14. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Kairo
I've been awake since 4:37 AM, watching her sleep through the camera in the vent. Harbor's chest rises and falls under the white sheets, her auburn hair splayed across the pillow. The blanket has slipped off of her body, pooling around her hips. She’s gorgeous. Perfect in every way.
The soft blue glow of my phone lights up my face in the darkness as I study every twitch, every subtle movement she makes. I don't have any patience left. And frankly, after last night, I don't need it anymore.
There was a moment where everything shattered. Her resistance, her fear, and all that was left was a burning desire.
For me.
It’s funny… how much more settled I feel, now that’s she’s here. Now that I’ve confirmed what I first suspected.
Almost as if the world that once was black and white, is now filled with all the colors of Harbor. I want to take from her, but I also want to give to her. My mind rolls around to the toys I stashed in the bedroom on my last run here. She’s the perfect woman. The one who will allow me to push her to the brink and take it all.
She just doesn’t know it yet. If she can last, submit and thrive after I fuck her to within an inch of her life, then I will know she’s ready for the dark pleasure I can give her.
The cabin is silent except for the occasional creak of the old timber walls. Surprisingly, it’s not raining today. The weather is warm for so Goddamn early and I wonder if Harbor would want to go explore. Outside, the first birds begin their morning chorus, ignorant fuckers with no concept of how early it is. I take a sip of black coffee—my third cup already—and lean back in the wooden chair, my eyes never leaving the screen.
Harbor shifts in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. I turn up the volume on my phone, straining to hear, but it's nothing. Just the unconscious ramblings of a woman who doesn't yet understand what she's become to me.
Last night still pulses through my veins. The way she trembled when I pinned her wrists against the wall. How her eyes widened with that perfect cocktail of fear and arousal when I choked her, pushing her boundaries. The little gasp she made when my lips claimed hers.
Through the screen, I watch her eyelids flutter. She's waking up. I close the surveillance app and pocket my phone, moving silently to the kitchen table where I can observe her directly when she emerges. The coffee pot sits half full on the counter, steam no longer rising from its surface. Morning light filters through the pine trees outside, and the day is waking up.
Harbor appears in the bedroom doorway seventeen minutes later. She's dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder, revealing the mark I left there with my teeth. Her eyes scan the room, widening slightly when they land on me. She’s got bruises around her neck, and I try hold in my smirk at seeing her marked.
"Morning," I say, keeping my voice deliberately soft. Non-threatening. As if I hadn't shown her exactly what I am capable of just hours ago.
She doesn't respond, just gives a tight nod before making her way to the kitchen, keeping the island counter between us like a shield.
"Sleep well?" I ask, watching as she fumbles with the coffee mug, her hands visibly shaking. She's keeping her back to me, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the rigid line of her spine.
"Fine," she mumbles. Her voice is rough, either from sleep or from screaming. Maybe both.
I let my eyes trail over her body, lingering on the curve of her ass in those tight jeans, the delicate nape of her neck where wisps of auburn hair have escaped her messy ponytail. I wonder if she can feel my gaze on her. Studying her. The way she shifts uncomfortably, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shrug off an unwanted hand, tells me she can.
"You know," I say, dragging my index finger along the wooden grain of the table, "I was thinking we could go for a hike today. There's a beautiful waterfall about two miles from here. Very secluded."
The coffee pot slips from her grasp, clattering against the counter but not breaking. Coffee splashes onto her hand, and she hisses in pain, quickly moving to the sink to run cold water over it. It’s not boiling, but I’m sure it stings.
"Careful," I say, not moving to help her. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."
The irony of my statement hangs in the air between us. Her shoulders hunch further, making her look smaller, more vulnerable. Exactly how I like her.
"I—I don't think hiking is a good idea," she says, still not turning to face me. "I’m sore from yesterday."
For some reason that sends a thrill through me. I made her hurt, but not in any way other than the kind that elicits moans from her lips and her pussy convulsing around my cock.
"Another time, then," I concede, watching as her shoulders slump with momentary relief.
Harbor finally manages to pour her coffee without incident, and she turns, leaning against the counter, her fingers white-knuckled around the mug as she takes a sip. I watch the muscles in her throat work as she swallows, remembering how they felt beneath my palm when I applied just enough pressure to remind her who was in charge.
"Why don't you come sit with me?" I gesture to the chair across from mine. "We should talk about last night."
Her entire body goes rigid, like prey that's just caught the scent of a predator. She sets the mug down with a sharp click against the counter, coffee sloshing over the rim.
"I need to use the bathroom," she says, her eyes not meeting mine.
I smile. "Of course. Take your time."
She practically bolts from the kitchen, and I hear the bathroom door close, followed by the decisive click of the lock. As if that flimsy piece of metal could keep me out if I decided to go in.
I sip my cold coffee and wait. The morning stretches before us, hours of delicious tension to savor before night falls again. And when it does, I'll show her more of what waits in the darkness. More of what waits inside me.
More of what she pretends she doesn't want.
When Harbor finally emerges from the bathroom, her face is damp and her eyes slightly red. Been crying, has she? Fucking adorable. She hovers by the hallway entrance, calculating the safest path through the kitchen—probably hoping to grab her coffee and retreat to some corner where she thinks I can't reach her. I let her make it back to the counter before I push back from the table, the screech of wood against wood making her freeze like a startled deer.
"Feel better?" I ask, standing slowly, deliberately.
She nods, a quick jerky movement, eyes darting from me to the front door, measuring distance, calculating odds. I want to laugh. There's nowhere to run, not really. Even if she made it outside, we're miles from anything resembling civilization. Miles from anyone who might help her.
Noah was around here, but there’s no way he’d interfere. Not when I know he’d rather be balls deep inside his own woman.
I move toward her with unhurried steps, enjoying how she backs away until she hits the counter. The coffee mug she abandoned earlier sits beside her elbow, steam no longer rising from its surface. Cold now, just like her skin will be when I touch it.
"Harbor," I say, my voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the space between us. "You're avoiding me."
"I’m not," she lies, her teeth catching her bottom lip in a way that makes my cock twitch. She turns, giving me her back. A sign of submission. "I've just been... processing."
"Processing." I echo the word, letting it hang in the air between us as I close the final distance. I stop directly behind her, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body, close enough that she can feel my breath disturbing the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. "And what conclusions have you reached?"
She doesn't answer, just grips the edge of the counter until her knuckles turn white. Her breathing quickens, shallow little pants that make her chest rise and fall rapidly. I can see her pulse fluttering in the delicate hollow of her throat like a trapped bird.
"You're safe here," I murmur, letting my lips brush against the shell of her ear. "I'm sorry I hurt you. That was never my intention."
Her shoulders stiffen even as she unconsciously leans back, her body betraying her with its need for contact. I don't touch her yet, though I ache to. The anticipation is part of the game.
"You..." Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard before trying again. "You choked me. Bruised me."
I smile against her hair, inhaling the scent of fear and flowery shampoo. "I marked you. There's a difference." My fingers hover just above the curve of her hip, not quite touching. "And you liked it. Don't pretend you didn't."
Her lips part, but no words come out. She's struggling with the truth—that despite her fear, despite her better judgment, some dark part of her responded to my darkness last night. I saw it in her eyes when she couldn’t breathe. Heard it in the catch of her breath when I let go and fucked her to within an inch of her life.
"I should leave," she whispers, but she doesn't move. Can't move, with me caging her against the counter, my body a wall of heat at her back.
"Should you?" I murmur back. "Where would you go, Harbor? Back to your empty apartment? Back to staring at blank pages, waiting for inspiration that never comes? Back to writing your fantasies instead of living them?"
She flinches as if I've hit her.
"Have you..." She stops, gathers courage like a shield. "Have you been stalking me?"
The question hangs between us, heavy and inevitable. I smile, though she can't see it with her back still to me. The hunger that's been building all morning claws at my insides, demanding satisfaction.
"Stalking is such an ugly word," I say, finally letting my hands settle on her hips, feeling her jolt at the contact. "I prefer to think of it as... research. Getting to know the woman behind the words."
My thumbs trace slow circles just above the waistband of her jeans, dipping occasionally beneath the fabric to touch bare skin. Her breath hitches.
"You needed me," I continue, pressing closer until my chest is flush against her back, my growing hardness nestled against the curve of her ass. "You needed me to show you the depths of desire you deserve to feel, and I gave it to you." My lips graze the sensitive spot just below her ear. "I'll give you the world, Harbor, you just need to let me."
She shudders, a full-body tremor that does nothing to disguise how her body melts back into mine. One of my hands slides up to cup her breast through her sweater, feeling the peaked nipple pressing against my palm. Evidence that her body knows what she needs, even if her mind is still catching up.
"This is wrong," she says, but she makes no move to pull away.
"Is it?" I counter, squeezing gently, relishing her small gasp. "Or is it just honest? Raw? Real?" Each word is punctuated by a subtle rock of my hips against her ass. "Isn't that what you've been searching for, Harbor? Something real?"
My other hand drifts lower, toying with the button of her jeans. "Tell me to stop," I challenge, knowing she won't. Not really. "Tell me you don't want this."
The silence stretches between us. Harbor's breathing has gone ragged, her head fallen back against my shoulder in what could be surrender or could be despair. Maybe both. The beautiful contradiction of her.
I wait, letting the moment expand, letting her feel the weight of her own desire. The choice she's not really making because I've rigged the game from the start.
Her eyes drop to the floor, that silence more revealing than any words could be. In the reflection of the window above the sink, I can see her face—the conflict, the want, the self-loathing. It's everything.
"That's what I thought," I murmur, placing a surprisingly gentle kiss on the crown of her head. "Good girl."
Releasing my hold on her, I step back. “Do some writing. After dinner we will nap and then I’ll take you to see the stars.”
I lie perfectly still in the darkness, my breathing deep and even, the perfect imitation of sleep. Harbor's been watching me from her side of the bed. I can feel her eyes boring into me. Sure as shit, she wrote all day. Dinner was filled with small talk and now, I put her to the test.
The cabin is silent except for the occasional pop and hiss from the dying embers in the fireplace. I fight the urge to smile. She thinks I'm asleep. She thinks she has a chance. It's fucking adorable how predictable she is. This is what she feels she needs to do, to tell herself that she’s not as sick and twisted as I am.
Night presses against the windows, thick and impenetrable. The forest outside is a wall of black, the kind of darkness city people like Harbor find unsettling. No streetlights, no ambient glow from neighboring buildings, just primal darkness that seeps into your bones and whispers of monsters. Of me.
I feel Harbor shift minutely beside me, testing whether the movement will wake me. I don't react, continuing the slow, rhythmic breathing. Playing possum. Anticipation coils in my gut like a sleeping snake. I've been waiting for this moment since I brought her here, setting the stage piece by piece.
The front door is unlocked. Has been all day.
Not an oversight… an invitation. A test.
Harbor needs to believe escape is possible, needs to try and fail before she'll truly understand her situation. There's something viscerally satisfying about the chase, the hunt, the capture. It’s something I’ve imagined doing with her over and over.
Something I’ve never done with anyone else. Sure, I’ve had my sure of flings, some bordering on psychotic, but nothing this consuming. She’s inside me, in every breath I take, every decision I make.
It’s a monstrous urge that lives inside me. To claim, mark, dominate. To feel the moment the hatred gives way to unabated love. Lust. Desire.
The mattress dips slightly as Harbor carefully, so fucking carefully, begins to extract herself from the bed. The glacial pace of her movements would be comical if it weren't so goddamn arousing. The fear driving her caution is like a drug to me, better than any high I've chased before.
I watch through slitted eyes as she finally stands, her silhouette a darker shadow against the blackness of the room. She's put her clothes back on—jeans and that oversized sweater from this morning. Smart girl. The temperature drops sharply at night out here. Wouldn't want her freezing to death before I catch her.
She pauses, looking down at me, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think she's caught me watching. But then she turns away, padding on silent feet toward the bedroom door. She's barefoot—another mistake. The forest floor will tear her city-soft feet to shreds.
Part of me wants to end this charade now, to lunge from the bed and pin her to the floor, to see the hope drain from her eyes as she realizes there was never any chance of getting away. But the greater pleasure lies in letting this play out, in giving her the momentary illusion of freedom before I snatch it away.
So I stay still, listening to her cautious progress through the cabin. A floorboard creaks under her weight, and she freezes. I can practically hear her heart pounding, imagine the cold sweat breaking out across her skin. After a long moment, she continues, moving with excruciating slowness toward the front door.
I count her steps in my head, tracking her position. When I estimate she's reached the front, I allow myself to roll over, as if shifting in sleep. I hear her sharp intake of breath, the complete stillness that follows as she waits to see if I'll wake. I don't. After thirty seconds of held breath, I hear the softest exhalation of relief.
The door hinges are well-oiled—my doing, in preparation for tonight. When Harbor turns the knob, it makes no sound. The door swings open on silent hinges, letting in a whisper of cold night air that carries the scent of pine and promise. I imagine her disbelief, her surge of hope at finding the door unlocked. The sudden lightness in her chest as she thinks, Just maybe...
She slips outside, not bothering to close the door behind her. Rookie mistake. The night air flowing in would alert even a genuinely sleeping person. But I'm not asleep, and I'm already counting in my head.
One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand.
I give her a thirty-second head start—enough time to reach the tree line if she runs, enough time to believe she might actually escape—before I slide from the bed. My movements are unhurried as I pull on pants and a black thermal shirt. No need to rush. The forest is my territory, not hers. She'll be lucky to make it a mile before getting completely turned around. As much as I’ve lived in the city, I made sure to be out here whenever I could. I studied these woods just like I studied her.
Through the open door, I can see nothing but darkness, but my ears catch the faint sounds of her flight—snapping twigs, rustling undergrowth, the occasional muffled curse as she stumbles over unseen obstacles. She's heading east, following what she probably thinks is the road back to civilization. It's not. It's a game trail that leads deeper into the woods, eventually circling back toward the cabin in a long, disorienting loop.
Perfect.
I step onto the porch, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. The night comes alive around me—the silver edges of leaves in the faint moonlight, the deeper shadows between trees, the sounds of nocturnal creatures going suddenly silent at the presence of a hunter. The air is crisp, carrying the first hint of frost, sharp in my lungs as I take a deep, satisfied breath.
From a hidden compartment beneath the porch steps, I grab what I need for tonight's entertainment. The ropes, handcuffs and zip ties. Then the mask, crafted from black leather and adorned with curved horns that rise from the forehead like a demon's crown. Around the eyes, gold gleams. The horn tips are gold as well. A truly beautiful mask. A symbol of brotherhood. We all have one. Slade, Knox, Creed and me. It transforms my features into something inhuman, something primeval that belongs to these dark woods.
I slide the mask over my face, feeling its familiar weight, the way it narrows my vision to focus only on what matters. The hunt. The capture. The submission.
Harbor's trail is easy to follow—broken branches, disturbed leaf litter, the occasional clear footprint in a patch of mud. She's running blindly, panic overriding any semblance of strategy. I can almost taste her fear on the night air, sweet and sharp.
I set off after her at an easy lope, conserving energy. No need to sprint. The woods are vast, but they're easy to navigate if you’ve spent time here. Every tree, every rock, every hidden hollow. Harbor is running, and I'll let her run just long enough to understand the futility of it.
In the distance, I hear her cry out—probably caught a branch across the face or stumbled into a thorny bush.
I smile behind my mask and pick up my pace. The game has begun, and I intend to enjoy every moment of it.
This is what I was made for—this primal dance of predator and prey, this moment when civilization falls away and we become what we truly are beneath the thin veneer of humanity.
My boots make no sound on the forest floor. Years of hunting with Noah have taught me how to blend with the darkness, how to become part of the night itself. Harbor has no such skills. She crashes through the underbrush like a wounded animal, leaving destruction in her wake that practically screams: Here I am. Come find me.
And I will. Oh, I fucking will.
The moon breaks through the clouds, casting silver light that transforms the forest into a monochrome dreamscape. In the distance, an owl calls, a long, mournful note that seems to pierce the darkness. The sound momentarily covers Harbor's panicked breathing, but I don't need to hear her to know where she is. Her fear has a scent all its own, sharp and sweet and intoxicating.
My cock stirs. I long to impale her on it and breathe in the way she moans.
I can tell she's tiring. Her footsteps are becoming more erratic, stumbling where before they were merely rushed. City girl, unused to the treacherous forest floor with its exposed roots and hidden hollows. I picture her lungs burning with each desperate breath, her legs trembling with exhaustion. The thought makes my cock throb harder against the confines of my pants.
A scream pierces the night—short and strangled, cut off almost as soon as it begins. She's spotted me. Or thought she did. The dark playing tricks on her terrified mind, transforming every shadow into a monster. Into me.
I quicken my pace, no longer concerned with stealth. Let her hear me coming. Let her know the hunt is nearly over. She’s only a bit in front of me, my long strides having covered much of the space she had made between us.
Harbor crashes through a dense patch of undergrowth, branches whipping against her face and arms. I hear her sob, a broken, desperate sound that sends a surge of pleasure straight to my groin. She's running blind now, all strategy abandoned in favor of pure animal panic.
I cut through the forest at an angle, anticipating her path. The game trail she's following curves ahead, winding around a massive oak that's stood in these woods since before either of us was born. I reach it first, pressing my back against the gnarled trunk, the mask cool against my flushed skin as I wait.
Harbor's ragged breathing grows louder as she approaches. I can hear the squelch of mud beneath her bare feet, the whimpers that escape with each exhale. Three steps. Two. One.
Gotcha, little rabbit.