[REBECCA]
Upon reaching the basement’s threshold, a tableau greeted me. Two figures, sentinel-like, stood sentinel before the door. Their eyes widened at my arrival, a shared impulse urging them a step closer.
“Miss Rebecca, this isn’t your place,” one of them interjected, caution woven through his voice.
Yet my gaze brushed past them, riveted on the closed door that lay beyond. “I need to see him,” I declared with a conviction that resonated through the heavy air.
“The boss gave strict orders-no one’s to enter,” the other guard responded, his gaze carrying a mix of skepticism and puzzlement.
Within this enclave, the atmosphere turned icy, pregnant with the weight of impending doom. It bore a malevolence that seemed to constrict the very air we breathed. My skin prickled as if needles trailed along its surface, and I wrapped my arms around myself in a futile attempt to stave off the chilling tendrils that crept over me.
“Please, grant me passage. It’s something I must do,” I implored, my tone threading urgency and vulnerability.
Lynda seized the opportunity to intercede. “Let her through. She needs this.”
A silent exchange rippled among the quartet, uncertainty etched upon their faces. In their eyes, I glimpsed the fear of Artemy’s wrath, a reprisal that would be both swift and severe should they dare to countermand his directives.
“I’ll claim responsibility if questioned,” I entreated, sensing their hesitation like a wavering current.
With the guards reluctantly parting, their glances colliding in uncertain accord, I stepped forward. One guard’s hesitancy turned verbal, an echo of concern lingering in his tone, “Miss, this place isn’t meant for someone like you.”
Undeterred, I responded with determination, “I’m resolute.”
My assertion was not without shades of doubt, a primal fear clawing at my composure, yet the awareness of the necessity pushed me forward. As the door creaked open, an orchestra of thudding heartbeats orchestrated my entrance.
Artemy’s silhouette rotated, his astonishment palpable as his gaze met mine. My throat constricted at the sight that greeted me.
Blood stained Artemy’s attire, an accusatory hue that reached even his hands. My eyes, however, found other targets. Brayden, Avim, Leon-they all stood before me, their expressions a blend of astonishment and disquiet, their own forms marred by the same crimson taint.
But it was Raffaele who held my focus, bound to a chair, his body a canvas for suffering. His head hung low, his posture a testament to his anguish. He appeared lifeless, and yet the barely perceptible rhythm of his breath testified otherwise.
The scent of iron wafted through the room, the tangible reminder of the violence that had transpired. Nausea clawed at me as the odor mingled with the pit of my stomach’s turmoil.
“Rebecca,” Artemy’s voice trembled, his feet propelling him toward me. Tears threatened to breach my eyes, yet I fought them back fiercely.
The words lodged in my throat as I tried to vocalize my inquiry. His bewildered shake of the head mirrored my own turmoil. As he lowered his knife to the ground, my gaze followed its descent. Blood glistened upon the blade, a morbid shroud that draped the weapon in a damning tapestry.
My gaze fixated on Artemy’s hand the very hand that had cradled me tenderly and embraced me with love. Oddly, fear didn’t grip me, despite the situation.
I harbored no fear because I held a deep conviction that those hands were my guardians, stained with blood for my sake.
My attention returned to Raffaele, his feeble movement catching my eye. The force of his will raised his head with painful effort.
As his eyes locked onto mine, my heart seemed to ascend into my throat, as if pierced by jagged knives. His gaze felt like a sickness, a nauseating reminder.
He, the man before me, shattered me completely. The depths of his depravity scarred me in unimaginable ways. He personified the demon that had plagued my existence.
My focus on him trembled, and the wretched memories surged. Each recollection, each instance of violation, every torment inflicted upon me resurfaced.
The years of being chained, starved, beaten, and violated replayed before me. He allowed his cohorts to subject me to unimaginable horrors, plunging me into a state of semi-conscious suffering.
All of it played out before my eyes, a cascade of agony that overwhelmed me. I wished to sink, to vanish into an abyss of darkness, to escape the agony he embodied.
The desire to dissociate from my feelings surged, numbing my legs and burdening my entire form. The torment was all-encompassing, relentless.
Before me stood the embodiment of evil, a vessel for every ounce of ugliness life had thrust upon me.
I yearned to crumple onto the ground, consumed by the weight of my emotions, to let the darkness claim me and sever me from his power to hurt.
Yet, as I stood there, my attention split between the specter of my nightmare and the vivid memories of suffering he invoked.
A surge of anguish swept over me, the dam of pent-up emotions breaking open. Rage, revulsion, sorrow, and pain surged through my veins, igniting something within me, a reservoir of strength I hadn’t recognized existed.
Driven by this newfound force, I lunged impulsively. Artemy flinched at my unexpected action, taken aback as my hand secured his gun.
The cold steel rested in my trembling grip, its barrel aimed at Raffaele the embodiment of my torment.
Brayden began to move, but Artemy’s raised hand forestalled him. My grasp on the gun quivered, but I maintained control, my purpose unwavering.
All it would take was one pull of the trigger, and he would know the agony he’d inflicted upon me.
A momentary glance at Artemy revealed his focus already fixed on me, his astonishment tinged with pride. His smile, however, was not comforting but laden with sinister promises, a twisted satisfaction derived from pain.
“Do you wish to end his life?” Artemy’s question resonated, his measured steps drawing him closer. His deliberate pace exuded dominance and ruthlessness the very essence of the king he embodied.
He stood before me, the embodiment of the monster that legends whispered about, the monster whose name struck terror into all.
I affirmed my intent with a nod, my gaze unwavering on Raffaele’s figure.
Artemy took his place beside me, a solid presence. “Are you truly prepared for this?” His inquiry carried weight.
Again, I nodded, my determination resolute.
I stood there, grappling with a surge of conflicting emotions. The weight of the gun in my grip was a stark reminder of the violent intent I had harbored moments ago. But now, as the cold metal pressed against my trembling hand, a paralyzing inertia had taken over.
A chill ran down my spine, locking my muscles in place while my throat tightened, a wellspring of tears cascading down my cheeks unchecked. The scene was tense, fraught with the raw intensity of the situation.
“Brayden,” Artemy’s voice carried a menacing undertone, drawing my attention. Brayden’s gaze met Artemy’s, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Then, with a decisive nod, Brayden began to untie Raffaele, lifting him up from the chair with force.
Raffaele’s figure was gripped by Brayden’s unyielding hold, his body dragged across the cold, harsh floor towards me. As I wiped away my tears, an unexpected surge of fear coursed through me. The unfolding reality was more overwhelming than I could have anticipated.
Abruptly, Brayden administered a harsh kick to Raffaele’s leg, forcing him to kneel before me. My body instinctively stiffened, a startled step back bringing me into contact with a solid chest. It was Artemy’s presence, a silent guardian I hadn’t realized had shifted behind me.
When had he moved? The question echoed in my mind, a testament to the turmoil of the moment. My grip on the gun tightened, my index finger brushing against the trigger, a palpable tension in the air. But the action I had contemplated remained elusive.
“Angel, you don’t have to do this,” Artemy’s voice, a tender whisper, pierced through the maelstrom of my thoughts, his breath warm against my ear.
In response, I shook my head vigorously, a desperate denial that seemed futile even to my own ears. The weight of my intentions pressed heavily on my heart, rendering me broken and indecisive.
Artemy’s frustration was evident as he swore under his breath. His words, laced with an odd mix of understanding and determination, reached my ears. “I’m letting you do this only because you want to. Only one shot, Rebecca.”
My gut churned, and my gaze remained locked on the figure of Raffaele, the embodiment of all that was wrong. The power was within my grasp, but the internal resistance was insurmountable.
The name “Artemy” escaped my lips, a plea hanging in the air. His sigh seemed to carry both resignation and compassion as his hand enveloped mine, melding our grips. Together, we held the gun, an unexpected unity in the midst of chaos.
The gun’s barrel was aimed at Raffaele’s kneecap, a grim reminder of the choices before me. Artemy’s directive was clear, his words pushing me beyond my limits. “One bullet, Angel. But don’t kill him. I’m not done with him yet.”
I hesitated, caught between duty and revulsion. Artemy’s urging voice broke through the turmoil. “Go ahead.”
Our fingers interlocked around the trigger, the imminent explosion of sound and force echoed by the loud bang that followed.
A deafening ring enveloped my ears, my eyes clenching shut instinctively. Amidst the dissonance, Raffaele’s agonized scream pierced the air, reverberating through the chamber. My heart pounded, my breath caught in my throat as the aftermath of my action unfolded.
Raffaele’s wails of torment seemed unending, a haunting symphony of suffering. When I dared to open my eyes, the sight of him writhing in pain on the floor painted a gruesome tableau. Blood stained the surroundings, even splattering across my dress, marking me as a participant in this grim ordeal.
Suddenly, Artemy was there, a steadfast presence before me. The gun was taken from my grip, and a gentle yet firm push guided me back. His arms enveloped me, a shield against the horrors of the moment. I found solace burying my face in his chest, seeking refuge from the stark reality.
Amidst the chaos, the door slammed shut with a sound reminiscent of the gunshot. The reverberation jolted through me, merging with my own shivers born of both cold and the anguish that gripped my heart.
Pain, both physical and emotional, surged through me. I felt as if it would never cease, an unrelenting torrent that threatened to drown me in its depths. In Artemy’s embrace, I sobbed uncontrollably, my senses overwhelmed by the mixture of blood and fear that clung to him.
As I pulled away from Artemy, a wave of revulsion surged within me. The realization was undeniable: I had taken another person’s life. The thought clawed at my mind, leaving me nauseous and bewildered.
A movement within me, a sudden kick, drew my attention. My baby, my princess, made her presence known. Artemy’s arms enveloped me once more, a firm insistence against my attempts to retreat.
“I hurt him,” I whispered, my voice fragile, haunted by the weight of my actions. “I hurt him, Artemy.”
His response carried a mix of sympathy and urgency. His hold on me remained unyielding. “Don’t pull away from me, Angel.”