Pain detonates through me so violently it tears a scream straight from my throat, hot tears burning into my eyes before I can stop them. He keeps his eyes locked on mine the entire time, watching every second of it, and when he finally lets go, a satisfied grin curves across his face. He draws his hand back slowly, studying the blood smeared across his skin like he’s admiring something valuable, then he lifts it to his mouth, drags his tongue across the crimson staining his palm, and exhales a dark, pleased sound.
“Fuck, kitten,” he rasps, eyes locked on mine. “Your blood tastes way better than your pussy did back in the forest.”
His words sink into me far deeper than the pain in my leg, and this time what rises isn’t anger, but something colder, somethingthat spreads so quickly it drains every trace of warmth from my body. For a moment, I stop functioning entirely, my mind scrambling against the truth as it forces itself into place.
The message telling me where to meet him.
The deserted road.
The forest swallowing every sound.
The motorcycles appearing out of nowhere.
The masked men closing in.
The hands on me.
The voice in the dark that felt familiar even then.
A violent wave of nausea twists through my stomach. My pulse starts hammering so hard it hurts, every beat feeding the terror building inside me until I can barely feel where the room ends and panic begins.
I shake my head instinctively, over and over, as if denial alone can undo what I’m starting to understand. My breathing turns ragged, each inhale sharp and useless, my chest tightening until it feels impossible to draw enough air.
Cain says nothing, and he doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes is calm, certain, almost patient, and that silence terrifies me more than any confession could have.
I can only lie there, feeling like something about him has shifted into something monstrous—except deep down, I know it didn’t shift at all. I just failed to see it sooner.
“You were there,” I whisper, the words shaking so badly they barely sound human. “In the forest… that was you.”
“Finally! Jesus, I thought I’d have to spell it out for you.” he says, sounding almost disappointed by how slowly I got there.
I keep looking at him, my thoughts spiraling as horror and confusion blur into one unbearable feeling.
“But why?” The words tear out of me, thin and shaking. “Why would you do that?” My throat tightens painfully as I fight for another breath. “What did I ever do to you?”
Cain’s mouth parts like he’s about to answer, but the masked man steps in first and shoves a hand against his chest, stopping him before a word can come out.
“Too early,” he says, his voice muffled by the balaclava as he keeps his attention on Cain for a moment before finally turning it toward me.
The way he watches me feels wrong in a way I can’t explain. There’s no anger in it, no urgency, no trace of emotion I can understand—only the dark focus of someone studying what already belongs to him.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice betraying far more than I want it to.
He doesn’t so much as glance my way at first, and when he finally does, it’s only to drag a slow look over me, his eyes darkening behind the balaclava before he turns back to Cain.
“We’re not done with her yet.” He pauses briefly. “I want to enjoy this a little longer.”
He moves toward the bed and crouches beside me, and every muscle in my body locks with panic. I try to push myself farther away, even though there’s nowhere to go. The restraints bite deeper as he reaches out and brushes the backs of his gloved fingers over my cheek with a softness so wrong it makes nausea rise in my throat.
“Who am I?” he asks softly, his expression unreadable while tension coils tight in my stomach. A low chuckle slips from himas he dips his head nearer. “I’m the nightmare your past sent back for you.”
Without breaking eye contact, he slides a hand into his pocket, pulls out a small remote, and presses a button as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. Somewhere inside the wall, a click sounds, and a second later the clear liquid begins moving through the tubing above my head, sliding steadily toward the cannula taped into my hand.
Dread crashes through me hard enough to leave my entire body rigid, my pulse spiraling out of control as I helplessly watch the liquid slowly making its way through the tube above my head.
“No… please, no. Not again.” The plea shatters halfway through, tears burning down into my hair while panic claws violently through my chest. “Please,” I whisper brokenly. “I’m begging you.”
“You should’ve begged like this in the forest, kitten.” His voice drops lower. “Better late than never, I guess.” He adds, amused.
