Chapter 7 Let her live so we can find the person who did this and make them fucking pay.
Catalina
The familiar click of the lock gave way, and I stepped into my apartment, fully prepared for the quiet darkness of an empty living room. Instead, the lamplight fell on Jake, slumped on the sofa and looking completely wrecked.
“Why are you still awake?” I asked.
He launched himself from the cushions, crossing the space in a heartbeat. His hands came up to cradle my face, his grip almost desperate. “Jesus Christ, Catalina! Where the hell were you? My phone has been burning a hole in my pocket all night. I must have called you a dozen times.”
“You knew I was going out. I have no idea what you are so worked up about.” I took a deliberate step back, forcing him to drop his hands.
“A single text. Was that too much to ask? Just to know you were still breathing.”
“I was angry with you, Jake. I needed air, and I went out and found some. End of story. Now I am back.”
“Did you fuck someone?” The question was a low, ugly growl.
He actually growled at me. This unbelievable bastard.
“As it happens, I did. You were the one who proposed an open relationship. I simply decided to take you at your word.”
“You fucking bitch!” he spat, his face contorting. “You were not supposed to actually do it!”
“Say that again.” My blood was boiling. I fucking knew it. This was never about freedom for us; it was a license for him.
“Listen,” he began, the fight draining from his voice, replaced by a pathetic whine. “There is this girl from work. She has been making it obvious, and it has been… difficult to ignore. We have been together for six years, so I thought if I could get you to agree to an open arrangement, I could just… get her out of my system. Then I would tell you I changed my mind. You were never supposed to go out and find someone for yourself. And now you are the one who has cheated! This fucking hurts!”
I just stared, completely dumbfounded by the sheer, monumental stupidity of the man. He had just confirmed every single one of my suspicions.
“Let me get this straight,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You thought little Catalina was so devoted, so blindly in love, that the idea of another man would never cross her mind? Wake up, Jake. I am not some passive doll you can leave on a shelf. I make moves. You, of all people, should know that after six years.”
His fingers dug into my upper arms, and my entire body went rigid.
“Who was it, Catalina? Was it Greg? That pathetic fool who has been panting after you since college? Or did you finally call that Jason guy? The one you swore was ‘just a friend’ when we saw him at the coffee shop?”
The pressure of his grip increased, bruising. I brought my own hands up between us and shoved outward, breaking his hold. Angry red welts, the exact shape of his fingers, were already blooming on my skin.
“Go fuck yourself, Jake. It was nobody you know. Nobody from our pathetic little world. Do not come near me tonight. The spare room is all yours.” I turned and marched into our bedroom, putting the full force of my fury into slamming the door shut.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my entire body trembling with the need to go back out there and make him regret every single word. I knew it. I knew the entire thing was a manipulative game.
I reached down and unbuckled my shoes, kicking them away. I stood and let my dress fall in a pool at my feet. In the bathroom, I started the shower, the steam beginning to fill the room. The memory of another man’s release on my skin was a potent, delicious secret, but I could not sleep with the physical reminder. As the hot water rinsed it away, I felt a profound sense of cleansing.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I wiped a clear circle on the fogged-up mirror to study my reflection. My face looked the same, but the woman staring back at me was fundamentally altered. That man, Viper, had cracked something open inside me, a raw, hungry part of myself I was desperate to explore. With him, I wanted to be wicked. I wanted to act on every dark fantasy I had ever only read about. I wondered if he would bind my wrists and have his way with me. I wondered if he would offer me to a friend.
Fuck, even the thought of it sent a thrilling current straight through my core. I finished brushing my teeth, then looked my reflection dead in the eye and blew myself a kiss.
Spinning around, I pulled the door open just as a blinding, brutal agony erupted in my skull. The world dissolved into a void of pure black. Blows rained down on my face, relentless and brutal. I tried to shield myself, to raise my arms, but the darkness swimming in my vision made it impossible. My leg shot out, connecting with something solid, and a low, guttural sound answered. Then, a new, vicious fire bloomed in my side. Did this fucking bastard just use a bat on me? The floor rushed up to meet me.
"You actually believed I would tolerate the shame you brought on me tonight, Catalina? You spread your legs for someone else, then had the fucking nerve to command me to leave you alone? That is not how this works." The toe of his boot drove into my stomach, once, twice, a third time, before his full weight collapsed onto me.
I felt Jake’s hands, cruel and efficient, maneuvering my limbs, forcing my legs apart. I swung a fist, but the agony had hollowed me out, leaving me powerless. He forced his way inside, and a scream tore from my throat. He moved with a brutal, punishing cadence, a violation that felt like it was splitting me apart. I felt myself tearing, a raw, searing pain. It felt like an eternity before he finally finished, and a broken sound escaped me as he pushed himself off. My ribs were a symphony of pure, white-hot anguish.
"You are nothing. A fucking slut. I am staying at a hotel. When I come home from work today, you had better be gone. It is my Saturday to work. I will be back at four. Do not let me find you here." The sounds of him adjusting his clothing, then the final, violent crash of the front door slamming shut.
How the fuck did he expect me to go anywhere? The left side of my chest was a cage of shattered bone; my nose was certainly broken, each pulse of my heart a throbbing reminder. He must have used that decorative bat of his on my face and ribs. The pain between my legs, deep inside me, was a living, unbearable entity. His release, mixed with what I feared was my own blood, was a hot, shameful tJakele down my thighs. A pathetic sound left my lips as I managed to roll onto my stomach. A deeper, guttural moan clawed its way out of me. God, even breathing was torture. I needed my phone, left in my clutch on the table by the door. I attempted to drag my body, but the pain was an overwhelming tide, pulling me under toward unconsciousness. Summoning every last reserve of my strength, I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees. A wave of sickness and vertigo made the room tilt and swim. I crawled, each tiny movement costing me a whimper. I was almost halfway there when the world simply snuffed out into nothing.
Jenna
My car rolled to a stop outside my sister’s building just after eight. Every Saturday, I was the one who collected her for our breakfast with Dad. She was always ready and waiting, but today, the curb was empty. I fished my phone from the giant tote on the passenger seat and dialed her number. The line rang and rang, then cut to her message. I ended the call without leaving one.
This was not her style. Catalina lived by the clock; she considered it a personal failing to inconvenience anyone, to steal even a minute of someone else’s day. A cold dread, entirely new and fucking terrifying, began to coil in my stomach. I killed the engine, hoisted my bag, and stepped out into the quiet morning.
Inside her apartment complex, I took the stairs two at a time. My knocks on her door were met with a thick, consuming silence. With a grim finality, I retrieved the emergency key she had entrusted to me and turned the lock.
The scene inside stole the air from my lungs. My sister was on the floor, naked, her skin a canvas of brutal, discolored marks and smears of crimson. For one endless second, my entire world narrowed to that horrifying image. I rushed to her, my fingers pressing against her throat, searching for a sign of life. A ragged sob of relief escaped me when I felt the strong, steady thrum beneath my touch. Thank fuck.
I had 911 on the line in seconds, my voice surprisingly steady as I gave the dispatcher the address. My mind raced, a torrent of panic and rage. Who the hell did this? Did they finally find us? And where the fuck was Jake?
My hand dove back into my bag, this time closing around the familiar, cold grip of my Glock 48. I did not know if the monster who did this was still here. I held my breath, listening, but the apartment offered no sound, no movement. My gaze fell on a throw blanket draped over the couch. I snatched it and gently covered my sister’s broken body, my tears falling now, a hot mix of grief and a burning, violent fury.
The distant cry of sirens cut through the silence. I quickly secured my weapon back in the bag just as the paramedics burst through the main door and started up the staircase. I flagged them down and stepped aside, my body thrumming with a desperate need for action as they began their work.
I followed their ambulance to the hospital, my phone already at my ear. This news was going to devastate my father.
"Ciao, mia bellissima figlia," his warm voice answered.
"Papà, Catalina è ferita. Ci vediamo al Presbyterian Hospital."
I ended the call before he could form a question. I had no answers to give. The entire drive was a single, repeated prayer, a vicious, fervent plea. Let my sister live. Let her live so we can find the person who did this and make them fucking pay.