Chapter 4 - Rising from the Ash
The basement was not a dungeon,
but it felt like one.
It was a clean,
concrete room with a single chair bolted to the floor.
Mark was tied to it.
He didn't look like the monster who had terrorized me for years.
He looked small.
He looked pathetic.
His face was swollen,
and his shirt was torn,
but he was alive.
When the door opened,
he flinched,
his eyes darting to Vincent in terror.
Then he saw me.
"Lena!"
he sobbed,
the sound thick with desperation.
"Lena,
baby,
tell them to let me go!"
"I'm sorry,"
"I was drunk,"
"I didn't mean to hurt you!"
"Please,
tell your boyfriend to stop this!"
I walked toward him,
the gun heavy in my hand.
Vincent stayed by the door,
arms crossed,
watching me with the intensity of a predator.
I stopped a few feet away from Mark.
I looked at his face,
searching for the fear that used to live in my own heart.
It wasn't there.
All I felt was a profound sense of disgust.
"You're not sorry you hurt me,
Mark,"
I said,
my voice echoing in the cold room.
"You're sorry you got caught."
"You're sorry you picked the wrong person to break."
He began to babble,
pleading for his life,
promising he would change.
I raised the gun.
Mark’s eyes widened,
and he actually wet himself right there on the chair.
I stared at him through the sights of the weapon.
I could pull the trigger.
I could end it right now.
I could watch the life leave his eyes and know he would never hurt anyone again.
My finger tightened on the trigger.
The silence in the room was suffocating.
Then,
slowly,
I lowered the gun.
I turned to Vincent.
"He's not worth it,"
I said.
"If I kill him,"
"I’m still tied to him."
"I want him gone,"
"but I don't want his blood on my hands."
Vincent walked over to me,
taking the gun from my hand.
He looked at Mark,
who was shaking with relief.
"You heard the lady,"
Vincent said,
his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.
"She doesn't want your blood on her hands."
"Luckily,"
"I don't have that problem."
Vincent looked at one of his men standing in the shadows.
"Take him to the docks."
"Make sure he is never seen in this city again."
"In any form."
Mark’s relief turned back to pure horror as the men unbolted the chair.
I didn't watch them drag him out.
I walked out of the room,
up the stairs,
and back into the light.
I went out onto the terrace and breathed in the cold night air.
The weight that had been on my chest for half a decade was finally gone.
I felt light.
I felt new.
A jacket was draped over my shoulders.
Vincent stood beside me,
looking out at the horizon.
"You showed strength tonight,"
he said.
"The strength to walk away is harder than the strength to strike."
I looked at him,
this dangerous,
beautiful man who had stepped out of the shadows to save me.
"What happens now?"
I asked.
Vincent turned to me,
his eyes catching the first rays of dawn.
"Now,"
"you decide who you want to be."
"The waitress is dead,
Lena."
"The girl who hides is gone."
"You are under my protection,"
May you like
"and in this city,"
"that means you can be anything."
