was deafening in the small, enclosed space, making my ears ring so loud that I didn't even realize I was screaming until I heard Arturo snap, "Someone shut that bitch up," a second before a palm slapped across my cheek, the hot pain seeming to snap me out of my shock, making my gaze fly to where Lorenzo was sprawled on the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound right above his left ear.
Oh, God.
No.
No no no no.
This couldn't be happening.
He couldn't be bleeding to death right in front of me.
It wasn't until right that moment that I realized he had started to mean something to me, despite my efforts to keep him at a distance.
He'd been good to me, considering.
He'd sided with me against the family.
The biggest taboo of all.
And then he'd... he'd murdered the man who had raped me.
Who did that?
He told his father it was about the family's honor, but I knew that wasn't all.
He'd done it for me.
He'd killed for me.
He'd gotten the revenge I wanted, but knew I couldn't stomach to get for myself.
And then his final act before staring down the barrel of his father's gun was to hand me a handcuff key, to grant me my freedom when the opportunity presented itself.
"Get him the fuck out of here," Arturo growled, waving down at Lorenzo's body.
Arturo's guards were the first to the body, grabbing him, lifting him, hauling him out of the room.
Chris stayed with me.
While Emilio and Chris and some of the other guards I had met while stuck at Lorenzo's penthouse technically belonged to Arturo, it was clear to me that their loyalty was to Lorenzo.
Once Lorenzo and the guards were gone, Arturo stormed out too, followed by his remaining guards, leaving just me and Christopher.
We both stayed in numb silence for a long couple of moments, hearing all the movements upstairs. I was pretty sure I heard Arturo going up the stairs to the top level, could hear his men getting back to work on the dining room floors.
Only then did Chris turn to me.
"Was he still breathing?" I whispered, my heart thudding so hard in my chest that my ribcage hurt.
"I don't know," he admitted, sounding remorseful about it.
"Is Arturo going to kill me?"
"I don't know," Chris said again, shoulders falling.
"Are his men going to rape me?"
"No," he told me, straightening, chin lifting, a stubborn move I knew well.
"You can't say that for sure."
"I'll be standing right outside this door."
"For what? Forever?" I asked, shaking my head.
"If necessary. And there's Emilio too," he added, shrugging. "Lorenzo would want us to do this."
My heart shrank smaller in my chest, felt like it was drying out, becoming brittle.
"What happens now?"
"My best guess? Arturo hits the bottle. Which means he will pass out for the rest of tonight."
"Will his men leave?"
"Some of them. When they're done with the floor. The ones who stay will move outside so they can piss off the neighbors by smoking and bullshitting all night. If you hold off until then, I can get you upstairs. Use the bathroom. Get you something to eat and drink."
My bladder was screaming.
I was going to get a raging UTI at this rate.
But what choice did I have?
"Okay," I agreed, nodding. "Thank you, Chris."
"You didn't belong in all this shit anyway."
"And if it weren't for me, none of this would have happened."
He didn't deny that, because we both knew it was the truth, as hard as it was for me to swallow.
If Lorenzo was dead, it was my fault.
I wasn't sure how my conscience was going to accept that, come to grips with that.
It wasn't the time for it, anyway.
Now was the time for survival.
And, eventually, freedom.
That was what Lorenzo wanted for me.
I would honor that.
"I have to go outside the door. In case anyone comes down," Chris said, sounding regretful.
A part of me didn't like the idea of being alone. The other part wanted solitude, needed to process all that had just happened, what it all meant, what the next move was from here.
"Okay," I agreed, nodding. "Thank you."
He gave me a tight nod and moved outside the door, closing it behind him.
Alone, the cool of the room settled deeper into my bones. But what sent goosebumps over my skin wasn't the cold, natural dampness of the basement.
No.
It was the puddle of darkening blood on the floor near my foot.
I scuttled back from it, leaning back against the wall again, feeling the relief on my ankle shackle once I gave it slack.
Tears flooded