Page 46 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
He opens the pantry door, and on the back wall, amongst the shelves is a hidden panel, almost invisible if I didn’t already know it was there. This is where he kept Gabriella the last time he took her. He brought me down here to mock us both, and I played right into his twisted games, doing vile things in front of her, all in a bid to convince them both that I truly wanted to marry him. I still feel sick thinking about it. Enrique pushes that panel open, revealing the rustic stone steps beyond. The house is clinical and modern, and yet this wine cellar feels like something out of a haunted house.
Cool air greets me the second my foot hits the top step. A single light bulb buzzes in the stairwell, and I wonder if he deliberately tries to make this creepy.
This time, when I reach the wine cellar, I know what to expect. The scene is one I’ve witnessed before. My sister, in the center of the rustic-looking basement, tied to a chair. Wall-to-ceiling wine racks flank her on each side, and there’s absolutely no natural light.
At least she looks relatively unharmed. Her cheeks are streaked with mascara, and her hair is a mess, but she looks untouched. A strip of duct tape covers her mouth. I notice the distinct lack of guards down here. It’s just the three of us, and that bothers me.
Enrique circles her, and each step he takes sets me on edge. My sister’s eyes meet mine, strangely calm. She trusts me, I realize, and that breaks me a little because I’m every bit as helpless against him as she is. My bindings aren’t of rope, but a tiny gold band that sits on my finger.
“Untie her,” I snap.
Enrique laughs. “Ah, dear wife. You think you’re so clever. Plotting against me, trying to take what you have no right to.” Just like he did with me.
“I did what we agreed to. This was not it!” I point at Gabi.
He slowly approaches me, the way a stalking tiger creeps up on a gazelle. His hands are shoved into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, giving the perception of calm. I know differently. He stops in front of me and lashes out, fingers wrapping around my jaw so hard that my teeth cut against the inside of my cheek. The mask slips, and his anger breaks through, bubbling to the surface.
Breath hisses through his teeth. “I told you what would happen if you betrayed me, principessa. It seems you don’t take me seriously.” He tilts his head to the side, dragging his eyes over me like a cheap whore he just paid for. “Tsk, tsk, that’s a poor way to start a marriage.” A disturbing grin twists his face, and a very real fear skirts the length of my spine. He almost launches me away from him, making me stumble. “I will strip you of everything, Adelina, until I am all you have. By the time I’m done, I’ll be your own personal God.”
All you have. His retreating footsteps turn my blood cold because I can sense the shift in the room. It feels like the slow, incremental falling of an ax, the inevitability of fate accumulating. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
He backs away farther toward Gabi. I take a step forward as he moves behind her. I’m caught between frozen fear and the sudden urge to get to her. That’s when I see the glint of metal, the flash of the blade in his hand. My mind can barely comprehend what happens next.
“I warned you. You did this,” he says with a wide grin.
No, no, no! I stumble forward, and everything slows. My gaze snaps from Enrique to Gabi and back again. Her head is wrenched back by her hair. Her eyes close, long lashes sweeping over her cheeks, as though resigned to her fate. And I can only watch in absolute horror as he swipes the blade across her throat. Blood gushes forward like a waterfall, and Gabi instantly chokes and coughs, her body jerking violently. It’s a real-life nightmare unfolding before me; only, this isn’t a dream.
“No!” I scream, rushing to my sister. I catch her head when Enrique releases her. Blood gushes over me, drenching my shirt. Too much, so much. “Gabi!” I choke, tears blinding me.
Shock and pain engulf me, and I…I don’t know what to do. I press my hands to her neck, trying to stop it, but it’s useless. Hot blood drenches my hands as I sob. I’m completely helpless. My sister is dying, and there’s not a single thing I can do for her. I clutch her head to my chest, mumbling incoherently, telling her I love her. I stroke my blood-coated hand through her hair. She’s dying, and I don’t want her to be scared. I want her to know how much I love her.
