan, and walked straight into that ambush.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” I assure him, pulling back. “Your dad and mine will have planned everything as best they could. They’d have been convinced they’d covered all angles. But as much as we might like to wish they are, they’re not—they weren’t—God. This kind of thing is a risk anytime you guys step outside the house.” I hate saying it, being so frank when all I really want to do is crumble, but it’s the truth. A truth we’ve lived with all our lives.

  “I should have questioned them more, like Daemon did. He could see it. And look where that landed him.”

  A sob rips through me as I think of him under all that rubble. I just have to hope he’s hanging on, that he can hear the guys trying to get to him, not giving up on him.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Calli. We’re gonna get him. We’re gonna bring him back to you.”

  “So you can kill him yourself?”

  “Something like that,” he mutters, staring down at me with more understanding in his eyes than I think I’ve ever seen.

  Emmie has done that. She’s softened him. Showed him that there’s more to life than just being a cold, detached soldier, future boss.

  “We’re gonna get through this, Calli. All of us.” He pulls me back into his chest once more and drops a kiss to the top of my head.

  “Have you spoken to Nico?” I ask as he releases me once more.

  “No. He’s not answering his phone.” Something dark flickers through Theo’s eyes at the mention of my brother that makes my insides twist up into a painful knot.

  “What aren’t you telling me? I swear to God, if you’re still keeping shit from me then—”

  “I’m not, Cal. I don’t know anything. I’m just worried about him. Since we discovered your dad, it’s like something inside him just… broke.”

  7

  DAEMON

  I have no idea how much time has passed. Every time I shut my eyes, I can’t help but feel like the world is whizzing by outside of these four walls. And it terrifies me.

  How’s Calli coping? Is she okay? Are Alex and the girls taking care of her?

  Did everyone get out of that building?

  It collapsed so hard and fast, I find it hard to believe that everyone got out. The thought of losing any member of the Family makes my chest ache, but the fear of losing one of the boys, the girls, or any of our parents turns my blood to ice.

  Have faith, a little voice rings in my ear.

  But while I remain here, strapped to whatever this slab beneath me is, I’m finding it harder and harder to hold onto anything.

  They could all be out there looking for me or… they could all be dying in that rubble of destruction.

  The locks on the door to this cell clang and my body tenses a beat before light floods the room once more.

  At some point, I woke to find that the spotlight had been turned off, plunging us into total darkness in favour of pumping white noise through hidden speakers instead.

  All I could make out was the outline of his body. But still, he said nothing and he continued hanging there, accepting his fate.

  And while I stared, desperately trying to figure all this out with my fuzzy, drug-laced mind, all I could think about was why he was up there and not me.

  “Good morning, campers,” a deep voice drawls as he and two Italians step into the room.

  I squint, trying to focus on them, but everything is hazy and I find it hard to focus on anything as the room and the people in it spin.

  The chains that are hanging from the ceiling rattle as the guy hanging there fights, proving to me that he is actually alive.

  “Now, now, kid. That’s no way to greet your owners, is it?” another of them growls when the guy tries to fight him off with his legs.

  “Thought you’d have lost your fight by now.”

  “Fuck you,” whoever it is snarls. Once again, a flicker of familiarity washes through me at his voice.

  “Seems like we’ve got some more work on our hands.”

  A loud grunt of pain fills the air as one of the guys holding us here throws his fist into his victim’s ribs. And I swear to God it’s so hard I hear a crack before his wail of pain echoes off the concrete walls around us.

  The attack is brutal, and I have no choice but to watch every hit they land on his body.

  It’s surreal. After spending more hours than I should probably ever admit to in their position, hurting our enemies, torturing them until they talk, you’d think that the beating wouldn’t affect me.

  But not knowing who it is, not knowing if he deserves it or not makes something twist up inside me.

  Everyone I’ve ever tortured deserved it. They wronged us, worked against us, played us.

  Is that what that guy did?

  I don’t know. And I don’t like the way that feels.

  Everyone thinks I’m nothing but a cold-blooded monster, and on most days, I’ll wear that badge with pride. It’s what earns me my respect, the reason anyone with half a brain fears me in this city. Although something tells me that those Italians really don’t give a fuck. And why should they? While I’m strapped to a bed, I’m hardly a fucking threat to them. Even more so when I have no idea if anyone knows I’m even here.

  They could all be at home mourning—maybe—the loss of me. Yet here I am, in desperate need of them to fight for me.

  They could bring the door down at any minute, storm in here, overpower our captives and get us out. I’ve no doubt they could do it.

  But they’d need to know first. And while I’m pinned here, I have zero fucking clue as to how I can make sure they know I’m alive, that they know to come and search for me anywhere but in all that rubble.

  “Argh.” The pain in his cry sends a shiver down my spine and makes my pulse pick up.

  It’s obvious from the pain that aches through every inch of me and the blood that covers my skin that they’ve had some fun with me. But it must have been like child’s play compared to what they’re doing to that guy.

  I wince as one of the men picks up a bat that was propped up in the corner and takes it to the guy’s ribs, leaving no doubt in my mind that more than a few are broken right now.

  The crunch is sickening, and it affects me in a way I’ve never experienced before. Bile rushes up my throat, burning until the disgusting taste fills my mouth.

  I have no choice but to spit it out, and the moment I do, all eyes turn on me.

  I still, feeling the weight of the unspoken threats in their eyes. But I refuse to cower down, to beg for them to leave me alone.

  For one, I know it’ll never happen. These men are soldiers, and they’ve been sent in here with one mission. There is nothing that will stop them from following orders. I should know—I’m one of them.

  “Looks like your friend here has just let you off the hook,” one of them quips, looking the battered and broken guy dead in the eyes.

  The only sound that comes from him is a pained whimper as two of the men reach up and unhook him from the ceiling.

  I can only imagine how much his arms and shoulders hurt right now. As far as I know, he’s been up there since we were first brought in… hours… days… fuck knows ago.

  He tries to fight the pain, I feel it deep in my soul, but as one of the men forces his arms down in front of him, stretching the muscles the opposite way from how they have probably fused into place, but it’s futile and his cry of agony rips through the air.

  I wince, feeling it almost as keenly as he is.

  I have no idea who he is, but there’s some deep-seated connection there. A connection I can’t even begin to explain. But it’s there nonetheless.

  And only a few seconds later, I find out why.

  The two men holding him up finally turn him toward me.

  My mouth goes dry and my entire body goes rigid with realisation.

  Holy fuck.

  My eyes scan his face, his hardly recognisable face, and my heart sinks into my motherfucking feet.

  No.

  His pained gaze collides with mine. But I don’t see any of the shock that’s rocking my usually very solid foundations.

  He knew I was here.

  My eyes follow their movements, holding him firm in the hope he finds something to give him some strength in my eyes. Hell knows he fucking needs some right now.

  They throw him into the corner of the room and he lands with a grunt of pain before curling up into a ball.

  To my surprise, they allow him to do so, but not before they reach for the chains secured to the wall and cuff both his wrists and ankles to stop him from going anywhere.

  My heart races as I watch each of their movements, because I know what’s going to happen next.

  They’re coming for me.

  They’ve broken one of their little toys. Now, it’s time to start on the other.

  As if they can hear my thoughts, the three of them share a look before turning to me.

  I don’t so much as flinch as they glare pure hatred at me.

  I narrow my eyes at them.

  Bring it on, motherfuckers.

  It’ll take a lot to break me down. And I’m twistedly excited about watching them try.

  “Daemon Deimos,” one of them taunts as they close in on me. “The Cirillos’ very own bogeyman. Aren’t we lucky?”

  I sneer at him, causing the split in my lip to crack open.

  My shackles are released and I’m hauled to my feet. If they’re expecting me to fight, then they’re going to be disappointed. I’m more calculated than that.

  When I turn on them and fuck them over, they won’t see it fucking coming.

  Of course, right now, I have no fucking clue how that’s going to happen.

  But it will. I have that much faith in myself at least.

  Even if I never get to see daylight again after this ordeal, I’m gonna make damn well sure I take these motherfuckers to hell with me.

  “Compliant little shit, aren’t you?” the older of the men points out, a smirk playing on his lips.

  “And here we were, thinking we’d scored ourselves the ultimate little pet.”

  My arms are wrenched above my head, bound with rope, and I’m hung up like a piece of fucking meat ready to go to the slaughter.

  They circle me as if they’re lions waiting to take down their prey. But none of them make a move.

  Refusing to show any fear, I hold each of their eyes in turn.

  Clearly, they’re familiar with my reputation, and I’d hate to disappoint them by showing them anything other than the cold, detached motherfucker they all think I am.

  “Some pretty little scars you got there, boy,” the older one taunts again.

  He pulls a knife from inside his sock and holds the point to the very top of my longest scar.

  “Maybe we should open you back up again. See what they replaced your heart with when you were just a babe in arms, huh? Rumour has it, your granddaddy sold your soul to the devil long before you were born and that left you with nothing but a cold, rotting piece of meat in its place.” The mention of my evil shit of a grandfather almost makes me react, but I stuff it right down into the lockbox I keep inside for all that shit.

  He presses the knife harder into my scar, the sharpness of it easily slicing through my skin.

  Glancing down, I watch as blood immediately pools around the blade.

  “Truly thought you’d bleed black,” the guy, who wears an ugly scar across his cheek like a medal, mutters.

  I’ve no idea who these motherfuckers are—not by face, anyway. But then, the Italians are good at keeping their secret weapons well hidden. If one of them were to spill a name though, I’ve no doubt I’d know every single thing about them from the intel I’ve heard over the years.

  “Disappointed,” the third, who’s rocking a scraggly beard, agrees while the one with the knife continues slicing down my chest.

  It’s not actually that deep, but fuck, it stings like a motherfucker. Not that I’m going to let them see that.

  Blood runs down my abs before soaking into the waistband of my boxers.

  Beard watches and his eyes flare with excitement, clueing me into what’s next.

  His scarred fingers twist in the elastic, and he tugs hard enough to rip through the fabric which leaves me swinging, my toes barely scraping the rough floor beneath me.

  “I wasn’t fucking finished,” the old one complains, staring at my half-sliced-open scar.

  With smirks playing on their lips and excitement in their eyes, they watch me until I’ve fallen still once more before they continue, making each touch, hit, and slice through my skin more painful than the last.

  My anger and need for retribution burn red hot within me as I watch them, learning their weaknesses and trying to somehow get the upper hand, all the while hanging broken, bloody, and naked from the fucking ceiling.

  By the time they decide to give up, the darkness of this pitiful situation is starting to get the better of me.

  “Put him out,” Scar instructs, and only a second later, that familiar feeling of drugs running into my system hits me before everything goes black and I’m forced to enter a whole other kind of hell.

 

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