MALACHAI
The walls of my prison blurred into the background of my mind as I lay there, staring at nothing. Three days had passed since they dragged Ezra out, his screams still echoing inside me. They hadn't let me see him. They hadn't let me see anything except the dim, lifeless walls of this room. My body ached, stitched up just enough to keep me from dying, but not enough to take away the pain.
The lock on the door clicked open, and I froze. My heart pounded. Was it Lucius? Another round of questioning? Another twisted game?
But no one came in. The silence stretched, heavy and unnatural. The guards must have assumed I was too broken to move.
Idiots.
I pushed myself up, biting down hard on my lip to keep from groaning. Every stitch pulled, every muscle screamed, but I didn't care. I wasn't staying here. I wasn't playing Lucius' game anymore.
Ezra.
I had to find him.
Step by agonizing step, I slipped out of the room, pressing against the walls to avoid making noise. My breath was shallow, my vision blurred. The hallways were dim, the scent of cigars and expensive cologne lingering in the air. My hands curled into fists.
Lucius thought he owned us. He thought we were just pieces on his board.
Not anymore.
I reached the staircase, gripping the banister to steady myself. My pulse pounded as I glanced around. No one. The mansion was eerily quiet….most of the men must still be on some job. I didn't care. This was my chance.
I took the stairs slowly, my injured body protesting with each step. I was losing time. I needed to get to Ezra before someone noticed I was gone.
When I reached the second floor, I turned down the hallway, heading toward the luxurious guest rooms. Ezra wouldn't be in the servants' quarters. Lucius treated him like some sick prize, keeping him in the best. My jaw clenched. If Ezra meant so much to him, why the hell did he let them break him like that?
I pushed open the door and my breath hitched.
Ezra was lying on the bed, barely breathing. His once flawless legs were ruined…bandages wrapped around his knees, dark stains seeping through. His face was ghostly pale, his lips chapped. He wasn't just hurt. He was dying.
Something snapped inside me.
I staggered to his side, shaking him gently. "Ezra… Ezra, wake up."
Nothing.
"Ezra, baby, come on," I whispered, pressing my forehead to his. "I need you to wake up. We have to get out of here."
A soft, broken whimper left his lips. His lashes fluttered, but his eyes barely opened.
"Mala…chai?"
Relief punched through my chest. I cupped his face, ignoring how my hands shook. "Yeah, it's me. I'm getting you out of here. Can you hold on for me?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
I exhaled sharply, bracing myself. My own wounds were deep, but it didn't matter. I slid my arms under him, wincing as pain ripped through my side. Then I lifted him onto my back, his body limp against mine.
Every step felt like walking through fire. My body screamed, my vision blurred, but I tightened my grip on Ezra's legs, ignoring the damp warmth of his blood soaking through my shirt.
We reached the hallway. I pressed against the wall, listening. Footsteps—distant, but coming closer.
Shit.
I moved fast, despite the pain. Down the hall. Around the corner. Toward the servant's stairwell at the back of the house. Ezra whimpered softly against my neck, but I kept going, murmuring reassurances I wasn't sure I believed myself.
We were getting out.
We had to.
Lucius might own this house. But he didn't own us.
Not anymore.