I wish I had never come down from my room and ignored the cries of terror.

A scream catches in my throat, choking me, but I can’t look away from the mutilated fingers spread across the dining table. Or the pink concoction trailing down the side of Greg’s face, coloring the duct tape over his mouth.

Or the welts marring his body.

Long, angry red lines, two inches wide, crisscross over his arms and legs, some breaking skin. I would recognize those marks anywhere. I know how much each slash would have hurt.

This was done with a belt. Greg’s favorite belt.

The same belt that’s wrapped around his throat, turning his face a deadly shade of purple.

He did this.

Roman did this.

Greg was a piece of shit who deserved whatever was coming for him, but not this. The man who housed me for the past four years is—was—a functioning alcoholic who had no issues with tormenting his foster child, and letting his son, Marcus, play along in abusing me.

Slowly—so slowly, Roman sheaths the knife to his thigh and places the mask on the table, as if I am a frightened animal that might spook at a sudden movement.

“Go back upstairs. I’ll come to get you once I’m done.”

The deep timbre of his voice vibrates through every crevice of my being, commanding my attention. I slap a hand over my mouth to suppress a sob as I stagger back.

He’s real.

He’s actually real.

This isn’t some deranged dream. It takes everything in me not to retch. He was never meant to come back after he tore my heart from my chest and handed me to the wolves to feast on.

After twenty years, I’ve finally proven to myself that I can live without him. He’s shown me that he was nothing more than a tortured soul I grew up with because, in the end, he left.

Three years ago, to the day, he showed me that I was no one. That’s what hurts the most, because he wasn’t just anyone; he was everything to me. He was every smile that curved my lips, every laugh that rattled my chest, every dream that didn’t end in tears.

Everything meant nothing when compared to him.

But to him, I was nothing.

Roman sidesteps to block my view, but there’s no unseeing the damage he’s done to Greg… And Marcus. Oh God.

The sight of my naked foster brother, hanging from the ceiling by his wrists, is forever ingrained into my mind. Roman did that. Violets and blues blossom in violent splotches across every inch of his pale skin, so dark the red seeping from his cock blends in with the bruised flesh. Or at least, that’s where the appendage is supposed to be.

I know Marcus had one before tonight. I’ve felt it pressed against me when I didn’t want it to. I’ve endured it too many times. What does that say about me that I can’t bring myself to feel any remorse, only disgust?

I take one step back. Then another.

A sob breaks free from my lips, and then Roman’s hands are on me, keeping me there. His fingertips caress my face as he gently wipes away the tears he caused, replacing them with the blood tainting his gloves. I try to push him away, to slap his hands off me, but touching him only makes everything worse.

“No, no, shh. It’s okay. Don’t cry, alright? I’ve got you.” His voice is so much deeper now; there’s no denying the years that have passed.

Even though the sleeve of my shirt separates us, his touch sets me aflame. But I can’t look at him—the boy who hurt me more than anyone else. Hot tears burn my cheeks, pooling at the corners of my lips.

I gasp for breath as the scents of lingering bourbon, blood, sandalwood, and cinnamon engulf my senses. Even covered in blood, Roman smells better than his shirt, which I hide beside my bed.

Roman’s taller now, more foreboding, with lean muscles lining every inch of his body.

The muscles in his arms ripple when he moves. He pulls me closer, and no matter how hard I try to stop it, he’s too strong. He’s still everything to me. I hate it.

Warm lips press against my forehead, as a cry rips through my throat. The memory of the last time I felt them is ingrained into my mind, etched so deep that it isn’t just a mark; it’s who I am.

“Don’t touch me,” I plead, attempting to push him away. He doesn’t move an inch, holding me tighter, like he’s worried I’ll be the one to disappear.

If he keeps touching me, I’m afraid I’ll forget how deep the wounds he left behind are.

“You were always a heavy sleeper.” He chuckles to himself as if it’s an inside joke.

The gloved hand caresses my cheek as he presses his forehead to mine. The touch is so loving and tender, as if I might actually mean something to him. But I should know better—I have to know better. I won’t survive if he leaves again.

As I tilt my head up to look at him, his lips stretch into a sinister smirk. Glancing at Marcus and his missing appendage, Roman pulls out the knife and nudges the back of my trembling hand, saying, “Would you like the honors, Princess?”

Marcus’s cries are muffled by the tape covering his mouth. The sound breaks my trance, and when I pull away from Roman this time, he lets me.

I wish I had the strength to hurt Marcus the way Roman is, not just for vengeance for everything my foster brother put me through, but to prove to myself that I can take care of myself in every possible way.

I wipe away the tears with the back of my hand, spreading the congealing blood he left behind on my cheek. My other foster brother Jeremy is safe at camp, but what about… “Where—where’s Millie?” My foster mom stood by and watched, but she doesn’t deserve to be tortured for it. She’s a victim too.

He shakes his head, a pinch between his brows, looking at me as if he was hoping to hear something else fall from my lips. “She’s okay.”

“What does ‘okay’ mean?” I step back when he reaches for me, and the frown deepens.

I turn around. Surveying. Studying. Holding back my meager dinner that’s rising up my throat. I’ve seen him beat someone into a pulp with his bare hands. I’ve watched bones break beneath his baseball bat. But this?

He’s done it now. He’s gone too far this time.

There’s blood everywhere. Ripped flesh, torn appendages, and missing limbs. This isn’t just murder; this is the definition of a bloodbath.

“What have you done?” My voice quivers as I knock my knee against a shelf.

The room sways, and I can’t breathe. He steps in front of me, but that just makes the dizziness worse. I can’t look at him. I need to go back to pretending he doesn’t exist.

“What have you done, Roman?” I tremble, trying to stop my lungs from burning, but the match has already been lit, and there’s nothing to stop it from spreading like wildfire. “What—what is this? What are you—I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

I fall onto my knees and clamber backward, choking on air before I empty the contents of my stomach onto the floor. He grips my arms and pulls me to my feet, making me dry heave against his chest. “Deep breaths, Bella. Don’t look, alright? Just focus on me.”

He feels so warm and comforting, like I’m finally back home. But it’s all wrong. I thrash in his grip, desperate to get away. I can’t do this after all the pain he’s put me through and everything that happened. He was the only thing standing between me and the demons on the other side.

Demons like Marcus.

Roman left me to fend for myself, and I almost died because of it.

There was a time I was willing to give him every fractured piece of my heart. I thought he loved every broken part of me. He said I was perfect.

But Roman Riviera is a liar.

Every family before this one got rid of me. My mother is gone. I wasn’t enough for my father. And, God, I thought there was a chance I could be enough for him.