Page 54 of Chained

"I have the perfect song for you." He scrolls through his phone. I look over, curious, but he drags it away, shielding it with his hands.

"Are you gonna play it or what?" I ask with a frown, impatience growing, waiting as a devious giggle comes from his mouth. He lays the phone flat on his knee as Asshole by Denis Leary begins to play through the car speakers.

Prick. If I didn't love him, I'd kill him right where he's sat. I shake my head as a laugh ripples in my throat, face snapping to his as he starts belting out the chorus, hand slapping against his leg as his head nods in time to the rhythm.

"Very funny," I mutter through my laughs, shaking my head as Jarrod slaps his palm against my shoulder, rocking with each beat, his skinny arm waving high like he's at a concert instead of a midnight highway. The car trembles with his laughter.

"Come on, Ace, just this once." He belts out the chorus, voice cracking, cheeks flushed with the effort, eyes bright with mischief as he urges me to join in, mouthing the words with an exaggerated pout.

I roll my eyes, glancing sideways at him. My mouth is flat, but the edge of a smile is tugging at the corner.

"I'm an asshole," I deadpan, just loud enough for the words to get sucked into the music.

Jarrod's laugh booms through the car, completely uncontrollable. His shoulders shake, tears brimming as he tries to catch his breath, wheezing out the last of the lyrics between hiccupping laughs. The song fades and the speakers hum with the opening notes of something softer, something aching. And suddenly, my chest feels tight. My knuckles flex against the steering wheel, fingers drumming out a silent rhythm that doesn't match the song.

For a moment, I can't keep her out. Amora's face creeps into my mind; the way her hair clung to her cheek after the rain, the stubborn set of her jaw as she faced down Derek. Guilt needles through me, sharp and persistent, settling low in my gut.

I should've let her go. Should've made up some lie to Vincent, taken the beating, the chains, whatever he had planned. Instead, I did what I always do: chose survival, chose Jarrod, and let someone else pay the price.

I glance at Jarrod. He's still humming, lips moving around the melody, tapping his nail-bitten fingers against his thigh, eyes closed for a moment like there's nothing in the world but the music. He wouldn't last a week without me. I know it. I've always known it. The thought tightens my jaw, a prickling heat working up my neck.

I grip the wheel harder, thumb tracing the worn stitching, and force myself to breathe slow and deep, fighting the ache pressing against my ribs. The satnav flickers, blue light painting Jarrod's face in ghostly lines.

For a few miles, I say nothing, letting the silence crawl back in, the guilt burrowing deeper with every turn of the tyres. My stomach sinks fast—with every mile closer, I know that it's another girl's life I'll be ruining.

But it's a life that will never be worth the cost of my brother's.

The car begins to slow to a crawl as the green neon sign of The Secret Garden hanging above a dark brick building comes into view. I can already hear the music, the line of people waiting outside. My palms sweat as I grip against the leather, swallowing hard.

"Are you ready for this?" Jarrod turns, offering a small smile.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready." The car finally dies, and I suck in a deep breath before pushing myself out of the car.

Chapter Seventeen

Amora

My fists slam hard against the mirror to the point my reflection begins to shatter in the glass. I pull my hand back, blood trickling down my wrist as small shards dig deep into my skin.

I stare at the mess I've made of myself in the fractured pieces, a dozen versions of my own face staring back, all of them cracked down the middle. None of them look like me. None of them look like anyone I recognise.

"Help! Please somebody, anybody—help me!" My voice is raw, the camera hanging above still flickering red. They're watching. They know I'm here, but they still haven't come. Time feels weird, like it's moving fast, but not moving at all. I push myself into the corner, cradling my knees to my chest and hang my head.

My breathing won't slow no matter how hard I try to drag it into something steady, something Rosa would recognise, something that sounds like me and not like an animal cornered. The shards in my palm sting with every pulse of my heartbeat, small and sharp, but I don't pull them out. The pain is something, at least. Something that tells me I'm still here, still breathing, still real.

"I'm sorry, Rosa. I'm sorry I failed you," I whisper into the empty room.

I clamp my eyes closed as sobs rack through my body, my chest aching as I try and think back to a moment where it didn't hurt like this, but nothing comes—only the moment that haunts me every time I sleep.

Come on, Amora, just breathe. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. The advice sits hollow in my head, my own voice trying to mimic hers, but it doesn't work. It never works when I'm the one who needs saving instead of the one doing the saving.

"Come on, Ro, it's one night." I spray the perfume on my chest, the smell of coconut filling the air. I can feel her behind me, her arms crossed and eyes set straight.

"I don't know…It's been a long day, and I'm knackered. I was hoping we could just chill, watch some Love Island." I hear the sigh, but I ignore it. I've spent the last three months moping around after being dumped for the third time in two years. I need this, need a night where I can dance and flirt, maybe find someone new.

"Please, Ro. Just one night, that's all I'm asking for."

She exhales loudly, and I know I've won her over.