Chapter 178

I woke up feeling disgusting.

I took a long shower, washing away all the dirt that seemed to have accumulated on my skin. It was nighttime. The few windows in that house indicated that the crickets were awake, singing their daily song, and the forest seemed to invite any supernatural presence.

I grabbed something to eat, though it was strange how the corners of that house seemed to be inhabited by ghosts.

Where was everyone?

I chewed a bit more of the sweet biscuits that were in the cupboard. They had so much good food. It was ironic how such cold men had such a sweet tooth.

I wandered through the five rooms, though I imagined Asher and Cole weren't there, as they didn't live there. Vance and Jaxon were also missing. Dante was the only one I didn't dare knock on his door, although the temptation was greater.

However, my hearing rang when voices, seemingly from the floor, rose up. I rubbed my eyes, confused. I finished the packet of biscuits and kept chewing until I noticed there was a door that would lead me to another room in the house.

Without anything to stop me, I descended the steps to the lower floor, realizing I was in the same large laboratory where I had been imprisoned. The same dirty walls, the stained floor, and the lack of light sparked my neurons.

I made my way to a room where the white light was the only thing to help me move through that corridor.

The groans that seemed to come from the core of being made me wonder if it was worth entering. But then, the curses from a voice I recognized so well jolted my courage.

"You slept so long I thought I'd have to hire someone for your funeral," Dante mocked as soon as his eyes fell on me.

However, I was focused on the scene.

A man in a suit was pinned to the wall with what appeared to be large nails in each limb. The gag in his mouth, his neck hanging forward, and the sweat dripping from every inch of exposed skin gave him a pitiful appearance. It was likely that his wet pants were from the fetid and constant urine that he couldn't stop releasing.

His smell was strong, just like the blood dripping from his body, pooling in many spots, and I suspected that in a few minutes, he'd be dead.

"What are you doing?" I asked, stunned.

"Stealing information," he answered.

"You're not just stealing information," I countered, judgment in my tone.

"You're right. I'm borrowing it." My face stiffened. "Can you grab that knife for me?"

I frowned, following his finger pointing at a box that contained scissors, pliers, and countless knives. My serious expression was enough for him to stop wasting time waiting for me and grab what he needed.

"Since you're here, could you give me a hand?" he protested.

"You're asking me to help you kill a man like you're asking for a glass of water," I retorted.

"I think drinking water is less fun."

His sarcasm and casualness irritated me to the point that my blood turned to lava. Dante moved forward, pulling a chair, sitting backward, positioning his arms on the backrest, and observing his victim, whose eyes were wide with fear, shaking his head in a plea.

When his gaze shifted from the man to me, my heart shrank.

That man was terrified, begging me for help. But I couldn't do anything. I was the last person who would help him.

"What are you going to do?" I asked Dante, scanning the area. It couldn't have been the same room where I had been interrogated, as it was smaller and seemed more comfortable.

"I'm going to watch him die."

It hurt to swallow.

"You didn't say you were going to steal the information?"

"While you were sleeping, I managed to locate the man, brought him here, got what was necessary, and now I'm waiting for him to die. The other guys are taking care of the night's work."

"What would that be?"

"Kill the rest of the family."

My blood froze.

Christ.

My chest burned with spasms.

"You didn't..."

"We don't kill children," he interrupted. "Though, in some families, they're sometimes involved in this stuff at a very young age."

"Is he also a cannibal?" I asked, hesitant to utter the word.

"Rapist." The rage in Dante's throat was extreme. "He's part of a family of rapists. They buy virgin women, especially from poorer countries, with the promise of a dream life, but they're locked up and raped day after day. They're ruined both in soul and body. They've been doing this since the 19th century. They started it so their sons would know what it meant to be a man," he continued, almost sarcastically laughing. "But then they became addicted to it and kept doing it over and over again, with women who hoped for a better future."

My stomach flipped, and I had to lean against the wall to avoid falling.

My mouth dried up, the words evaporating, unable to believe that something so atrocious could happen and no one could do anything about it.

I felt hatred. Disgust. A buildup of negative emotions. Any compassion or pity I might have had was shattered, completely stomped by the resentment I was feeling while staring at that man.

I reduced the distance between me and Dante.

"What information did you get from him?"

"The main locations of the auction organizer," he replied. "We have clues that tell us about a guy named Angelo, who might be behind the new Section, but he's also been involved in other sections, like B."

"The sex trafficking Section," I murmured.

I reached the same visual line as Dante, admiring his profile. His chin rested on his arms as they were draped over the backrest of the chair, his body leaning forward, his legs on either side of the chair, swinging in different rhythms.

His beauty was illogical. I hated and despised him like no one else, yet seeing certain details of his face was strangely satisfying.

His eyes turned to me before his body shifted toward me as well. His focus on the man was lost, as was the fury in his eyes, and a different tone flickered in them. Dante seemed human in that moment.

"Did you get what you wanted, then?" I asked, breaking eye contact.

"Yes." He pointed to a small notebook on a table in the back. "It had the addresses, and now it's time to hunt down this guy."

For a few moments, I hoped he would succeed.

"And what about the women?"

Dante studied me intently.

"I've already told you I don't save anyone."

"Dante... They don't need you to save them, they need you to free them." His nose wrinkled. "You can't abandon them after what's happened. They need help. Many of them are probably... Oh my God, they might be pregnant, sick, completely vulnerable."

"Gray, I can't do anything."

"Yes, you can. You just don't want to," I argued. "Your need to think that everyone else should suffer as much as you is stupid. It's not a way to build character. It's not a way to get strong. You're going to end up killing them with that idiotic reason for living."

His quick movement to get out of the chair and stand in front of me almost made me fall. I lifted my chin, holding our eye contact as Dante showed all his indifference in the lines of his face.

"I never said I wouldn't save them because of my past," he growled.

"You don't need to. It is what it is," I countered. "You keep wallowing in it, wishing that every victim of the Factory has the same thirst for vengeance as you, but it's not going to happen, Dante. Not every disaster brings destruction. Some can even bring harmony."

Dante almost laughed.

"Anyone who goes through what we went through won't have harmony in their life."

"But not everyone wants the chaos you so desire," I argued. "People are just waiting for someone to guide them."

"And it won't be me."

"Because you're a fucking coward," I spat.

His gaze ignited. Two small steps were enough for my lungs to beg for another breath, but I was being robbed of it by Dante's heavy breathing.

"Since when did I allow you to talk to me like that?" he growled, though there was a tone of intimacy there.

"Since when do I need your permission to say whatever I want? I breathe on my own, so I don't need anyone telling me what to do or not to do."

His fingers dared to lift my chin, squeezing it slightly.