Page 149 of Brutal Revenge

It isn’t.

Far from it.

The footage also changes to match the vibe of the music, and the death metal singer’s growl can’t mask the screams that arrive with it.

Hattie is crying, being hit and held down by several men.

I try to look away when one man rips off her underwear and stuffs them into her mouth to muffle her screams, but I can’t. Not only are the prongs holding my eyes open, but my skull is locked into place as ruefully as my ankles and wrists.

As my best friend’s screams for help rip through my ears, tears spill down my cheeks, blurring the edges of the screen.

The footage is horrific. They literally tear her to shreds, and not a single one of the many spectators comes to her aid. They watch while stroking themselves through their clothes, before they inevitably remove the dicks from their trousers to stain the floorboards around her with the evidence of their enjoyment.

I choke on the gag when no number of tears hides how badly theybrutalize Hattie’s body and soul. In minutes, she stops fighting and stares at the person capturing a woman’s worst fear in the flesh. I can’t hear what she says to him. My pulse is too loud. But whatever he replies shatters the last of Hattie’s soul.

Quicker than I can snap my fingers, the life in her eyes vanishes, and she is tossed from man to man to man like a rag doll.

My lungs finally answer the pleas of my head when the footage cuts again. They don’t take in air for long. Hattie is on the roof. Alone. She wears the same nightgown from the footage where they treated her worse than an animal. It’s ripped and hanging off her frame, and her steps wobble as if she’s drunk.

I know it’s about more than that. She’s hurting. Badly.

My chin quivers when she stands at the edge of the roof.

Then the camera zooms, and my heart shatters.

With her arms fanned out wide, she falls to her death.

I scream into the gag; the sound is strangled and useless. I want to kill. I want to hurt. I want the men who hurt my friend to never stop suffering, and I know the perfect one to start with when he rips my headphones off and smiles like the footage we just watched was a masterpiece.

Antonio says softly, tone mocking, “There’s the proof you wanted. I didn’t touch her. She flew off that fucking roof like she had wings. It’s not my fault.”

I yell through the gag, my words raw and furious. “You did this. You killed her! You took the footage while ignoring the screams of your wife! And for what? Because you’re fucking sick? I hate you. I fucking hate you! You killed my best friend.”

He angles his head and furrows his brows. “How did I kill your best friend?” He wipes at my tears, his mouth popping when he licks them off his thumb. “If you’re talking about that little bit of fun we had before her suicide, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Hattie was all for it. She had the time of her life. She had been fucked before, so it’s not like that was new to her.”

My eyes bounce between his, lost. Hattie was also a virgin beforeher wedding. Her father may have been dead, but that didn’t change the rules. We either wed in white or die in it.

“Oh…” Antonio murmurs as if he can read minds. “You thought she was a virgin, too? I thought the same, but then she didn’t pass the bloody-sheets ritual.” He snickers like there’s no chance his corn kernel dick isn’t to blame for that. “Since she broke the rules, I had every right to dissolve the marriage. I could have gotten an annulment. But that”—he gestures to the projector screen—“was much more fun.”

I launch at him. I don’t care if I have to break my limbs to get to him, but I will get to him, and I will kill him. Mark my word.

Antonio chuckles when my fight wriggles the bolts in the chair but doesn’t get me close to wiping his arrogant, pompous smirk off his face.

A voice from the doorway slices his mocking taunt in half. “We need to move. They have already raided half of Carlisle. They’re coming, and they’re coming fucking fast.”

Antonio doesn’t look away from me. His gaze is demoralizing, and it makes my skin crawl, but since it will keep him at my side until I can kill him, I accept every sickening shiver.

“I’ll catch up. I’m not done here.”

He runs the back of his fingers down my cheek.

Even bound, I jerk away.

He laughs softly. “See? Still far too feisty to have her walking in Hattie’s footsteps. I need to break her heart, soul…”—he licks his lips—“and perhaps even her body.”

“Anton…” the voice says, worry hiking his tone. “You can’t touch her. If you do, it won’t matter where we go, we’ll be fucking done.”

“I know.” His response sounds honest, but his expression says the opposite. “Just go. I’ll meet you at the first checkpoint.”