2. Psycho
Chapter two
Psycho
(Kiah)
T he paintbrush slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor in what feels like slow motion.
Nico's threat ghosts across my neck, his warm breath a stark contrast to the cold steel digging into my skin. "I wouldn't make any sudden moves if I were you."
My body stiffens, every muscle coiling like a spring ready to unleash.
Each heartbeat thunders in my ears, a primal drum of anger and adrenaline. The bastard caught me off-guard, moving like a shadow, sound masked by the storm.
Not just some rich boy playing gangster, then. It takes skill to get the drop on someone like me.
You’re losing your touch, Kiah.
I should've trusted my instincts and never let him in.
But what’s done is done. I’ve never been one to get hung up on regrets. I have too many of those. They'd drown me if I let them.
I exhale slowly, letting him think it's fear. In reality, I'm centering myself, mind already cataloging every weapon within reach.
But beneath the survival instincts, something darker stirs?part of me I thought I'd buried in blood and regret actually thrills at this dance.
“What do you want from me?” My voice is low and steady despite the adrenaline flooding my system, “I don’t have any money.”
“Money is not my problem.” His tone drips menace as he yanks me closer, his soaked clothes seeping cold into my back.
“What then?”
“For starters, some duct tape.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Let’s see what you do have.”
He drags me toward the kitchen, blade never wavering from my throat. Five years ago, I would've risked the cut to break free. But my edges have softened here, dulled by paradise.
This island was supposed to be a temporary escape while I figured out what to do next.
Half a decade flies by quickly when you’re avoiding the world.
My heart plummets when Nico finds the old gray fishing box?my makeshift toolbox?under the sink. Fuck.
“Well, well.” His voice carries a chill that rivals the storm. “Open it.”
The blade bites deeper, drawing a warm trickle down my neck. I comply, unlatching the grey plastic box that once held someone else's simple life.
Nico’s face twists into a smirk when he sees what’s inside. He shoves me into a nearby wooden chair, and I topple over the antique piece of furniture that is too worn to be valuable any longer—much like all my stuff.
Before I can recover my footing, he’s on me.
The zip ties bite deep as he secures my wrists, but it's the fishing line that makes my blood run cold. Round and round, he goes, binding me to the chair with practiced efficiency.
Don’t panic, just breathe.
I’ve been in way worse situations than this, and I’ve always survived. I just need to remain calm and wait for the right opportunity.
But as Nico pulls the spool of fishing line from the grey box, I know things are about to get a whole lot more complicated.
This life is supposed to be in my past, damn-it .
I’m all about island vibes and self-healing now.
But the psycho with the fishing line doesn’t give a fuck about the lies I keep telling myself to justify why I’m wasting my prime away.
He wraps the sheer string around me, around and around, as he ties me to the chair like I’m some damsel in distress.
The line is unsurprisingly strong, and my skin bulges between the gaps. I try to move, but it only cuts the line deeper into my skin. From experience, I know there is no way to break through this—not with my hands alone, at least.
“Now stay,” Nico tells me as he returns to his search, rummaging through my stuff with both hands now, throwing my perfectly organized belongings on the floor like they don’t matter.
This man is deranged , I think for the umpteenth time as I watch him touching things— my things—he shouldn’t be touching.
I try to wiggle my arms behind my back, but the zip ties have no give; they only cut into my wrists as I struggle to free myself. It’s no use.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, my voice strained. Perhaps I can talk my way out of this?
“Quiet. I’m trying to think.” Nico rubs his temples as he paces the small space with heavy steps.
“Please, I—” I start, but I never get to finish my sentence.
His backhanded slap cuts me off mid-sentence, my head snapping to the side. Instantly, a searing pain starts to blossom across my cheek. That’s going to bruise for sure.
Nico rubs his temples. “I said be quiet.”
Before I can protest, he grabs one of the nearby dishcloths, shoving it in my mouth like a makeshift gag and securing it with a second cloth around my head.
It tastes faintly like bleach and spilled tea, and I try to push it out, but I can’t. His knots are solid.
“Much better. Now I can focus,” Nico continues, speaking like I can respond. But he doesn’t seem to care (or mind) that the conversation is one-sided. I have a feeling a man like that doesn’t care about much.
He grabs a bottle of cheap whiskey from my liquor cabinet and pours it straight down his throat, not even flinching as he swallows down nearly a quarter of the bottle neat.
The alcohol seems to relax him a bit, and he puts the knife down on the counter—out of reach, sadly.
“Now…” is all he says. But he doesn’t have to narrate what he’s up to next; it’s clear as day.
Without so much as an inch of modesty, the psycho with the dead blue eyes starts stripping out of his wet clothes, dropping them right here in the kitchen.
I can’t help but stare as more of his muscular tattooed flesh is bared before me. He’s built like a Viking—young, strong, toned.
It’s unfortunate that such a dick of a man should be blessed with such an incredible body...
In another life, under different circumstances, he could’ve been my type. (At least for one night.)
When he turns around to face me, a gasp traps against the dishcloth in my mouth.
What the fuck?
He has a raging hard-on.
Does this turn him on?
It’s been a long time since I saw a naked male body up close, and an unwanted shiver of lust snakes down my spine as I gawk at his hard cock.
Face deadpan, Nico walks closer, and I can’t tear my eyes from his sizeable erection, especially not once I notice the piercings through the tip of his dick—two barbells form an invisible cross on the inside with four beads poking out at opposite ends.
I’ve never seen anything like it, and I can’t help but wonder what those four bells feel like scraping the insides of my pussy.
Jesus, Kiah. Get it together. This asshole is going to kill me, and I’m here lusting over his muscular ass.
Danger has always made me horny, though.
Maybe that’s why I made so many questionable decisions in the past.
But now’s not the time to get lost down memory lane.
“Enjoying the view?” Nico sneers, making him look even more unhinged.
Forcing my gaze to his, I shake my head slowly— no .
He laughs out loud, a jarring sound, and then heads for the bathroom without saying anything else, leaving his wet clothes strewn across the kitchen floor.
The moment Nico disappears, survival instincts kick in. The shower's hiss becomes a countdown timer in my head.
I scan the room with practiced efficiency, cataloging weapons and escape routes. My gaze locks onto Nico's knife, still gleaming on the kitchen counter. Amateur mistake, leaving it there. One I intend to make him regret.
The chair, strapped to me like a tortoiseshell, creaks as I work my way to standing. Years of training scream through muscle memory, but with my ankles bound to the legs, each movement is an exercise in frustration.
Come on.
Sweat trickles down my spine as I shuffle forward, the chair scraping against hardwood with every micro-step. The shower's rhythm mocks my progress.
Just a few more feet.
My shoulders burn from the strain of the restraints, but the knife's promise of freedom keeps me moving. I twist my body, angling for the blade, my fingertips stretching—
The impact comes out of nowhere.
One moment I'm reaching, the next I'm crashing down.
The floor rushes up to meet me as the chair splinters beneath my weight.
"Such a naughty girl. Tsk, tsk."
A snarl of frustration tears from my throat as I spot the knife, now out of reach.
Nico looms above me, water still beading on his skin, looking far too amused for a man who just caught his captive trying to escape.
His hand clamps around my ankle, dragging me across the floor. The wood burns against my exposed skin as he pulls me away from freedom.
I expect him to right the chair, to reassert control, but he leaves me here—flat on my back, knees bent awkwardly to the ceiling, completely at his mercy.
"This would be much easier if you just complied." He sighs, hands resting on lean hips, utterly unconcerned with his nakedness or my fury.
With everything I have, I tug at the ties, desperately trying to free myself as Nico just laughs, almost absentmindedly reaching down to his cock and wrapping his fingers around his hardness.
“Struggle all you want; you’re not going anywhere, lady,” he states the obvious, trapping my gaze in those dead eyes as he continues to palm his erection.
Fucking pervert! I want to shout, but only an indecipherable mumble passes the dirty dishcloths in my mouth.
How can he be touching himself right here? What the fuck?
His face remain lifeless as he jerks himself off, towering over me like a nefarious god while the shower goes in the background, all the hot water running into the drain.
Nico doesn’t make any sound. His face doesn’t change. There is no visible indication that he’s enjoying any of this. But he keeps stroking, those haunted eyes pinned on mine.
Desperate for a reprieve from this nightmare, I close my eyes. I don’t want to see this.
“Oh-no, you don’t.”
I gasp as a large hand wraps around my throat, trapping the air in my lungs.
My eyes shoot open to find Nico bent over me, choking me as he continues to pleasure himself.
“Keep them open, or this will be the least fucked-up thing you see tonight,” he threatens, and I believe him.
Despite wanting to throw up at the mere sight, I force myself to watch, swallowing down the bile that pushes up in my throat.
Nico’s pierced tip looks ripe and ready up close, but there is nothing erotic about the scene.
“Hmm, how about some inspiration .” He finally loosens his grip around my throat, and I desperately suck in some air.
My skin shudders as Nico’s rough hand suddenly dips into my bra. Like he has the right to do so, he rolls the hard tip of my nipple between his fingers, and I bite down a moan.
My mind is screaming at me, but my body is painfully aware of the fact that nobody has touched my breasts in years, and definitely not with such possessiveness, such urgency.
“Now, hold still,” Nico says, returning his palm to his cock.
I watch in horror as the unannounced stranger jerks himself to completion with a single grunt, spilling his thick cum on my cheek?unceremoniously.
It’s warm and gross, and the worst part is that there’s nothing I can do to wipe it from my skin.
“Much better,” the fucker proclaims with a creepy grin before returning to the shower, leaving me there to stew.
Shouting into my gag, I struggle against my restraints as rage burns through me.
Who does Nico think he is?
He’ll pay for this!
Game on, asshole.