Page 82 of Property of Fox

“Hold on! I’m coming!” I shout, rushing toward the source of the sound, dodging crates and debris as I navigate the forgotten remnants of this place. My shoes clatter against metal scraps strewn across the floor—each sound amplifying my anxiety.

Finally, I reach a partially ajar door marked with peeling paint and graffiti. “Fox!” I call out again as I push it open with a shaky hand, stepping into a dimly lit room. My breath catches in my throat. He’s tied to a chair like an animal ready for slaughter. His shirt is torn and streaked with dirt and blood.

“Brea,” he groans, lifting his heavy head with a flicker of recognition. I rush forward, ignoring the way my pulse races with every step.

“Hang on, I’ll get you out of here!” I say, but my heart sinks as I see just how tightly the ropes bind his wrists. They look like they could cut into his skin if I’m not careful.

“Don’t—” he starts but then winces, clearly pained. “Leave me.”

“What are you talking about?” I hiss as I reach for the rope binding his wrists. “I’m not leaving you here.”

Suddenly, the door slams open behind me, making me jump. It’s Tank—with that smug grin plastered across his face. My throat tightens. Fear clawing its way back up to choke me.

“Such a loyal little thing,” he croons with mockery in his voice as he strides into the room like he owns it. “Hello, Brea. Welcome to your new home.”

Tank lunges toward me, moving faster than thought allowed, and suddenly there’s pressure at my neck where something sharp jabs deep into tender flesh.

The world tilts unnaturally fast before it slips away entirely. Darkness floods over every vibrant color until all vivid shades extinguish themselves beneath smothering blackness and a silence so profound envelops me that nothing seems real anymore.

FOX

Darkness envelops me,a suffocating shroud as I struggle to claw my way back to consciousness. My body aches as if it's been through a brutal ordeal, the metallic tang of blood lingering in my mouth mixing with the stale air that chokes me. The coarse ropes binding my wrists to the frigid metal folding chair bite into my skin, sending waves of pain through me.

Brea. The thought of her being here sent a pang of fear through me. I knew I had to wake up and find her.

As I slowly blink back into reality, disjointed fragments assault my senses—jarring noises and flashes of agony. And then, there she is. Chained to a rusty table at her wrists and ankles, she appears lifeless. I watch, praying that her lungs draw in air.

Please don’t be dead.

"Brea!" My voice erupts hoarse and frantic, echoing off the grim surroundings. Fear grips me, fueling a desperate need to break free. I have to get to her. Every futile struggle against the unyielding bonds intensifies the dread creeping over me.

Despite my violent attempts to escape, I am met only with cruel resistance that mocks my efforts. It becomes clear that breaking free is not just for her salvation but mine as well. The thunderous pounding of my heart drowns out all other sounds, reverberating off grimy walls while ominous creaks resonate above us.

“Brea!” I shout again, my voice cracking under the strain of panic. It pierces the thick, suffocating atmosphere, but she doesn’t respond. My breath quickens, desperation clawing at my throat as I shift my body against the chair, the ropes biting deeper into my skin with each movement. I force myself forward with the chair. The legs scraping across the concrete floor, squealing with each shift.

“She isn’t going to hear you,” a voice declares from the darkness. The man who I now know is Tank, her stepdad, slips from the cover of darkness. The man who had brutally beaten me when I came to Bloomington to seek him out. Not expecting to walk into a fucking trap with his entire club at his back. I watched the clubhouse for a few hours until I was sure it was safe. A quick and easy in and out. Turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d walked into a trap and woken up here in this warehouse god knows how long after.

“What did you do to her?”

“She’s a little drugged, but she’s fine,” he shrugs. “Well, fine for now. I have big plans for her.”

Tank stalks toward her, allowing his hand to fall onto her hair, fingers tangling through her curls as if he owns her. My stomach twists in a primal fury, the sight inflaming something within me hotter than the pain. His hand slips lower, wrapping around her delicate throat before he squeezes. “Did she suck your cock? I’ve always wondered how it would feel to have her lips wrapped around me. Maybe I should test that out. She’s my property after all, even if she’s been sullied by you. Nothing a little bleach and hot water can’t fix, though.”

The very thought of him laying a hand on her sends a surge of violent energy coursing through me.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” I roar.

“What are you going to do about it? You going to stop me? I’d love to see you try.”

“It’s just us,” I force out. “Even playing field.”

“Unless you can break iron chains, which, judging by how much you’re struggling right now, you can’t, seems like the advantage is to me.” He releases his grasp only to shove two of his thick, bloody fingers into her mouth. “I can do whatever I want to her, and you can’t stop me.”

Brea's eyes snap open as she gags on his fingers. The panic in her gaze meets mine, and I see the moment she realizes where she is and who looms over her. My chest constricts, aching with the urgency to shield her from this monster.

“No,” she breathes, the word barely escaping her lips as Tank pauses, disbelief tinged with amusement in his eyes.

“Look who decided to join us,” he chuckles darkly, stepping back just enough so she can see me, still bound to that damned chair.

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