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Chapter 14

Seanna

The cabin is silent when I get back. Too silent.

The kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath. Like it knows something I don’t.

No gifts tonight. No little boxes and envelopes on the doorstep. But after this morning’s polaroids—my face frozen in sleep from a camera I never heard clicking—tonight’s silence doesn’t feel like safety.

It feels like a fucking trap.

They’ve already proven they don’t need to knock when they want to say hello. Don’t care about doors or boundaries when they want inside. They just slip in like a thought I can’t shake and leave like they were never there at all.

The only proof is the way my heart won’t slow down every time I walk into a room.

I slam the door behind me harder than I need to. Let it echo through the bones of the cabin. Let them know I’m not scared—just pissed. My keys clatter against the counter, and I move through the space on autopilot. Kitchen. Living room. Bedroom. Bathroom.

All clear.

Which means absolutely nothing.

Paranoia used to be a professional edge. Now? It’s just who I am. Wired into me like muscle memory. Like breathing.

I’m exhausted. My body aches, my brain won’t shut off, and tomorrow I have to dance for Cruz and pray he doesn’t smell the gasoline I’ve poured all over this cover. One wrong move and I burn.

But I’ve always liked fire.

I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The water hits like a punch—hot enough to scald, loud enough to drown out the noise in my head. I brace my hands against the tile, steam curling around me like smoke. If only it could burn away the tension clawing under my skin.

But it doesn’t. Because even here—especially here—he lingers.

Ruin.

His messages play on repeat, embedded behind my eyelids like a goddamn virus. Always watching. Always waiting. He speaks like he knows me. Like we’re already in this together. Like every twisted thought in my head has a matching echo in his.

And the worst part? Some of what he says doesn’t feel wrong.

That pisses me off more than anything.

I towel off, throw on a black shirt and underwear, and crawl into bed. The sheets are cool. The house is dark.

But none of it matters.

Sleep isn’t something I fall into anymore—it’s something I fight for. And tonight, I win.

For a while.

Then—something shifts.

My body jerks awake, lungs refusing to pull in air.

Because I’m not alone.

There’s weight on me. Heavy. Unmoving.

A man straddles me, knees planted firm against the mattress, pinning me like I’m prey. One of his hands traps both my wrists above my head, fingers tight and unyielding. The other is over my mouth—hard and deliberate—muffling the scream that claws its way up my throat.

I can’t see his face. But I can feel the certainty in his grip.

Moonlight cuts through the window, landing across the figure above me. He’s covered head to toe in black tactical gear. No insignia. No identity. Complete with glasses that gleam with an odd light that hints at night vision and full head covering. Everything about him screams precision. Discipline. Purpose.

And something about the full tactical getup speaks directly to my dark fucking soul.

Like he came for war.

And if that’s what he wants? I’ll fucking give it to him.

“Don’t bite,” he murmurs.

The voice is filtered through a modulator, distorted and mechanical—just like the ones we use in our skull masks with the organization.

My body twists hard, hips bucking against his to throw him off-balance. I twist, push, strain against him, shifting all my weight to try and roll, throw him, anything—but he's heavier than me. Stronger. Built like he was made for this exact moment. My wrists ache in his grip. My muscles scream, but he never so much as flinches. All he does is hold me there—contained, restrained, completely under his control.

Once I wear myself out—my breathing ragged, chest heaving—he leans down. His mask brushes against the skin of my jaw, a cool scrape of hard polymer against flushed skin. I hear it then, clear and unmistakable—a breath. Inhaled deep, slow through some hidden valve in his mask like the fucker is savoring me. Drinking me in.

Jealousy flickers sharp and stupid across my thoughts—because our skull masks don’t have that nifty little feature.

"You smell so fucking good," he breathes, voice modulated but thick with hunger.

His gloved fingers press against my mouth, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make his point. I can feel the strength in his grip, the casual dominance that sets my blood on fire even as my mind screams in defiance.

"I'm going to move my hand now," he says calmly, that modulated voice somehow more unsettling in its evenness. "And it won't matter if you scream. In fact, I want you to scream for me, Seanna. I want to hear every desperate sound you make."

Slowly, he slides his hand from my mouth, trailing it down to rest against the column of my throat. The leather of his gloves is buttery soft, a sensual contrast to the unyielding strength I can feel coiled in his body above me.

"Ruin," I hiss through clenched teeth, glaring up at that impassive mask. "You sick fuck, what the hell do you think you're-"

A dark chuckle cuts me off, the sound distorted and mechanical. "Oh, darling. I'm not Ruin." He leans in closer, that blank facade filling my vision. "You can call me Rule. As in, you're going to follow my rules like a good girl.”

Indignation flares hot and bright in my chest. "Like hell I will," I snarl, trying to thrash against his hold again. But he merely tightens his grip, pressing me harder into the mattress until I'm gasping for air.

"Ruin may indulge your defiance," he murmurs, a thread of cruel amusement winding through his words. "But I'm not as nice as him. You need to stop this foolish crusade against Reyes. No more meetings with Cruz. Because if you keep pushing, keep putting yourself at risk, you'll only have yourself to blame for what happens. So, the meeting tomorrow? It's not happening. Cancel it."

Fury lances through me, white-hot and blinding. How dare he try to dictate my actions, my choices? I open my mouth, a barrage of vicious insults ready to spill from my lips, but he cuts me off with a squeeze of his fingers around my throat.

"Careful, darling," he purrs, the endearment dripping with mocking condescension. "Wouldn't want to say something you'll regret."

I bare my teeth at him, anger and something darker, more primal, coiling tightly in my gut. "Fuck you," I hiss venomously. "I don't take orders from psychotic stalkers who get off on breaking into women's bedrooms."

His hand tightens fractionally around my throat, a warning and a promise. "You'll take my orders because you don't have a choice, Seanna. You’re ours, you belong to us. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for everyone."

Despite the fury churning inside me, a traitorous shiver of heat slides down my spine at his words. Belong to them? Like hell. I'm Seanna fucking Darling—I don't belong to anyone.

"You're delusional," I snap, still straining against his unyielding grip. "I don't know what sick game you and Ruin are playing, but I'm not interested. Now get the fuck off me before I show you exactly why messing with me is a bad idea."

He laughs then, the sound dark and mocking even through the modulator. "Oh, I'd love to see you try, darling. But we both know you're not going anywhere until I say so."

As if to prove his point, he leans down, pressing his masked face against the sensitive skin of my neck. I feel his breath, hot and damp, as he drags the smooth surface of the mask along my thundering pulse point. Every muscle in my body goes taut, a mixture of revulsion and reluctant arousal warring for dominance.

"I could do anything I wanted to you right now," he murmurs, his free hand sliding down my body with deliberate slowness. "And part of you would love every second of it, wouldn't you? Because deep down, you crave this. The danger. The loss of control. Being at the mercy of someone strong enough to overpower you."

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache, hating the kernel of truth in his words. I've always been drawn to the darkness, to the razor's edge between pain and pleasure. But I'll be damned if I let this asshole use that against me.

"Get fucked," I hiss, pouring every ounce of venom I possess into the words. "You don't know a goddamn thing about me."

"But I do, Seanna," he counters smoothly, his hand dipping lower, fingers grazing the hem of my shirt. "I know everything about you. Every dirty little secret. Every twisted fantasy. And I'm going to use every single one of them to break you apart and put you back together again."

His hand slips beneath the fabric, gloved fingers dragging across the sensitive skin of my stomach. I suck in a sharp breath, muscles jumping beneath his touch. Hate and hunger tangle together, a sickening knot in my chest.

"Cancel the meeting with Cruz," he orders again, his voice a dark purr even through the modulator. "Be a good girl and do as you're told, and maybe I'll reward you."

His fingers dance teasingly along the waistband of my panties, dipping just barely beneath the fabric to graze the sensitive skin there. I suck in a sharp breath, hating the way my body responds to his touch, the traitorous heat pooling low in my belly.

"Fuck you," I hiss again, but there's less venom in it this time, my voice breathy and strained. "I'm not canceling shit. Cruz is the key to taking down Reyes, and I'm not backing down just because some psycho in a mask tells me to."

He tsks softly, his hand slipping lower to cup me through the thin fabric of my panties. I bite down hard on my lip, refusing to make a sound even as my hips twitch traitorously into his touch.

"So stubborn," he murmurs, fingers pressing harder, rubbing slow circles that make my toes curl. "But we both know you're only fighting because you're scared of how much you want this. How desperately you crave someone who can overpower you, dominate you completely ."

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out his words, his touch, the dark hunger unfurling inside me. But it's useless. He's right, damn him. Some twisted part of me is thrilled by this, turned on beyond reason at being so utterly helpless beneath him.

"Look at you," he purrs, satisfaction dripping from every word. "Already so needy for me. I bet you're soaking wet right now, aren't you darling? Desperate for me to touch you."

Shame and arousal war within me as he tugs my panties aside, his fingers grazing my slick folds. I can't hold back the choked moan that escapes me at the contact, my hips canting shamelessly into his touch.

"That's it," he praises darkly. "Don't fight it, Seanna. You need this. Need me to take control, to make you submit."

He strokes me slowly, teasing, leather-clad fingers gliding through the wetness he finds. I'm panting now, skin flushed and mind hazy with lust I don't want to feel but can't deny.

"So responsive," he murmurs appreciatively. "So perfect. My perfect little toy."

Toy . The word slices through the fog of arousal, and I grab desperately for the anger simmering beneath. I'm not a fucking toy, a plaything for him to use. The fury reignites, and I renew my struggles, bucking against him wildly.

But he simply rides out my thrashing, continuing his maddeningly slow touches until I collapse back against the sheets, chest heaving.

"Are you done?" he asks mildly, his voice mocking even through the modulator. In response, I simply glare up at him in defiance, my jaw clenched tight.

"Good girl," he praises patronizingly. Then, without warning, he plunges two fingers deep inside me, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot. A choked cry escapes my lips as my back arches off the bed, pleasure spiking through me like lightning.

He works me relentlessly, stroking and thrusting, building me higher and higher with ruthless efficiency. It's too much, too intense, and I can feel my orgasm hurtling toward me like a runaway train.

But just as I'm teetering on the knife's edge of release, he withdraws completely, leaving me empty and aching. I make a sound of desperate frustration, hips chasing his touch, pride be damned.

"Ah ah," he tuts, grabbing my jaw roughly and forcing me to meet that blank mask. "You don't get to come until you do what you're told. Cancel the meeting with Cruz. Say you'll do it."

"Fuck...you..." I manage to grind out, even as my body screams for completion.

He makes a sound of mock disappointment. Then, lightning quick, he thrusts his slick fingers deep into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue. I gag around the intrusion, the taste of my own arousal bitter.

"This bratty mouth is going to get you in trouble," he growls warningly. "Cancel the meeting tomorrow, Seanna. Or you will regret it."

I glare mutinously up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as my mind grows hazy with need. He holds me there a moment longer, fingers heavy on my tongue, before suddenly pulling back.

Then, without warning, he sprays something directly up my nose - a mist, sickly sweet. I cough and sputter, trying to turn away, but it's too late. Almost instantly, my head grows heavy, thoughts scattering like frantic birds.

"Wha...what did you..." I slur, tongue thick and useless.

"Shhh," he soothes mockingly, pushing me back against the pillows as my limbs turn to lead. "Just a little something to help you sleep."

Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision as whatever he drugged me with drags me under. The last thing I feel is the ghost of his touch against my cheek, almost a tender caress, a cruel tease.

And then I'm gone, slipping into a thick, unyielding blackness.