35
The padlock clicking echoes through the room, sealing my fate once again.
I sit against the cold stone in disbelief.
He really is a cruel asshole. He thinks so highly of himself.
Putting himself on a pedestal like he’s God.
And yet . . . he wages a war with himself.
He tries desperately to hide his vulnerabilities, but he wears them like a badge unknowingly.
“Asshole!” I shout, hoping he's still within ear shot.
I know good and well he isn’t. He was a completely different person when he was in the throes of pleasure.
It's as if he sees me. All my fucked up issues come bubbling to the surface looking for purpose.
The moment his desire faded he turned thunderous.
Looking at me with such disdain, like something he wants to eradicate.
As if I'm the scum of the earth. Maybe I am.
Something about me gets under his skin. I want to exploit it but also delve deeper into why.
He's a hair’s breadth away from spiraling.
I'm angry. More so at myself. I thought I could wrap him around my finger, but the moment he gives direction I melt into a little Clara puddle. I deserve the abuse. I must be more broken than I ever imagined. Letting him get under my skin like a snake coiling along my insides.
Great job, Clara.
I get to my feet, stumbling like a zombie.
Cum, blood, and saliva still coat my lips.
I wipe it on my forearm and formulate another means of escape.
I can't let myself get sucked into his madness.
I scan over the room again. Darkness creeps forward.
The sun settles on the horizon. I squint.
He forgot to latch the door in his rage, leaving the padlock unfastened.
My eyes halt over the cracked stonework Kieran decided to take his rage out on.
My fingers dig into the loosely fitted stone, inspecting it.
Pieces crumble to the floor overtop my bare feet.
My eyes light up. A plan formulates. Escape is imminent.
I use my nails and redouble my efforts to probe at the ruined masonry work.
My nails chip and bust but all I taste is freedom.
The more I tunnel into the wall, I inch that much closer to releasing my confines.
I grip my chain, tugging it hard. It loosens from the wall a fraction but still holds me captive.
I go back to extracting. This time I use my whole weight behind it and pull.
It snaps free, loosening around my wrist, offering much needed reprieve.
I topple backward onto the hard floor. I roll my wrist a few times to regain feeling.
I'm free. Or . . . am I?
My head snaps to the door frantically. He left it unlocked.
Part of me considers that this could be another trick to ensnare me back in his cage.
Kieran is cruel and full of guile. He would offer me the illusion of freedom just to rip it away, all for his own gratification.
He thrives off control, power, and thrills. I'm immured in his unhinged world.
Slow and steady, I put one foot in front of another.
Screw shoes; escape is the only thing rolling through my mind.
The cold numbs my toes. I take off without a second thought.
The sharp wind cuts through my loose clothes.
The hard, wet ground turns my feet an angry shade of red.
My heart pounds against my ribs. My matted blonde hair tickles the nape of my neck.
Gravestones, trees, and floral arrangements line the vicinity; I weave through them, praying I don't trip in the pale moonlight.
I push until my lungs threaten to burst from my chest. I stumble across the hard ground. That is, until I run smack into a hard body. He steps out at the last second behind a tree. It knocks the wind out of me, causing me to topple on my ass.
“You thought I would let you go?” His voice pitches higher with a mix of mania and amusement.
His head tilts to the side. He was waiting for me. He knows exactly what I would do the first chance I got.
He taps two fingers against his temple. “You did think I'd let you go!” He guffaws, circling me like a predator. “I thought we knew each other better than that, Nightshade.”
He tilts his head back and stifles a titter.
I swallow. My saliva is thick like honey. “Just kill me and get it over with,” I snap, flinching.
Maybe he wants to fuck me then kill me.
Death by dick, maybe? Fitting for someone like me. He pauses behind me. I feel his presence. His shadow obscures the setting sun. The hairs on my neck stand up and it isn't from the cold. My blood chills in my veins.
“You want to die?” he asks nonchalantly. Do I? Not exactly. Some days are easier than others. I've fought for every little thing I own. I've come too far to give up completely, especially to somebody like Kieran Grimshaw.
When I don't answer immediately, he steps in front of me. His hand comes out to grip my chin. He looks down on me as if I'm a tragedy. “I said, do you want to die, Nightshade?” he hisses through his teeth. His face has gone stiff. I shake my head the best I can with his iron grip on my maw.
“Nah? You don't,” he says matter of fact, answering for me because for some reason my words refuse to leave my throat.
“Wanna know what I think?” He raises a single brow.
His hand drops from my chin, but the prickling sensation lingers.
He crouches down to my level. “I think you enjoy suffering. You are too easy to read, sweetheart.”
His voice drips with a sardonic condescending snap.
My face scrunches in displeasure. Fuck him. Fuck him for thinking he can probe into my mind, as if he knows me. And fuck his audacity to think he can rule my feelings and thoughts. I already know we're on a collision course for destruction together.
“Eat. Shit,” I spew, spitting in his face.
He throws his head back and laughs, wiping my saliva from his cheek, seemingly unfazed.
“I’m still deciding if I enjoy your smart mouth or prefer you comatose. Listen, sweetheart, I'm doing you a favor. Mortensen is a cruel, power hungry bag of dicks. You think you're trapped with me? This is nothing compared to the unholy shit they'd do to you back in the Void.”
I scoff, getting to my feet. “Oh, I guess I should be thanking you?” A cold bluster of wind blows through my thick hair. He inches back letting me stand, probably knowing I'm not getting far with no shoes. I block out the cold, but a shiver radiates through my body.
“I knew what I signed up for. You have no idea what it is like to fight for every scrap you own. This scholarship is everything to me. I. Need. This,” I emphasize through my teeth.
“And for your information, Mortensen can be cruel I'm certain, but he isn't the one piercing my body, rubbing blood on his cock or raping me while I’m drugged!” I snap, shouting over the howling wind.
He recoils, rising to his full height. He's remanded me to imprisonment.
If that is his idea of saving me, he's lost his shit.
I already knew that, though. His face turns stony and disillusioned.
His trauma is just beyond the surface. If I can just chip away at his layers .
. . maybe I can weasel my way out of this.
“You’re a fucked up mess. Just admit it, Kieran,” I taunt.
Goosebumps dance along my chilled skin. I'm unable to block out the cold any longer.
My teeth chatter. My feet are now officially turning a shade of blue.
Kieran's glassy eyed stare seers into me, then without warning he hauls me over his shoulder.
I don't even bother to protest anymore. All the fight has been zapped from my body, spending the last few days shivering.
Being exposed to the elements has taken its toll.
He walks over to his Bugatti. He slams me against the hood, stealing the breath from my lungs. The cold metal shocks my system. I arch forward, but his palm forces me back down. His eyes are a frenzied inferno.
“Do you want to know exactly how they'd fuck you?” he snarls. He unzips his jacket, throwing it on the half-frozen gravel. His thick biceps leave little to the imagination. God, am I getting turned on from this?
“I'll show you exactly the shit you're craving, sweetheart. Then you can decide who's the bigger monster.”
He grabs the fabric of my sweatshirt, jerking me forward and rips it down the middle with ease.
Then both of his hands move toward my skirt.
My ass scoots off the hood as he rakes a handful of fabric and rips them from my body, too.
They end up in a discarded heap somewhere.
He hurriedly unzips his jeans. His stance widens and he fists his already leaking erect cock in his palm, stroking it.
His eyes darken as he rakes over my nude form.
The asshole has left me no undergarments since I've been imprisoned in his gilded cage.
My mouth gapes open as he propels forward and forces himself on me.
An adrenaline rush flows through my veins.
I use my long nails to score the long, hard ridges of his abs through his shirt.
He hisses, but not in pain. The masochist clearly enjoys suffering just as much as he relishes in inflicting it.
“Open those legs, Nightshade. Let me show you how deep their tenebrosity runs.”