I see red, and regrettably, I go for the sucker punch. “He killed your mother and left her in a bathtub full of blood for you to find. You’re his son, and he did that to you?” My voice threatens to break. It’s so high and shrill. “What do you think he did to them?! I know they suffered. I know it more than I know anything.” I clutch at my chest as I think of my father and what he must have endured at the end. “He made them suffer, and now I’m going to make him suffer.”

Jase’s face is drawn, fixed, decided. “Juliette,” he warns, “If you walk out that door—”

“If I walk out that door, what?” I interrupt. “What are you gonna do, huh? Nothing, just like you did nothing for six years.” I’m nasty, and I can’t help it. “Don’t worry. Leave it up to Julz. I’ll clean up the mess that you never could.”

I yank the door open and slam it shut behind me, the loud noise and violent gesture extremely satisfying.

I’ve got Jase’s car keys in my hand, and as I stalk to his car and yank open the door, anger bubbles in my veins.

Anger, and the sweet taste of impending revenge.

I get to the burlesque club a few minutes later, parking a few streets away in case Dornan sees me driving Jase’s car and asks me to explain. I jog the few blocks to the club, wanting to get there before Jase rides up on his Harley and intercepts me.

The front doors are unlocked; the place deserted at ten fifteen on a Tuesday morning. I wander in slowly. The darkened stage pulls old memories to the surface where they claw fresh wounds.

Crushing weight.

Leather.

A pair of black eyes that gleamed at us from the floor of the club. Emilio. He’d watched it all, barely blinked as his grandsons had taken their turns breaking me apart. First Chad, then Maxi, then the rest. As one would rape me, two more would pin my arms, and the others would hold Jase as he yelled and fought.

Then, one word spoken by Dornan’s father.

“Enough.”

Emilio ordered everyone out of the room but Dornan. Jase had been knocked out when he broke free momentarily and kicked Chad hard enough in the kneecap to cause it to dislocate.

Which left me, sitting naked with my wrists and ankles tied to a chair. My broken nose was making a weird scraping sound as I breathed past crushed bone and blood. It was cold, and I trembled violently as my exposed flesh rose in goose bumps to meet the frigid air.

Dornan made a show of removing his gun and knife from his holsters, placing them on a small table near where I sat. The camera was still going, or at least I assumed it was with the red light blinking every few seconds. By this stage, I’d been here for a few hours and had long since forgotten my modesty. My legs were cramping as I sat in a pool of my own blood, and I could no longer feel my arms.

I’d moved through the stages of grief swiftly as the Ross brothers had taken from me what wasn’t theirs. Firstly shock and denial, but that had been quashed as Chad had pressed painfully inside of me, eradicating any possibility that the horrors they promised were just threats. Secondly anger, and that’s where I still hovered, bleeding and furious as Dornan stood in front of me, his face poker-blank.

“Tell me, Julie,” he said, and I cringed as he used the nickname only my mother used. “Where’s the money?”

I shook my head. “I already told you, I don’t know!”

My breathing quickened, terrified as I watched him unbuckle his belt. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut, but I daren’t look away in case I missed my own death.

“What are you doing?” I asked, panicking. No more. I couldn’t handle any more. Not again. Not him.

Dornan moved like a panther stalking its prey, every move measured and silent as he drew the belt from its loops and held it in front of him. It was black, leather, with a skull-shaped clasp.

“You know,” Dornan said, as he doubled the belt over and held it in both hands, “I was the first to hold you when you were born, Julie. All screaming and covered in blood.” He smiled darkly, standing in front of me.

Before I could flinch, he brought the belt down on my left leg, the leather burning as it bit into my bare flesh.

I screamed.

“It’s kind of like now,” he continued, playing with the belt in his hands. “Your daddy wasn’t there in time to see you be born, and he’s going to miss your death, too.”

He raised his arm and this time, I braced myself.

Not that it helped.

He brought the belt down on my other leg, and I screamed again. I screamed so loud that my throat felt like it would crack in two.

“Where’s the money, Julie?”

I started to cry, then. Hung my head and sobbed. Because I didn’t know the answer, and he wasn’t going to stop until I gave him something.

“My father will kill you for what you’ve done,” I cried, lunging at him against my ropes.

Dornan tilted his head to the side, an odd expression on his face. He chuckled mirthlessly, the sound hollow and bitter.

“Not if I kill him first, baby girl.” He bit his lip, letting the belt fall to his side.

Emilio cleared his throat, reminding us both that he was still in the darkness below the stage, sitting in his chair, his black eyes shining like orbs.

A flicker of annoyance registered on Dornan’s face as he turned his attention to his father.

“The belt isn’t working,” Emilio rasped, his Italian accent thick but understandable. “Maybe you need something a little more convincing?”

Dornan looked at the ground, then back at me. His mask slipped for just a fraction of a second, and I saw my chance. His tiny sliver of hesitation gleamed like a beacon of hope.

“Dornan,” I begged, “Please. You don’t have to do this.”

Dornan ignored my pleas as he untucked his shirt and began undoing the buttons. My stomach roiled as he shrugged the shirt off and laid it over the table next to his gun and knife.

“I swear, I don’t know anything,” I said desperately.

I had well and truly moved from anger to bargaining as he began to untie my ankles.

“You’re supposed to protect me!” I screamed. “You’re family!”

His face twisted into anger as he undid the final rope and wrapped his hands around my throat, pulling me to my feet. I tried to bear weight on my legs as I struggled against his grip, and failed miserably. I couldn’t even feel my legs, let alone stand unassisted.

“You’re supposed to be my family,” he growled as he throttled me painfully. “Remember?” He took one hand from my neck and drew it across his bare skin, reciting the words tattooed over the bottom of his ribcage. “Il sangue è sacro. Famiglia è sacra!” Blood is sacred. Family is sacred.

His indifference morphed into rage as he threw me on the ground. I cried out as I landed on hard wood planks, my skull and my elbows taking the brunt of the impact.

“Don’t ever talk to me about family,” Dornan spat as he stood over me. “You were going to steal my son from me.”

“He hates you,” I rasped, my own anger bubbling up inside me.

He stopped for a second, glanced at Emilio, then back to me. “I hated my father once, too,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans. “I got over it.”

What happened next was so brutal, so devastating, that even now, I can’t form words to describe it.

Blood is sacred. Family is sacred.

But clearly, we weren’t family anymore.

I’d moved into the final stage of grief, acceptance, as my vision clouded over and those white spots burst into shimmering stars, promising me peace, whispering sweet nothings in my ear that the pain would soon be over.