Chapter Two #2
I bow my head instinctively, overwhelmed by the sheer intimidation rolling off him in waves.
He has a thin scar running over his right brow, and his dark hair is slicked back, though a couple of loose strands have fallen across his forehead.
He steps closer until I can smell the faint scent of gun oil and expensive cologne.
He lifts his gun and presses the cold muzzle under my chin. I stop breathing entirely, every muscle locked in terror.
The gun tilts my chin upward until I’m forced to meet his eyes. His head tilts the tiniest fraction, studying me with an unreadable, ice-cold intensity. For one endless second the world narrows to just his face… those sharp features, the scar, the dark hair, the complete lack of mercy.
Then he speaks, voice low and calm, carrying absolute authority. “Take him.”
The man behind me immediately lowers his gun from my ribs and starts dragging me toward the front door. I don’t resist; my legs move because they have to. Outside, a row of black SUVs sits idling along the curb, engines purring softly in the night.
The man stops at the nearest one, yanks open the back door, and says flatly, “In.”
I do exactly as I’m told, sliding onto the cool leather seat without a word, my hands shaking uncontrollably in my lap as the door slams shut behind me.
I jolt awake so violently that my entire body jerks upright in the narrow bed, the thick covers tangling around my legs.
Soren’s voice booms through the quiet morning air like thunder… deep, commanding, and unmistakably furious as he shouts my full name from somewhere inside the house. “Christopher!”
My eyes fly wide open, heart instantly slamming against my ribs so hard it feels like it might crack them.
After the dream I just had… the blood, the gun under my chin, Soren’s cold face staring down at me…
the last person on earth I want to see right now is him.
Panic surges through me, hot and choking. I don’t even think, I just move.
My hands scramble for the thin robe I keep draped over the end of the bed.
I yank it on and fumble with the tie, knotting it tightly around my waist with shaking fingers.
The fabric is barely enough to cover my pyjamas, but I don’t care.
I rush to the small window beside my desk, push it open as quietly as I can, and throw myself out of it.
I land hard on the gravel outside, the sharp stones biting into my bare feet and knees through the thin material.
A tiny hiss of pain escapes me, but I bite it back.
With trembling hands, I reach up and slowly pull the window shut behind me, wincing at every faint scrape of wood on wood.
Then I’m moving again… scurrying low and fast around the side of the bricked building, heart pounding in my ears, until I reach the tucked-away little nook where the large bins are kept.
I squeeze myself behind the biggest one, pressing my back against the cold brick wall and drawing my knees up to my chest. Fuck.
Soren will know I was in my room. I didn’t make the bed.
I didn’t turn the night-light off. The evidence is right there for anyone to see.
My breathing comes in short, panicked bursts as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately to steady myself, to push down the wave of terror that wants to swallow me whole.
◆◆◆
It’s full daylight now, though the sky is heavy with those soft, fluffy clouds drifting lazily overhead…
no bright sun, just a muted, greyish light that makes everything feel colder.
I have no idea what time it is, but it must be morning.
Either Soren went back to his room and found the bed empty, or it’s breakfast time and I didn’t show up.
I hate breakfast, not the food itself, which is always delicious, but the whole ritual of it.
He makes me sit right next to him every single time, and I hate it more than anything.
I feel like I’m being dissected under the eyes of every person at that long table.
To them I’m nothing but their boss’s little toy, a fragile, breakable thing that belongs to Soren and no one else.
I’m much smaller than almost all of them, only five foot six on a good day, while Soren towers over everyone, well over six foot of solid muscle and ink and cold authority.
Next to him, and next to his men, I feel like a child.
They’re all broad shoulders and cocky confidence, even the women somehow make me feel smaller and more insignificant.
One of them, Selina, is actually nice. She’s tried to make conversation with me a couple of times…
simple questions about how I’m doing or what I’ve been reading…
but Soren always clears his throat or gives her a single, sharp look that clearly says, “shut up.” Last time it happened she just offered me a small, sympathetic smile before turning away.
No one’s allowed to get near me. No one’s allowed to talk to me.
The only real exception is Lorraine, the housekeeper, and I’m endlessly grateful that Soren lets me have her.
She’s the only person here who makes me feel even slightly human.
Honestly, I don’t even know why Soren keeps me around at all.
He could have anyone he wanted… beautiful, confident people who would probably give him far more pleasure, who wouldn’t flinch or go silent or freeze up the way I do.
I’m just… me…. nerdy, quiet, scared Christopher; who still has nightmares about the night he took me.
Yet he keeps pulling me back into his bed, keeps marking me, keeps watching me with that intense stare.
I hug my knees tighter behind the bin, the gravel digging into my feet, and try to slow my breathing. The morning air is cool against my flushed skin, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant rain. I just need a moment. Just a few more seconds to pull myself together before he finds me.