Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

JUSTICE

T he binds have been removed, but the bedroom door is still locked and bolted from the outside. I don't bother trying to turn the handle or pull it open—there's no point. Even if I could get out of the bedroom, I can't get out of the house.

Wearing the soft, black track pants that Salem left out for me, I pace, my heart racing with dread as the hours stretch on and Salem doesn't return. My anxiety intensifies. It's not like him to leave me alone for this long, not so soon after capturing me. If something has happened to Salem, the only other person who knows I'm here, is his brother, Diablo.

While he may not be as sadistic as Salem, he's a cold, aloof man with empty eyes and a permanent scowl who doesn't seem at all interested in whether I live or die.

I continue to bide my time by pacing, sitting on the bed, and pacing again.

I shouldn't have run. If anything happens to Miles, it will be my fault. And yet another death on my hands because of my inability to listen to Salem, and believe him when he says he will kill anyone who stands in his way.

Finally, the bolt on the door slides open, and Salem enters with a wide smile. "My love, I'm back." He rushes towards me, embracing me tightly and nuzzling into my neck as though we're long-lost lovers.

I reluctantly wrap my arms around his middle and breathe in the scent of smoke. My stomach drops and my heart rate increases as sweat beads across my brow.

When he steps back, I do a quick scan of him, checking for blood.

"I'm safe, love, I'm okay," he says, his tone reassuring, but he's not oblivious to my true concern. "The fishing and camping store on Laurimar Road burned down earlier," he says with a shake of his head. "Five people died." He watches me closely, gauging my reaction.

Deep down, I know he orchestrated the fire and revelled in their screams as they burned alive. And while my heart aches with what I already know, there's nothing I can do except feign a calm fa?ade and pretend I'm not screaming on the inside for Jordan's family's business. I don't know how Salem found out about him. We were so careful. I warned him about trusting strangers, or letting anyone know we were together.

Averting my gaze, I ask, "Five people?" It's a foolish question. Salem would have known exactly how many people were inside, and who they were. He would have set that fire and watched them burn. And just as the firefighters arrived, he would have run into that burning building, grabbed the closest person, and dragged them to what they believed was safety.

They'll be dead by sunset tomorrow.

Salem Frost is insane. He's not just an arsonist, he's a pyromaniac with a sadistic streak a mile long. And no one can stop him.

I should know because I've tried.

And I have the scars to prove it.

As images of burning bodies consume my mind, Salem slams me into the wall. With one hand around my throat, he pulls his knife from its sheath and presses the tip to my jaw.

"Enough about burning buildings and dead bodies," he says with cool indifference. "I picked up some dinner on my way home, but you were gone." He presses a kiss to the side of my mouth. "I was worried about you, my love. I know it's been days since you had a decent meal." My body trembles as the sharp sting of his knife cuts into my cheek. He traces the wound with his tongue before stepping back with a smirk. "Let me feed you."

I nod as Salem tucks his knife into the sheath on his belt then takes my hand. He kisses the back of my hand before he leads me into the kitchen and pulls a chair out for me, gesturing for me to sit.

Knees shaking, I take a seat at the beautiful, antique dining table, cursing my stomach for rumbling at the scent of the food that will be forced down my throat if I don't eat it willingly.

Dread pools in my gut as Salem uses an ornate, silver serving fork to place three thin slivers of rare meat on my plate, followed by a few pieces of potato and some carrots.

He reaches over and pours a glass of red wine for me, and I inhale, holding my breath and counting to ten in my head before I finally exhale and close my eyes. All I need to do is get through this meal without gagging, vomiting, or showing any hint of disgust.

"Eat, my love," Salem says, as he brings his own fork to his mouth and chews on the tender, sliced meat.

I poke my fork into a carrot and chew it slowly, savouring the taste of the vegetable while Salem stares at me intently. "You don't like your meat?" he asks, head tilted, brows narrowed in feigned confusion.

I swallow the carrot, move my fork towards the meat, and slowly stab the thin sliver before I bring it to my lips. Bile rises in my throat, but I ignore it, my eyes only on Salem as I place the meat on my tongue, chew, then swallow.

A wide smile stretches across Salem's face, his eyes alight with sick, depraved pleasure. "Isn't it lovely?" he asks.

"Who is it?" the words spill from my mouth before I can stop them, because I know—I know with one hundred percent certainty, I'm eating someone from the camping store I'd been working at for the past six months.

Salem doesn't falter. He pops another piece into his mouth, and chewing crudely, he says around a mouthful, "Jordan."

My stomach lurches.

I don't get to stand before the contents of my stomach are forced from my mouth onto the hardwood floor.

Salem's chuckle is all I hear as my stomach continues to spasm. Tears flow freely from my eyes. Pain lances my chest as every moment I shared with Jordan flickers through my mind. I should have known better. I should have stayed away from his kind smile and those bright, blue eyes.

I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and stand slowly, blinking back my tears. When I turn to face Salem, he's still smiling as he licks spicy mustard from his fingertips.

Blinded by rage, I lunge, screaming and clawing at his face as I punch him over and over and over. It's not until I'm straddling his chest that I finally take a breath and look down at his face. A serene expression is all I see staring back at me. He doesn't fight back. Doesn't make an attempt to push me off of him.

He just smiles like the fucking psychopath he is. Reaching down, I feel around his side for his knife, grab the handle, and draw it from its sheath.

Still nothing.

No reaction.

Just that sadistic smile and those cold, dark eyes that stare up at me as though he knows I won't end his life.

"I hate you," I grit out, but the words are bitter on my tongue. Lies I tell myself every time I fall deeper into Salem's world. "I hate you," I say again, softer this time.

He lifts his hands, and at the same time, I point the tip of his own knife to his throat.

He stills for a second, then drops his hands to my knees, gently smoothing them up my thighs. "Do it," he says.

My hand shakes, the weight of the knife heavy in my palm. I push the blade against his flesh, a tiny bead of blood appears. "I'll do it," I warn.

He shifts slightly, squeezes my thighs. "Do it," he repeats. "It's the only way you'll ever be free of me, Justice."

God, why do I hate the sound of my name on his lips? Why do I want to stab him, hurt him, make him bleed as I scream at him to call me his firebird, his love?

I'm as fucking insane as he is.

"Say it!" I demand. "Say it, then I'll kill you." I'm a weak, pathetic liar, and he knows it.

"Say what," he asks, his voice so soft and gentle no one would ever know this man's only wish is to torture me and watch me burn.

"You fucking know what!" I scream, and the blade cuts into his neck. The bastard doesn't even flinch. Beneath me, his erection strains against my ass. It takes all my strength not to grind against him.

"Do it, my love." He squeezes my thighs again.

My chest heaves, and I suck in a breath as I drag the knife along the side of his throat.

He lets out a long exhale, and his eyelids flutter.

"Again," he says. "Kill me, my little firebird. I know you want to."

Blood oozes from the wound in his neck, but it's clearly not deep enough to kill. I stare at the trickling blood, then shift my eyes back to his.

Pupils blown wide, he licks his lips, eyes never leaving mine.

Do it! A voice in the back of my mind shouts. It reminds me of the past. My family burning alive. My friends… all dead. My boyfriends, dead too. Everyone I've ever loved, known, or confided in… Salem killed them all.

He's insane. I remind myself.

He could easily overpower me. Take the knife from my hand and slice me open.

But all he does is stare at me with those dark eyes that send me spiralling into a long-forgotten memory of a boy tracing his fingertips across the scars on my forearm. A boy shielding me from bullies, from my brother, my parents. A boy teaching me to read, sharing his lunch with me when I didn't have my own.

"You need more of these," he said as he trailed his fingers over my scars.

Knife in my hand, I once again press the tip of the blade to Salem's throat, and this time, I slice his flesh open.

He flinches.

Blood spills from the wound.

He gasps.

The knife falls to the floor with a thud.

I'm yanked back and thrown across the room. My head hits the leg of the table, and as I scramble to my hands and knees, a heavy boot slams into my gut, sending me to the floor. I curl up in a ball, covering my head with my hands.

Nothing stops the brutal onslaught.

Diablo grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me along the hardwood floor and back to the bedroom. He hefts me up and dumps me on the bed before roughly yanking on my arms to cuff me to the iron bedhead.

All the while I remain silent, nothing more than pained sobs leave my lips.

Diablo draws his knife and without warning or hesitation, he slices it across my abdomen. I let out a blood curdling scream seconds before he clamps his hand over my mouth. "If he dies, I promise you the torture Salem inflicted on you will be nothing compared to what I will do. You may be his firebird, but when I am done with you, you will never rise again."

Sobbing and crying, I groan in pain. "He—he wanted me to, he told me to," I say through panting breaths as blood pools beneath me.

"Diablo," an unfamiliar voice calls from the dining room.

Diablo's jaw clenches before he stands, glares at me, then leaves the room.

With the door wide open, I can hear him talking to the other man who must be a doctor. "I've sedated him so I can stitch him up. It's going to scar, but he'll survive," the doctor says.

"Take him to the master bedroom, everything you need is in there," Diablo replies. A minute later, he appears in the doorway of my bedroom, gauze in hand.

"I'm going to cover your wound," he says as though he wasn't the one who inflicted it mere minutes ago. The complete shift in his emotions shocks me, but I remain calm, breathing through the pain.

I only nod. "Salem's okay?" I ask while he inspects the wound.

"He will be." Diablo sits on the side of the bed and cuts away the bottom half of my t-shirt. He presses a pad of gauze to the gash, and strangely, he's gentle.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I… I didn't want to kill him," I admit.

"He needs you," Diablo says, his eyes never shift away from where he's tending to my wound.

I let out a self-deprecating laugh. "For what? To torture me."

"You'll figure it out… and if you don't, he still has me." Diablo stands and smiles, cruel and sadistic.

"Has you?" I question before he can leave. "What does that mean?" And why the hell is jealousy coursing through my veins all of a sudden?

Diablo leans down to my ear. "If you can't give him what he wants, I can, little firebird. And don't you forget that." He turns and leaves, closing the door behind him before he slides the lock into place.