Wrong

by LP Lovell

  His eyes dart down to the blood stains, then back up to mine. “You don’t need to be scared of me. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “Can you leave? Please.”

  He looks at me again and nods. He turns to leave, but stops. “I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t care what he has to say. The door clicks closed behind him and I get in the shower. I turn the water up as hot as it will go and stand underneath it. It burns my skin, and I relish the feeling of it.

  When I step out of the shower, there’s a fresh towel as well as some jeans and a tank top left on the vanity. I’ve almost forgotten what normal clothes look like. I dry and change into the clothes.

  When I walk into the bedroom, I find Jude sitting on the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, and his head is in his hands.

  He’s topless, his eyes fixed on the bloodied shirt in his hands. The tattoos winding around his biceps seem to pop against his olive skin. He glances up when he notices me and drags a hand over his dark hair. “I thought you might want clothes,” he says quietly.

  All I can do is stare at him.

  “Are you not gonna talk?”

  “What would you like me to say?”

  He shakes his head and picks away some of the dried blood from his nails. “Something.” He hops up from the bed, putting his face close to mine. “You tried to fucking kill yourself, Tor. You should have something to fucking say.”

  I watch him for a few seconds as he clenches his fists and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” I say quietly.

  “Fuck!” he yells, turning away from me and stalking to the far side of the room. He slams his palm against the wall, keeping his back to me as he breathes heavily. There’s a long beat of silence. I don’t move. I don’t know what he’s going to do next.

  “The man that killed my mother and sister,” he says, so quietly I barely hear him, “was Euan’s uncle. He wants me dead.” He turns to face me, leaning against the wall and lifting his eyes to mine. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I thought you were working with him.”

  I frown. I should feel nothing for him and yet, my heart aches for him, for all that he’s lost. The loss of a mother is a tragic and heartbreaking one. “I’m sorry.” I whisper.

  He shakes his head and drops his gaze to the floor. “He and my father had a ...disagreement, so he burned our house down with them inside it. On the one year anniversary of their death he sent my father a video of him raping and torturing them before he set the house on fire. I passed by my dad’s office when he was watching it.” Oh, my God. He’s breathing is heavy, his fists clenched. He can’t look at me. “I fall asleep every damn night hearing the screams from that video.” He speaks the words as though they are a dirty secret, an unwanted weakness.

  I press my hand over my mouth as a choked sob escapes my throat. I should hate Jude. I should want nothing more than to kill him right now, but I don’t. I try desperately to cling to my rage, my hatred, the pain, because suddenly I feel sorry for him, and I don’t want to. I want to cry for the two women that are strangers to me. I feel as though we are bound in some way, victims of these monsters who pretend to be men.

  “I will kill anyone that works with him, I promised my father I would, but you…” he swallows as his eyes rise to mine. “I never wanted to kill you, Tor. I just...I needed to be sure.” He pulls in a heavy breath and pushes off the wall, closing the distance between us. I take an uneasy step back and he holds his hands out; slowly, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my neck. His eyes flick to the ugly mark across my throat and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I never should have left you.” his voice breaks.

  His fingers brush across my cheek. “Joe is trying to use you, whether you know it or not.” I watch as anger masks his face, his green eyes becoming turbulent and volatile. “I will not let him do that. Not to you.”

  I drop my gaze from his, unable to look at him. “You already did it.” I whisper. His hand slips from my cheek, and his head falls forward as his shoulders tense.

  “I’m not like him.” I don’t know who he’s trying to convince more, me or himself.

  “What happened to your family is horrible, but that doesn’t justify you doing the same to someone else. An eye for an eye. Is that how it works in your world?” My voice shakes as I try to control my emotions. I thought I was done feeling. I thought I was broken beyond repair, but I’m not. I’m still fucking here, and his bullshit justification for his actions isn’t enough.

  He takes a slow step back. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to that fucking bastard!” He shouts, pointing at me. He clenches and releases his fists, attempting to rein in his temper. “I didn’t fucking touch you! And I would never rape a woman. Ever.” His breathing is audible, his chest heaving.

  My cold numbness is giving way to a very real, very feral anger. “No, you’re worse, because you ordered someone else to hurt me, and then left me!” I snap. “If you wanted me tortured, you should have at least had the balls to do it yourself. You’re a fucking coward and you’re weak.”

  He takes a predatory step toward me, glaring at me. He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me back against the wall. Panic grips me as I feel his fingers creep around my throat. I flinch as he brushes against my stitches. His breathing is ragged, his hand shaking. He squeezes his eyes shut, his fingers twitching against my neck. I turn my face away from him and close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. There’s a tense beat of silence before he shoves himself away from me.

  “Fuck!” he growls as he grabs the closest thing to him which is the picture of his mother and sister, and hurls it across the room. Glass scatters across the floor. Taking his arm, he swipes at everything on the dresser, sending it crashing to the floor. “Fuck!” He freezes and clasps his hands behind his head, breathing heavily. He hangs his head forward and drops his hands, slowly moving to the broken picture, and he picks it up, removing the remaining glass.

  He places the frame back on the dresser and leaves the room. For the first time since I’ve gotten here, I am alone and there’s an open door in front of me, but there’s no point in running. I walk to the door and softly close it.

  Sometime later there’s a soft knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening. I’m lying on my side, staring at the wall.

  “Ria?” Caleb says.

  I feel the mattress dip slightly as he sits on the far side of it.

  “I need to check your stitches.” This is the third time in two days that he’s been in here to check on my stitches. They don’t need checking. I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake. I don’t need a trainee paramedic telling me whether or not I’m okay. If it weren’t for him and his brother, I wouldn’t need checking on.

  “They’re fine,” I say. I have to hand it to him, he did a good job of stitching my throat. It will scar though, and so will my chest and stomach. A permanent reminder of this nightmare.

  He sighs. “Ria…”

  “I’m a doctor. I’m fine.”

  “Damn it, will you please talk to me.”

  I sigh and roll over, sitting up against the headboard. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

  “Talk and then leave,” I snap.

  He drops his head forward into his hands. “I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t want to do it.” He’s already said this, but I’ve refused to acknowledge him, and so he keeps coming back.

  “You did, though, Caleb,” I say blankly.

  “Please, you know I would never…”

  “Cowards hide behind excuses. A weak man blames his actions on others. You let it happen, and if you believed it was wrong, then you should have stood up for what you believed was right.”

  His eyes meet mine, begging me to hear him, to understand, but I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could bind a girl and watch a man tear her clothes off and let her almost freeze to death, without acting a
gainst it.

  “Ria,” he whispers.

  “No!” I snap out. “You disgust me as much as your brother.” He recoils as if I had physically slapped him. “Please, just leave.”

  He looks up at me like a puppy that’s just been kicked. My heart gives a little squeeze because I’ve lost the only friend I had in this place, and his betrayal hurts worse than any physical pain I’ve endured.

  He sighs heavily. “You have to come with me.”

  “Where?”

  His eyes lock with mine. “Jude wants you. He has something for you. Something that might make you feel better.”

  I glare at him. “Tell your fucking brother that this can’t be fixed with shallow gifts.”

  “Trust me, Ria, I think you’ll want this.”

  “I don’t trust you, or him.”

  “Please,” he begs.

  Call it curiosity, or maybe I’m just bored shitless of looking at these four walls, but I get up and follow him out of the room. We don’t speak on the way down the stairs. I think Caleb finally realises that no amount of apologising will ever make this okay.

  I haven’t been able to sleep, hell, I’m barely able to shut my eyes without seeing her all bloodied and split open. It’s taken me three days to calm down enough and rationalize how to handle this, because at first all I wanted to do was kill Bob, but that would do nothing but grant me a fleeting moment of satisfaction.

  Drumming my fingers over the worn edge of my desk, I wait. There’s a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. I haven’t smoked it. I’m just watching the thin white swirls float in front of my face as I try to even out my breathing. What he did to her was unjustified, sick, and shows a complete lack of respect for me, and for her.

  I listen to the footsteps coming down the stairs, and seconds later there’s a knock on the door. The hinges of the chair creak as I rise to answer it, and the door swings open before I can get there. I see Tor’s tiny frame behind Caleb. Her eyes lock with mine, and I can barely look at her. They’re empty, hollow. That spark that I admired so much has vanished. She really is gone.

  “Come on,” I say hoarsely as I make my way down the hall.

  She and Caleb follow me, and the second I reach for the door that leads to that room, I hear her breathing pick up. I know she thinks I’m bringing her here to kill her. I push open the door and stop, not bothering to glance back. “Tor, I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you again. This is for you.”

  I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her through the door. I can feel her muscles tense as she braces herself. She takes one look around the room and spins to face me. “What is this?” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

  I briefly divert my gaze from hers. The light from the doorway casts a faint glow over the room. Bob dangles from the metal hook in the ceiling, groaning, his feet barely touching the floor. Dried blood stains his chin, and his bare torso is covered in large, black bruises.

  I manage to maintain my calm when I look at him. I have to strain to keep control of my voice. “You had no right to touch her, you sick piece of shit!” I direct my attention back to Tor. “He was wrong, and you’re gonna make this right. This is the only way I know to help you.”

  I yank the thin cord to the light and the bulbs flicker and buzz. I can hear each breath I draw in rumble with a growl as I circle by him. I walk toward the corner of the room and pull open a drawer on the small metal cabinet. I stare down at the assortment of weapons and grab a hunting knife. I slam the cabinet shut with a bang, and everything inside rattles. Within seconds, I’ve grabbed Tor’s hand and placed the blade inside her damp palm. She’s trembling, her eyes blanketed in confusion as her eyes dart from me to the knife to Bob.

  Her gaze sharpens on the knife, her brow creasing. “I’m not a monster, Jude, not like you, not like him.” Her voice is soft, uncertain, as a look of disgust crawls over her face.

  “Maybe you weren’t”—my eyes narrow on hers—“but you are not the same person you were when you were brought through those doors. When someone hurts you, the only way to take that pain away is by taking revenge. He didn’t just steal something of monetary value, Tor.” I can feel my pulse thumping in my temples. My teeth grind against each other from the anger bubbling to the surface. “In this world, when someone fucks you up, you fuck them up, or you will never survive.” I take a few steps toward her and close my palm around her tiny hand in an effort to tighten her grip on the handle. “Make him feel what he made you feel,” I growl, my eyes tearing into hers.

  I want to help her. I want her to feel vindicated. And after what has been done to her, the only way she will ever feel that is with bloodshed.

  My heart hammers against my ribs and my palms are damp as I grip the handle of the knife. Jude’s fingers cover mine, tightening my hold. I look up into his eyes, and he holds my gaze. Part of me fucking hates him, part of me would sooner plunge this knife into his chest and just be done with it, but the other part, well, in his own sick and twisted way, he’s trying to make amends.

  In his world, this is how justice is served. I can feel how much he wants this, how much he wants to give me back something that was taken, but he can’t. All that’s left is this anger and hatred that’s festering inside me. I don’t want to be this person.

  “He will pay for what he’s done.” Jude lowers his face to mine, his eyes intense, intimidating. “Do you hear me, Tor?” I’ve never actually been able to feel someone else’s anger before, but at this moment, it radiates from him like an inferno, and if I don’t get away from him I’m going to be consumed by it.

  I hear the chains rattle, and a weak groan echoes through the room. I can’t look up at Bob.

  “I was only thinking of you, Jude,” Bob rasps. “She makes you weak. We’re family!”

  The room seems to drop by five degrees, and it has nothing to do with the temperature. Jude goes deathly still, and that is far scarier than any words he could possibly say. He moves toward Bob with a deadly grace that has me in awe of him. He stops in front of him and grabs his jaw.

  “You disobeyed me.” His voice is a low rumble, full of menace. “And you disrespected me. Family or not, you will pay.”

  “She’ll ruin you!” Bob whispers, his chains clanging together once again.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Jude snarls, clenching and releasing his fists. He turns and I think he’s going to walk away, but suddenly he spins around, his fist smashing into the side of Bob’s face. I instinctively recoil from the show of violence and power, but I’d be lying if I said that I don’t want Bob to suffer; I do.

  He turns away and moves to stand in front of me. His large frame towers over me, blocking out everything but him. He holds my chin gently between his fingers, and it’s such a strange sensation—amidst all his rage, his touch is gentle.

  “Sometimes two wrongs make a right.” His eyes narrow, and it’s as though he’s trying to convince me of this. “Trust me, nothing is more healing than making someone who hurt you bleed. Justice doesn’t know how to play fair.” His eyes flick briefly to the blade in my hand. “This is the only way I know how to help you, Tor,” he whispers, and there’s remorse in that statement, I can hear it.

  There’s the slightest vulnerability in his eyes, and despite my instant revulsion at his methods, I almost understand them. He wants to help me, he just doesn’t know how. I don’t know if I can even be helped at this stage, but the fact that he wants to try touches on something that it really shouldn’t. Maybe my mind is so fucked up that I can’t tell right from wrong anymore, enemies from friends, because right now, Jude doesn’t seem like the enemy, and that’s dangerous.

  A low moan floats through the air. “I would have been doing you a favor by killing her,” Bob pants.

  Any softness in Jude’s eyes disappears, and an icy rage covers his features. He grabs my hand, taking the knife from me. Every step he takes echoes off the walls in the empty room.

  “Unchain him,” Jude orders, and Caleb
scurries over. I watch as he unfastens the shackles and Bob drops to the concrete floor with a muffled thud.

  Jude circles around him, literally stalking him like a wounded deer. The blade every so often glints under the flickering light.

  “Get up!” Jude shouts hoarsely.

  Bob lays there.

  “Get”—Jude reaches down and yanks Bob to his feet—“up!”

  Bob languidly shrugs. “What ya gonna do? Kill me? Your father would be disgusted with you,” he spits.

  The guy must have a death wish. Maybe he already knows his time is up, no point in dragging it out, I guess. I can relate to that. I’ve felt that. He made me feel that.

  Jude shakes his head and slashes the knife across Bob’s stomach in one quick movement. Blood pours from the wound, and Bob screams. I usually shun away from violence, but somehow I find myself fascinated by the blood, reveling in Bob’s screams. I want him to suffer and I want him to die, because that’s the only way I will ever be able to close my eyes and not see his sick, twisted grin as he butchered my body.

  “You gonna fight me?” Jude asks. “Or do you realize you’re just that fucking worthless?”

  Bob says nothing.

  Jude grabs his hair, violently jerking his head back. He’s walking him over to me. Oh, my God! What is he doing?

  “You tell her you’re sorry.” Jude shoves him in front of me, and Bob falls to his knees, Jude’s hand still gripping his hair. “Tell her you are a worthless piece of shit!”

  Bob’s groaning in pain. The blood is pooling right in front of my bare feet, and I take a step back.

  “Tell her!” Jude shouts, his voice booming around the room.

  “I...I’m, I’m sorry,” Bob grovels.

  “Tell her how worthless you are.”