Page 23 of Whispers of Ruin

The second the words leave my mouth, I know I have pushed him too far. He growls, a deep, animalistic sound, before grabbing me in one swift, brutal motion.

“Baby, I’m your worst nightmare—and your best addiction.”

In an instant, I am thrown over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

“Put me down!” I scream, pounding my fists against his back. He does not even flinch. “You piece of shit! Let me go!”

No one comes. No one stops him. I keep thrashing, but it is useless. He carries me effortlessly through the door, stepping into an unfamiliar place. The air changes, sterile and cold. My stomach twists. The walls are a pristine, lifeless white, illuminated by dim, soulless lights. Everything is precise, calculated. It is the kind of place that does not belong to a man.

It belongs to a monster.

It is the kind of home you find in a psychological thriller. The kind of setting that makes you realize you might not walk outalive. The IKEA ‘I Have Severe Mental Issues’ collection. And I am trapped in it.

Xan leads me through a narrow hallway, past a door with a busted lock, into a room with a single bed, a chair, and the bare necessities for a bathroom in the corner.

“Shower,” he orders, releasing me right on the floor.

I stay still. He rubs a hand down his mask, his patience fraying.

“Mira, get in that damn shower, or I swear I will throw you in myself. And trust me, I have no problem knocking you out to make it happen.”

“Would that make you feel better?” My voice shakes. “Stripping me down again and washing your mess off of me?”

His expression darkens. “Mymess?”

“Yes!Yours! I never asked forthis—I certainly never asked foryou!”

A silent strain settles in his posture, but he remains unmoved. I laugh at the edge of hysteria.

“You act like you saved me, but you just made meyoursinstead ofhis. This was your plan all along, was is not, you fucking psychopath?”

His hand wraps around my throat, slamming me against the wall with a force that steals the breath from my lungs. My vision flickers, my pulse hammering beneath his grip. He leans in, his lips behind his mask grazing my ear as his voice drops to a dark, taunting whisper.

“If you think you are struggling to breathe now, just wait until my cock is buried so deep in your throat you forget what air even tastes like.”

I swallow, my mouth constricting as my vision blurs, my eyes filling with unshed tears. His hands on my neck are without mercy, fingers pressing harshly to remind me who is in control. His voice is low, a slow-burning threat wrapped in velvet.

“I’m going to let you go,” he murmurs as I feel the heat of his breath ghost over my skin. “And you have until the count of three to strip and get in that fucking shower. If you hesitate, I will make you. Understand?”

My stomach clenches. I nod, barely able to breathe.

“One.”

My hands fumble as I turn away from him, my pulse hammering in my ears. I grasp the fabric of my dress, peeling it away with trembling fingers, the weight of his stare burning into my back.

“Two.”

Humiliation inhabits me like a vice, still I force myself to keep moving. The dress slides down my body, pooling at my feet, exposing bare skin to the cool air. My lungs seize mid-inhale as I lift a leg to step into the shower, but suddenly—I freeze.

Am I really doing this? Stripping at the command of a man who has total control over me. Have I really fallen this far? Letting him dictate my every move, disintegrating every ounce of self-respect I once had?

“Tic, tac. Three.”

Before I can react, a fist tangles in my hair, yanking me backward with a cruel pull. A choked gasp rips from my throat as I stumble, collapsing onto my knees. The marble floor is cold against my skin, my muscles locked in place, every ounce of defiance drained from my limbs. His hand cinches more roughly, twisting the strands of my hair between his fingers. A leash—an unbreakable one.

“You think you have choices, little fox?” he breathes, tone dripping with amusement. “Well, you don’t. Not with me.”

Heat floods my veins—anger, fear, darkness crawling inside me. Hating him would be easier. Cleaner. However, the way he restrains me completely, the way he dominates every inch of space between us, makes it impossible to ignore the way my body betrays me.

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