Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 136

“Damion lifts his swollen eye just enough to look at her, unimpressed. His lips part, dry and split, and he mutters flatly.

“Vete al infierno.

“(Go to hell.)Her eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck did you say, pretty boy?“Her accent as sharp as her eyes. He tilts his head and drawls.

“You want me to rephrase that for you?” He narrows his eyes as words with the sting venom spit out of his mouth.

“Chúpame los cojones, perra.

“(Suck my balls, bitch.)Kira’s scream rips through the cell as she lashes out, boots slamming into his ribs again and again. He grunts but refuses to fold.

“Say it again!” she shrieks.She kicks him harder, her face twisted with fury. His breath comes ragged, but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a cry.

“Stop it!” I cry out, straining against the chains. “You’ll kill him!”

“Maybe I will,” Kira spits, her chest heaving. Then she stops, abruptly, her rage faltering into something else.Her breathing slows. A horrible, terrible smile creeps back onto her lips. Slowly, her head turns her head toward me, and my blood runs cold.

“Oh,” she whispers softly, dangerously. “It makes sense now. Hurting you hurts him more.

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“No-“My heart slams against my ribs.

Damion’s voice snaps sharp, filled with fire.

“Leave her alone!“Kira laughs, the sound chilling, and pulls a knife from her belt. The blade gleams under the dim light. She walks toward me slowly, every step deliberate, savoring my panic.

I shake my head furiously, pressing back against the wall. “Kira… Please–please don’t—“She crouches in front of me, the knife tilting casually in her hand. “Relax, princess. Just a little cut. Right… here.

“I

She raises the blade, drawing it in the air just beside my cheek. “Maybe across your pretty face. Would they even recognize you after?”

“Touch her and I’ll rip your throat out with my bare hands!” Damion glares, his voice breaking with fury. His chains rattle violently as he jerks against them.Kira throws her head back and laughs.

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“You? You can’t even stand.

“Her knife lifts higher. I squeeze my eyes shut and scream as the cold edge hovers close enough to feel its threat.

And then–stillness.

The knife never comes.Panting, I open my eyes slowly. The blade is frozen in place, mere inches from my face. Kira’s wrist is caught, her hand trembling against an iron grip.

“Kira whirls toward him, snarling. “Shut your filthy mouth-”

The knife glints on the ground, forgotten. My whole body trembles, my chest heaving with shallow, terrified breaths.She’s dragged out of the room, the man’s grip on her wrist nothing short of a chain similar to mine.Kira’s smile is gone now. And somehow, that makes her more terrifying than

ever.

I want to snap

– the doubt feels traitorous – but the words are steadier than the tremor in my hands. “What if she’s right?” I whisper, because my voice needs to be used for something honest. “What if they don’t come?“He tilts his head and looks at me, clear and fierce despite the swelling. He makes the sound you make when you’re forcing a lie into being if a truth is too heavy: “They will

come.

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“I don’t let my breathing speed up into hope. Instead I test him in a small, broken voice: “And if they don’t?“He breathes out like a man blowing frost off a window. You can hear the calculation in it, the memory of vows and scars and blood paid in different places. He doesn’t smile. He answers as if the answer is a blade he’s sheathing: “Then I will get you out. I don’t know how yet, but I will pull you out of here if they do not. Do you understand me?“There’s no bravado, no theater. It’s plain and urgent and somehow more convincing than any shout from anyone who calls himself a savior. His certainty – not wild nor foolhardy, but stubborn and practical – becomes a rope I can latch onto.

“Promise?” I ask, because promises are what kept me alive before, and I need one now. He presses his bruised fingers, shaky and warm, against mine through the gap in our chains. For a second the world narrows to that pressure.

“Promise,” he says.

It’s not a pinkie–swear, not silly at all. It’s binding, thread–silent and dangerous.

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