As I burst out of the stairwell onto the quad, I stop for a moment to catch my breath and take in my surroundings. The bustling campus is still going about its business, completely unaware of the panic that has taken hold of my life. I take a deep breath and try to settle my racing heart. I need to think logically, to figure out what my next move is.

  My apartment is only a few blocks away. I head in that direction, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of danger. Every car that passes, every person on the street, is a potential threat.

  I'm hyper-vigilant, my senses on high alert.

  As I turn a corner, I see a figure in the distance walking towards me. Is it a friend or a foe? I can't take any chances.

  I duck into an alleyway.

  My mind races as I try to come up with a plan; I need to get to my apartment, but I can't risk being seen by anyone who might be after me.

  I run down the alleyway, my lungs burning as I sprint, trying to put as much distance between myself and the shadowy figure following me. The air in the alley is fetid, smells of rotting trash and spilled beer, and each frantic, gasping breath chokes me.

  As I reach the end of the alley, I look back over my shoulder and see the figure is still there, still walking towards me.

  I run, darting around corners, sprinting across open streets, moving from one alley to another.

  I need to get to my apartment. That's where I'll be safe.

  I turn down a side street, then another, and another, at one point I duck behind someone as they're entering their apartment building, taking advantage of an ajar door, and race down the hallway of their apartment complex and out the opposite side. Every second, I'm sprinting until my lungs are screaming and the muscles in my legs are exhausted, begging for even a moment’s reprieve.

  But I keep going.

  I will not be caught.

  Finally, I come to my apartment building.

  As I approach my building, adrenaline courses through my veins, urging me to keep moving, to run inside and sprint up the stairs until I reach my top floor room, where I know I’ll be safe.

  But I stop myself.

  It’d be a mistake to sprint into something that could be a trap.

  So, taking a deep breath, I slow my heart rate and I slip inside the building, casting wary glances down each hallway as I make my way to the elevator. It’s empty. The hallways are empty. Carefully, I step inside and hit the button for my floor.

  The ride up feels like it takes an eternity. An eternity spent in mind-numbing fear.

  Someone is after me.

  Someone set me up.

  My protection has disappeared, and there's been no word from Jackson.

  Everything is falling apart and everyone I care about may be in mortal danger. Never in my life, even when a masked Rook, Thunder, and Bullet were kidnapping me at gunpoint, have I felt so close to certain death.

  The doors slide open and I step out, my eyes searching the hallway for any signs of danger. It's quiet and empty, but that means nothing. I approach my door slowly, my hand reaching out to turn the handle. I take a deep breath and push the door open, bracing myself for the worst. I’m ready to fight, I’m ready to run, I’m ready to scream.

  The door opens.

  I see Ashley.

  Sitting in my living room, facing the door, with her hands folded in her lap, and a smile on her face. It’s a smile that, despite her intent to seem calm and welcoming, I can't help but see as conniving and wicked.

  Then I freeze.

  Not because of her, but because of what I see behind her.

  Who I see behind her.

  "Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?"

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jackson

  The metallic taste of blood floods my mouth. Pain throbs through my battered, beaten skull. My tongue is a swollen, immobile muscle. When my eyelids manage to pry themselves apart, breaking the dried blood that binds them together, I see the same sight that greets me every time I return to consciousness in this nightmare: Victor Stone. He stands in the corner of this room, watching me, my blood dripping from his knuckles, painted across his tattooed forearms, even droplets splattered upon his forehead.

  He swings again, his fist connecting with my jaw with bone-shaking force.

  I fall. I’m handcuffed and unable to catch myself. I land in a heap, my head hits the concrete floor and I spit blood, bile, and vomit.

  He laughs. Grips me under the armpits and hauls me back into the chair.

  Then falls silent again.

  Victor never speaks as he beats me. He's just a silent dispenser of merciless torment.

  I breathe, blink some more of the blood out of my eyes, and try to focus on anything but the man who's breaking me apart, piece by piece.

  The dim light of the room reflects in the small puddles of blood on the ground. The air has a sharp tang, an acrid bite that makes my swelling eyes water. It tastes of copper.

  The air is heavy with tension; the silence punctuated only by the distant sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor outside. They approach. Stop outside.

  Victor smiles.

  The door opens.

  Alexander, the puppet master of my torment, strides into the room, his gaze filled with sadistic pleasure. He revels in my helplessness, in the power he holds over me.

  "Enjoying your stay, Jackson?" Alexander sneers, his eyes glinting with malicious intent. "It's so nice to see you again." He walks closer to me, his shoes tapping against the cold stone floor. He stands over me and looks down at my broken body. "How does it feel to know that you are only alive for as long as I say?"

  My body screams for revenge, or, at the very least, release from this wretched existence. I muster what little strength I have left and spit my reply: "You can beat me all you want, Alex, you cocksucking asshole, but I won't give you what you’re here for. I won't beg for mercy."

  He places a finger beneath my chin, traces a leisurely line across my face that digs into bruises, cuts, lacerations. There’s a flashing second where he looks at my blood on his hand and his breathing quickens, his pupils dilate, his cheeks flush as if he’s aroused. Then he shakes his head and those probing fingers return to exploring every nook and cranny of my facial wounds. I fight to suppress the urge to flinch at the pain, to keep my eyes locked on his soulless orbs.

  "You are mine now," he declares, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "And I will make sure that you suffer every single day for your insolence. Jackson, you are going to suffer a very long time."

  "What the fuck kind of game are you playing at? Just fucking kill me. And do it right this time, not that half-ass way before, where you just fucking shot me and dumped me in the bay."

  Alexander chuckles, his laughter filled with derision. He circles me like a predator, reveling in his power over me. The flickering light of the bare bulb overhead casts eerie shadows across his face, accentuating the inhuman malice in his eyes.

  "Oh, Jackson," he says, his voice laced with sadistic delight. "I have no intention of killing you just yet. I have something special planned for you, something that will break your soul piece by piece."

  A chill runs down my spine as his words sink in. My mind races, trying to decipher his twisted game. He's going after Madison, my love, the woman I would give my life for. Am giving my life for. Panic clenches my throat, and I struggle to contain the fear that threatens to consume me.

  With rage—rage that is exceedingly easy to find just looking at Alexander's self-satisfied face—I force the fear and panic down. I can not give him the satisfaction.

  He watches me expectantly.

  Not wanting to give him the pleasure of asking first, I stay silent, stubborn, my jaw clenched.

  Alexander's patience doesn't last long. Sighing, he rolls his eyes and then, with a tilt of his head, he unleashes Victor.

  Victor batters me like a relentless hurricane. Fists that hammer flesh and bone with vengeance. Each blow draws blood, spit, bile from my broken body.

  "You're only making it harder on yourself, you know," Alexander says, once he's felt that Victor has brutalized me enough. For now, at least. "Maybe that's why you are who you are. Unable to make the right choices. Unable to stay out of the way of your betters. The world will be better without you in it."

  I spit blood on his fancy pants.

  He contorts his face in a way that makes the violence that Victor unleashes on me more than worth it.

  "Yes, you do like making it hard on yourself, don't you?" He says. Then he smiles, kneels until his face is within inches of mine. "You're much more determined than your friend Marcus, who we have as well. But your resistance just makes what I'm about to tell you so much sweeter. Did you know that, right now, I have her? That I have someone in the room with her—in her own apartment—along with her beloved parents?"

  "Fuck you, Alex," I say, not knowing what else to say to express the hate I feel. The shortening of his name strikes him hard enough that it makes the blows I receive worth it.

  "They're going to give her a choice. Well, not much of a choice, really, because Madison, for all her poor decision-making recently, is smart enough to recognize the situation she's in. She will come back to me. We will be married, as planned, as scheduled, and you will get to watch. I'll have a video feed streamed to this very room, and you can witness it as we are married. You'll witness our wedding night, too. I'll have Victor hold your eyes open as I defile every part of Madison's body."

  "She'll never marry you."

  "Again, she won't have a choice. That's where you and her differ, Jackson. She understands these things. Madison will understand that if she tries to walk out on me, she will die. Just as you're going to die when I'm done with you. In the end, she will come to me willingly. Or willingly enough. Oh, Jackson, I am so going to delight wrecking her while you watch."

  I steel myself against the pain in my body, in my heart, my voice filled with determination. "You won't break me, Alexander. I will get out of here, I will save her, and I will kill you."

  Alexander's bitter laughter reverberates through the room, echoing the depths of my despair. "We'll see about that, Jackson. Enjoy your time alone while I bask in the joy of stealing everything you hold dear."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Madison

  In the safety of my apartment, a place I once considered my haven, I confront an unexpected gathering of unlikely enemies. Ashley, one of my closest friends and confidantes, stands before me with an expression of strained worry on her normally carefree face. She grips my hand tightly. The imposing figures of my parents, Richard and Cassandra Sinclair, flank her, their disapproval clear by the way they lean forward to peer at me over Ashley’s shoulders. Confusion swirls within me as I try to comprehend the purpose of their presence here. Whatever it is, what I know is that the hair on the back of my neck rises in alarm. My body tenses, ready for danger.

  "I've been so worried about you—" Ashley starts.

  "—We all have been so worried about you. Where have you been, Madison?" My father says, cutting in.

  My mother frowns, both worry and disappointment clear on her face and in her voice. "No one's seen or heard from you for ages. It's like you've just disappeared. What’s going on, honey?"

  I take a step back until I'm almost standing in my doorway. The urge to run still swells inside me with powerful force. I’m facing my family, people I know should make me feel safe and loved, but something feels utterly wrong.

  "Ashley, what are you doing here and why are you with my parents?" I say. My eyes narrow at her. I can't forget that she lied to me about the thesis paper. What game is she playing?

  "I know how important your thesis is to you," she says. "I had a feeling you'd be showing up on campus today. So I called your parents, and I asked a few friends of mine to keep an eye out for you. When they saw you heading this way, your parents and I decided to wait for you in here. We have to talk, Maddy."

  Ashley's words hang in the air, shrouded in concern. Concern, and something else. Is it malice? A threat? Jealousy? It's impossible for me to tell, I don’t know her like I thought I did. All I'm certain of is that the woman that I thought was my friend is a friend no longer; she's something else entirely.

  "Ashley is worried that you're running away," my dad says. "That you're planning on running out on your wedding. The last time the Sinclairs and I talked, they expressed similar doubts to me about how much... fidelity... you might be feeling toward your wedding."

  The weight of their gazes falls upon me, their expressions a mix of disappointment, concern, and an underlying desperation.

  "Is it true, Maddy?" My mom asks. "Are you going to abandon us?"

  My mom's words feel like a physical blow, shaking me to my core. They are both pleading and accusing, asking me how I could be so selfish by not protecting our family's business and urging me to fulfill my duty by marrying Alexander Covington. Her words bring forth floods of guilt and resentment which tear through me with an intensity that leave me breathless. The haunting sensation of being used by the people I love is relentless, yet no matter what I do, I feel as if I have no escape from the situation.

  Each accusation sends me stepping backward until I press my back to the door. In front of me stands both my parents, their eyes pleading, accusing, dominating. Behind them stands Ashley, a triumphant, tiny smile on her face.

  "Mom, dad, I can't…"

  "Don't say it. You promised, Maddy. You promised. Everything depends on you. We all depend on you. Can you really do this to us? Can you really abandon your parents like this?" My mother is implacable, merciless, pleading.

  She advances.

  Anger, fear, sadness, longing—these emotions fight for dominance within me; I think of Jackson, his broad shoulders and kind eyes, wish he were here to bear this burden with me; then guilt washes over me as I remember the shattered look on his face when I rejected his last entreaty to reconcile our relationship.

  Tears prick at the corners of my eyes and I quickly blink them away.

  I am breaking. Broken.

  As despair seeps into my very bones, I have no other choice. The weight of familial obligation suffocates the last of any resistance I have. I have to give in to the people who are supposed to support me, respect me, love me. Return to my expected state as a bargaining chip to save the family business.

  Resigned to my fate, I nod slowly, my voice barely a whisper.

  "I will stay. I'll go through with the wedding."

  Those few words rip the life from me and I collapse on my couch, broken.

  My parents and Ashley sit down beside me—she to my left, they to my right. They have me confined, trapped.

  For a long time, I don't speak.

  Thankfully, they don't push me to speak, either.

  They all sit silent, glad, all believing that they've helped me do the right thing.

  Except for Ashley. I no longer know her. I have no idea what that bitch is thinking.

  Ashley’s smile widens, and she pats me on the leg in a consoling way.

  "It'll be all right," she says. "This is for the best. For all of us."

  I roll my eyes away from her.

  Then there's a knock at the door. Two quick, proper raps, before there's the sound of a key entering the knob. In alarm, I sit up, my stupor suddenly gone and adrenaline flooding me as I enter a terrified fight-or-flight state.

  In strides Alexander, my soon-to-be husband.

  He looks like a man in complete control, his eyes a smoldering mix of smugness and triumph, as if he had been expecting us all along.

  "Madison, my love, how I've missed you," he gloats. "Ashley, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, I am glad you've found my missing fiance for me."

  Ashley stands up quickly and greets him with a simpering hug. My eyes narrow. Alexander returns her embrace absentmindedly while his calculating gaze roves the room, taking in each of us and our reactions to his presence.

  After giving my parents only the most cursory, dismissive look, he gazes at my face as if searching for something that I have hidden. That, or to impart a message that he knows everything. Whatever it is, his purpose seems clear: to assert his dominance over me and regain control of the situation. I am nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and manipulation.

  I stay silent, refusing to greet him, refusing to stand, refusing to even acknowledge his filthy existence.

  The three of them stand together talking quietly among themselves, yet though they talk about my impending wedding, somehow I feel left out, an invisible barrier keeping me separate from them and their conversation. Ashley moves closer to Alexander, speaking softly with barely contained excitement radiating from her body language. My parents seem pleased with Alexander as they make polite conversation, which he responds to without enthusiasm or warmth—an exchange so banal it almost hurts to watch. They’re selling me, and now that the deal is assured, it’s time for chit-chat.

  I remain seated on the couch, feeling completely alone despite being surrounded by people who supposedly care about me.

  This is my life now—powerless.

  Tears prick at my eyes again, but I push them away; there is no time for mourning.

  "Madison, come. Don't keep me waiting. I have important news about us. About our future. Everyone—all our friends here, and those elsewhere—will want to know this," Alexander says. His emphasis on that word, elsewhere, twists my stomach and I can only think of Jackson.

  What has he done to him? Is he okay?

  Alexander steps forward, taking my hand. His skin is cold and clammy, his grip unyielding. The room feels still as he speaks in a voice unnaturally deep.

  “We shall wed in two days’ time,” he declares, slowly raising our entwined hands for all to see. "There is no need for delay. I am tired of waiting to make you my wife."

  Tiny tremors build in my body. I feel a scream building and I clench my jaws shut to keep it contained. I've entered a nightmare. Everything is distorted, warped, twisted.