Chapter 7

Peyton

The thing about learning the truth was that it always came at a price. Peyton had begged into the abyss so many times, wishing that her sister would come back to her, wishing that she hadn’t chosen to leave her alone. And now that she knew that Melina hadn’t chosen to take her own life… She couldn't make sense of it in her head. Every thought was an excruciating pain, a dagger to her heart, knowing it should have been her that died.

Her sister had died because of her.

Consciousness was haunting her, playing a twisted game with her. She would wake, only to be beaten and broken some more. She had cried until her whole body became numb. Now she almost welcomed the pain, the physical reminder that she was still alive.

If she was alive, it meant Hadina would still be able to save her.

Hadina.

God, she missed Hadina more than anything. She ached to be in her arms, feel her lips on her own, to hear that familiar whisper of tentadora .

She had no concept of how long it had been since she’d been kidnapped, but it felt like an eternity. With only Demi and her henchmen for company, Peyton was reminded of how it felt to drown in her own loneliness. Hadina Adis had reminded her how it felt to be loved and to matter—without her, existence felt like a torturous waste.

“You know,” Old Smokey said as he entered the room, blowing smoke from his cigarette directly into Peyton’s face, “I could hurt you real bad and just tell boss lady it was complications from your wounds. Me and my buddy could have some fun.”

Old Smokey—who was actually called Reggie, but Peyton couldn’t bring herself to humanize him when he was the one dehumanizing her —and his counterpart, Pete, had been taking turns to beat the shit out of her until she passed out. They’d leave her unconscious for a little while and then douse her with cold water, waking her just to repeat the process. They got their sick little kicks from watching her live reactions to the pain they caused, hearing her screams.

But Peyton had learned a thing or two from Hadina. Wearing a mask was second nature to Hadi, and Peyton had studied that woman like she was a piece of the finest art.

She would no longer give them the reactions they craved.

Staring at a spot in the wall, Peyton kept her face blank as the two men circled her. She felt Pete run his hands over her shoulders, his dirty fingers slipping lower to fondle her breasts through her torn clothes. It took every bit of willpower she had to not throw her head back and crack his nose, but she was biding her time. Peyton had a plan, but she needed everything to be perfect.

“Look at you. Sitting there with your fuck me eyes but not offering us anything. Why don’t we just take what we want, Pete? Demi won’t be back for a while…”

Peyton closed her eyes and shut out the sound of the men talking, making vulgar comments about what they wanted to do to her body. She felt their hands roaming across her body, one of them ripping at the fabric of her shirt to reveal more of her skin, but she blocked it out. Hadina’s face appeared in her mind, that I don’t give a fuck look on her face. Peyton smiled inwardly and mimicked the expression.

Seeing Hadina, even in her mind’s eye, was like igniting a flame inside her. Her plan was to wait until Demi was back, taking over from her henchmen, and Peyton would pick a fight. She felt the chair beneath her groan every so often, so she knew there was a weakness in the wood somewhere. If she could get Demi to hit her hard enough, get the angle just right, she could fall back on the chair with enough force to break it. If that could happen…

But Hadina wouldn’t wait. Her beautiful, badass woman had taught her so much in their short time together. Images of the rigorous training Hadina and Harris had made her endure flashed through her head, like a montage to remind her of exactly what she was now capable of. Peyton hadn’t just had a few self defense lessons with her girlfriend—no, she had trained how to be a warrior. How to be a part of the Adis & Co. team. Peyton was one of them, and that meant she was capable of far more than she ever had been.

Nobody would ever make her a victim again.

Opening her eyes, Peyton felt herself grinning. She knew that it would be a look of absolute psychosis from the outside, but to her, it was the type of grin that would make Hadina proud. It was the grin of a fucking fighter. Her woman was la Reina de las sombras , and she had learned how to command the shadows beside her.

“Look, Reggie, the whore is enjoying that. Aren’t ya, doll?”

Peyton tilted her head at Pete, angling it so he could press closer to her. When there was barely any space between them, Peyton brought her head back and swung forward with as much force as possible. A blinding pain traveled through her as the bones of her already broken nose crunched. Pete let out a scream, his filthy hands covering his face as blood gushed from his nose.

“You little bitch!” Old Smokey screamed, grabbing her by the throat.

“I may be a bitch, but at least I don’t rape and batter women because I’m too ugly to get any action on my own,” Peyton threw back, venom laced in her voice.

Old Smokey squeezed her throat, but a plan was quickly forming in her head. She struggled against him and, just as she had assumed Demi would, Old Smokey hit her with enough anger that she fell backwards. The crack of the weak wood brought a vindictive smile to her face. Her body temporarily eased with newfound freedom.

“Stay down! Pete, grab her legs.”

Peyton laughed as the men took position at either end of her. What they didn’t know—or simply were too dumb to pay enough attention to see—was the way in which the chair had snapped. Both her hands and legs were now free, for the most part. The spokes of wood that her ropes were tied to still remained bound to her, but that simply gave her leverage. Her hands and feet weren’t tied together and the assholes hadn’t noticed.

Pete kneeled at her feet, grabbing her calves with his meaty hands. Peyton waited a second, biding her time as Old Smokey grabbed her by the hair. She slowly, almost imperceptibly, twisted her wrists to grab hold of the wooden spokes attached to her hands. Once she had a good grip, she waited for her moment.

“I’m going to make you regret ever opening your mouth,” Old Smokey ground out, yanking her head back.

“I’d believe you if you weren’t just a pathetic excuse of a man,” Peyton chuckled. She watched as Old Smokey’s eyes filled with hate. He let go of her hair to reach into his pocket for a knife, which was the opportunity she had been waiting for.

With him distracted for a split second, and both of Pete’s hands holding down her legs, Peyton took a deep breath and thrust her arm upwards with all the power she had inside her. She held her breath as the wooden spike impaled Old Smokey through the neck. She did her best to block out the way it felt tearing through his skin, or the sound of his bloodied gasp.

“What the FUCK?!” Pete yelled, scrambling to grab her. Peyton kicked at him, slamming her foot into his face. She rolled over and stuck her hand into Old Smokey’s pocket, cursing as his blood coated her hands. He let out a spluttering groan, but Peyton focused and steadied herself.

She caught hold of the knife just as Pete grabbed hold of her hips, flipping her over. Peyton used the momentum to flick the blade open, driving it upwards. Pete cursed and looked down with widened eyes, staring at the place Peyton had just stuck the knife. Not waiting another second, she delivered a second stab, then a third. Fourth. Fifth.

Peyton had no idea how many times she plunged the blade into him. But by the time she had stopped, blood was splattered across her face and chest, smeared across her pale skin. She blinked, coming back to herself, dropping the knife by her side.

She had just killed two men and yet she felt nothing.

Nobody would ever make her a victim again, and she would kill anyone who tried.

Peyton Dimitra was la tentadora de las sombras and she needed to find her queen.