A bitter laugh escapes me. "You think he cares what you do to me?"

His grin turns cold, predatory. "Oh, I know him well enough. Your old man has been sniffing around my turf, waving cops and lawsuits in my face. Thought he could scare me off." He steps closer, breath hot with bourbon. "But I don't scare easily."

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

The words hang in the air for a heartbeat before his fist slams into my stomach. Pain erupts like a bomb inside my ribs, and I stagger back, lungs desperate for air that won't come. Before I can straighten, a boot crashes into my side, sending me sprawling onto the gravel. I curl in on myself instinctively, arms shielding my face, but it doesn't stop them.

Fists and boots rain down—sharp, brutal, unrelenting. A kick catches my ribs, and I swear I feel something crack. The pain is blinding, but through it all, I see her face, like every other time I've danced along the edge of death.

God, I need to make it through this.

There's so much I haven't told her.

Gravel bites into my palms and cheek as I try to roll away, but it's useless. They're everywhere, surrounding me like wolves on a kill. Each impact sends shockwaves of agony through my body, but I cling to thoughts of her like a lifeline.

The warmth of her laugh. The way she curls into me in the mornings when I wake up next to her.

"Stay down, Preppy," Monty growls, his voice dark with venom. Another kick lands square in my stomach.

I convulse, dry heaving as I gasp for air that won't come. Blood fills my mouth, copper-bright and sickeningly warm.

"Fucking hell," one of them mutters somewhere above me. "He's still moving."

A sharp blow to my back makes my vision blur, and a boot slams into the back of my knee, forcing me flat. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the agony and humiliation. It's like being broken down piece by piece, every kick driving home what I am—just another pawn in Scott Sullivan's endless games.

But through the pain, through the darkness creeping at the edges of my consciousness, I hold onto her. My anchor. My reason.

I love you, I think, as another blow lands.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

When the hits finally stop, I don't move. I can't.

Blood trickles down my lip, warm and metallic, pooling on the gravel beneath me. The coppery taste fills my mouth, but I let out a low, ragged laugh anyway. It's harsh and broken, but it's all I have left.