They could feel it.
The energy radiating off me like heat off asphalt in summer. The barely controlled violence thrumming through my veins, the predatory darkness that had been churning in my gut since I walked out of church three hours ago.
Since I jacked off thinking about her terror.
My cock stirred at the memory, thickening against my jeans. Not fully hard yet, but getting there. Just from anticipation. Just from knowing she was upstairs, locked in that room, waiting.
Knowing she’d be brought down here soon.
I dragged in a breath, forcing myself to slow my pacing. My boots scraped against the concrete floor with each deliberate step. To control it. To keep the lid on the cold bastard inside me that was clawing to get out, screaming for blood, for violence, for the sweet release of chaos.
Not yet.
Not until the right moment. Not until I could make it count.
I clenched my fists, feeling my nails bite into my palms. The pain helped. It always did. A sharp little reminder that I was still in control, still holding the leash on the monster.
“He’s wound tight,” Cerberus muttered from somewhere behind me, his voice low and careful. Like he was afraid I might snap if he spoke too loudly.
Smart man.
“No shit,” Garrote replied, his tone flat and unbothered as always. Nothing ever seemed to rattle him. “He’s been like this for hours. Surprised he hasn’t put a hole in the wall yet.”
I ignored them, my jaw clenching so hard my teeth ached. My mind was already replaying it. Her face darkening, her pulse failing under my palm, the wet choke of her breath as she fought for air.
The way her body had responded.
The wet spot on her jeans.
My cock throbbed, and I had to stop pacing, had to press my palm against the concrete wall and breathe through the surge of arousal that hit me like a freight train.
Fuck.
I wanted her down here. Wanted to see her face when she realized what this room was for. Wanted to watch the terror bloom in her eyes, wanted to hear her beg, wanted to feel her pulse hammer against my hand again.
Wanted to see if she would come again when I choked her.
“Gonna be ugly,” Cerberus said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were trying not to spook a wild animal.
Morpheus didn’t respond, but I felt his gaze on me. Heavy. Assessing. Calculating. He was watching me the way a bomb squad watches a ticking device. Careful, wary, ready to react if things went sideways.
I straightened, rolling my shoulders, forcing my breathing to even out. The tension coiled in my muscles like compressed springs. My cock was half-hard now, the ache insistent, demanding, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. But I couldcontrol it. I had to control it. I could keep the darkness leashed, keep the monster caged behind my ribs.
For now.
The sound of a door opening echoed from the top of the stairs, cutting through the thick silence like a knife.
Every head in the room turned in unison, like we were all puppets on the same string.
Footsteps. Heavy boots. Carver’s—unmistakable in their steady, measured cadence. And lighter ones. Hesitant. Stumbling. Uncertain. The contrast between them was stark. Like predator and prey moving in tandem.
Her.
My entire body went rigid, every muscle locking into place like stone. My pulse kicked up, thundering in my ears, drowning out everything else. My breathing went shallow, controlled, each inhale deliberate and measured. The predatory focus that had been simmering all morning, bubbling just beneath the surface, sharpened into something razor-edged, lethal, all-consuming.
She was coming.
The footsteps grew louder. Closer.
