Unknown Number: Fuck, I miss you. Knowing you’re okay…I can’t tell you how thankful I am. Is that the truth? Is she keeping you safe?

My heart fell off its pedestal, splattering on the floor. I was okay. I was stronger than I looked, but I wasn’t as brave as I believed.

I coughed again, wracked with sick shivers.

Jethro, I want to tell you everything.

Tell you what you mean to me.

Tell you what they’ve done to me.

I wanted to cry on his shoulder and share my burdens—to eradicate what I’d lived through, so I could let go and forget. Instead, I bottled it up and kept my secrets.

Needle&Thread: Yes, I’m safe. She’s been wonderful. They haven’t touched me. Don’t worry about me. Just get better.

Keeping the truth from Jethro was the least I could do for him. I shuddered, unable to stop the memories of what’d happened once I’d been strapped to the Iron Chair.

The Black Diamond brothers entered an hour into my torture. They watched me with sympathy but didn’t go against Cut’s command to leave me be. Apart from Flaw, I hadn’t spoken to any of the brothers since the shooting. They’d been ordered to keep their distance, cutting me off from any ally I might’ve found.

Dinner was served and I squirmed as my body weight pushed me slowly onto the spikes. The burn of each spread into one blanket of painful horror.

Blood smeared the arms of the chair and I didn’t dare look at the floor to see if I dripped over the carpet. I was hot and cold, covered in sweat and goosebumps. My muscles seized; every twitch sent wildfire through my system.

And then Vaughn arrived.

His eyes met mine.

“Threads!” He almost collapsed in rage. “Fuck! Let her go!” Charging up the room, V moved so swiftly and furiously, he managed to sucker punch Cut in the jaw before anyone reacted.

“V, don’t!” Part of me loved that he’d landed one on Cut. The other was horrified. “I’m okay. Don’t get yourself—”

“Stop hurting her, you fucking bastard!” V swung again but missed as Cut ducked and snapped his fingers for the Black Diamonds to grab V.

“Leave him alone!”

My screaming didn’t do any good.

Commotion shot to mayhem. Men shoved back chairs. Fists swung. Grunts echoed.

“Stop! Please stop!”

They didn’t stop.

Not only did millions of tiny nails trap my body, but I was forced to watch my twin beaten and kicked and left gasping by my feet.

It’d only taken a few minutes.

But the punishment was severe.

I groaned, slapping my forehead.

Stop thinking about it.

After the Iron Chair, I’d been locked in my room with no bandages or medical salve. I wasn’t allowed to see Vaughn, and I’d tended to my injuries in a lukewarm bath that I lacked the strength to climb out of.

I was exhausted.

They’d found a recipe that could well and truly break me forever.

Unknown Number: I’ll be back as soon as I can. Every day I’m getting stronger. Just a little longer, then this will all be over. I promise.

I sighed, curling around the phone. My fever came back, dousing my insides with frigid unwellness. I had every intention of fighting back. I would make them hurt. I will make them pay.

Somehow, I would keep my oath.

But a little longer? It made time sound like it was nothing—such a flippant phrase, a small segment of moments—but to me, it was a never-ending eternity.

I don’t have much longer, Jethro.

Not judging by Bonnie’s antics. Every day she had something worse.

I truly was Elisa, fading hour by hour, wasting away beneath torment.

Swallowing more tears, coughing with wet lungs, I typed:

Needle&Thread: I’ll be here waiting for you. Every night I dream of you. Dream of happier times—times we haven’t been lucky enough to enjoy yet. But we will.

As if fate wanted to banish those dreams, to prove to me that I should’ve given up months ago, it brought forth the memory of what’d happened the day after the Iron Chair.

I’d been summoned to the kitchen, believing Flaw had some good news for me or Vaughn had been given free rein. It’d taken my last remaining strength to shuffle to the kitchen. Perhaps, the cook would give me some warm chicken soup and some medicine for my flu.

Instead, Bonnie found me. “Seeing as you refused to confess your sins on the Iron Chair, you will pay the opposite price.”

“Confess my sins?” I coughed. “There’s nothing to confess. You’re doing this for your own sick pleasure.”

She chuckled. “It is rather pleasurable, I must admit.” Coming forward, she wrapped her fingers around my arm and dragged me through the kitchen to a small alcove where herbs and small plants grew.

My fever turned everything hazy. My blocked nose and stuffed sinuses granted everything a nightmare-like quality.

Cut stepped around the corner, dangling something in his hands. “Good morning, Nila.”

I stiffened, yanking my arm from Bonnie’s hold. Looking at them, I tried to understand what this would entail. Whatever swung in Cut’s hands glinted with wicked silver and barbarism.

My skin still oozed from the Iron Chair. I could barely stand. “I’m sick. For once, have mercy and let me go back to bed.” I coughed to prove my point. “I’m no good if I die before you want me to.”

Cut chuckled. “Your physical health is no longer my primary concern.” He held up the shiny mask, waving it from side to side. His golden eyes gleamed with haughty smugness. “Know what this is?”