Page 14 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Chapter twelve

The Monster Behind The Mask

Katya

“ N ikolai,” I gasp, voice cracking as his rough hands shove beneath my shirt. The cold touch of his fingers against my skin makes my body jolt, but he only presses down harder, his legs pinning mine in place as I writhe beneath him.

There’s no room to move. No space to breathe.

His calloused palms slide over my breasts, and then he pinches, hard. My back arches from the sting, a dull whimper escaping my throat, unbidden. Pain ripples through me, sharp and fast, but nothing compared to the aching between my legs, the lingering throb where another man already claimed me.

I still haven’t had the courage to look beneath the bandage.

I can feel it there. Burned into me.

His name.

Branded like a possession.

“What, Katya?” Nikolai breathes, voice mocking as he yanks my shirt higher. “Can’t you give me a little bit of fun?”

His eyes are wild now, bloodshot and glazed. Madness lingers just beneath the surface.

My body, bruised and used, can barely keep up. My muscles scream with every shift, but the strength I need to fight isn’t there. Whatever fight I had is slipping through my fingers, and he knows it.

Pressure digs into my ankles. My knees. He uses his weight like a weapon.

Panic burns hot in my chest.

“You’re fucking losing it,” I whisper, trying to wedge my hands between us, to pry him off me, but it’s no use. His nails drag down my torso, scraping across raw skin, tearing the edge of the bandage as they go.

I flinch as the adhesive gives way, and pain flashes white behind my eyes.

“Captivity will do that,” he spits, leaning closer. His breath reeks of rot and rage. “Turns men into animals.”

The world feels too small. Too loud. My heart pounds like it’s trying to claw its way out of my ribs.

He laughs, unbothered.

And then, just for a second, I find an opening.

Slamming my elbow into his chest, I hear the dull thud of impact. He stumbles, exhaling sharply as the air leaves his lungs in a broken grunt.

It’s not much. Not enough to stop him.

But maybe… enough to stall him.

Even if just for a breath.

Seizing the moment of distraction, I lock my fingers together, tighten my fists, and slam them down into his knee with everything I have left.

A sickening pop echoes through the basement, followed by Nikolai’s scream of pain. His grip on me falters, his hands releasing just enough skin for me to squirm free, my body twisting out from under him like smoke slipping through fingers.

I crawl across the floor, hands scraping against the ground, pain lighting up every inch of my body. Chains rattle behind me as his voice erupts in a furious, inhuman yell.

My arms tremble, my knees threaten to collapse beneath me.

Where is my fucking knife?

“You stupid little bitch,” he snarls.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, dragging myself further, every movement igniting fresh pain that claws up my spine.

But I don’t make it far.

Fingers clamp around my ankle and yank me back.

I scream, nails clawing at the floor, but his body is already climbing over mine again, his weight crushing, suffocating. There’s no air. No space.

“Now I’m really going to let you fucking have it,” he spits, venom dripping from every word.

He forces me onto my back, and his hand cracks across my face, blinding me in white-hot pain. My head spins. His fingers fumble at the knot of my waistband, tugging, pulling, while I claw at his face, at anything I can reach.

I thrash beneath him, desperate.

“Get the fuck off of me!” I scream, the sound raw and broken. Sweat drips from his forehead onto mine, his eyes wide with frenzy, detached from any trace of humanity.

“Does it not feel good, Katya?” he sneers, pressing his hand hard against me through my clothes. My stomach rolls, bile threatening to rise.

His breath hits my cheek, hot and fast.

“It’ll be quick,” he growls. “You can be useful for a few fucking minutes, can’t you-”

Suddenly, he’s gone.

His weight is ripped off my body in a blur of motion. I gasp, my lungs seizing as they finally draw in a full breath. My vision swims.

Nikolai’s body slams against the wall, the sound of chains clanging as his skull cracks against concrete. He crumples in a heap, groaning, barely conscious.

Across from him stands the man with shaking hands and a Glock clenched in a white-knuckled grip. His chest rises and falls in shallow bursts. His eyes are fixed on Nikolai, empty and unreadable.

I sit up slowly, the cold floor grounding me. My head turns just enough to see the door behind them, open, wide, waiting.

My knife.

It lies near the threshold, just out of reach.

My wrist.

No longer chained.

“I wasn’t-” Nikolai starts, voice cracking.

The gunshot is deafening.

He doesn’t get to finish.

The bullet tears through his thigh, dropping him to the ground with a blood-curdling scream. He grabs at the wound with both hands, tears streaming down his cheeks, sobbing like a child.

The man doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t flinch.

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge the open door or the chaos swirling around us.

He just points the gun.

Staring.

Frozen, I remain on the ground, body stiff and paralyzed. The door is right there. My knife within reach. My legs scream at me to move, but fear holds them hostage.

The world tilts on its axis as I force myself to rise.

I don't know if I'll make it, but I have to try.

Making a break for the open door, my foot lands wrong.

Pain explodes through my ankle as it buckles beneath me, sending me crashing down hard. My knees skid against the concrete, the sound of skin tearing beneath me drowned out by my own scream. I barely make it past the threshold, my hands clawing at the floor, reaching into the dim hallway beyond.

The air shifts.

Gone is the stale rot of the basement, replaced by something warmer...drier. The faint scent of wood polish and leather. A hallway meant for people, not prisoners.

For a moment, I freeze.

The idea of going back into that room, back into that cage with Nikolai, is worse than whatever this new hell might hold. My chest heaves as I take a shaky breath, trying to hold onto the sliver of freedom just inches away.

But I feel him behind me.

Not close. Not yet. But near enough that his shadow stretches long across the floor in front of me, dark and thick like a noose.

“If you’re going to shoot me too,” I whisper, not bothering to turn around. “Just get it over with.”

There’s no answer. Just the sound of something heavy hitting the ground beside me. The thud echoes through the corridor, cold, metallic and final.

Leather.

Thick. Worn. Soft where the chains were sharp.

A collar.

“Put it on,” he commands, voice like ice.

My stomach twists. “I’m not-”

The crack of his palm colliding with my ass steals the breath from my lungs. The sting spreads fast, raw and humiliating. It isn’t about pain, it’s about control.

“Put it on,” he growls, his hand curling into my hair, yanking my head back until my eyes are forced to meet his.

My mouth clamps shut, rage trapped behind clenched teeth.

He releases me, and I hesitate for only a second before my fingers tremble around the collar. Wrapping the leather around my neck, I fasten it, flinching as his hands take over, tightening it without hesitation. Not cruelly, but tight enough that I feel it every time I swallow.

“Move,” he orders, his voice low. “All the way out of the doorway.”

I drag myself forward, inching into the hallway. The light here is dim, the stairs ahead lit only by the faintest glow. Behind me, the door slams shut with a steel groan, and I hear the lock engage, heavy and final.

When I look back, he’s tucking the gun away, his eyes raking over me. Not with lust. Not even with rage.

Just calculation.

“Now what?” My voice is bitter as I glance down, breath catching at the sight of blood soaking the front of my shirt.

The bandage is loose. Torn from Nikolai’s hands. Barely holding.

With trembling fingers, I peel it back, slow and reluctant, bracing myself for whatever I’m about to see.

Four letters.

Carved deep into my skin. Still raw. Still red.

They don’t make sense at first. I stare at them, confusion giving way to horror as the letters align.

E-C-H-O.

Recognition slams into me like a freight train.

His name.

It’s his name carved into me.

Not a threat. Not a warning.

A fucking claim.

“Echo,” I mutter, tasting the name like acid as it leaves my mouth.

He winces, barely, but enough to know he heard it. Like the sound of it coming from me unsettles something beneath all that cold calculation.

“You need a bath,” he mutters. “Only way that happens is if you listen. And behave.”

My lip curls. “So I’ve upgraded from hostage to pet?”

Fingers twitching, I tug at the collar.

“Have to make sure you don’t run again,” he murmurs, crouching in front of me. “Now don’t I?”

He grabs a lead from a wall hook, thick leather, matching the collar, and a black mask. I go still.

The snap of the clasp is final.

The leash is real.

His hand connects it to the collar, and my eyes widen, pulse spiking in my throat.

“Until those ankles are healed,” he adds, standing. “This is how we’ll move.”

He slips the mask over my face, blinding me to everything but his voice and the press of his fingers as he tugs the lead.

And just like that, he walks.

And I follow.

Up the stairs. One slow, humiliating step at a time.

Like a dog.

A servant marked, bound, and trembling beneath her master’s grip.