[REBECCA]
Tension lingered briefly between the two men before their glares softened. A sigh escaped me as their silence endured. There was a long journey ahead for us all.
Artemy paced around the perimeter of the bed, finally positioning himself beside me. His presence was a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil. “Rebecca, let’s depart from this place. You must rest,” he said, his voice laced with concern, only to abruptly halt as anger etched across his features.
His emotions were palpable; I knew precisely what was brewing beneath his surface.
Raffaele’s capture had unleashed Artemy’s thirst for retribution. His clenched fists spoke of his volatile intent. I intervened, grasping his hands and pressing a tender kiss to his knuckles. “Go ahead. I’ll remain here. Once weariness sets in, I’ll ascend and find reprieve in slumber.”
His objections seemed ready to burst forth, yet I persisted. “Believe me, Artemy, I’ll manage. You, however, need to do what must be done.”
This was my affirmation of support for whatever actions he intended against Raffaele. I deliberately veiled thoughts of the Devil, a Pandora’s box of painful memories. Meeting his gaze, our eyes locked blue against green and I mustered a smile, drawing strength from his fierce determination.
In the ensuing silence, he wavered. Bending down, his lips met mine in a fervent kiss. “I shall return for you,” he vowed before pulling away.
I returned his smile, trusting his promise. He brushed his thumb over my cheek, leaving a trace of warmth. With a final, reluctant step, Artemy retreated, my gaze fixed on his retreating form. An unexpected pause gripped him, confusion evident as his voice broke through the quiet air.
“Thank you for rescuing us.”
Artemy resumed his departure, and I couldn’t help but smile, acknowledging his obstinate nature. He was my brooding, unyielding man.
Turning my attention to Damian, I noticed him fixated on the closed door. “Is this a dream?” he wondered aloud.
A laugh bubbled forth from me. “No, it’s reality.”
Damian sighed, closing his eyes, and I tucked him in, whispering, “You should rest.”
He succumbed to slumber, his breathing finding a steady rhythm. As time flowed by, my eyelids grew heavy, and I succumbed to drowsiness. My final conscious image was of Damian in repose, a testament to the newfound bond between father and son.
Abruptly, I awoke, startled as arms slid beneath my knees. Artemy’s embrace enveloped me, cradling me close. I nestled my head against his shoulder, my weariness returning. “I told you to rest, Angel,” he chided softly. “You’ve been sitting here for hours. You ignore my advice not good for you, nor the baby.”
My response was a sleep-laden hum, my eyes drooping shut again. “I’m okay,” I murmured, gripping his neck for support.
He addressed Damian, who was awake, with a firm resolve. Damian offered a nod and a faint smile, sanctioning Artemy’s decision. Without delay, Artemy spirited me from the room, foregoing goodbyes. His arms held me securely as he traversed the distance, his reproach audible. “Stubborn woman. How many times must I repeat? You must care for yourself. Have you eaten? Damn it, Rebecca. Please, tell me you’ve eaten something.”
Regret washed over me, my negligence apparent. I winced at the gentle reminder, anticipating his concern. He emitted a low growl of warning. “Rebecca,” he prompted insistently, his voice tinged with frustration. “Have you eaten?”
I pressed my lips firmly together, a steadfast refusal to let words escape. In response, he let out an exasperated huff, his frustration palpable, yet he held back from speaking his mind. I cautiously lifted my gaze to meet his face, and there it was: his lips tightly drawn into a straight line, a clear indicator of his simmering anger.
Seeking to bridge the gap between us, I leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on the side of his neck, a gesture filled with an unspoken plea. “Please, don’t let this anger consume you,” I whispered, my voice carrying a mixture of concern and yearning.
“I’m not,” he replied, his words delivered with a touch of defiance. But even in the dim light, I could sense the undercurrents of his true emotions. He was most certainly harboring a storm within.
As he led us to our bedroom, his steps purposeful yet laden with tension, the room remained shrouded in darkness as he made no move to switch on the lights. With a tenderness that contrasted his earlier demeanor, he gently placed me onto the bed before drawing the comforter over my form. He slid into bed beside me, his presence a mixture of both strength and vulnerability as he pulled me into his embrace.
Safely ensconced in the shelter of his arms, my back pressed against his chest, his hand found its place on my stomach, my own hand instinctively finding its counterpart atop his. Amidst the quietude of the moment, a single pressing question burned within me, demanding acknowledgment.
He had been absent for hours, his whereabouts a mystery that had gnawed at my thoughts.
“Is he… gone?” The words were a mere whisper, uttered into the enveloping darkness, yet they reverberated in the silence, causing my heart to pound painfully against my ribs.
“No,” came his solemn response, a single word that carried a weighty mixture of implications. My breath rushed out of me in a rush, a mixture of emotions knotting within me. My grip on his hand tightened, the physical connection offering solace amidst the turmoil within.
“He won’t meet an easy end, Angel,” he added, a somber declaration that cast shadows over the room. I bit down on my lower lip, my eyes squeezing shut as I grappled with his words.
In that suspended moment, the boundary between relief and an indescribable something else blurred. It was an intricate web of emotions that I couldn’t unravel.
“Try to sleep. Let this be a burden I carry alone. In our haven, his name shall not cross our lips,” his voice, tender yet tinged with a barely-contained anger, coaxed its way into my ears. His anger was an inferno within him, a driving force that propelled him onward.
A man fueled by fury and a thirst for retribution held me, and in that instant, I shied away from the depths of understanding his capabilities.
So I acquiesced to his command, allowing the cocoon of his embrace to cradle me as I surrendered to slumber.
Little did I know that while I drifted into dreams, the man who had inflicted years of torment upon me was imprisoned in our basement, enduring merciless retribution at Artemy’s hands.
***
The bowl, a pitiful container, was unceremoniously placed upon the ground, positioned in the expanse that separated us. With a disdainful kick, he sent it skidding a few feet away from us.
“Eat,” his command was uttered, his gaze locked onto me. His voice carried not only a simple directive but a palpable undercurrent of fury, leaving no room for inquiry or defiance.
I raised myself from my prone position, meeting the distant bowl that now lay at a short remove. Wasting no time, I promptly assumed a submissive posture, my knees sinking into the ground. It was clear that my compliance was the sole objective he sought.
As I closed the gap to the bowl and readied myself to partake, his foot again connected with it, propelling it away in a callous repetition of the previous act. My body obeyed, and once more I moved forward, the bowl an elusive target subjected to his sadistic whims.
This cruel ritual persisted until the extent of my shackles was fully exploited, my desperation evident as I strained against their constraints to reach the meager sustenance.
Remaining upon my knees, I bowed down to taste the flavorless contents within the vessel. The absence of taste mattered little; consumption was not a choice, but a necessity dictated by my circumstances.
In a grotesque display, he unzipped his pants, the ominous precursor to a wretched anticipation. I braced myself for the impending torment, a shiver coursing through my tense frame.
With a sudden jolt, I jerked awake, the tendrils of sleep and nightmare reluctant to relinquish their hold on my consciousness.
No, this was not a mere nightmare. It was the chilling reality I was trapped within.
Behind my tightly shut eyelids, the memories resurfaced, a torrent of images that assaulted my senses. Every recollection carried its own brand of agony, a torment that went beyond the physical.
The attempt to escape the clutches of memory was futile; the Devil’s sinister laughter echoed ceaselessly in my ears. Despite my fervent desire to expel him from my thoughts, I remained powerless. The echoes persisted, a constant reminder.
And so it always circled back to this torment-reliving the pain, enduring the memories on an endless loop.
A hand’s touch upon my shoulder elicited an involuntary flinch. Darkness threatened to envelop my mind once more.
The Devil’s presence seemed to reassert itself.
Nausea clawed at my stomach, bile tingling on my tongue. My chest constricted, and I shut my eyes tight against the mounting distress.
“Rebecca, it’s me.”
The soothing voice managed to pierce through the haze of darkness. Slowly, I opened my eyes, greeted by the sight of Lynda seated beside me. Her expression bore a gentleness that resonated deeply, and her raised palms held an unspoken pledge of safety.
“I won’t harm you. Artemy had to leave, but he didn’t want to leave you alone,” her words flowed in hushed reassurance.
Muscles, wound tight with tension, gradually eased. My breathing steadied, and the Devil’s grip seemed to loosen.
He was not present.
He was confined, awaiting the reckoning that loomed-a fate he could not escape, his demise inevitable.
A surge of newfound strength surged through me at the thought of Raffaele.
“I wish to see him,” the declaration sprang forth from my lips.
Struggling to rise from the bed, I found an unanticipated companion in Lynda, who quietly trailed behind me. Her voice, tentative and questioning, interjected, “Artemy?”
I shook my head, propelling myself toward the door without waiting for her. My mind had settled upon a single objective-a purpose that dominated all else.
I longed to bear witness to the Devil’s visage one final time.
To behold the fear in his eyes-the very fear he had so mercilessly sowed within me. The dread that had taken root in my soul, I sought it mirrored in his heartless gaze.
I yearned to witness my deliverance, embodied in the triumph of my Savior over the malevolent force that had held me captive for far too long.
My heart raced like a wild stallion as I descended the staircase, the click-clack of my steps echoing through the air. Lynda trailed close behind, her words a distant murmur I scarcely registered. My focus remained fixed solely on the final destination I sought.
My longing for security, for a sanctuary from the tumult, drove me onward. But the sole means of achieving that reassurance rested in witnessing his capture, in seeing the man who haunted my thoughts brought to justice.