Page 54 of The Boy I Loved (Eternal Hell #1)

After we finished eating and made our way into the lounge, my eyes landed on her instantly.

There wasn’t a drop of blood on her in sight.

She was seated at a table with Lauren and Stacy as usual, her hair much cleaner than it had been the last time I’d seen her.

That wasn’t the only thing that caught my attention.

She wasn’t dressed like the other girls.

She was wearing a black and white plaid skirt with a black tank top, and a black and white plaid flannel that tied in the front.

My hand landed on Mason’s shoulder as he moved to walk away, my fingertips digging into the muscle there. “Why is Hazel wearing clothes?” I demanded. “Like actual clothes.”

Mason shrugged me off, shooting me a glare for ruffling up his shirt. He smoothed it out, casting a small glance in Hazel’s direction before returning his attention to me again.

“Tristan doesn’t want anyone else to see her body. He had me get her clothes to change into this morning. He also had me move her into a room in the lounge. I think the dude is pussy-whipped.” He scoffed like the mere thought of a guy being controlled by good pussy was appalling.

“Why?” I demanded. “He’s never done that before.”

Mason shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t interrogate him. He was covered in blood when I saw him.”

I blew out a frustrated breath and turned my focus back on the girl in question.

Her shoulders were rolled inward, and she wasn’t touching her food.

Whatever she went through last night clearly traumatized her.

I wanted to go to her, to give her false promises that everything would be okay, and that it would all work out. But I couldn’t.

She drew Tristan in more than any girl he’d ever fucked with had been able to, and I didn’t know what that would mean for her.

I made my way to the training room later that day, side-eyeing Tristan as I navigated my way toward the sofa at the front of the room. He was busy, going over the list on the clipboard with the other guys.

“We could quiz them,” Azrael suggested.

To my surprise, Tristan nodded. “Yeah. We might as well. It’ll give them a small break before we fuck their shit up on Monday.”

The guys joined me on the couch a few moments later.

Silence descended around us, the tension in the room thickening.

It might have been one-sided but the thought of Tristan—who hated women and didn’t even view them as people—liking Hazel as more than something to stick his dick in had my blood warming.

The girls began to trickle in through the door a few moments later, my eyes pinging to Hazel like she was the only one who existed. To me, she was the only one. Everything about her called to me. Her wavy hair, her green eyes, her curvy body. She was beautiful.

Before she could sit down at the usual table she frequented, Tristan straightened beside me. “Hazel,” he called out, capturing her attention. I didn’t miss the way her entire body locked up at the sound of his voice.

Blood roared through my ears and my skin prickled with awareness. My mind was on a constant loop, trying to figure out why he’d be requesting her at the beginning of a session like this. Hell, we hadn’t even started, and he was calling out to her.

“Come to me,” he ordered, never taking his eyes off her.

Hazel’s throat bobbed with a nervous swallow, her gaze darting over to her two friends who appeared to be just as confused as the rest of us. Slowly, she made her way toward us, her movements careful and methodical.

As soon as she was in touching distance, Tristan reached out, circled his arm around her waist, and pulled her onto his lap.

Vincent shook his head, a crease forming between his brows like he didn’t entirely understand it either. It took a lot to surprise him, especially when it came to Tristan, but here he was—surprised.

Tristan’s hand instantly landed on Hazel’s inner thigh, the tips of his fingers disappearing beneath the skirt she wore.

Emerson scowled from one of the front tables, her eyes narrowing on the girl beside me.

It was no secret that she’d developed feelings for Tristan.

A lot of the girls did. He liked to play mind games with them—make them feel special, give them extra perks, and manipulate them.

Over time, those girls would soften toward him, thinking he was interested.

But he never was. Once he was done … well, we saw what happened with Nia.

Hazel was smarter than that though. She wouldn’t be toyed with so easily. There was no way in Hell she’d fall for a guy who forced himself on her so callously, and who murdered and raped the women around her without a care in the world .

“We’re going to be testing your knowledge today,” Tristan announced, running his nose up the side of Hazel’s neck, like he needed to be touching her at all times.

I suppose I’d rather she be on his good side than on his bad side. If he was interested in her, she’d have a higher chance of survival. That knowledge still did nothing for the jealousy burning through my system. I didn’t want his fucking hands on her.

“I’m going to ask you individual questions.

If you speak out of turn, you will be punished,” he continued, slipping his hand further up Hazel’s skirt.

I didn’t miss the way her thighs tightened like she was trying to keep him out, but it was a moot effort.

“And if you get the answer wrong, you will be punished.” A soft grunt left him as he thrusted his fingers inside of her tight pussy, a gasp fluttering past her lips.

I was seconds away from saying ‘fuck it’ and tearing her away from him, consequences be damned. How many times had he fucked her by now? How many times had he eaten her pussy or fingered her?

“Jesus,” Azrael grumbled, shaking his head when he realized what Tristan was doing.

Tristan smirked at him in response, his eyes hardening. “You got something to say?” he challenged. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her tighter against his chest so that he had better access.

Azrael shook his head, knowing better than to fight him on this.

“Harley,” Tristan began, turning his attention back to the front of the room. “Who is the better gender?”

The girl tensed immediately, the muscle in the side of her jaw thrumming. “Men,” she gritted out. I could tell she only said it to appease him, but that was what surviving took in a place like this.

I wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. He was so focused on Hazel and what he was doing to her.

The muscles in his bicep bulged, the sounds of her wet pussy making these suctioning sounds that echoed through the quiet room.

Her teeth dug into her plump, lower lip, like she had to fight herself not to make a single sound of pleasure. He was fucking obsessed with her.

Finally, he hummed in response, slowing down his movements as he glanced around the room again. “Why is hygiene important here?” he asked. “Lauren.”

“So that we’re presentable for you guys,” she answered shakily.

“If you’re told to murder one of your friends, what would you do?” He lowered his voice. “Hazel.”

She whimpered in response. “Do it,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Emerson scoffed. “You gave her like … the easiest question.”

Tristan froze, his eyes zeroing in on her. She knew as soon as the words rolled off her lips that she’d fucked up. Not only did she speak out of turn, but she also questioned his authority. He might have played favorites, but he didn’t let anyone undermine him, especially not a woman.

He helped Hazel to her feet, withdrawing his hand from her skirt, and to my surprise, pushed her into my lap.

My hand circled her waist instantly and she slumped against my chest, the tension rolling from her shoulders instantly.

Discreetly, I kissed the side of her neck.

She arched her neck, allowing me more access, like she needed my touch to wash away his.

Tristan said nothing, stalking across the room to the supply cabinets.

He typed in the code for one of them before rummaging through it.

After a few moments, he grabbed something, closed the cabinet, and made a beeline for Emerson.

In his hand was a hammer. Before she could even register what it was, he was swinging it at her face.

The clawed point hit her right in the mouth, a scream tearing from her lungs as her head whipped to the side.

“You know better,” he snarled, fisting his free hand through her long, dark hair and jerking her out of her seat. “Move,” he growled, glaring at the other girls occupying the table. They instantly scrambled to their feet, the chairs sliding back against the hard floor.

Hazel tensed in my hold, her breathing becoming more shallow.

Tristan slammed Emerson on the table, her back landing hard against the surface. Blood was already running down her mouth, and I’d be surprised if he didn’t knock a tooth loose from when he’d hit her.

“Vincent. Come.”

Vincent didn’t even hesitate, appearing more bored than anything as he approached. He already seemed to know what Tristan wanted, taking his spot, and hooking his fingers into her underwear and jerking them down her thighs.

Emerson knew better than to fight him, lying there like a placid little doll as he fumbled with the button on his jeans and situated himself between her thighs. Once his pants were fixed around his ankles, he rammed inside her, the table jostling beneath them.

Tristan dropped his gaze to the bloody hammer, a bored expression cresting over his features. He brought the weapon to his lips, and swiped his tongue over the red substance, wiping it clean.

Emerson’s heavy breathing and trapped sobs echoed through the room, followed by the sound of the table creaking in tune with every brutal thrust.