Mariana’s Pov

One month later. . .

I drive my fist into the punching bag and the leather strains, the chains holding it rattling right after, but not as loud as my grunt. The rattle of the chain reminds me of the torture I endured as Radimr’s captive and a grunt erupts in my throat again, this time filled with rage.

My fist drives into the punching bag again, and again, and again. I can’t stop myself. There’s too much anger and repressed rage inside of me. But the doctors say I ...