Chapter 2
Adora
Dominic is dead. Only Ghost remains. Cruel and unforgiving.
The bread and cheese he tosses into my lap through the bars again, two days later, feel like an afterthought.
Something to keep me alive just enough to suffer.
I don't reach for them. My stomach twists at the thought of food, at the thought of anything except the cold seeping into my bones.
He stands in front of the cell, arms folded across his broad chest, watching me. He is so much larger than I remember. Not just in size, but in presence. A living, breathing shadow that has come to devour my pitiful soul.
I have spent years trying to forget him. Trying to convince myself that the boy I loved died in that prison. That whatever came out of it was someone else, someone I never met.
And I was right.
Ghost steps closer, the light catching on the ink crawling up his throat like a curse. He used to have smooth, tanned skin, the kind that was warm beneath my fingers. Now, he is all edges and brutal muscles.
The man in front of me is no longer Dominic. Part of me still wants to call him that, but I won't.
"Eat," he says, his voice quiet but sharp.
I swallow hard, trying to keep myself together. "I'm not hungry."
His head tilts, like he's analyzing me, trying to count all the cracks in my armour. The look in his eyes makes my stomach clench. He was always able to read me so easily. To see through me in ways no one else could. But that was so long ago. I can only hope that ability died with the rest of him.
"You're going to eat," he murmurs, crouching down in front of the bars. "Because if you don't, I'll make you."
The fake gentleness in his voice makes me flinch.
"I'd love nothing more than for you to waste away in this cell," he continues. "But I need you alive. You have five months to pay your debt. Five months in exchange for five years. You die before then, and I don't get my revenge." His voice dips lower. "Not the way I want it."
I laugh, the sound hoarse and bitter. "Is that what this is? A countdown to my execution?"
A slow, terrifying smirk spreads across his lips. It turns the air colder, thicker. Heavy with promises of what’s to come.
"You think I'm going to kill you, adorable?" His tone is almost amused.
My breath hitches. My old nickname floats between us like poison, but I still feel it coil around my ribs like it did all those years ago.
"You're not getting off that easy. At least not before I get what I'm owed."
I look away, blinking rapidly. I hate that he is still so effortlessly beautiful, even when he's promising me hell. I hate that my body reacts to his voice, to the rough timber of it, to the memory of how he used to whisper my name against my skin.
He sighs, shaking his head, like I've disappointed him.
"Fine. Don't eat. But you'll regret it."
The cell door unlocks. Before I can react, he's inside. My body tenses instinctively, but where the hell am I going to go? The space is small, suffocating, and I’m trapped between Ghost and the concrete wall.
He crouches again, this time within arm's reach. His fingers drag over the ground absently, tracing meaningless patterns. Casual. Calculating.
"Do you know how long someone can survive without food?"
My mouth goes dry.
He smiles again and it’s hypnotic. Entrancing. It reminds me of warm summer nights and stolen kisses instead of the nightmare I'm living in now.
"Three weeks," he continues. "But without water? Only about three days."
He tilts his head, studying me like a predator watching prey.
"You can learn to deal with hunger. Accept it. But do you have any idea what thirst does to a person?"
I press my back against the wall. "What do you want, Ghost?"
"Obedience," he says smoothly. "And since I know you won't give it freely, I'm going to take it."
A cold shudder runs down my spine. "What the hell does that mean?"
He pushes off the ground, standing to his full height. He looms over me, his presence swallowing the air in the tiny cell.
"It means you still don't realize the fucking position you're in. You don't get to eat unless I feed you." His tone is indifferent, like he's discussing the weather. "You don't get water unless I give it to you."
I stare at him in horror.
"Within a day, you'll be thirsty." He takes a step back toward the cell door. "By the second day, you'll beg me." He pauses, hand gripping the bars, his voice dropping. "And by the third, you'll be willing to do anything for just one drop.”
A ball of ice forms in the pit of my stomach. "You're a fucking monster."
He smirks, and for the first time, I actually believe it. He truly has become a monster.
"I'm what you made me."
Fuck.