Page 56 of Colton
This monster doesn’t know about concern, no matter what his eyes say.
“You’re tired, fuck, we both are.” He frowns before moving off me, wincing as he inhales.
Oh good, I must have hurt him.
Maybe I bruised a few ribs. Hopefully Ibrokethem. I make a mental note to hit him there the next time, when I escape for good. Because I will, I’m not staying here. I’ve dealt with scarier men than Colton fucking Blackwood; it’s just, never have I dealt with an obsession like his. It’s unnerving the way he looks at me, and I swear I’ve heard him talking to himself, muttering about me being his.
I shudder and grit my teeth when Colton grips my arm, pulling me through the living room and into the bedroom. He marches me over to the bed, my feet stumbling as we go, but he doesn’t slow down. He handcuffs me to the bed, stopping to make sure I’m secure before he kicks off his shoes. He looks back at me, and our eyes meet, my chest rising and falling with fear and adrenaline, praying that he’ll leave me like this and go for a shower or something, but then he seems to rethink my position.
“You need to shower.”
My blood runs cold at his words, my head shaking.
No, no, no.
“It’s not up for debate; you’re covered in shit, and I’m not sleeping beside you in that state.”
I remain still, my heart thumping in my chest. How is he going to shower me? In handcuffs?
Fuck, no.
“I can shower myself.”
Colton’s eyes darken, amusement morphing into something predatory. "Oh, but where’s the fun in that, Luella?”
Panic begins to claw its way up my throat as he approaches. The chill of the metal cuffs bite at my skin, reminding me of my constraints. I look pointedly at the cuffs, but he merely chuckles, shaking his head.
“So how are we going to do this?” He steps back, crossing his arms as though he’s some kind of judge, assessing my resolvewith a critical eye. The room feels stifling, thick with tension and the inevitable dread of what he might do next.
“Well, you could take the fucking handcuffs off, and I could shower myself like a human being instead of a prisoner?” I arch a brow at him before smiling sweetly. “Unless you’re scared, of course.”
“Scared of what?” Colton looks genuinely puzzled.
“Me.” I smile and my lip cracks, fresh blood pooling in my mouth. I savor the taste, reminding me I’m alive.
“Scared of you, Luella?” He laughs softly, a low, mocking sound that churns my stomach. “I think you underestimate just how much I enjoy a good challenge.”
I swallow the bitterness rising in my throat, refusing to let him see the tremor of fear racing through me. “And what exactly does that say about you? That you’re a sadist who gets off on terrorizing women?”
A flicker of something passes through his eyes—is it guilt? But it vanishes quickly, replaced by that same predatory smirk. “Oh, this isn’t about terror. It’s about power. We both know you’re stronger than you let on.” He steps in closer, the warmth of him both enticing and revolting.
“I could snap you in half if I wanted,” I fire back, the bravado spilling out, a desperate attempt to cover the raw vulnerability bubbling beneath.
Colton leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “But you won't, will you? Because despite everything, you crave this tension as much as I do. The thrill of the fight, the desire to win.” He straightens, retreating just enough that I can breathe again, yet his presence looms heavy. “And you know, deep down, that this is not really about winning or losing—it’s about surrender.”
Surrender?
His words claw at my defenses, pricking the fear that wraps around my heart like a snake.
I hate him for it.
“Go ahead, act all tough, but in the end, you’re still my little captive,” he continues, an edge creeping into his tone as he circles me like a vulture, assessing his prey. “It’s a game, Luella. And I always play to win.”
My pulse races as I clench my fists, wishing only to unleash my pent-up rage. “You’re a fucking monster, Colton. You think this is a game? You’re sick.”
He lingers, eyeing me with a strange mix of excitement and something darker. “Sick? Maybe. But I’ve embraced my darkness. Tell me, Luella, have you?”
The question hangs in the air, an invitation to dance with the demons he knows I hide. But the thought sends cold waves of dread through me. Isn’t that what he wants? To drag me down into the abyss with him?
