Page 100 of Shattered In Darkness

He laughs; it hurts to hear it. “You think I’d believe that? You could’ve crawled to me. You could’ve killed them all, if you cared.”

“I tried.” My voice breaks. “I tried, but he locked me in that room and you never came. I waited. I waited for days. I kept hoping you’d come, but you never did.”

He crushes my jaw, holding my head so tight I think the bones might snap. I can see the sliver of his real eyes behind the mask. Blue and gray. Murderous.

“You want me to believe Marcus? You want me to buy your fairy tales?”

He shakes me, hard, skull mask blurring into shadow. I see stars. Black sockets boring into me, unblinking, cruel, impossibly close. The mask. Inches from my face. My own reflection in the bone, wet and shaking, pupils blown wide.

I try to look past it, but there’s nothing but Brody behind it. The dark pumps around him, heavy and savage. Like he’s death and want and punishment, all for me.

His hand fists at my hair, wrenches my head back, almost breaks my neck. I gasp. The sound is pathetic, small. I don’t even care. The pressure on my scalp is so sharp it cuts through the rest. My jaw cracks open. There’s no room for air.

“You want to keep lying?” His voice is mean. No warmth. Nothing gentle. Just a threat. “You want to sit there and play innocent? You think I’m fucking stupid?”

I whimper. He hates that. Or he loves it. I can’t tell. My lips tremble around the words.

“Stop,” I say. It’s a whisper. Not even a real plea. “Brody, please. Just listen.”

He slams me back against the wall so hard my skull rattles. The plaster cracks. I hear it, deep. The whine in my ears makes the world flicker. He shoves his knee between my legs. Wedges it there. Cold denim, pressure, pinning me. I can’t close my thighs, can’t hide the wet soaking through the thin fabric. He knows. Of course he knows.

I fight. I try to twist away, hands slapping at his wrists, at the mask. His gloved fingers snap around both my wrists, trapping them over my head. He forces them into the wall, holds me with one hand. He’s so much stronger than me without even having to try. My nails scratch useless on the wood.

“Little coward,” he spits. “You only know how to run and hide. Fine. Let’s see how you fight when you can’t even move.”

His other hand yanks my shirt up. My tits bounce free, cold air on them, nipples hard. I want to cover myself, but of course. he doesn’t let me. His palm slaps across my chest, fingers digging in. Bruising. “You fucking like this,” he says. “You want to act scared, but your body remembers. It remembers who owns you.”

The heat under my skin is panic, humiliation. My cunt is soaked, aching, desperate. It’s disgusting. It’s fucked. I hate that I want it. He’s brutal. He shoves my thighs wider with his knee, then grabs at my waistband. Yanks it down, everything, rough. The air hits the mess between my legs and I want to die. He jams two fingers inside, dry. I scream, it rips the edge of my throat.

“Take it,” he snarls. “You always take it. You always wanted it rough.”

He fucks me with his hand. Every pump sets my brain flashing, pain and pleasure and shame scrambled together. My hips jerk. I try to twist, but his grip just bruises deeper. Unforgiving. He wants me humiliated. Pinned and used. There’s an ache under my skin, not pain, just a wild sick heat.

He’s breathing hard behind the mask. Skull-white, grinning, black eyes swallowing all the light in the room. He wants to see me shudder. He wants to see me break myself for him.

I can’t stop grinding on his fingers. I can’t stop leaking for him. My body is a traitor. I am soaked, desperate, sick with need even as the shame burns red up my ribs. I clamp my jaw. I want to fight. He doesn’t care. He just moves his hand harder, fingers curved up to drive me out of my mind.

My toes curl on the floor. My knees nearly buckle. Brody rips my head back by the hair, forces my mouth open. The mask hovers inches from my lips. “Look at you. Fucking mess.”

I just moan. Wet and wrecked. Hips flexing on his wrist, chasing the filth he shoves inside me. He drops my hands only to slam them back to the wall, wrist above wrist. The pressure sets my chest heaving. My pussy clenches around his fingers, fighting to milk every last inch, even as the humiliation chokes me.

All I see is the mask, white smeared with red, jaw gaping over me.

My feet lose the floor. Brody hoists me up, pinning me to the wall. My thighs split wide around his hips as my back arches, tits out, neck bared, nothing hidden. He crams my wrists together overhead, one-handed. His other hand tears at his jeans.

He spits a grunt, and then the thick head of his cock is crushing into me. He forces every inch deep, splitting my cunt open, and starts to fuck. It’s violence. That’s all there is. The pounding of hips against bruised skin, the sound of breathless fury. He pushes in and out, never slowing, never hesitating, just taking and leaving nothing for me but the mess he makes. My mouth is open, panting, moaning for him even as my brain scrapes NO NO NO across every splintered neuron.

He loves it. It’s written in the clutch of his hands, the way the mask leers. I hate that I’m soaked. I’m leaking down my thighs. So close. I feel it. Pressure and shame rising so fast it almost blinds me.

He slaps my thigh. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to fucking cum unless I say so.”

His hand clamps on my throat. The skull mask eats up all the air in front of my face. My body jerks, desperate and out of control, but he just holds me there and fucks into me. The wall jumps with every thrust.

I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I am split open. He slams in deep, punishing. My wrists are trapped above my head in his grip. My mouth hangs open. I hate him. I hate him. He fills me all the way. My body stains itself for him. I squeeze my eyes shut and see stars. His hips are relentless. The wall shudders as he drives his cock deeper. Over and over. Nothing sweet, nothing soft. He wants me pinned, helpless. I am. Fuck. My cunt chokes on him. I can feel every inch. My toes barely touch the floor. I hear myself, my moans. I want to stop. I can’t.

“Fuck Bambi, grip me just like that,” Brody huffs against my ear.

His free hand rips my shirt all the way up. My tits bounce every time he slams forward. His fingers grope my nipples, twisting and circling. The mask covers his face. No human left. Only hunger. Rage. He owns me.