Sarah POV:
The cold, damp air of the underground cell pierced my lungs like shattered glass. I doubled over, my chest heaving as a violent fit of coughing wracked my broken body. Warm, metallic-tasting blood slid down my chin and dripped onto the unforgiving concrete floor. The tight walls of the windowless room seemed to press inward, suffocating me. My heart hammered against my ribs in a frantic rhythm. It was the same panic I felt twenty years ago, trapped in the crushed metal of my parents' car for ten agonizing hours.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. I heard the low, muffled voices of the guards. Then came the harsh grinding of metal on metal as a heavy key turned in the rusted lock.
The heavy iron door swung open. A blinding beam of harsh fluorescent light sliced through the pitch-black cell. I instinctively squinted, throwing my bruised arm over my face to block the sudden glare.
*Click. Clack. Click. Clack.*
The sharp, arrogant rhythm of expensive stiletto heels struck the concrete. It was the walk of a victor coming to gloat.
I slowly lowered my arm. My vision adjusted to the light, and my pupils contracted at the sight before me.
Rachel stood directly in the center of the light halo. She was wearing a dress. Not just any dress. It was the custom haute couture wedding gown that Parisian artisans had spent six months hand-stitching for me.
The pure white fabric, encrusted with crushed diamonds, looked entirely out of place in this filthy, blood-stained dungeon. The long, luxurious train dragged across the dusty floor, picking up the grime.
Rachel grabbed the sides of the silk skirt with both hands and did a slow, mocking twirl right in front of me. The heavy silk rustled loudly in the quiet room.
She looked down at me, her eyes filled with a sick sense of superiority. I was curled up on the freezing floor, covered in dirt and my own blood. She let out a soft, mocking laugh that grated against my ears.
I forced myself to swallow the thick blood pooling in my throat. I kept my face entirely blank, staring up at her with cold, dead eyes. I shifted my weight slightly, pulling my knees closer to my chest in a defensive posture.
Rachel didn't like my silence. She took a step forward. The sharp, needle-like heel of her custom shoe came down hard on my exposed right hand.
I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth. Agonizing pain shot up my arm as the heel ground into my knuckles. I felt the bones bending, right on the verge of snapping. But I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted fresh blood. I didn't make a single sound. I learned that lesson the hard way in the foster homes after my parents died. Predators only bite harder when they hear their prey scream.
Rachel leaned down. Her face was inches from mine. A cheap, overpowering floral perfume assaulted my nose, completely masking her natural scent. She studied my pale, sweating face with deep satisfaction.
"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice dripping with a sickening sweetness. "Marcus spent all of last night leaving his Alpha scent all over this dress. He couldn't keep his hands off me."
Hearing his name sent a sharp, violent spasm through the deepest part of my chest. The mate bond I still shared with him pulled tight, cutting into my soul. But I didn't let the pain reach my eyes. My gaze only grew colder.
I used the pressure on my crushed hand as a distraction. I subtly shifted the angle of my left arm, sliding it closer to my body. Hidden deep inside the long sleeve of my torn shirt was a micro-recording device. I angled it directly toward her voice.
Rachel frowned, clearly annoyed that I wasn't sobbing or begging. She decided to drop her heaviest weapon.
She lifted her foot off my mangled hand and crouched down to my eye level. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Sarah... that mountain road accident ten years ago. The one that left you a pathetic little orphan."
My breathing stopped completely. An imaginary heart monitor flatlined in my brain, screaming a high-pitched warning. I snapped my head up and locked my eyes onto hers.
Rachel saw my reaction. A wide, psychotic smile spread across her face. She let out a burst of joyful, manic laughter.
"Yes, that look!" she giggled. "It was me. I made a deal with the rogue wolves. I paid them to cut the brake lines on your parents' car."
My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms that crescent-shaped cuts opened up, bleeding freely. My inner wolf clawed at my ribcage, roaring for blood. I wanted to rip her throat out with my teeth. I used every ounce of willpower I possessed to keep my body completely still.
"And the best part?" Rachel leaned in closer, her breath hot against my cheek. "Marcus's parents knew. They got the warning about the rogues. But they wanted your family's mining territory. So, they just looked the other way and let them die."
My left thumb moved a fraction of an inch in the darkness of my sleeve. I pressed the tiny, concealed button.
A microscopic vibration buzzed against my wrist. The device was recording. It captured every single filthy syllable bouncing off the concrete walls.
Suddenly, I let go of my anger. The tension drained from my shoulders. I looked at Rachel not with hatred, but with the empty, hollow stare of someone looking at a walking corpse.
Rachel stopped talking. Her smile faltered. She shifted uncomfortably, shivering slightly as my dead gaze bored into her. The silence in the room suddenly felt heavy and dangerous.
A sharp whistle echoed from the corridor outside. It was the guards' signal. A high-ranking pack member was approaching the cell block.
Panic flashed across Rachel's face. She scrambled to her feet, clumsily gathering the massive skirt of the wedding dress in her arms. She looked like a guilty thief as she practically sprinted out of the cell, her heels clicking frantically against the floor.
The heavy iron door slammed shut. The lock engaged with a loud clank. Total darkness consumed the room once again.
I leaned my head back against the freezing concrete wall. I gently touched the warm metal device hidden in my sleeve. Outside the door, the steady, authoritative sound of leather dress shoes approached my cell.
"Since you all want me dead, let's see whose funeral it actually is tomorrow."
