Chapter 5
Adora
I am craving something. Something dark and dangerous and completely fucking forbidden. What the fuck is happening to me? Apart from the raging hunger that is fast becoming a new problem, that is.
The lock clicks. I lift my head, watching as Ghost steps inside. Same dark eyes. Same inked skin. Same cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
But I see a difference now. A small one. The way his movements aren't as fluid. The way his fists clench a little too tightly before he forces them to relax.
Interesting. Is he craving something, too?
"How long are you planning to keep this up?" I ask.
His head tilts, amused. "Told you. Five months. Such a short memory you have, adorable. Did you forget about the lie you told — about me — just as fast?"
I grind my teeth, trying to ignore the sudden pain in my chest. "What's next? Begging for a little bit of warmth in this fucking dungeon?"
He hums, tapping his fingers against his knee. "I think you'll beg me for a lot more than that soon enough, adorable."
I drag my gaze over him, from his dark, disheveled hair to the way his muscles stretch his shirt. Yummy. Fuck, NO!
"Keep dreaming, Ghost," I mumble.
His smirk widens.
"Oh, I do." Please don't — my mind screams.
Before I can tell him to fuck off, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a granola bar. The wrapper crinkles between his fingers as he slowly peels it open. He brings me food, but it’s never enough. Just scraps. Just enough so that I don’t die.
My stomach clenches in hunger. I refuse to let my gaze flicker to the food. But he knows. Of course he fucking knows.
He breaks off a small piece. Lifts it to his mouth. Chews. Swallows. My hands itch to rip the rest out of his hand.
I glare right at him. He’d like me to barter my soul for a piece of fucking granola!
The asshole’s smile widens, as if he can read my mind.
He lifts the bar to his mouth, takes another bite, and leans in.
I suck in a breath as his fingers touch my lips, forcing my mouth open just enough to push the food inside.
I jolt, trying to turn my head, trying to fight it — but it's already too late.
The taste explodes on my tongue. Sweet, perfect, maddening. It mingles perfectly with the brush of his lips over mine, the taste of him.
My body betrays me instantly. I swallow with an involuntary moan before I can stop myself, before I can spit it back in his face. The deep ache of hunger lessens. Just slightly.
He sits back on his heels, waiting. For me to ask for more? For me to lose my ever-loving mind?
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, glaring at him. "You’re disgusting."
His smirk is lazy, victorious.
"And you are delicious, adorable," he murmurs, voice a dark whisper.
He stands slowly, throws the rest of the granola bar in my lap and leaves without looking back. There’s nothing but the taste of my own defeat on my tongue.
I’m almost asleep when I hear it — the clatter of tiny claws on concrete. That’s a fucking new sound. A new, terrifying sound.
My eyes snap open, and I bolt upright, clutching the thin blanket like it might actually protect me. My pulse kicks up, my skin prickling.
The hallway light spills into the cell, just enough to paint shadows on the walls. It’s never off, no matter the time of day or night, and right now I’m grateful for that.
I scan every corner. Nothing. But movement by the cell door catches my eye.
My heart stops, my soul teleporting out of my body.
A RAT!
A huge, filthy rat, bigger than any I’ve ever seen.
It stares at me, still as death, its tiny black eyes gleaming.
There’s foam at its mouth.
FOAM!
“Fuck.”
I scream, my throat tearing from the raw force of it.
The rat scurries forward.
I scramble to my feet, pulling the blanket tighter around me. My scream doesn’t stop — just warps into sobbing hysteria.
The thing keeps coming at me. Claws scraping. Tail dragging. Yellow teeth gleaming like tiny infected knives.
“Ghost!” I shriek, voice cracked and shrill. “Ghost, help!”
The rat scuttles forward another inch.
I back into the far wall and yank the mattress off the floor, swinging it like a shield between us. My arms tremble. My legs feel like jelly.
“GHOST!” I sob.
This can’t be how I die. Not like this. Not rabies. Not eaten alive in a fucking dungeon like some medieval nightmare.
When the rat inches forward again, foam gleaming, I start to hyperventilate.
That's when the cell door bursts open, slamming into the wall. There’s a blur of black and silver, and then steel flashes in the barely-there light.
The giant rat jerks once — twice — body twitching, impaled by a hunting knife.
My breathing is still erratic, like my soul refuses to come back to me. I can’t stop the avalanche of sobs building in my chest.
I drop the mattress and I’m about to collapse to my knees, but Ghost catches me just in time, his arms tightening around me.
“Still afraid of rats, I see,” he says, gently caressing my hair.
“It was rabid,” I cry. “It had foam at its mouth.”
I feel him glance over his shoulder.
“There’s no foam, Adora. You were probably too scared. Saw things that weren’t there.” His voice is gentle. Soft.
I peek behind him, but the moment I see the blood, I go dizzy and jolt back against his chest.
“Maybe,” I stutter. “It was still a huge rat.”
I grip his t-shirt tightly and look up at him, eyes narrowed.
“How big is your rat problem in this fucking dungeon?” I hiss.
He smiles softly, looking down at me.
“I’ll take care of it, adorable. No more rats incoming.” He pulls me closer to his chest before speaking again. “I promise.”
Weirdly, I believe him. There’s an alarm blaring somewhere in the back of my mind, but I’m suddenly too tired to hear it. And he’s warm. And strong. He feels safe. I just want to forget the whole thing.
“I’ll stay with you for a while,” he says, still holding me. “You can sleep. The rat won’t be here when you wake up.”
Ghost
She is mine. Trapped. And I feel like I'm trapped, too, just like that rat.
I'll burn for this, I just fucking know it.
Adora
"Good morning. No more rat problems, I hope?"
He moves toward me like a bored king. Like he does this shit all the time. He might, what do I fucking know? I knew the old him, not this twisted version. He could very well have a dozen other dungeons filled with people who crossed him.
I let out a slow, unamused breath. How much fucking time has it been?
"Go to hell."
"Already been there, adorable," he muses. "Thanks to you."
I ignore him. Ignore the way his presence affects me. Infects me. Slowly crawling into my mind. My soul.
"You slept better. Less tossing. Less shaking. No nightmare."
My chest tightens. Are there cameras in here? I didn't see them! Fuck!
"Still hungry?" he asks.
I lift my head then, dragging my gaze toward him. Laser-focused eyes. Smug smirk. The same fucking Ghost. But also not.
"Why? You planning on feeding me like a bird again?" I say testily.
His gaze flashes with a kind of desire I refuse to acknowledge. It’s so twisted and tempting that a shiver runs right through me.
Slowly, he lifts a lunch box I didn't notice. It’s real food this time, not just scraps. I can see steak and potatoes through the clear lid. My stomach cramps, my mouth waters, my body is already leaning forward before my brain can stop it.
Of course he fucking sees the way I'm crumbling.
I force myself back against the wall, tightening my grip on the blanket like it can save me.
He crouches in front of me, setting the box down on the ground.
"Go ahead," he murmurs.
I stare at him, waiting. There is no way this is free. There is no way he's giving me anything without a cost.
He tilts his head, looking at me, letting my suspicion become a cage.
Then, finally, he speaks.
"Say my name."
I stiffen. My fingers curl, pride claws at my ribs.
It’s just a name — no point clinging to it out of pride. But even as I think it, I know that’s a lie. Lines were already crossed between us, and this will shatter another. He’s playing with fire. But why?
Does it even matter why? I feel myself slipping. And I don't even know if I want to stop this descent anymore.
His lips curve into a knowing smile.
"You think I don't see it?" His voice is a quiet, steady thing. "The way your hands shake? The way your breath stutters every time I walk in the room?"
I clench my jaw, grit my teeth, cursing him silently into oblivion.
"You're mine, Adora," he continues. "And you're going to give me exactly what I want."
I refuse to react. Refuse to let him see the way his words settle into every fiber of my being.
"Never," I murmur.
His smirk widens. "You don’t sound too sure about that."
Before I can even blink, he leans in close. Too fucking close. His breath skims over my cheek, and I freeze, every inch of me locking up like he's reached inside my chest and squeezed.
"You used to scream my name before, remember?" he whispers.
I swallow. Hate that I swallow.
He tilts his head, studying me. Then I feel his fingers curling around my wrist.
Panic flashes through me, just for a second. But he doesn't tighten his grip. He just runs his thumb over my pulse, feeling the rapid, uneven beat beneath my skin.
"Still fighting," he murmurs.
He pulls back, slow, with a calculated look in his eyes. Then, casually, he gets up and turns around, leaving the lunch box with me.
"Enjoy," he says.
Fuck, he owns me.
I wish I could own him, too.
Ghost
The food should have ended up on the floor, smashed to bits under my boots.
But it didn't.
Because she looked at me like that.
I should be enjoying this, preparing for a victory lap. But I'm not. What. The. Fuck.
She won today and she doesn't even know it.
My insides twist. I saw the way she reached for the box before she even realized what she was doing. I saw how much she craved it.
And I fucking wanted to give it to her. Fuck!
I clench my fists at my sides, forcing the thought away. Forcing everything away. She doesn't deserve mercy. She doesn't deserve relief. She deserves to suffer.
She deserves the corrupted version of myself. The monster.
I need to get a grip. This isn't fucking over.
Adora
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck this whole fucking thing! I can feel my mind fraying at the edges. My body is pushing me to give in to whatever sick, twisted game Ghost is playing. Who the fuck am I kidding? He's taking over my entire mind.
I won’t be able to resist him for long. And I know — I just know — the moment I give in, the moment I stop fighting, that's when I'll be done for. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones.
The lock clicks. AGAIN! I hate that stupid fucking sound.
He squats in front of me, those dark eyes skimming over my face, my body, my every-fucking-where.
I keep my breaths even, and pretend like I'm not coming apart at the seams.
"You're quieter today," he murmurs.
I exhale sharply.
His lips curl, amused. "Figured you'd put up more of a fight, especially after eating."
I meet his gaze head-on, my voice dry. Like my fucking mouth. "You sound disappointed."
His smirk widens. "Not even a little bit."
I hate him. Because his voice still does things to me. I still remember it from before, when he whispered my name like a prayer instead of a curse.
His fingers curl around his knee, tapping absently. I narrow my eyes at him, hating how easily he's turned silence into a weapon.
Then, finally, he speaks again. "You don't look so good."
I snort, my voice hoarse. "Wow, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special."
He smiles. "I always had a way with words."
I roll my eyes. "Oh, please. I remember you used to grunt more than you spoke."
"You remember." It’s a whisper, but it lands heavy, like the snap of a bear trap.
My stomach plummets. I fucked up. I let something slip — something he wasn't supposed to know.
His smile widens, slow and cruel. "You try so hard to pretend the past doesn't exist, but you just can't help yourself, can you, adorable?"
I glare. "Fuck off, Ghost."
He leans in, his voice a dark whisper, making my skin break out in goosebumps. "You miss me. The old me. Admit it."
My breath hitches. How can he still read me so well? It’s twisted that some part of me — the sick, broken part — never let him go. The boy I once loved. The boy I once belonged to. The boy I betrayed.
I press my nails into my palms, trying to anchor myself. This is a game. A slow, meticulous destruction. And I won't let him win.
I pretend I’m not unraveling and force a smirk. "You were better when you didn't talk."
He chuckles, shaking his head.
"Liar."
I huff. "Is this why you came? To sit here and gloat about how you think I miss you? Because if so, I hate to break it to you, but your ego doesn't need any more inflation. And you're wrong."
His smile doesn't falter. He lets his gaze crawl beneath my skin, before he speaks again. Low. Tempting.
"Say my name." He traces a finger down my throat in a feathery trail.
I stop breathing but flick his hand away.
He leans in, his voice low, pulling at the strings of my mind like a puppet master.
"Say it, Adora," he breathes.
My throat is burning, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I can't.
I won't.
If I let it slip past my lips, then I'll have to admit that some part of me still remembers. That some part of me never forgot what we shared. The only time in my life I ever felt love. And the monster in front of me will find a way to humiliate me for that.
"Still holding on, Adora?"
I swallow. "Go fuck yourself."
The shadows in his eyes flicker, dancing, morphing into a dangerous dare.
"You keep saying that," he mutters.
Then, suddenly, he reaches forward and runs his thumb over my lower lip. Everything inside me goes still. A lost part of myself wakes in the middle of my chest and reaches for him. I shouldn’t be feeling like this, but his eyes burn into mine, his touch too light, too fucking familiar.
"Say it," he whispers.
Every muscle in my body locks up.
You want to, Adora! — my thoughts cry. And I do. I want to. Not because I'm weak or breaking. But because... Fuck it, because I see a flicker of the old him in his eyes. The one before all of the shit. Before the monster. Before the lies. And I still long for that dead part of him.
I swallow hard.
"Say my name, Adora," he whispers again. "Please."
And that 'please', said in a broken whisper, unravels me.
"Dominic."
This is my downfall.
His fingers tighten against my jaw, making sure I can't look away. For a moment, our gazes lock in understanding.
A slow, cold smile curls at his lips. "Good girl."
He leaves without another word. And I’m stuck — shaking, my body aching, drowning in guilt and shared memories I wish I could forget.