CHAPTER 3: The Brutal Beating On Styles - 1

IVANNA POV

Hunter's roars chill my blood as brutal blows are heard, followed by my brother's moans.

NO!

Please don't hurt him — I beg, running towards the president and clinging to his leg in desperation.

If I have to kneel and beg them not to kill my brother, I will.

He pushes my hands away in a gesture of annoyance, as if brushing off a pesky insect.

If it weren't for the fact that I know, it would mean digging my own grave, I would slap him right now.

Then a stifled cry escapes from my chest as I see the two men dragging my brother out, his face covered in blood from the blows those animals have given him.

DON'T TOUCH HIM — I scream, running to help him.

But I've barely taken two steps before I find myself lifted into the air by the Hercules arms of my captor.

I kick, struggling in vain to free myself, as he wraps his arms around my waist to hold me in place, his frantic breathing ravaging through me.

Nothing matters to me except saving styles from the terrible fate that awaits him at the hands of the Wild Fiend.

Keep your fucking mouth shut! — he roars.

And I burst into tears, dying of rage and helplessness when the first blow arrived, hitting my brother's jaw with such violence, that I felt the crunch of his bones as if they were my own.

Taylor, go keep watch — the blond man from before orders a young boy who is not wearing an eye patch.

I look at him with pleading eyes, he seems to be my brother's age.

But he's not going to help me; it's more than evident when he obeys like automation and turns his back on me.

Everyone is insensitive to my pain; I understand that what styles has done is serious, but problems are not solved like this, damn it.

Then my brother spits out the blood that has accumulated in his mouth, knocking out a couple of molars in the process and giving me a look of agony as he sees me there, helpless, unable to do anything while they beat him to a pulp.

Hey, I think we'd better take her outside, the man they called Hector, then comments to the president, slightly saddened by my suffering.

He looks at me with those two icebergs, deliberating.

He surprises me by wiping away the trail of tears on my face with his thumb, I gulp at the crypticness of his expression.

Then he'd start screaming and alert the neighbors, he can't take any chances — he snaps, relentlessly nods, and leaves, along with the others.

Hunter beats my brother mercilessly, with such ferocity that it shakes me to the core and everyone else stands around, watching the gruesome scene without doing anything.

They are enjoying this, it is more than evident.

A brutal headbutt.

A punch in the stomach, another in the ribs and chest, and...

I can't take it anymore.

Enough, leave him! I beg, in convulsions but the insensible man holding me against him does not budge an inch.

Hunter doesn't do it any less, he seems completely out of it as he hits him over and over again.

Nobody stops him.

I guess this is their way of punishing him for what they said, he stole from them...that's it.

Please!

I will pay whatever he owe you!

I will do whatever it takes, but please let him go! I offer desperately.

I just want it to stop, I would do anything right now to make it stop.

If you keep this up, he's going to kill him.

You're a damn animal.

They all are.

The vice president's eyes, according to the insignia adorning his vest, light up with interest.

Anything? he mocks.

Do you hear the little doll?

Anything.

Some of them laughed but the president did not.

But he doesn't do anything to stop his men, who are now delivering a series of savage kicks all over the body of Styles, who is on the verge of unconsciousness.

He even raises his leg several times to crush his knee with his leather boots.

with such violence his bones can be heard cracking as my brother howls in pain.

Where's the money? — Parry asks, stopping his partner by the chest as he tries to get back to the charge.

My brother's eyes are half-closed, his face is completely bloody and covered in bruises, his clothes are in a mess, and his body is curled up on the ground, in a vain attempt to protect himself.

Okay, okay, Hunter.

If you kill him, I doubt he'll be able to tell us what we need — he says, in a somehow sarcastic tone.

However, seeing him out of control the man in question, he has no choice but to grab him by the waist to try to stop him.

Even though he is bigger, he can barely contain himself.

"Stop It," my captor finally says, a little reluctantly, and I will be in heaven.

A little more and my brother won't tell...

I need to hug him so much it hurts.

I have to make sure to treat his wounds, I have to...

I'm barely aware that I've started to hyperventilate until his voice penetrates my consciousness, telling me to breathe.

Fuck, breathe, the last thing I want is to have to carry a dead bitch on my corrupted conscience— he snaps at me, breaking all the charm.

But I listen to him, It's not about me now, it's about styles.

I force myself to inhale and exhale slowly as he stands in front of me.

Four of the six men, who are surrounding my brother, lying on the ground like a dog, grab Hunter, who is struggling like a feverish bull.

Only then did he release me to go and put things in order?