Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 135

Chapter 135

Where She Waits

Aurora’s POV

Dark.

Always dark.

It presses in on me, seeps into my skin, my lungs. Sometimes I think I’ll choke on it. I can’t tell the difference between when I’m asleep and when I’m awake anymore–it’s all the same: damp stone, the stink of blood, the chains biting my wrists, my own breath bouncing back at me like an echo!

can’t escape.

I can’t sleep. Not really. Every time I close my eyes, it’s there again.Her voice.

“You ruin everything!“The sharp slap that used to send my head spinning. The sound of my own sobs filling closets. The darkness swallowing me while my mother hissed through the door: You

don’t deserve the light.

I hear her boyfriend’s boots, smell his alcohol–soured breath. I feel the carpet burning my knees as

she dragged me down the hallway.

I’m back there every time I blink.

Back in that locked dark.

I think about letting go.Not like a choice so much as a tired surrender. Let their questions come and fall away. Let the cuffs loosen their teeth and let me melt into whatever waits in that long, long dark. I imagine the silence after screaming stops. I imagine not caring whether anything hurts. It sounds like peace, obscene and distant.

“How long do you think it’s been?“My head slowly turns towards him, his piercing green eyes,

shining, as if seeing right through me.

Damion. He refuses to let me give up. He curses when the guards come near, not with the snarling

venom I’ve heard from others, but with a guttural, angry Spanish that seems to scald their ears and somehow absurdly

absurdly makes me feel like someone is shouting back for me when I can’t.

–

The Spanish he speaks to the guards seem cold, biting, as if wishing to unleash hell on them with just his words.

But the words he speaks to me, are soothing, calm, ike a breath of fresh air in this suffocating place. He tells stories–smaller things, ridiculous faces his aunt made, a fight over a soccer ball when he was a kid- everything to keep my mind busy.

To thread color through the gray. It’s ridiculous. It works. I cling to those ridiculous bits like a life

Chapter 135

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raft.He sits, half–leaning against the far wall, blood crusting his lip, a purple smear beneath one eye. His shirt is torn at the shoulder. He looks like he’s been put back together with spit and stubbornness, and something about the way he talk–slow, controlled–forces me back from the

edge.

Damion snorts and, with that dry, slightly teasing dence he uses to make jokes at the worst. possible time, launches into a story.

“You know my cousin Rosa?” he says, and somehow the ridiculousness of the question – a laugh through the cracks of my fear pushes a small warmth into my chest. “She once tried to teach a goat how to dance. It looked like a drunk man at a wedding. We all laughed until my uncle tried to

dance with it and he fell into a well.

‘His lips twitch into the faintest ghost of a smile, cracked but stubborn. “But if I can stay awake like this, half–dead and uglier than usual, then so can you.

“Her voice is sugar–sweet, singsong, and it makes my skin crawl. She crouches, face inches from mine, breath hot against my cheek. “The boss has given his orders.

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