Damian's Assassin (Chapter Three, page 1 of 17)


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Bianca's new world was tiny and white, the porcelain toilet the only chair and the tub the only place long enough for her to lie down. She huddled at one end of the tub, feeling as if she'd taken a shitload of drugs. She couldn't focus on anything farther away than her hand, and looking at her hand made her cry.

She was covered in blood. Her blood. Every hour, he came back and hurt her. She traced the channel of a newly healed scar along the inside of her forearm, where he'd split her arm almost in two in a fit of rage after she kicked him in the crotch.

She hadn't fought him since. While she could heal, she still felt pain. That level of agony was something she never wanted to go through again. What she couldn't heal was the exhaustion that came with each bout of healing. She was hungry and fatigued but too scared to sleep.

Light glowed through the hazy window overhead. It was her second morning in the tub. She wondered how many more there would be and doubted she'd last more than another day or two if he kept draining her blood. Her head sagged against the shower wall, and she wished she could order her body not to heal her, to let her bleed out and die so she didn't suffer anymore.

The door opened, and she braced herself. Talon entered, followed by another man. Talon hauled her to her feet, holding her up by one arm when she wobbled. He took her other with a rough hand and nodded in approval at the healed scars.

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