Page 19 of Psycho Boys

I turn them slightly, feeling the sharp edge of metal press against my inner wrist. As always, I ignore her warning. I push the cold metal deeper, dragging it slowly along an old scar, watching as blood begins to flow almost immediately. A sharp sting races up my right arm, sending tingles through me, yet I refuse to let the pain deter me. I cut again.

"You've been doing so well, Cali. Why would you start this again now?" Her gaze burns into me as she pulls her knees close, sitting beside me on the worn mattress.

A flickering bulb casts a dim light in our tiny prison, the smallest of gestures to set me off. "Do you see where the fuck I am?!" I snap, letting the blood trickle down onto the already stained fabric. "I'm fucking chained up... AGAIN!" I scream, not caring who might hear my desperation. "At this point, I wouldn'tmind if I cut too deep and ended it all. I feel like fucking giving up, Addy." My voice falters as tears prickle my eyes. "I feel so lost... so empty."

My sniffles bounce off the walls, the only sound accompanying the rapid thump of my heart. Addy looks at me with pity—a look that infuriates me, yet I'm too defeated to respond. Silence stretches between us, and painful memories of my time in my parents' attic invade my mind, pulling me back into the depths of hell I vowed never to revisit.

But here I am, shackled in a stranger’s basement, a pawn in a game I don’t understand. I know they want what I possess—everything I know—but no matter what they do, I refuse to surrender. I will die with my secrets—both mine and theirs—before I barter with the very monsters I swore to dismantle one by one.

I know Addy wants me to fight. I know Dominic, Ash, and Killian want me to push back. But how can I muster the strength to contend when I feel so fucking powerless? When there seems to be no light at the end of my tunnel—not one I would choose for myself anyway.

A different kind of pain sweeps through me, and I clutch the jagged piece of metal tightly, pressing it into my skin repeatedly, yearning to escape the emotional void that gnaws at me. But there’s something different this time. A flicker of resilience refuses to be extinguished, no matter how much I might wish to surrender. Deep within me, there's a remnant of the warrior I once was—the one who wouldn’t let anyone dictate her fate. Even in my darkest moments—despite wanting to give in—I can’t bring myself to end it.

"We’ll escape this place, Cali, just like we did your parent's," Addy insists with a fierce grin, reminding me of the strong, tenacious woman I've aspired to become since leaving my parents' house.

I release the metal, disregarding the blood that seeps from my wounds. Although a part of the tension has eased, I know that self-harm won’t lead to salvation. All it will do is mar my body further. Each scar tells a story of survival that I wear with pride, yet the ones I inflict upon myself are haunting reminders of events I never want to relive.

"You're right, Addy. I will escape, and when I do, those motherfuckers better run and hide. Because when I find them—and I will—I won’t show them an ounce of mercy for the hell they've put me through. I’ll ensure that my name and my face are the last things they see." A grin spreads across my face as I envision my revenge, the scent of impending flames filling my senses.

The unmistakable sound of a door unlocking jolts me from my reverie, and my eyes dart nervously to the entrance. I sit upright, pressing my back against the peeling, nicotine-stained wallpaper. Three men enter—this time, none masked. My expression remains unchanged as I recognize my captors: Rhodes and Mitchell loiter near the door while Gunnar saunters toward the end of the bed, hands casually tucked in his pockets, a smirk plastered across his face.

"Well, well, well, Little Psycho. Looks like we meet again," he taunts, raising a brow as his eyes rake over me, sending a cold shiver down my spine that I refuse to reveal.

"Fuck you, Gunnar," I retort defiantly, returning his smirk as I flip him the bird, blood trickling down my forearm.

"Clear the fucking room," he instructs the others without a glance, and they obey without question, leaving only Gunnar and me behind, while Addy disappears to wherever the fuck she goes when the world gets too tough.

"I thought I'd never get you alone," he says as he joins me on the bed, roughly grabbing my ankles and tugging me down onto my back.

He climbs on top of me, pinning his muscular body against mine, using his weight to keep me from trying to slip out from underneath him. The chains work in his favor, not mine, and he takes advantage of them bound tightly to my wrists, pushing his jeans down past his knees. I squirm, the only thing I can do, trying like hell to fight him off, but he overpowers me, tearing my pants down and slipping between my legs as if he's the missing piece to a puzzle he's been trying to finish.

"There's no sense in fighting it, Little Psycho; all you'll do is waist your strength." He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a toned body most women would kill to have—not me.

"Do it and you're going to fucking wish you hadn't," I warn, knowing my threat isn't enough to scare him off, but I still try, refusing to lie here helplessly.

"Says the one who's chained up, unable to go anywhere," he laughs, grabbing his cock and pushing it against my pussy, a lump forming in my throat that makes it hard for me to breathe.

"Gunnar, please don't do this," I beg, hearing the desperation in my tone as I fight to keep my tears at bay.

All he does is laugh again as he forces himself inside me, taking what he's always wanted ever since I was thirteen. I'm screaming inside, but the sound is swallowed by the dark corners of the basement. My body goes rigid, consumed by a thousand flashes of anger, fear, and sheer helplessness. Memories of fighting back—of defiance—play through my mind like a frantic slideshow—a failed rebellion against the life I never chose.

I refuse to give him the satisfaction of my fear, despite the turmoil raging beneath the surface. My skin crawls as he thrusts deeper, the chains cutting into my wrists, each jagged edge a reminder of my confinement. I’m lost in the chaos of my mind, battling between the physical pain and mental anguish.

I head-butt him suddenly, catching him off-guard. The crack against his forehead makes him gasp, only for a moment, but it’s enough for me to wriggle free of his grasp, rolling to the side of the mattress. My heart pounds as I scramble to put distance between us, struggling against the metal pins holding me down.

“Fucking bitch!” he snarls, frustration coloring his voice.

He lunges at me, but I dodge just in time, seizing the opportunity to kick him hard in the chest. His surprised sneer morphs into a look of rage, and I can already sense what’s coming next. I fight not to let despair creep in, to hold onto that flicker of resilience I felt before he came in.

“You’re making a mistake, Gunnar,” I hiss, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks.

The fight in me boils over, and with every ounce of strength I can muster, I shove both of my legs against him, propelling myself back against the wall.

The room is small and dark, and shadows dance ominously around us. I can hear the echo of my own breathing, heavy and ragged. He’s seething, his hands balled into fists as he rises to his feet.

“You’re going to fucking pay for that, you know,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

“Try me,” I reply, venom drenching my words despite the tremors coursing through my body.

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