Page 2

I'm trapped in the arms of the devil, and there's nowhere left to run.

P ressure threaded through the common room like smoke. Each breath scorched my throat raw, my body crushed against V's shoulder as dread twisted through my gut. The floorboards groaned beneath shifting weight as brothers moved into position—chess pieces in a game where death was the only winning move.

The scent of leather and gunpowder clung to V's cut. My muscles betrayed me, latching onto that deadly cocktail even as instinct screamed for escape. Darrell's sudden aggression had turned the club volatile, with V's tightening grip on me threatening to set it all off. Unable to track Darrell's movements from my awkward position, I could only feel his hatred crawling under my skin. V's massive bicep braced my torso while his touch invaded territory along my thigh, his strength betraying someone who'd never distinguished between possession and protection.

My brain short-circuited as his hand slid higher, every inch of me screamed no before my mouth could. How do you survive a bear attack again? Play dead or fight back?

"V." My father's voice sliced through. I felt V's hold tighten, his muscles coiling. "V, I'm not fuckin' around with this game anymore. Put my daughter down."

His hold shifted—barely—but I felt it everywhere. Even the tiniest motion sharpened my awareness of where his body ended and mine began. My curves crushed against him, soft against something that didn't yield. And somehow, I knew—he didn't move without purpose. Not when he held me like this. "Oakley belongs to me."

"Like hell she does!" My father's voice erupted. "She's my daughter, not your goddamn property!"

Darrell laughed bitterly, "You think no one's man enough to put you down?"

I felt his muscles tense, yet his heartbeat remained steady beneath me—unnervingly calm. "I'll kill you if you take her away from me."

"If anyone's killin' this motherfucker it's gonna be me!" Sarge's voice cracked through the air from the shadows beneath his hood.

V turned sharply, my body swinging with him in a nauseating jolt that churned my stomach. The room spun sickeningly before settling into focus. My father lunged forward with a strangled roar, the veins in his neck bulging like cables about to snap. "Get your fucking hands off her!" Boots scuffed against wood as Tyrant and Knight moved with practiced efficiency, intercepting him with low murmurs of "Calm the fuck down" and "You know what he'll do if you try anything." Grunts, curses, and the thud of bodies filled the room as they dragged him back. My throat closed around a scream as I watched them overpower him.

Tyrant and Knight restrained my father, their holds white-knuckled against his struggles. Joslyn clung to Sarge, her delicate fingers tracing frantic lines up his arm in desperate attempts to contain his rage. Nyla's tears caught the harsh light, but her husband's silence made it worse.

The hammering in my ribcage became agonizing as anxiety gnawed at my nerves. It had been months since my limbs turned to lead, too heavy to flee, too slow to save myself. The room shrank, darkness creeping in as the third worst night of my life played on repeat. Every attempt to break free only made his hold tighten.

Watching my father struggle against men he considered family broke something inside me, my helplessness a living thing clawing at my throat. I attempted a smile, knowing he'd see straight through it to the fear I've never been able to hide. With each passing second, the walls closed tighter as my mind spiraled into darker territories.

Dad suddenly broke free, every muscle snapping to life as adrenaline took over. The sight of him clearing the threshold sent hope surging through my veins, only to shatter the moment Knight slammed him to the ground, the impact forcing a broken cry from my lungs as Dad's head bounced hard against the floor.

I felt like I was suffocating, watching a small line of crimson pooling beneath his head.

V’s arms were iron, unyielding as we crossed the threshold, my eyes fixed on Knight straddling my father, his palm pressed to Dad's temple to prevent him from watching me be dragged away. An apology written in every line of his face.

The expletives that followed us were daggers in my ears, each one drawing fresh wounds as V marched me across the lot. His stride cracked over loose gravel, each footfall heavier than the last, dragging me further from my dad. The realization settled in my bones like lead—I would never escape him. My five- foot-nothing height was laughable beside his six-foot-four build. Even if I found somewhere to hide, he would hunt me down.

There was no place on earth beyond his reach.

A whimper escaped me as we passed a bullet-riddled sign marking the road to Hellbound. Mitchell had invited me, Nyla, and Joslyn here once, presenting it as innocent fun until the night unraveled into murder.

The shift from gravel to that eerily familiar dirt trail sent the inklings of hysteria racing across my skin, recognizing the route to damnation before thought caught up. Oxygen clawed its way down, jagged and dry as dust, as memories of that night at Hellbound flooded me. The bathroom door splintering, gun barrels, red-streaked walls, like someone tried to paint their way out.

"V!" My mouth went desert-dry as understanding crystallized. "W-What are you doing?"

He said nothing. My distress hung thick between us, suffocating the space. Every breath tasted of fear as we moved further down the path, straight toward the house that rewrote my nightmares. My knees locked involuntarily, legs kicking out awkwardly as my fingers dug into his leather cut. All my senses screamed alert as we approached the doorway to hell.

The porch sagged beneath his weight. The door groaned open, a breath of stale air meeting us. He crossed the threshold, the floorboards protesting under our combined weight as gloom swallowed us whole.

V carried me through the shadowed hallway, past doorways hanging like broken limbs from shattered frames. The setting sun filtered through dirty windows, painting the hallway in dying light that fractured my thoughts into pieces too sharp to hold. I clung to the worn leather like a ledge crumbling beneath me as we reached the place where it all began.

He stopped abruptly, lowering me slowly to the ground as my pulse tried to burst out of my chest. His touch ghosted over my waist, heavy and impossible to shake. His gaze dissected every shuddering breath. I latched onto his corded forearms. The walls whispered with every scream they'd ever absorbed while he waited—still, silent—leaving me trapped in breathless uncertainty. The air thickened as my trembling fingers curled tighter, searching for balance in the tension he refused to break.

Reality splintered—I stood precisely where a man had lost his life, his blood staining these walls in abstract patterns no cleaning could erase.

His calloused hands lingered at my waist, fingers curling before peeling away, one by one. His touch trailed across the curve of my hip before falling away completely, as if his withdrawal screamed louder than his grip ever had. The absence of contact was suddenly more terrifying than his touch had been. Without his anchor, my legs betrayed me, sending me crumpling to the floor.

I collapsed, but my gaze clung to his retreating form. A chill crept through my bones as V backed away, retreating into the shadows at the edge of the room. Even in the darkness, I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting.

I couldn't remember the last time I breathed. The door loomed twenty feet away, smug in its false promise. Even if I could reach it, what waited on the other side? Not freedom—just another cage, painted new. The thought curdled in my gut, heavy and spoiled.

Working my toes, I silently pleaded for them to cooperate. My pulse quickened, thoughts scattering into chaotic fragments. Was this his twisted way of protecting me from Darrell? Or was he preparing my grave?

Using numb hands, I managed to drag myself an inch, maybe two, across the floor. He was unpredictable—I never knew what would trigger him.

After barely a minute of letting me struggle, the air chilled as he stepped from the shadows. Each footfall landed silently, yet the distance between us vanished with a sickening speed. His pupils swallowed the dim light, black holes rimmed in steel-gray, cataloging the tremor in my fingers, the shame in my breath, the angle of my body pressed against the floor.

Copper flooded my mouth as teeth broke skin. My lungs seized mid-inhale, diaphragm locking. Ice cracked through my capillaries, freezing my vocal cords before sound could rise. Even my eyelids betrayed me—frozen wide, refusing to blink or close against the sight of him.

He was massive in a way that defied human proportions, shoulders stretched wide beneath his cut, hands that could snap bone hanging at his sides. The dim light carved harsh angles into his face, highlighting the cruel set of his jaw and the hollow emptiness where emotion should live. Just the dead-eyed focus of something that didn't hunt for need, but for the joy of watching things break.

The space between us vanished under his looming shadow. My body jolted on pure instinct, arms flying up to shield my face, a pointless barrier against the reaper himself.

But his touch never came.

Peeking through trembling fingers, I found V hadn't moved. If anything, he looked... patient.

Lowering my shaking hands, I risked meeting his gaze. Those eyes resembled a starless sky—so devoid of emotion, they might as well have been windows into the void itself.

I reached, dragged by instinct, not desire, not from trust, but something older—closer to survival than choice. My skin brushed the rough terrain of his palm, each callus a record I didn't want to read. He didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just let me come to him.

I didn't take it because I trusted him. I took it because I had nothing else left to hold.

His hand cradled mine. Turning, he took me with him, leading us deeper into Hellbound. My hand squeezed his instinctively as we moved down the darkened hallway. The silence was broken only by the panic rasping in my throat. The dark knew him. It stepped aside. My grip tightened around the warmth of his skin, clinging to now, because the past wanted to drag me under.

We passed the bathroom on our right, the new door a blunt reminder of what had happened there. Husk had kicked the last one in, gun drawn, forcing us into something that never left me. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as we reached the end of the hallway. If someone so much as breathed wrong, I might've fallen apart—only V's grip kept me standing, just enough to not shatter.

The shrill protest of hinges sent ice down my spine as V turned the knob. An uneasy feeling crashed into me—as if the ghosts of unfortunate souls trapped here had just been released, their desperation for escape tangible in the dusty air.

V led me down wooden stairs that creaked in accusation with each step. Each board threatened to collapse beneath our weight. The light faded at a dizzying rate, as shadows consumed the stairwell.

The final step felt akin to crossing into a world where nothing living belonged. Decay and ash curled in the air, thick with metal and rot that coated my tongue.

V hit something near the wall. Harsh light bloomed overhead, searing my eyes. I blinked rapidly, half-hoping I'd go blind before I had to see what was down here.

A choked sound tore from my throat as I registered what I was looking at. Red brick walls rose around a sunken pit—unadorned, industrial, and all too real. This was the center of V's world, and whatever happened here hadn't cooled yet.

Within rested a small platform with timber blackened and still breathing heat from recent activity. A corroded metal handle protruded from one side while a temperature dial monitored the entrance. A single elastic band lay curled in front of the crematorium, too clean for this place. Next to it, a scuffed leather shoe—still laced, still warm. As if none of them had mattered.

The sight of the crematorium cracked something inside me. Was this where he got rid of them? A machine built to erase what remained when he finished. This was why he brought me here. To show me not what he hid.

But what he was.

My arm wrenched against his hold, pain shooting up to my shoulder as I fought to break free. The noise of my frantic struggles echoed off the walls like laughter in a tomb. Furious sobs tore from my throat as my pulse raced, my heart was trying to claw its way out. The walls appeared to shrink, reality constricting as perspiration formed along my hairline.

His grip loosened for just a moment. I dug my heels against the surface and yanked again, a sound escaping through gritted teeth. The exertion proved worthless–it merely prompted him to strengthen his hold, effortlessly pulling me toward him. My form launched forward, colliding with his solid torso like ocean waves against granite.

"Stop."

My feet faltered as he pulled me roughly toward a worn blanket thrown haphazardly on the concrete floor. A relic of normalcy in this chamber of horrors.

"Sit." Eyes blacker than anything human directed me to the spot on the floor. My body obeyed before my mind could rebel, sinking onto the rough fabric. My back locked straight, neck craning to study him.

He towered above me like a sleep paralysis demon—dark and vacant of emotion, existing only to terrify. I remained ensnared under his deadly watch, begging for an answer, knowing he didn't speak that language. I would have to spell it out, risk giving voice to my fears.

"But you said you were going to take me to Hell." My voice fractured on the final word, breaking into jagged shards.

He looked around with casual indifference—none of it strange, none of it terrifying. Not to him. As if the scorched metal and ash-stained tools surrounding us were mundane household items. As if the smell of burning and decay wasn't thick enough to choke on. His calm was more horrifying than any rage could have been.

Blinking fast—too fast—my vision blurring as cold sweat stung my eyes. Each inhale came jagged, shallow—a battle I was losing breath by breath. My gaze darted frantically to the massive industrial ovens behind him, their metal maws gaping open, still radiating heat.

His eyes found mine again, holding them captive with unnerving intensity. "My home,"

"Y-You live here?" Terror clawed up my throat as I looked around. The space was oddly vast but achingly lonely - every inch covered in someone's final moments. The concrete floor wore a fine coat of dirt and darker stains I refused to name. A particularly large dark patch caught my eye, my brain instinctively rejecting its true nature even as copper tinged the air. A shudder ripped through me as my fingernails scratched against the cold concrete, seeking any form of escape.

He leaned against the wall like he didn't just kidnap me. One leg crossed, posture relaxed, but his eyes never left me. "This is my room."

"Why do you sleep down here?" His profile cut a striking figure against the dim light, dark hair gathered at his nape, the black surgical mask hooked over his ears.

"Familiar."

"Why did you bring me here?"

Silence. Nothing but his unsettling gaze stripping me bare from behind that surgeon's veil. My flesh prickled beneath the intensity of his scrutiny. As always, I pleaded and received no answer, abandoned to suffocate in silence thick enough to drown in.

"Why are you covered in blood?" The words tumbled out, panic making me reckless as my eyes caught dark stains, catching the low light filtered down here. He touched, he took, he watched—but never answered. My voice grew smaller, more desperate. "What do you want from me?"

Dark eyes roamed over my body. Drawing my knees to my chest, I hoped the defensive posture would deflect his unblinking stare. "Bright color."

I was thrown off by his response. "W-what?"

"When you're happy, you wear bright colors." He took a calculated step forward, causing me to instinctively scramble back until the rough brick bit into my spine. "When you're sad, you wear dark clothes." Another step closed the space between us, my heart stuttering, every inch squeezing my lungs from the inside. "Why are you sad?"

A memory flashed–the hunter green turtleneck I'd chosen for Joslyn's graduation, black jeans a shield against the world's judgment. The chill outside had been an excuse, but V had seen through it. Heat crept up my neck at his observation, at how he'd noticed something so intimate yet mundane. My chin tucked instinctively to my chest, a futile attempt to shield myself from the weight of his gaze. "I'm not sad."

His head tilted, slow and deliberate. Forgetting how to breathe, the fine hairs on my neck stood up. My hands shook, chest tightening as the truth clawed its way out. "I'm scared."

He didn't blink. "Of what?"

My voice cracked, barely more than a breath. "You."

Confusion unsettled his features, genuine bewilderment breaking through his usual mask of detachment. "You never leave me alone. You just kidnapped me!"

His brows furrowed. "Protecting you."

"From what?"

Again, no answer. Just that ghost of a tilt of his head, watching me retreat until my hands scraped along the brick, looking for escape that wasn't there. That blank conviction in his face—he didn't think this was wrong. I looked over at the recently used brick ovens and shivered.

Kidnapping didn't compare to burning people alive.

I crawled desperately backward, hands scrabbling against the concrete, trying to put distance between us. Only my ragged heaving broke the thick silence between us.

The tap of his boot struck, splitting something deep beneath my skin that had nothing to do with the cold. One step. Another. The wall pressed against my back, trapping me between unyielding stone and living shadow.

Above us, a deafening crack split the air as the basement door crashed open, dust and splinters raining down the stairwell.