Chapter 5

Holly Stevenson's POV:

I lunged, my hands outstretched like claws, a scream of pure, primal rage tearing from my throat. It wasn't a sound of grief; it was a promise of annihilation.

I almost reached her.

Then a blinding pain exploded at the back of my head. The world fractured into a kaleidoscope of bright lights and black spots. My legs buckled, and I crumpled to the ground, the impact jarring every bone in my body.

Through the ringing in my ears, I saw Fred standing over me, a heavy metal tire iron in his hand. He looked down at me with casual indifference.

"You alright, sis?" he asked, nudging my limp form with his boot.

Janna was panting, her hand pressed to her chest, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and exhilaration. "I'm fine, Freddie. I'm fine."

She took a deep, shaky breath, and then she kicked me, her boot connecting with my already bruised ribs. "Stupid bitch," she spat, her voice trembling. "You think you can touch me? Graham is mine. Everything of his is mine."

My consciousness was fading, the edges of my vision turning gray. The last thing I heard before the darkness swallowed me completely was Fred's voice asking, "So the kid's really dead?"

And Janna's, chillingly casual, as if discussing the weather. "Yeah. Weak heart, I guess. It happens. He was probably dead before we even got here."

Their laughter followed me down into the abyss.

When I woke, it was to the smell of antiseptic and the cold bite of metal against my skin. I tried to move, but my wrists and ankles were bound by thick leather straps to what felt like an operating table. Panic, cold and sharp, jolted through me.

I pulled against the restraints, the leather cutting into my raw skin, but it was useless.

A figure in blue scrubs moved into my line of sight. It was Janna. She held a scalpel in her gloved hand, the steel blade glinting under the harsh fluorescent light.

"Don't bother struggling," she said, her voice a calm, clinical purr that made my blood run cold. "You'll only hurt yourself."

"Where am I?" I whispered, my voice hoarse. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh," she soothed, tracing the line of my jaw with the cool back of the blade. I flinched, my whole body trembling. "You know, it's funny. Graham once told me his type was older women. More mature. You're barely older than me. I guess that was another one of his lies."

She sighed dramatically. "And now your little bastard is dead. Such a shame. But maybe it's for the best. Now you have nothing to tie him down with."

Her eyes, cold and assessing, scanned my face. "You're pretty," she said, the compliment sounding like a threat. "That's the problem. Too pretty. It makes men stupid. But don't worry. I'm going to fix that."

She smiled, a terrifying, joyless baring of teeth. "After I'm done, do you think he'll still want to look at this face?"

My mind, already shattered by Joel's death, couldn't process the new horror. All I could hear was the echo of her words. Your little bastard is dead.

Joel. My sweet, funny Joel. Gone.

A wave of nausea and grief so profound it felt like a physical blow washed over me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. The world dissolved into a blur of pain.

"Oh, don't pass out now," Janna tutted, sounding annoyed. "It would be a waste of the good anesthetic I stole for you." She picked up a roll of medical tape and a wad of gauze. "We can't have you screaming, though. It might disturb the other patients."

She leaned over me, her face filling my vision. "This will be so much better," she whispered, her smile widening as she pressed the gag firmly into my mouth and secured it with tape. The rough texture and sickeningly sweet adhesive smell filled my senses. "Nice and quiet."

She picked up the scalpel again, her eyes glittering with a madness that was absolute.

"Let's begin."