24. Jasmine
twenty-four
Jasmine
It was past midnight. The bunker’s circadian rhythm was all fucked, but I could feel the difference in the air.
The blue-white overhead vibrated at a slightly higher pitch, and the HVAC had dropped to minimum, a frugal little hiss that only the truly awake could track.
Every other cell was quiet except for Molly, who snored like she was getting revenge on all her exes at once.
I stood at the bars, not touching them, just letting the chill from the steel bracket my face.
The door at the end of the row opened with a hush, not a clatter.
Adam didn’t need noise to make an entrance.
He came in clean, nothing in his hands, no tray, no paper, not even the phone he liked to use as a prop.
His shirt was crisp, black, the kind that didn’t hold sweat, and his shoes looked like they’d never touched dirt.
His eyes found me in an instant. Not a blink, not a hesitation.
He walked the hall with a gait that said he’d already measured it in exact centimeters and could draw it from memory if you gave him a crayon and five seconds.
I was up, bare feet planted, arms loose at my sides. No one had to tell me this was for me. The other women rolled over and pretended to sleep.
Adam stopped two feet from my door. He didn’t smile, didn’t bother with the “good evening, Jasmine” routine. He just stood there, hands folded in front of him, and watched me. I matched his stare, feeling the heat in my face and the way my jaw had gone tight without permission.
He spoke first. “How long have you been awake?”
I let the silence hang. “Since I saw your sister’s porn.”
He tilted his head a fraction, like I’d confirmed a theory. “That bothered you?”
“Nothing in here bothers me,” I said. “But I’d rather you just say what you came to say.”
He considered, then nodded. “All right. I want to make you an offer.” The words were delivered with the same cadence he’d use to announce soup of the day. “You want Sniper alive. I want you. You belong to me, and I’ll make sure Emma never puts a bullet in him again.”
The deal was so clean it almost stung. No build-up. No pretense. Just a man trading hostages with the world’s shittiest negotiator.
“Why not just kill him?” I asked, voice flat.
Adam shrugged, a movement so spare it barely shifted his shoulders. “No one wins if you break. You know that. I know that. Jasmine—” he let my name ride the silence for a second, as if testing it for cracks, “—I can keep this going for years, or we can make it simple.”
“By making me your house pet,” I said.
He almost smiled. “By making you free. You just don’t see the shape of it yet.”
I pressed my knuckles to the concrete, felt the cold all the way to my elbow. “What does belonging to you mean?”
He ran a thumb along the edge of the door, not fidgeting, just testing the texture. “It means you do what I say, when I say it. It means we drop the rest of the games.” His gaze found my hands. “It means you get to choose how it happens, instead of letting Emma decide.”
I said nothing. I let my breath go in a long, slow exhale, hoping it would take the edge off the throb in my skull.
Adam leaned in, just enough that his words didn’t have to travel. “You think she’s the monster, but Emma just takes orders. She doesn’t care about outcomes. I care.”
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood, then let the words spill anyway. “You’re scared of her.”
He didn’t flinch. “I respect her.”
“You’re scared,” I said, this time softer. “You build all this, you do the routines, the programs, the mind games—but when she’s in the room, you shut the fuck up.”
His nostrils flared, barely, but I saw it. The first real tell he’d ever given me.
I took a step forward, toes curled over the seam between cell and corridor. “You want to know the worst part?” I asked.
He waited.
“You’re not even top dog in your own kennel.”
He blinked, then—nothing. His face smoothed out again, calm as an empty plate.
I pressed the advantage. “What’s she like?” I said. “What does she do to you, Adam, when the lights go off and you’re not running your little experiments?”
He looked away, first time ever. His gaze dropped to the concrete, then slid back up. “Why do you want to know?”
“Curiosity. Or maybe I like to keep my enemies close.” I bared my teeth, not a smile, just the warning.
He shook his head, as if clearing a static buzz. “She’s brilliant. She’s dangerous. She’s the only person who understands what it is to be…” He trailed off.
“To be owned,” I finished. “That’s what you want. You want someone to grab you by the neck and make you honest.”
He laughed, one hard pulse of air. “You’re projecting.”
“Am I?” I asked. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Like you’re scared she’ll vanish, and you’ll have to run the whole show yourself.” I took another step closer, voice dropping to a whisper that carried. “You want to see what I look like when I break?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said, pressing my forehead to the mesh. “You want me? You can have me. I’ll make you forget every other woman you ever put in a box. I’ll make you crawl out of your own skin.”
I looked at his hands, then at the waistband of his jeans. There was a pulse there, the outline of want. He caught me noticing, and the line of his jaw tightened.
I dropped to my knees. The concrete bit through my skin, but I liked the pain. It gave me focus. I stared at his crotch through the bars, eyes narrow and cold. “Take it out,” I said. “Let me see what’s so special about you.”
Adam’s breath caught, just for a second. His hands went to the fly, but he didn’t move. He stood there, shoulders squared, the line of his cock so clear I could draw it in memory blindfolded. The steel of the bars was the only thing separating us.
“I could make you come so hard you’d forget your own name,” I said. “All you have to do is promise Sniper gets to live. Not a scratch. Not a threat. Not a word to Emma.”
He went quiet. The whole bunker seemed to slow down, the air going thick with whatever he was thinking.
Finally, he stepped back, one pace. His eyes were black and bottomless. “Wait here,” he said, voice level.
I stayed kneeling. I watched the line of his cock as he turned and walked out, the fabric pulled tight, the want obvious and real and unhidden.
When the door clicked shut at the end of the hall, I pressed my forehead to the bars, let the cold burn a mark on my skin, and counted the seconds.
He’d be back.