Chapter 14
Gravitational Waves
Our little terraqueous globe is the madhouse of those hundred thousand millions of worlds.
— VOLTAIRE
COLLINS
The ligature cinches tighter, cutting off my airway. Panic tears through my tenuous grasp on reality, sinking me further into a subspace I can never fully escape.
The ambient sounds surge around us, terrifying, and yet strangely beautiful. A low, heavy bass pounds through my bones. High notes spike my nerves. Each rhythmic beat swells and fades, the reverb off the stone shaping my own personal chamber of fear, driving a painful pulse through my heart.
The dark observatory bleeds away. The briny scent of ocean is replaced by the earthy smell of dirt, the grainy texture of it gritting between my teeth. Dread courses through my bloodstream like tar, thick and toxic.
Keeping my palms fused to the vibrating wall of speakers, I struggle to drag in a breath. The dark too smothering, the scent of the vinyl canvas too potent.
It’s not real.
One. Two—
I clench my eyes shut against the climbing anxiety, unable to count myself out of this hell.
A cruel portal to the past opens around me, and I’m submerged further, feeling the horrifying sensation of clothes ripped away, the hard floor pressed into my shoulder blades as heavy weight bears down.
Splinters collect beneath my nails as I scrape and claw, teeth gnashing until copper spills across my tongue.
Sharp pain spears my breastbone.
My body freezes, palpitations thrashing my sternum to match the thundering chorus until I’m fading beneath the loss of oxygen. Then mercifully, the tie slips loose.
On reflex, I drag in a deep, staggering breath.
Orion’s heavy exhale fans across the top of my head. “Tell me to stop,” he demands for the second time. His voice sounds worn, an almost desperate quality to the rough tone, as though he’s fighting to hold himself back.
And losing.
Lightheaded, I rest my forehead to the cool mesh, the vibration of sound oddly soothing against my skull. His music is one of his secrets; a part of him he doesn’t share.
Yet he shared it with me.
Determined, I lift my head, taking measured breaths to regulate my erratic heart rate. A pinch of pain tightens beneath my ribs. But the movement, coupled with the intense rattle, stimulates my nipples, and despite my body’s protest, a hot current licks my skin.
“Collins—” He makes a demand with my name, raw fury bleeding into his tone. The abrasive caress of it drags between my spread thighs like an intimate touch, eliciting a torrent of flames.
And something wicked ignites from my depths.
I draw in a steadying breath, filling my lungs with the stubborn, resentful rage that fuels my next words.
“Orion. I’m not scared of a little breath play and creepy music.
” To deliver my point, I arch my back and grind lewdly into the speaker, a moan torn from my inflamed throat as the current of sound waves strokes my clit.
He curses on a fierce groan, his body locking tense around mine. Through the dark encasing us, I imagine the flex of his cut muscles. His body corded tight with frustrated need. “All that fire in you, goddamn. You want to fight me, little archer?”
Just the suggestion stirs something heady in my blood. An ember flares hot from deep inside, a kindled flame to lash out—to fight back this time.
The threat of being overpowered. Trapped. Caught between fight or flight.
My breath shallows at the danger, and I swallow hard, the silk tie shifting against my throat.
Our bodies have the ability to retain the memory of a traumatic experience, where the slightest whisper of danger triggers our fight-or-flight response. And my body—
I freeze.
If I don’t move—don’t even breathe—it will be over soon.
“Mmm. There it is,” Orion rasps, as attuned to my body as the music.
“That delectable taste of fear and fury. God-damn, you do crave a little struggle. The way I could ruin you—” He tugs the necktie, pressure edging threat against my skin.
“Fuck. Don’t fight, Collins. I’m not sure what I’m capable of. ”
Raw honesty frays his voice, his restraint wearing dangerously thin as he battles his compulsion toward harm.
Every organized killer has a trigger. Some incitement that will spiral them over the brink. Uncovering Orion’s is a delicate dance; exploiting his suppressed sexual violence without shattering his weakening impulse control.
The art of manipulation isn’t about force—it’s the subtle pull of the thread until it snaps.
I seal my eyes shut, knowing with terrifying certainty that, once the monster is unleashed, there’s no locking him back up.
“Even if I beg you to stop,” I whisper, licking my dry lips, “don’t hold back.”
“Christ, Collins,” he says, his voice a harsh caress, “you have no idea what you’re asking of me.” The evidence of his arousal presses hard against my backside. “The things I want to do to you for making me want you this badly—unholy, punishing things.”
His unfiltered words fall across my shoulder like a brand, an accusation. “Like when I tell you how wet I am,” I say, my defiance prodding those dark urges. “Unless you want to feel for yourself—”
He makes a tortured sound from the base of his throat, raw and guttural.
The vibration drags along my back, sending an electric shiver up my spinal column.
His entire body coils tighter around mine, hips pressing with an involuntary thrust against my lower back.
“Don’t tempt me, angel,” he growls into my shoulder.
My skin flushes, wet heat pooling low as an illicit thrill trickles through my veins. A smile steals across my lips in the dark. Gaining leverage over Orion is more seductively arousing than the stimulation strumming over my nerves.
Triggering this deviant violence within him is reckless. But he’s built a fortress around himself in this observatory. Here, his walls are just as high as the towering spires of Stonehurst.
He’s secluded, controlled. Structured.
Yet I’ve seen what lurks beneath those cold blocks of stone. Out there where he hunts, when the urge can no longer be contained. I know the wild carnage he’s capable of—and I’m tired of carving at his stone.
I want his walls to come crashing down.
A deep sound rumbles through his chest before tension grips the tie, and I brace myself. I latch onto the fading ember of rage buried beneath my fear, fanning it into a blaze with my next stolen breath.
I’ve been stealing every single one since that fatal moment.
A fierce growl is the only warning I’m given before the tie jerks taut.
My head snaps back, and I strain to hold my place against the vibrating speakers as he sadistically strangles my throat. He chokes up on the tie with both hands, sealing off the last drop of air from my lungs as the intensity of sound grows in strength.
I curl my hand into a fist against the thumping speaker. Feel the shell crack in my palm. The dirt creeping in. The canvas clogging my airway.
With the next wave of sound, my eyes slam shut against the burst of pleasure, stars sparking behind my lids. The unearthly, rhythmic beat crashes through me, relentless. Bass hits over and over until my body tightens, desire turning molten between my hips.
And I’m lost beneath the onslaught.
He loosens his grip, allowing me a thin ribbon of air. “Fucking hell, you’re beautiful,” he says, his gruff tone raking over me. “I hate that I can’t look into your starry eyes as you come apart.”
An ache blooms in the hollow of my chest. It’s been longer than six years for me since I’ve been intimately close with anyone. The fact that it’s Orion who’s taking me to the brink more than terrifies me.
“Hold on, fire. Don’t move your hands from that speaker.”
That’s the last warning I’m given before the soft drone of music tapers away, and the only sound is the heavy rise and fall of our mingled breaths—
Then an explosion of sound.
The burst of music is a white-hot pulse through my body. Currents of sensation course through me, and an arousing frisson covers my skin. My senses come alive, wanting to experience the ruthless feel of his touch.
Touched by the hands of death.
When you’ve come so close, you almost crave its cruel caress.
And some part of me craves this from Orion. For him to claw at the callus, unfeeling parts of me. To sink his fangs into my flesh. Siphon the poison from my veins.
To have his mouth seal over mine and swallow the last of my breath—
He straps the necktie tighter, and whatever’s left of the fear falls away. I’m exhausted by the struggle. The constant dread.
The fight against the inevitable.
As the music crescendos, the rise is relentless, an unyielding swell that makes me shiver under its furious climb—and the climb feels impossible.
The frantic bursts are a jagged rattle behind my sternum. The caged muscle hammers painfully against valves, the erratic tempo striking against my ribs. Adrenaline pours into the constricted chambers, speeding my heart beyond its limit. My vision flickers as blood-oxygen falters, cells starved.
“Fuck, you’re shaking.” Orion’s voice is ravaged with the same agony tearing through me. The tie falls away. But my lungs stay locked, refusing to draw air. I collapse against his chest.
“Dammit.” His body heat envelops me, solid, bracing. “Collins—say something.”
At my weak nod, his voice turns guttural. “Words, Collins.”
“I’m just…lightheaded.”
He exhales a rough breath, my body shifting with the strenuous movement. “Collins, listen to my voice. I’m going to count. I want you to breathe.”