Chapter 10
brYLEE
The air in my cell is a toxic perfume, thick with the coppery scent of blood that has already begun to congeal on the concrete and the acrid stench of burnt-out lust that hangs in the air like a shroud. It’s the smell of my victory, and the smell of my damnation.
I pull desperately at the cuff around my ankle, the metal biting into my already raw flesh. Each tug is a useless, frantic prayer. I feel more than anything like an animal that has just been led to the slaughterhouse, the sound of the killing floor still echoing in my ears.
Pedro.
The name alone sends a shiver of pure ice through my veins, a cold that has nothing to do with the damp chill of this cell.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the terror back into the deep, dark corner of my mind where it belongs.
I have to be strong. My mates are out there, searching for me.
I know that with the entirety of my being, a desperate, pulsing certainty that is the only thing keeping me from shattering into a million pieces.
I picture Ridge’s steady gaze, Colter’s fierce protectiveness, Kylian’s humor, Luka’s tenderness. I have to get back to them.
Eros Academy taught you how to be a weapon wrapped in silk, I remind myself, the mantra a lifeline in the rising tide of fear. Darling Academy taught you how to make them believe you are nothing but the silk.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps sound from directly in front of me, each one a hammer blow against my nerves. I force my body to relax, to melt into a posture of weary submission instead of the coiled readiness that screams for release.
I am the silk. I am the prize. I am nothing to be feared.
Pedro is a hulking silhouette framed by the dim hallway light, a monster born of shadow and blood.
He’s still wearing his blood-spattered fatigues, the dark fabric stained and stiff with the life of the men he called brothers.
A feral grin splits his face, a flash of white in the gloom, and it’s all I can do not to recoil.
He steps inside, the door clanging shut behind him with a sound that seals my fate. The lock clicks home, a final, damning note. His eyes roam over me, possessive and hungry, stripping me bare without a single touch. They linger on the bruises blooming on my skin like night flowers.
“I knew you were special,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the concrete floor and into my bones. “Not just any omega could turn my brothers into beasts.”
I let a slow, practiced smile touch my lips. It feels alien on my face, a mask carved from ice. It doesn't reach my eyes, but he won't know the difference; he'll only see what he wants to see.
“They were only men,” I say, my voice a husky whisper, deliberately breathless. “You... You're something else entirely, Pedro.”
He preens, the arrogant bastard, puffing out his chest as he takes another step closer.
The stench of him washes over me—blood, sweat, and the raw, potent alpha musk that makes my omega instincts scream to submit, to bare my throat and beg for mercy.
I fight it down with every ounce of my training, with the memory of my mates' hands on my skin.
“This chain is so…crude,” I say, letting my gaze drift down to the metal shackle.
I trail a single finger along the cold, rough links, a gesture of feigned intimacy.
I look up at him through my lashes, channeling every lesson from Darling Academy.
“It chafes. How can I properly thank my hero when I'm so restrained?”
His grin widens, showing the edge of a canine. “The chain stays. I like you on a leash.”
My stomach turns, a hot, sick lurch, but I keep the smile plastered on my face, the picture of disappointed acquiescence.
“A shame,” I purr, letting my voice drop an octave. “I had such wonderful plans to show you my gratitude.”
He laughs, a harsh, grating sound like stones grinding together.
“You'll show me gratitude, chained or not.” He starts unbuckling his belt, the leather groaning as he pulls it through the loops.
The sound is loud and final in the small cell. His cock is already hard, a thick ridge straining against the fabric of his pants, a promise of the violence to come.
My plan A is a spectacular, soul-crushing failure. He’s not going to unchain me. He’s going to take me like this, chained and broken on the floor.
Panic, cold and sharp, tries to claw its way up my throat, a living thing fighting for escape. I swallow it down, the taste metallic like blood.
Darling Academy taught you to adapt.
Eros Academy taught you to kill.
Plan B.
In one fluid motion, I surge to my feet.
The chain snaps taut, biting deep into my ankle, but I ignore the flash of agony.
I’m weak, injured, and so much smaller than him, but I have the element of surprise.
I launch myself at him, wrapping the slack of the chain around my hands for grip and looping it over his head before he can even register my movement.
“What the—” he chokes out, the words cut off by the steel.
I yank back with all my might, using his own forward momentum against him. The thick links bite into the soft flesh of his throat, instantly cutting off his air. His hands fly to his neck, his eyes wide with shock and fury. He’s strong, impossibly so, a mountain of muscle and rage.
He thrashes, his fists pummeling my sides, knocking the wind from my lungs in a painful whoosh. Agony explodes through my ribs, sharp and blinding, but I don't let go. I can't. This is my only chance.
He slams me back against the wall, the impact rattling my teeth and sending a shower of dust down on us.
Black spots dance in my vision. His muscles bunch, his entire being focused on throwing me off.
I dig my bare feet into the grimy floor, the chain on my ankle the only thing keeping me anchored, giving me leverage.
I twist the chain, putting every ounce of my weight, every bit of my desperation, every memory of my mates into the hold. I will not die here. I will not let this monster be the last thing I know.
His struggles become weaker, more frantic. His face is turning a mottled, horrifying purple, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He gags, a horrible, wet sound.
With a final, convulsive shudder, he goes limp. His massive body slumps against me, a dead weight that nearly sends us both to the floor.
Panting, bleeding, I let him fall.
He lands with a heavy, satisfying thud, unconscious but still breathing. For a moment, I can only stand there, shaking violently, my body screaming in protest.
I did it.
I won.
I force my trembling, blood-slicked hands to move, patting down his body. My fingers close around a cold metal ring of keys. With a fumble, I find the right one and unlock the shackle on my ankle. The chain falls away, and the feeling is so profound, so sudden, I almost sob with relief.
Freedom.
I don't hesitate.
Creeping up the stairs to the cell door, I peer out.
The hallway is empty, littered with the bodies of the alphas I’d set against each other.
My eyes land on a holster on one of them—a gun.
I scramble over, my bare feet silent on the cold floor, and wrench the pistol free.
It's heavy and solid in my hand, the most beautiful thing I've ever felt. I check the magazine and have to choke back tears when I realize it’s full.
I look back at Pedro’s unconscious form.
Aiming the barrel at his head, I fire. But my trembling hand makes the gun slide left a little, and I hit his neck instead. His body spasms, and the trickle of blood tells me that I’ve still accomplished my goal.
He’s done for.
My attention moves from him down the long, dark corridor leading out of this hell. I don't know what's beyond that door, but I know one thing for certain. I am not a prisoner anymore. I am the princess, and I am armed.
I'll either escape this hellhole or die trying.