Dane's POV:
All I see is her.
Just her.
On the floor, shaking so violently it rattles something inside my chest.
Her clothes hanging off in shreds.
Tears streaking down her face.
Finger marks on her skin, bite marks on her waist.
My heartbeat stops.
Like my body refuses to move until I understand what I'm looking at.
And then the truth hits.
They touched her.
They hurt her.
Something inside me… snaps.
Like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way.
A coldness spreads through me—slow and merciless.
It slides into my bones, settles behind my ribs, and locks there like steel.
I'm going to get her out of this hellhole.
I'm going to pick her up, carry her out.
I'm going to make sure she takes a full breath again.
And after that?
I'm coming back.
Every man in this room is dead.
They're going to feel it.
They're going to understand what they did every single second until their bodies give out.
"Capture them," I snarl, voice low enough to shake the walls.
"Nobody kills them."
"I want every single one breathing until I come back."
I drop to my knees beside her so fast my joints crack.
Up close, she looks even smaller.
Her breath shudders in and out, her hands barely working.
There are red marks on her wrists where the ropes dug in.
I rip my T-shirt over my head and hold it out to her.
"Here," I say, but my voice breaks in the middle, just a fraction.
She doesn't look at me.
She turns her face away like she's ashamed
like she did something wrong.
And that…
that slices straight through me.
She pulls the shirt over her head with shaking fingers.
She's trying to hide her body.
Trying to make herself smaller.
Trying not to fall apart in front of me.
My chest tightens so hard I almost can't speak.
"Rain," I whisper—barely holding myself together, barely stopping my hands from shaking.
I soften it, drop the rage for a second, just enough for her to hear me.
"Come," I say, reaching out slowly so I don't scare her.
"I'll get you out of here. You're safe now. I've got you"
She turns.
Slow and Unsteady.
But when her face finally lifts—it knocks the air straight out of my chest.
Her eyes burn.
Raw and Bloodshot.
Fever-bright fury behind a sheen of tears she refused to let fall.
Her breath trembles… but her spine is straight.
Her knees wobble… but she refuses to sit.
She looks like a woman carved out of the worst night of her life and still daring the world to take another swing.
And god help me—something in me stands to attention.
This is not a victim.
This is a storm waiting to break.
"They pay," she whispers.
Two words.
Barely sound.
It's not a plea.
Not a question.
It's a sentence.
And the moment she says it, something inside me snaps into place.
My rage multiplies—sharp, clean, merciless.
Because she is standing in front of me like a drenched, bruised, five-foot-tall warning from hell.
Because even after everything they did—
She wants to see it.
She wants justice with her own eyes.
And the sight of her like this?
It makes me want to tear every man in this room limb from limb.
"You don't have to stay," I tell her—because for a split second, I'm not sure.
She's trembling, barefoot on a blood-stained floor, wrapped in my shirt like armor that barely holds.
Maybe it's too much.
Maybe she'll break if she sees any more of them.
"They will pay for what they did."
But when she lifts her head—
the look she gives me kills any doubt I had.
There is nothing fragile in her expression.
Nothing that needs protecting.
Just fire.
Wild, shaking, furious fire.
I force myself to look away before I lose my mind and tear every throat open immediately.
The board she was tied to.
The ropes that burned her wrists.
The shredded clothes.
Her jeans hanging open because someone laid their hands where they never should have.
I take in every detail—burn it into my memory and let it become fuel.
Fuel for what comes next.
"And make sure it hurts," she says.
Her voice wavers—not from fear.
From rage trying to claw out of her body.
As if she isn't sure I'm capable of destroying them enough.
I smile.
"Tell me what they did."
My voice is pure steel.
Not comforting.
Comfort died the moment they touched her.
Right now she doesn't need gentleness—
she needs justice.
She looks at me.
Her lips tremble.
A sob breaks out of her chest like a wound ripping open.
And she tells me.
Every detail.
Every hand.
Every threat.
Every laugh.
My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood.
Rage crawls up my spine like a living thing begging to be let loose.
"You've been so brave," I murmur.
And she isn't even looking at me.
She's staring straight at them—the men who hurt her—
her entire body coiled tight with a wrath so fierce it feels ancient.
She doesn't want to leave.
She wants to witness.
She wants to watch them fall.
And I'm going to give her that.
Every second of it .
I rise to my feet, and the sound alone makes every man on his knees flinch.
My men tighten their grip on them.
"He laughed?"
My voice is quiet.
Too quiet.
Rain gives the smallest nod.
Barely a movement.
It's enough.
I step to the first man.
He reeks of sweat and fear.
My hand fists in his throat, and before anyone can blink—
I drive my fist into his neck.
Once.
Cartilage crunches like dry twigs.
Twice.
His airway buckles inward.
A third time—
the sound isn't human anymore.
A wet, collapsing choke, like his body is trying to swallow its own breath.
He gurgles.
Thrashes.
His eyes bulge, panicked and pleading.
I don't stop.
I hammer his throat again, knuckles sinking into softening bone, each blow fueled by the image of Rain on that board—tied, shaking, stripped.
My vision goes red at the edges.
One more strike—
His airway collapses completely, and he folds in my grip like a puppet with its strings cut.
Blood splatters warm across my torso, dripping down my ribs.
I turn back to Rain.
She's shaking—from shock, from rage, but she's still sitting upright, watching.
"He'll never laugh again," I say.
My voice is rough.
Animal.
A promise carved from the bone.
She swallows hard and gives a stiff nod.
I lift my chin at my men.
"Bring her a chair," I command, voice booming, vibrating the walls.
"We're not done. Not even close."
They scramble—walking on eggshells around me .
A chair is placed behind her.
She lowers herself into it slowly, her legs weak, her body trembling so hard I want to tear the world apart for her—
But she lifts her gaze.
There is nothing weak in her eyes.
Only fire.
"Don't stop," she whispers.
And god help every man in this room—
because her words don't steady me.
They unleash me.
I turn to the next one.
"He whistled?"
My voice is low, vibrating with something too dark to name.
"Cheered them on?"
He tries to crawl backward even with two grown men holding him down.
I don't give him the chance.
I shove my fingers into his mouth—deep—past his teeth, past his gagging, until I feel the slick muscle of his tongue squirm under my grip.
He screams, biting down, trying to break my fingers.
I squeeze harder.
"Open," I growl.
His jaw creaks.
And then I rip.
The tongue tears free in my fist—hot, wet, heavy.
It slaps the floor at Rain's feet with a sickening thud.
Blood arcs across the air, landing on her cheek in thin red streaks.
She flinches, just barely.
My chest cracks open with a fresh wave of rage.
Ivan rushes to me, hands shaking slightly as he offers the heated pincer—its metal glowing dull orange.
The man on his knees is thrashing, shrieking, choking on his own blood.
His cries cut jagged through the air, but I hear none of it.
All I hear are the tiny, trembled sobs behind me—Rain trying to breathe through her terror.
I grab the man's jaw—force it open—
and press the hot pincer straight to his gumline.
The sizzle hits first.
Then the scream.
A shrill, raw, animal howl.
I wrench the first tooth out.
Then the second.
Then the third.
The man convulses, blood gushing down his chin, soaking my hands, pooling on the floor.
His legs begin to collapse, but my men keep him upright, because I'm not finished.
I don't stop until he's gasping and toothless, sobbing through a ruined mouth.
Only then do I lift my head.
Rain is crying—
not soft tears, but heaving, shaking sobs that tear through her like something inside her finally snapped.
She looks so small.
So impossibly brave.
I stand there, chest heaving, hands coated in blood, and meet her eyes.
"Now he'll never whistle," I say.
And when she cries harder—
something inside me breaks too.
I turn toward the dark-haired man—
the one who led this,
the one whose voice she kept looking toward,
the one whose existence alone makes my hands shake with the need to kill.
My vision tunnels.
I'm going to tear him apart piece by—
"STOP!"
Her scream rips through the room like a blade.
I freeze mid-step.
Slowly, I turn.
Our eyes lock.
And for a split second, I think—
that's it.
She's done.
She can't take anymore.
Her mind has hit its limit and she needs to leave before she breaks completely.
"I understand," I say quietly, softening my voice just for her.
"I'll take you to the car."
I walk toward her—slow, ready to lift her, wrap her, hide her from everything in this room.
But she raises a trembling hand.
And I stop.
Her legs wobble when she pushes herself upright.
She's shaking all over, barely holding her own weight.
One of my men steps forward to help her.
I slam my hand into his chest, shoving him back.
"I'll do it."
He averts his eyes instantly.
I steady her—my hands gentle, terrified of hurting her more.
She leans forward, her breath shaky and warm against my ear.
And then she whispers:
"Do you have a saw?"
The world…just stops.
I pull back and stare at her.
Her eyes are wild—red, broken, burning in a way I've never seen.
Who is she?
And how did I—of all people—not see this in her?
"Ivan," I say, voice low, vibrating with a new kind of awe.
"Electric saw."
Ivan stiffens, then nods.
And there—just for a second—I see it.
Respect.
And fear.
The dark-haired man—
the one who was mocking her, touching her, threatening her life—goes still.
His eyes follow her every movement now.
Not with hunger.
Not with dominance.
With dread.
Good.
The whir of the electric saw starts to fill the room—sharp, metallic, hungry.
She steps toward him, the saw trembling in her blood-streaked hands, her jaw tight enough to crack.
And in that moment—
She doesn't look like the victim of this room.
She looks like the reckoning .
"Untape him," she says.
Her voice is wrong.
Too calm.
Too Detached.
Like she's in an operating room, not standing barefoot in blood.
My men hesitate—because even they feel it.
The storm tightening behind her eyes.
He smirks through the pain, blood still dripping down his cheek.
"Trying to scare me, sweetheart?"
I step forward, pulse hammering, ready to rip his chest open with my bare hands—but she lifts a hand.
A small gesture.
Barely anything.
I stop immediately.
She doesn't even look at me when she speaks.
"I told you I was innocent," she murmurs, voice soft, heartbreakingly soft.
"That I'd done no wrong."
Her eyes finally meet his—hollow, devastated and blazing.
"You should've listened."
She is something else.
Something far, far more dangerous.
She flicks on the saw.
Its scream fills the room.
Before the man can even form a word—
she brings the blade down.
His hand separates from his wrist in a single savage line.
Blood bursts across her face, warm and bright.
Her hair sticks to her cheek.
Her eyes never blink.
The man's scream rips through the air—high, animal, shattered.
His knees give out.
He collapses into a pool of his own blood and urine.
Rain doesn't flinch.
She switches the saw to her other hand.
Steps over his trembling body.
And cuts off the second hand.
He wails, a sound so raw it scrapes against bone.
"He touched me with those hands," she says.
Quiet.
Matter-of-fact.
But there's a tremor in the words that makes something inside me ache and howl at the same time.
She sways.
I reach out—stop myself—
and settle for hovering near her, close enough to catch her if she falls.
Her eyes drift across the room, scanning, calculating—
until they land on a bottle in the corner.
Her voice drops to a whisper.
"Bring that."
The man on the ground is barely conscious now.
Sobbing.
Choking on his own breath.
Begging gods that won't come.
I place the bottle in her hand.
She crouches beside him, moving his face toward hers.
"Look at me."
He doesn't.
Can't.
Too lost in the agony.
So she screams:
"LOOK AT ME!"
His head jerks up.
Eyes glazed, unfocused, wild with terror.
He tries one last act of defiance, voice a choked rasp:
"You… you have no clue what's coming for you."
Her lips curl into something that isn't a smile.
"Yeah?" she whispers.
"Neither do you."
She glances at me.
"This one," she breathes, "is the one who tried to… hump me."
Rage claws through my spine.
I nod once.
"Ivan. Drop his pants."
The man shrieks—thrashing, kicking, dragging what's left of his broken body across the floor.
Rain straightens, battered, shaking but unyielding.
She raises her chin.
A queen addressing a dying enemy.
"Look at me," she repeats.
"Or—"
No one needs the rest of the sentence.
He obeys instantly.
And then—
I tilt the bottle.
The acid hits him.
His scream is so violent the walls feel it.
Flesh sizzles.
Skin melts.
The air fills with the stench of burning.
Rain doesn't look away.
She watches him break.
Completely.
He finally passes out from the pain.
Silence drops.
I look at her.
She's shaking.
"He'll never come near you again," I tell her.
No time to breathe.
No time to think.
I turn to the last one.
"This one is mine."
The man freezes.
He knows exactly who he is in this story.
The abductor.
The one who kissed her while she sobbed.
The one who touched her with hands that should've been broken long before now.
He tries to crawl backward, legs slipping in the blood pooling beneath him.
I grab him by the jaw—so hard his teeth clack together—and drag him forward until he's kneeling at my feet.
His breath comes out in terrified whimpers.
"No—no, please—please—" he gurgles.
I don't hear him.
All I see is Rain's body tied to that wooden board.
My grip tightens until his jaw creaks under my fingers.
I force his mouth open.
His lips split.
Blood runs down his chin.
"Open wider," I snarl.
He shakes his head, crying, choking on his own spit—
so I dig my thumb into the hinge of his jaw until it pops.
His scream is sharp, shrill, desperate.
I tilt the bottle.
The acid hits his tongue first.
The sound he makes isn't human.
He convulses, grabbing at my wrist, nails tearing skin, but I hold him in place.
The acid pours deeper—
down his throat—burning a path straight into him.
His insides begin to smoke.
He thrashes violently, whole body jerking, legs kicking against the blood-soaked floor.
The skin around his mouth blisters instantly—white, then red, then black.
His scream tears itself apart, turning into a wet gargle as his vocal cords melt.
The smell—burning flesh, dissolving tissue—rises thick and nauseating, but I don't let go.
He claws at his neck, trying to pull the agony out of himself, but there is no relief coming.
His eyes bulge, veins bursting in his sclera as the acid eats downward.
He coughs—
and a cloud of chemical vapor escapes from his mouth.
The man tries to scream again.
Nothing comes out.
Only steam.
His body finally collapses forward, twitching once… twice…
then going still.
Burned from the inside out.
Exactly as he deserved.
I drop the bottle.
It clatters across the floor, still hissing where drops land.
Only then do I turn to her.
She looks at me—And something in her finally gives out.
Her whole body trembles once…then breaks completely.
"Dane…"
Her voice cracks apart on my name.
"I'm so sorry… I should've never left…"
The apology hits me like a knife.
She is apologizing—
after everything they did—
after everything she survived.
Before I can reach her, her knees buckle and she collapses onto the bloodstained floor, folding into herself like she's trying to disappear.
"I'm sorry—sorry—" she keeps repeating, voice ragged and small.
Like she thinks any of this was her fault.
Like she thinks she failed me.
"Shhh…"
I drop to my knees and pull her into my arms, holding every shaking piece of her together.
"My baby….I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
She clutches me—desperate, frightened—her fingers clinging to my skin as if the moment she lets go, the nightmare will swallow her again.
Her tears soak into my chest, her breath stutters against my throat, and I feel her whole body trying to convince itself she's safe.
"I've got you," I murmur, forehead pressed to hers.
"You hear me? I've got you."
Her grip tightens, a soft, broken sound escaping her—a sound I will kill a thousand men to never hear again.
I slide one arm under her legs and lift her easily, gathering her against me, shielding her from the cold air, from the blood, from the memory of anything but my heartbeat.
My men part in silence, faces grim, eyes lowered.
"Move," I bark without looking at them.
They fall in line behind me instantly.
Outside, the night air hits her skin and she shivers, burying her face in my chest.
I pause at the doorway—
turn back—
and stare at the place where they touched her.
Where she screamed.
Where she fought.
A beat.
A spark.
A roaring explosion follows—
the entire house erupting into flames, lighting up the sky with burning orange vengeance.
She opens her eyes at the sound, dazed, drifting in and out of awareness.
Her voice is barely a whisper.
"Where… are we going…?"
I press a kiss to her forehead, tightening my hold.
"Home," I say softly.