Page 34 of Stalked By the Alphas

33

HAZEL

My head pounds, and my vision is non-existent. As consciousness slowly returns, panic sets in as I realise I can’t see, and I can’t move. My wrists and ankles are bound tightly, the rough rope digging into my skin. I struggle to sit up, but my head, elbows and knees bang against something hard.

I blink rapidly, but there is nothing but darkness. Breathing in and out, trying to calm my growing sense of panic, the knowledge that I am stuffed, bound in a cupboard descends on me with a chilling certainty. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps as claustrophobia claws at my throat.

“Help!” I try to scream, but it comes out as a muffled whimper.

Memories flood back in disjointed flashes. The noises. The masked magician. Carter bleeding on the ground. A sharp pain in my arm. Then darkness .

I strain my ears, listening for any sound beyond my cramped prison. Nothing. Just oppressive silence.

How long have I been here? Where am I? Is Carter okay? Questions race through my mind, each more terrifying than the last. I strain against my bonds, but they’re tied too tightly. Pain lances through my arm where the man cut me earlier.

Tears of frustration and terror well up in my eyes. This can’t be happening. It has to be another hallucination, a vivid nightmare. But the pain and the ropes feel all too real.

A door creaks open somewhere above me. Heavy footsteps descend what must be stairs. My heart pounds so hard I feel like it might burst from my chest.

“Are you awake, Hazel?”

The masked magician’s voice has taken on a softer edge and sounds more familiar, but I can’t quite place it. I wrack my brain, trying to think where I know it from, but I draw a blank in my panic.

“Hazel? Are you awake? I didn’t want to hurt you, but you left me no choice.”

Closing my eyes, I shake my head. Don’t let him gaslight you. This isn’t your fault, Haze. Come on, girl. Think. Think!

I remain silent, hoping he’ll think I’m still unconscious. The footsteps draw closer, stopping right outside my prison.

“I know you’re awake, Hazel,” he says, his tone hardening. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. ”

The door to my cramped space suddenly opens, letting in a dim light.

His rough hands grab me, dragging me out. I cry out as my injured arm scrapes against the floor.

“There you are,” he says, his masked face looming over me. “Did you miss me, baby girl?”

I stare up at him, trembling. Now that I can see him clearly, there’s something achingly familiar about his eyes, the shape of his jaw beneath the makeup.

“Who are you?” I whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

He tilts his head, studying me. “You really don’t remember, do you? I’m hurt, Hazel. After everything we meant to each other.”

My mind races, trying to place him. There’s something in his voice, his mannerisms...

“Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says, hauling me to my feet. “Then we can have a proper reunion.”

He leads me to a narrow bed, pushing me down into it. As he secures my bonds above my head, I take in my surroundings. Dingy, cold, damp and underground. That’s about all I can make out. He leans forward and, with a big pair of scissors, starts cutting my dress off my body in small pieces, taking his time, enjoying every second of it. I shrink away from his touch, but he leans in closer, his breathing heavy and aroused. I shudder, and tears seep from my eyes.

“Please let me go,” I beg, even though I know it’s completely pointless.

“No, Hazel. I’ve missed you, and I know you’ve missed me. I was your first. How can you ever forget that?”

I choke on the bile that rises in my throat. My first. I was five years old. The memories I’ve spent years repressing come flooding back in vivid, horrifying detail. The pain, the fear. The blood. So much blood.

“Please,” I beg. “Please don’t do this.”

He ignores me and continues to cut away my dress, piece by piece. When my knickers are visible, he groans softly and snips the sides before he pulls them away from me.

I sob, pressing my legs together. He forces them apart and breathes in deeply, but he doesn’t touch me there.

He goes back to his cutting, less carefully now. He nicks my skin with his carelessness to get the dress off me. Once it’s gone completely, he presses the scissors underneath the middle of my bra and cuts that. The slicing of the fabric is loud in the air, and my breasts fall free. I’m completely naked. I whimper and mewl when he rubs himself through his pants. Then he unzips them and pulls his cock out. I look away in disgust and fear, but he grips my chin with his other hand.

“Look at me, Hazel. Look at how much I want you.”

He jerks off slowly at first, but then he starts tugging roughly on himself, panting.

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of him pleasuring himself. But he grips my face harder, his nails digging into my skin .

“I said look at me,” he growls, the alpha in him coming to the forefront.

As an omega, I can’t not obey him. It’s in my biology to do what he wants. This is the part of me that I hate, that I wanted to get away from, that I’ve tried so hard to become independent from these baser instincts.

But it’s impossible.

Reluctantly, I open my eyes. His eyes are wild with lust as he strokes himself faster. I feel sick to my stomach.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he pants. “A little warm-up for you to remember me by first.”

Another sob escapes me. “Please stop. Please don’t do this.”

But he’s too far gone, lost in his own twisted fantasy. With a guttural groan, he comes, splattering my naked breasts with his cum. I retch, my stomach heaving at the feel of it sliding over my nipples. I lie there, frozen, as he nuzzles my neck, grazing his teeth over my jugular.

“I’ve missed you so much, Hazel,” he murmurs. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Terror grips me that this is only the beginning. What else does he have planned for me? How long will he keep me here?

As if reading my thoughts, he chuckles darkly. “You always were my favourite little girl, Haze. I just wish we’d had more time together before I had to leave.”

Leave?

My mouth goes dry. Slowly, he pulls the mask from his face, revealing what I already know. The masked magician is David Johnson.

Leah’s father.