Sweet Hatred-Chapter 482: Underground

ARIA

Consciousness returned like a slow-rising tide, dragging me up from darkness into a world that hurt.

Everything hurt.

My head throbbed with a vicious, pounding rhythm that made my skull feel too small. My face felt swollen, puffy, I could barely open my left eye. My ribs ached with every breath, a sharp reminder of the beating I’d taken in the van.

The van.

Sarah.

The gunshot.

Oh God.

The memory slammed into me with physical force, stealing what little breath I had left. I saw it again, Sarah’s face, shocked and pale, the blood blooming across her chest like a grotesque flower. The way she’d crumpled to the ground. The way she’d tried to crawl after me, fingers scrabbling against concrete, leaving red streaks in her wake.

The way Andrew had just walked away.

Left her there to...

My stomach lurched violently, but there was nothing to bring up. Just dry heaves that made my ribs scream in protest.

Focus, Aria. Focus.

I forced my eyes open, the right one more than the left, and tried to assess my surroundings.

Concrete. Again.

But different this time.

This room was colder, damper. Water stains streaked the walls like abstract art painted in mold and rust. The ceiling was lower, oppressive, with exposed pipes running across it. Somewhere in the distance, machinery hummed, a constant, industrial drone that vibrated through the floor beneath me.

Underground.

I was underground.

No windows. A single door, metal, reinforced, the kind you’d see in a bunker or a prison. Dim lighting from industrial fixtures that flickered occasionally, casting dancing shadows across the concrete.

The smell hit me next: oil, cigarette smoke, and something organic and unpleasant. Mold, maybe. Or rot.

I was sitting in a chair, not tied to it this time, but my hands were bound in front of me with zip-ties that bit into my wrists. My feet were free, but that didn’t matter. Where would I run? Through that reinforced door? Past whoever was on the other side?

A low laugh made me freeze.

"Ah. La princesa is awake."

I turned my head slowly, pain shooting through my neck with the movement.

There were four men in the room, sitting around a makeshift table made from a shipping crate. Cards scattered across the surface. Beer bottles. Cigarettes burning in a dented ashtray. They looked like they’d been here for hours, maybe days, just waiting.

Waiting for me to wake up.

The one who’d spoken stood up, and I instinctively pressed back in the chair.

He was Mexican, maybe early forties, with the kind of build that spoke of violence as a profession. Tattoos covered every visible inch of skin, neck, hands, crawling up from his collar and disappearing into his sleeves. His knuckles were scarred, the distinctive white lines of old knife wounds crossing his dark skin.

And his eyes.

Cold. Flat. The eyes of someone who’d done terrible things and felt nothing about it.

"You sleep like the dead, pequeña," he said, his accent thick but his English perfect. He moved closer, and I caught the glint of a blade tucked into his belt. "We were starting to think maybe you wouldn’t wake up. Boss hit you pretty hard."

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. The words came out as a croak: "Where is she?"

His eyebrows rose, amused. "What?"

I swallowed, tasting copper. Blood. My split lip had reopened.

"Where is she?" I repeated, stronger this time. "What did you do to Sarah? Where did you take her?"

The man laughed, a genuine, delighted sound that made my skin crawl. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"The crazy one?" He turned back to his companions, switching to Spanish for a moment. They laughed too, harsh and mocking. "The one who loved you so much she kidnapped you? That one?"

"Yes." My voice broke. "Where is she?"

He turned back to me, still smiling. "She’s dead, pequeña. Bled out on the floor like a dog."

The words were delivered casually, like he was telling me the weather forecast while his friends laughed.

"You’re lying," I whispered.

But I knew he wasn’t.

I’d seen it. I’d watched Andrew shoot her. Watched the blood spread across the concrete. Watched her try to reach for me even as the light left her eyes.

But hearing it confirmed, hearing this stranger say it so carelessly,

"Believe what you want." He shrugged, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. "Won’t change that she’s food for rats now."

The others broke into another round of laughter.

Something inside me fractured.

"Fuck you," I snarled.

His smile widened. "Ah, there it is. The fire."

He took a long drag from his cigarette, studying me through the smoke. "You know what? I like you. You got spirit. Most women, they cry. They beg. They piss themselves." He gestured vaguely. "But you? You got backbone."

"So glad I could entertain you," I spat.

One of the other men, younger, with a spider web tattooed across his throat, leaned back in his chair. "Ay, she’s a pretty one. Boss is lucky."

"Wonder if the boyfriend knows what we’re gonna do to her," another added, making crude gestures that left no room for interpretation.

"She won’t be so pretty when we’re done," the youngest one said, grinning.

They all laughed.

Terror clawed at my throat, but I refused to show it. Refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

I met the leader’s eyes, this man they called El Cuchillo, The Knife, and kept my expression as neutral as possible.

"Kael will find me," I said quietly. "And when he does, you’re all dead."

El Cuchillo’s smile never wavered. "Maybe. Maybe not." He took another drag. "But until then? You belong to us, princesa."

The door opened.

Everyone’s attention snapped to it, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

Andrew walked in like he was entering a boardroom, not an underground bunker that smelled like death and cigarette smoke. His suit was immaculate, designer, expensive, perfectly tailored. His hair was combed back, not a strand out of place. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a corporate meeting.

The contrast was surreal.

Horrifying.

His eyes found me immediately, and he smiled.

"Ms. Thorne. I hope my associates have been treating you well."

The casual politeness, like I was a guest he was welcoming into his home, made bile rise in my throat.

"You fucking piece of shit," I said.

The words came out strong, clear, dripping with all the hatred I felt.

Andrew laughed, the sound warm and genuine. Like I’d told a particularly good joke.

"Still has fire. Good." He moved closer, hands in his pockets, completely at ease. "You’ll need that energy. You’re going to be here for a while."

I stared at him, trying to find some trace of humanity in his face. Some indication that he was capable of feeling anything other than smug satisfaction.

Nothing.

"You understand, this isn’t personal," Andrew continued conversationally. "You’re simply... leverage. A bargaining chip in a much larger game."

He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head as he studied me.

"Once I have what I want from Kael, well..." He trailed off, the implication hanging in the air between us like poison gas.

I was disposable.

The second I stopped being useful, I was dead.

Andrew reached out, his hand moving toward my face.

I jerked back violently, the chair scraping against concrete. "Don’t fucking touch me!"

His expression darkened instantly, the pleasant mask slipping to reveal something cold and cruel underneath.

He moved fast, faster than I expected, grabbing my chin with bruising force. His fingers dug into my jaw, forcing my head up, making me look at him.

"I can force you if I want to," he said quietly, his breath hot against my face. "I can do whatever I want to you, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me."

He leaned closer, until I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

"You’re only alive because you’re useful," he continued, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "The second that changes..."

He didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

He released me roughly, and I fell back against the chair, gasping.

Everything came crashing down at once.

Sarah’s death. The kidnapping. The fear. The pain. The absolute helplessness of my situation.

"WHERE IS SHE?" The scream tore out of me before I could stop it. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO SARAH? WHERE DID YOU LEAVE HER?"

Tears streamed down my face, hot and unwanted. My breathing came in ragged gasps that made my ribs throb.

"WHERE IS SHE?" I screamed again, my voice breaking. "You fucking monster, WHERE DID YOU LEAVE HER?"

Andrew stepped back, watching my breakdown with obvious pleasure.

"There she is," he said softly. "Was wondering when you’d break."

I heaved with emotion, my whole body shaking. I couldn’t stop the tears. Couldn’t stop the sobs that ripped from my chest like they were being pulled out with hooks.

Sarah was dead.

Sarah was dead, and I’d never gotten to tell her,

Tell her what?

That I forgave her? That I understood? That despite everything, some part of me had still loved her like a sister?

No. I could never tell her those things. She didn’t deserve them. Not after what she made Kael go through because of me.

She deserves the worst. But still... I wanted to see her alive. To pay for her sins. Death was too merciful.

At least that’s what I told myself.

But it was too late now.

All of it was too late.

Andrew adjusted his cufflinks, completely unmoved by my tears. "Get comfortable, Ms. Thorne. You’re going to be our guest for quite some time."

He paused, glancing at El Cuchillo and the other men.

"Assuming you survive that long," he added casually. "These men aren’t known for their... restraint. But I’ve specifically asked them to treat you well."

The men laughed, that same harsh, mocking sound that made my skin crawl.

"Oh, we’ll treat her REAL well, boss," one of them said.

"She’ll be very comfortable," another added.

More laughter.

Andrew moved toward the door, then stopped, his hand on the frame.

"Oh, and Ms. Thorne?"

I looked up, my vision blurred with tears.

He smiled. "Your friend? Sarah?"

My breath caught.

"She died alone," Andrew said, his tone conversational. "In a pool of her own blood. Crawling after you like a pathetic dog."

The words hit like physical blows.

"Thought you’d want to know," he finished, then walked out.

The door clanged shut behind him with a finality that echoed through the concrete space.

I was alone.

Alone with four hardened criminals who were still laughing, still making comments I didn’t want to hear, still looking at me like I was something to be used and discarded.

And somewhere above us, miles away, maybe, Kael was looking for me.

If he was even still alive.

If Andrew hadn’t already gotten to him too.

The thought made something inside me crack wider.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sound of their laughter, the smell of cigarette smoke, the ache in my body.

Trying to find some piece of myself that was still whole.

Still fighting.

Still believing that somehow, some way, I was going to survive this.

But with each passing second, that belief grew harder to hold onto.