“I understand.”
He steps back. “Good. Tonight, your initiation begins. You will follow what we say, when we say it. And you won’t test boundaries again.”
He gives a small nod toward Knox.
“Knox will take you to your room. We’ll call for you when we’re ready.”
Knox steps forward and grabs my arm. His grip is tight and unyielding, a silent reminder that I have no control here. Asher opens the door. Sophie follows behind me calm and composed, as if this is just another routine part of the night.
Elliot watches me leave with the same casual smile on his face, completely at ease, like he is commenting on the weather instead of delivering a threat.
The study doors click shut, and Knox steps in close behind me, his mouth near my ear.
“You better follow every rule in this house,” he murmurs. “Or you end up just like the last girl.”
Asher lets out a low chuckle.
Knox shoves me through the open door and slams it shut behind me without a second thought.
I lean back against the wall, too exhausted to move, too on edge to sit down. Every part of me feels stripped bare.
I can’t stop thinking about the girl who ran. I can still see her face before the shot went off. I can still hear the sound of her body hitting the ground.
And then there's that room.
The severed limbs. The head on the bed. The blood that painted everything like it was done with intention. It isn’t random. It is staged. It is meant to shock, to unnerve, to leave fear inside me.
Now I understand exactly what kind of people I am dealing with. They aren’t just dangerous. They are methodical, cruel, and sadistic. They don’t want me scared, they want me broken.
Whatever this initiation involves, I know it will not end with them earning my loyalty. It will end with them trying to destroy every part of me. And I have no idea how much of myself they plan to take.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed with my palms pressed into the mattress, forcing myself to stay upright.
The exhaustion runs deeper than muscle or bone. My limbs feel heavy, my thoughts slow and thick, like I'm moving through water.
My hand slides to my stomach before I can stop it. I still don’t know how far along I am. I don’t know if it has been days or weeks. All I know is that fear has been living in my body nonstop, and the stress feels relentless. I can’t stop thinking about whether all of this is already hurting the baby.
I keep trembling. The movement is small but constant, a quiet shaking in my hands and legs that I can’t control.
Seth’s voice cuts through my head. He always said to find something, anything to use to fight.
I push myself to my feet and search the room. The space is intentionally stripped of options. There are no loose objects. There are no cords. There is no exposed metal. The lamp on the dresser is the only thing with enough weight to matter. I grab it and pull hard.
It doesn’t move.
I yank again, panic flaring when I feel the resistance. The base stays fixed in place.
It is bolted down.
I move into the bathroom. The toilet lid is secured tightly to the base. I try anyway, fingers straining until my knuckles ache. It doesn’t shift.
My eyes lift to the mirror.
My heart begins to race. I grab a towel and wrap it around my hand, folding it tight. I raise my fist, jaw clenched, bracing myself for the impact and the pain that will follow.
Then the bedroom door opens.
I freeze.
