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I’m alone.

There is no one to help me.

Chapter 2

Draco

Istep into my apartment only a few seconds before she locks herself in hers. Shrugging off my jacket, I toss it onto an oversized black armchair as I pass, stepping into the spare bedroom. I flip a switch and toss myself down into my throne, smiling as the electricity pulses to life, and light blooms in the darkness. The room is dark, nearly pitch black, but then slowly, lights begin to blink to life in the shadows, like a million all-seeing eyes.

A bank of monitors flickers with life—her life. Mercy’s apartment lights up the screens, dozens of different angles of every room. My eyes rove over the displays, absorbing every little movement she makes. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as she moves from room to room, her hands shaking and her eyes wet with tears. The satisfaction soothes the fire in me, a warm hum in my veins, like the lingering taste of a fine wine on my tongue.

With a few keystrokes, the camera changes, and there she is, stepping into her bedroom, unaware that it’s become her cage.Her eyes, those soft, innocent hazel eyes, dart around the room, fear leaking from the corners.

A shiver runs through her, and she hugs herself, rubbing her arms as if to ward off a chill that runs deeper than just the surface. As she strips off her coat, I can see the subtle curve of her tits straining against her too-thick turtleneck. I can see her throat bob as she swallows. I watch her lips tremble as her tongue darts out and licks at them nervously.

I lean forward, my heart quickening as I zoom in on her face.

She’s unraveling, and it’s beautiful.

Every tear, every shiver—they make me hard.

I can feel my dick growing down my leg, and it’s throbbing.

I can almost feel her pain, taste her fear.

It’s intoxicating.

It’s like a drug, and I feed on it.

She steps up to her altar and falls to her knees, hands clasped in front of her.

“There you go, Mercy. Good girl. Get down on your knees for me.”

She can’t hear me, but the words are a promise. I’ve woven my web around her, and she’s mine to toy with.

Her lips move in silent prayer, and I can’t help but chuckle. She thinks she can find comfort in her god, but she doesn’t understand. There’s no escape from me.

I am her god now, and she will pray to me.

Her shoulders shake with sobs, and I watch, reaching down to tug at my jeans, tented between my legs. With a growl, I pull the zipper down, hissing as my cock springs free into the open air, rock hard and leaking.

She’s breaking, and it’s all because of me.

Fuck, she looks so good.

My eyes trace the curves of Mercy’s face as she pulls out a box of matches and begins to light the candles on her altar. One byone, she strikes a match, lights the candle, and then shakes out the match. Again. And again. Every lick of flame seems to caress her skin, just like I have, and like I will again.

I will have her, whether she gives in or not—though she will, eventually.

She’ll beg for me.

She will pray for me.

She’ll live for me, I’ll make sure of it.

It’s a carefully choreographed dance, and she’s my little ballerina—the star of this twisted ballet. I’ve directed every scene, adjusted every spotlight, planned every moment that has led her to this point. Her distress is my masterpiece.

She moves like a ghost as she rises to her feet, floating through her hallway and into her living room, her delicate fingers trembling as she clutches a worn, leather-bound Bible. Her lips move in silent prayers that she thinks will save her.