"Don't be stupid!" he growled. "Last chance! Would you apologize or not?" He pinned my head to the ground, dirt grinding into my cheek. When I refused, he ripped off his brooch and stabbed it into my finger. Pain exploded, and I screamed. He didn't stop, tearing off my nails one by one and stomping on my hand. "You asked for this!" he spat. "Apologize to Cole before I wreck your other hand!" Time was slipping away. Rage surged through me. I spat blood in his face and kicked his stomach hard. As he doubled over, I scrambled into the car, locked it, and twisted the key with my mangled hand. "You're insane! Open the door! Aldo is still in the backseat!" he shouted, pounding the window desperately, as if he were afraid that I'd do something reckless. I glared through the window. "If you don't save her, I'll take Aldo and die trying. Good luck living with that." I floored it, speeding back home. Once I arrived, I found a gun in the glovebox and ran inside. The thugs were already gone. Hannah lay in a pool of blood in the living room, her white pajamas crimson, hair matted to her face. Steel wires bound her wrists and ankles, cutting deep. Her abdomen was slashed open, intestines spilling out. Her fingers snapped, and her bones were exposed. Not long after, Patrick burst in with a group, panting. "Vicky, you're gonna cost me my job! You think I'll just let that slide?!" He stopped, gagging at the blood. Seeing Hannah, gutted and broken, he stammered, "Cole said Hannah faked this. How did this happen?" Watching his shocked face, I raised the gun, aiming at his chest.