Chapter 92: Fear

After a good beating, Bartholomew finally calmed down.

Grace's bedroom was unbearably silent with a lingering scent of whiskey and blood. She sat on the bed, motionless. Her back was straight, but there was no strength in it, no defiance. Just stillness. Her hands lay limply in her lap, her fingers slightly curled as if she had forgotten how to hold onto anything.

Marco was on his bended knee, ...