26. Luella
Chapter 26
Luella
I glance between his hands, a laugh choking in my throat when he exhales impatiently. He wants me to choose what he’s going to tie me up with? He can get fucked. I refuse to choose.
Colton lifts one hand then the other, his expression solemn. “So the rope won’t be as comfortable, not when you’ve had it on for a while. Rope chafes.”
I continue to stare at him, my jaw clenched.
“The handcuffs can be uncomfortable if they’re too tight.” He makes a face like he’s not sure how tight he’ll make them. “But then handcuffs can be such fun.”
“Fun?” I echo, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Like a rollercoaster that smashes into a wall at the end?”
Colton chuckles, and it grates on my nerves. He steps closer, his shadow swallowing me as he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You see, Luella, it’s not just about the bindings. It’s about the adventure that comes along with them. The thrill of surrendering control.”
I shiver despite myself, the weight of his words heavy in the charged air between us. “Is that what you think this is? An adventure?”
He pulls back slightly, those dark eyes piercing through the playful expression he now wears. “Everything is a game, Lu.”
I scowl at him, hating the nickname my mother gave me before she...I suck in a breath and try to think rationally. I can’t slip into the past now—I have to be present. I can’t even pretend to submit; Colton has seen the real me, he knows I’m going to try to rip his throat out at my first opportunity. I try to stand, but he pushes me down with a firm hand which moves to my throat.
What is it with his fixation on my throat?
“You’re fucking sick,” I rasp, his grip crushing the air from my lungs.
“Yes, darling, we’ve established that. I vote for the handcuffs.” Before I can blink, he’s got one around my wrist, pinching at the skin as he grabs my other hand, wrenching it behind my back painfully.
But I won’t cry. I bite down on the scream rising in my throat as he tightens the other cuff.
“Look at you,” Colton murmurs, triumph dancing in his eyes. His voice is a low hum, almost intimate, as he steps back to admire his handiwork.
I shoot him a death glare, but the fire in my eyes isn’t enough to wipe the smug expression off his face. “Does it make you feel like a big man?” I sneer, wrestling against the stiff metal to no avail. If anything, they just get tighter.
“A big man?” He tilts his head, curiosity painting his features. “No, Luella. This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Each tug of those cuffs is a reminder of choice—your choice to be here. Exciting, isn’t it?”
“It’s like Christmas morning,” I retort, the bitter taste of defiance flooding my mouth. Somewhere beneath the ice of my anger, I have the feeling of uncertainty, and it disgusts me.
His gaze narrows, and the smile dissolves into something more serious. “Luella, you need to stop fighting me. You’re only going to lose. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You don’t?” I feign surprise, widening my eyes. “Could’ve fooled me, Rapey .”
“How many times do we need to go over this?” He steps closer again, too close, invading my space as if to test the boundaries I’ve drawn. “You belong to me: mind, body, and soul. You can argue all you want, fight me, try to kill me, but the fact remains—I’m never going to let you go.”
Before I can respond, his hand finds its way to my waist, pulling me to him with a force I hadn’t anticipated. The heat of his body ignites a familiar flame of rage within me, and I thrash against the cuffs trying to twist away.
“Easy now,” he coos, amusement weaving into his voice. “You might just find that the less you fight, the better it gets.”
I glare into his eyes, my own thrumming with defiance. “I’d rather fight a wall and lose.”
“If that’s what you’re into.” He lifts his eyebrow as if daring me to challenge his next move.
I say nothing, hating the way my body reacts to him. This man raped me—what the fuck is wrong with me? He chased me down not once, but twice, and he assaulted me. My lip stings like I need a reminder. But then he tips my chin slightly, his gaze sweeping over me as concern fills his eyes.
This monster doesn’t know about concern, no matter what his eyes say.
“You’re tired, fuck, we both are.” He frowns before moving off me, wincing as he inhales.
Oh good, I must have hurt him.
Maybe I bruised a few ribs. Hopefully I broke them. I make a mental note to hit him there the next time, when I escape for good. Because I will, I’m not staying here. I’ve dealt with scarier men than Colton fucking Blackwood; it’s just, never have I dealt with an obsession like his. It’s unnerving the way he looks at me, and I swear I’ve heard him talking to himself, muttering about me being his.
I shudder and grit my teeth when Colton grips my arm, pulling me through the living room and into the bedroom. He marches me over to the bed, my feet stumbling as we go, but he doesn’t slow down. He handcuffs me to the bed, stopping to make sure I’m secure before he kicks off his shoes. He looks back at me, and our eyes meet, my chest rising and falling with fear and adrenaline, praying that he’ll leave me like this and go for a shower or something, but then he seems to rethink my position.
“You need to shower.”
My blood runs cold at his words, my head shaking.
No, no, no.
“It’s not up for debate; you’re covered in shit, and I’m not sleeping beside you in that state.”
I remain still, my heart thumping in my chest. How is he going to shower me? In handcuffs?
Fuck, no.
“I can shower myself.”
Colton’s eyes darken, amusement morphing into something predatory. "Oh, but where’s the fun in that, Luella?”
Panic begins to claw its way up my throat as he approaches. The chill of the metal cuffs bite at my skin, reminding me of my constraints. I look pointedly at the cuffs, but he merely chuckles, shaking his head.
“So how are we going to do this?” He steps back, crossing his arms as though he’s some kind of judge, assessing my resolve with a critical eye. The room feels stifling, thick with tension and the inevitable dread of what he might do next.
“Well, you could take the fucking handcuffs off, and I could shower myself like a human being instead of a prisoner?” I arch a brow at him before smiling sweetly. “Unless you’re scared, of course.”
“Scared of what?” Colton looks genuinely puzzled.
“Me.” I smile and my lip cracks, fresh blood pooling in my mouth. I savor the taste, reminding me I’m alive.
“Scared of you, Luella?” He laughs softly, a low, mocking sound that churns my stomach. “I think you underestimate just how much I enjoy a good challenge.”
I swallow the bitterness rising in my throat, refusing to let him see the tremor of fear racing through me. “And what exactly does that say about you? That you’re a sadist who gets off on terrorizing women?”
A flicker of something passes through his eyes—is it guilt? But it vanishes quickly, replaced by that same predatory smirk. “Oh, this isn’t about terror. It’s about power. We both know you’re stronger than you let on.” He steps in closer, the warmth of him both enticing and revolting.
“I could snap you in half if I wanted,” I fire back, the bravado spilling out, a desperate attempt to cover the raw vulnerability bubbling beneath.
Colton leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “But you won't, will you? Because despite everything, you crave this tension as much as I do. The thrill of the fight, the desire to win.” He straightens, retreating just enough that I can breathe again, yet his presence looms heavy. “And you know, deep down, that this is not really about winning or losing—it’s about surrender.”
Surrender?
His words claw at my defenses, pricking the fear that wraps around my heart like a snake.
I hate him for it.
“Go ahead, act all tough, but in the end, you’re still my little captive,” he continues, an edge creeping into his tone as he circles me like a vulture, assessing his prey. “It’s a game, Luella. And I always play to win.”
My pulse races as I clench my fists, wishing only to unleash my pent-up rage. “You’re a fucking monster, Colton. You think this is a game? You’re sick.”
He lingers, eyeing me with a strange mix of excitement and something darker. “Sick? Maybe. But I’ve embraced my darkness. Tell me, Luella, have you?”
The question hangs in the air, an invitation to dance with the demons he knows I hide. But the thought sends cold waves of dread through me. Isn’t that what he wants? To drag me down into the abyss with him?
“Enough of this,” I snap, my voice firm despite the trembling within. “You’re not going to get inside my head.”
Colton grins, that devilish spark igniting in his eyes. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, darling. You’ve already invited me in—whether you like it or not.”
I shake my head defiantly, locking my gaze onto his, trying to breach through the cloud of haze encasing my thoughts. “Really? That’s the best you've got?” My body begs for me to give in, to fall asleep on the bed and gather my strength.
Fuck the shower. I don’t care what I smell or look like.
“You want to kill my father.”
I still, tilting my head to the side as I stare at him. “And?”
Colton grins, and I hate how fucking sexy he is. Wearing the aftermath of my punch like a prize, he leans in close, his hand gripping my chin as he studies me. “If you want to kill a man with the passion you have, it tells me that you know what you’re doing. You must be experienced in the art of death.”
The taunt hangs between us.
My breath quickens as I realize the weight of his words.
“So you found out my real name. Other than that, you don’t know a damn thing.” But even as I say it, a flicker of uncertainty ignites within me.
Does he know more than I think?
“I know more than just your first name,” he murmurs, eyes glinting with mischief. “Luella Watts. Daughter of Adrian Watts, a sick pedophile who targeted his own daughters.” He leans closer, voice a sultry whisper, “Should I go on?”
Daughters.
He knows about my sister. A jolt of ice runs through me as I process his words, my breath catching in my throat. My heart pounds, the sound echoing loudly. I bite down harder on my lip, the sharp pain grounding me, as I fight the urge to scream, to lash out at him.
“Anyone could find that out,” I manage to say, my voice trembling, betraying the storm of emotions surging within me. My palms are slick with sweat, and a wave of nausea washes over me as the memories rush back, vivid and raw. They twist in my mind, reminding me of feeling powerless.
I fucking hate feeling powerless.
I take a shaky breath, the air heavy in my lungs, as flashes of fear claw at me, making my skin prickle. He stands there, a stiff presence, and in that moment, I realize how close I am to losing control.
“Really? You want more?” His brows arch, and I can feel the challenge between us. “Your sister was Sophia, and she died in my house. Your mother, however, died at your father’s hands.”
My stomach drops.
He steps back again, a predator savoring the hunt, and that smirk is maddeningly infuriating.
I can’t let him see how he’s shaken me.
“Most interestingly though, was what happened to your father.” His eyes darken as he rises to his full height, disgust curling at his features. “Murdered in his own home, his only daughter missing.”
“Imagine that,” I whisper, my throat swelling with emotion as I remembered the many nights of my father pinning me down, violating me in the worst ways before charging his friends to do the same. I shut my eyes and try to think of anything else, but the panic stains my chest, spreading like a disease.
“Luella.” Colton grips my face, and I glare at him, wishing I could headbutt him or something, but his grip is too fucking firm. “Fuck the past. The past is what will get you killed.”
“You don’t know anything,” I hiss, yanking my chin out of his grip so hard, it bruises instantly. It throbs as he stares at me, shaking his head. “You don't know.”
“What don’t I know?” His voice is softer now, and I can’t stand it. I don’t want his pity.
I want him to let me go.
“Just fucking kill me or let me go,” I tell him, tears of fury streaming down my cheeks.
Colton walks away wordlessly, and I wonder if he’s gone to fetch a weapon. Maybe he’s decided he’s had enough—maybe this is where I die.
I’m so sorry, Sophia.
But then Colton comes back in, and this time he’s got the rope.
Is he going to hang me? Strangle me? The thought of the way I’m going to die takes over, but I refuse to show any fear.
He steps closer, yanking my legs down so I’m flat on the bed. He spreads my legs, and I watch numbly, wondering why I’m not fighting. He places the middle of the rope underneath my left ankle, positioning it at the base of my leg. He then crosses the rope over the top of my ankle in an ‘X’ shape, pulling each end of the rope in opposite directions.
“You're not fighting,” Colton murmurs, looking over at me before he wraps the rope around my ankle a few more times, testing how snug it is. “Interesting, but I don’t trust you, so drop the act.”
Exhaustion takes over. I lean back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, too drained to fight as he knots the rope around my ankle. My eyes start to close as his fingers brush against my legs, making sure the rope isn’t digging in before moving to the other leg. Surprisingly, he lifts my leg carefully, repeating the same actions as he did with my left leg. Then, he tethers them to the footboard, wrapping them beneath it and around it, making sure there’s no way I can get out.
Can’t he see that I’m fucking exhausted?
Colton finally stops, but I’m already drifting into a restless sleep, where old men chase little girls, and the monsters are the only ones that can save them because there are no good guys left.
None at all.