Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother (Norah and Lucien) novel Chapter 71

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 71**

They dragged me away, rough and unyielding, like some wild animal caught in a trap.

Their hands were like iron claws, digging into my arms, leaving trails of pain and blood in their wake.

I fought back with every ounce of strength I could muster, throwing my elbows and kicking at their shins, but my efforts were futile; there were simply too many of them.

My shoes scraped against the unforgiving concrete floor, the sound of tearing leather echoing in my ears, a reminder of my helplessness.

Through the chaos, I caught a glimpse of Mateo as he scooped Norah into his arms, treating her like a prized possession.

She hung limply, her head lolling against his shoulder, resembling a broken doll, utterly devoid of life.

Mateo turned his gaze toward me, his eyes locking onto mine through the narrowing gap of the closing door.

A slow, triumphant smile unfurled across his face, a mask of pure, unadulterated victory.

The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him with a resounding boom, sealing me in darkness.

The room was swallowed whole, the air thick with despair, save for a small, grimy window high on the wall that allowed a sliver of gray light to filter through.

Ropes dug painfully into my wrists, tied tightly behind my back, the coarse fibers burning my skin raw with every futile movement.

I threw my shoulder against the door repeatedly, each impact jarring my bones, but the door remained stubbornly unyielding. It was a useless endeavor.

A cold fear, sharper than any blade, stabbed at my gut, twisting and coiling like a serpent.

Was Norah okay?

Was she hurt?

What had that bastard done to her?

Where had he taken her? Deeper into this hellhole?

Would he dare—?

Visions flared in my mind, images I couldn’t bear to confront.

No. I forced a breath into my burning lungs, steadying myself.

Norah isn’t weak. She’s strong. A fighter.

But the thought of her alone, at the mercy of Mateo, sent chills racing down my spine.

I clenched my fists until my nails dug half-moons into my palms, the sharp, stinging pain clearing the panic from my mind.

I had to escape. I had to find her.

Time lost all meaning in that dark, suffocating room. Minutes or hours could have slipped by unnoticed.

The air grew thick and stale, a mixture of dust and the acrid scent of my own sweat.

Then, a sharp scraping sound shattered the silence like a gunshot.

A small metal hatch at the bottom of the door swung open, and a face appeared in the light from the hallway—Mateo.

He looked amused, a predator savoring the hunt, his eyes glinting with malice.

In his fingers, he dangled something small and dark, taunting me like a trophy.

A pair of black lace panties. Thin, delicate, unmistakable.

She was still fighting; I could feel it in my bones, a truth that resonated deep within me.

A fresh surge of adrenaline coursed through me, hot and blinding, igniting my resolve.

I kicked the door with all the strength I had left, the boom echoing like thunder in the stillness.

“Open this door, Mateo! Face me like a man, if you have the guts!”

To my astonishment, the door swung inward with a groan, granting me passage into the brightly lit corridor.

I stumbled out, blinking against the harsh light, and there stood Mateo, leaning casually against the opposite wall, flanked by a dozen of his men.

He held a silver Desert Eagle pistol in his hand, pointed nonchalantly at the floor, a symbol of his arrogance.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his eyes dropping to the blood on my knuckles. “Still have some fight left in you, Mr. Constantine.”

“Give her back,” I rasped, my voice gravelly and worn thin from desperation.

He laughed, a short, sharp sound that cut through the tension. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re still talking to me,” I replied flatly, my determination hardening. “You haven’t won yet. You need an audience.”

His smug smile faltered, and he pushed off the wall, stepping closer, pressing the cold barrel of the Desert Eagle against my chest. I didn’t flinch, my resolve unwavering.

“I like your nerve,” he said, his eyes searching mine with a predatory glint. “Fine. I’ll give you one chance.”

He gestured toward a heavy door down the hall. “We compete. In the shooting range. You win, she walks out of here with you. You lose, you die here. Right now.”

“Deal,” I said without a moment’s hesitation, my heart pounding in my chest.

If I walked out of this place without her, I would rather be dead.