Page 36 of To Love a Monster (Oaths & Obsessions #1)

Lila

D arkness. That’s all there is at first. Darkness and the stench of something sour and rotting. I try to breathe through my nose, but the gag forces it shallow. My pulse spikes and my wrists burn from the rope wrapped around them too tightly.

I blink hard, each time it feels like I’m dragging a curtain back from the edge of a nightmare.

Shapes begin to form, and I see a brick wall, crumbling and discolored.

There’s a pipe running along the ceiling, slick with condensation.

It groans faintly with every shift in the air, like the building itself is breathing.

A slow drip echoes somewhere behind me, steady and measured like a clock counting down.

My body feels like it’s been folded in every wrong direction. My wrists are numb, my ankles are tight, and my muscles are screaming from strain I don’t remember taking on. My head is throbbing, the sensation is dull at first and quickly becomes sharp behind the eyes.

And that’s when I realize that I’m bound and gagged somewhere underground surrounded by damp rot. All I can smell is decay. It seeps into the back of my throat like poison.

I force my gaze toward the far wall, and that’s when I see them. Two figures slumped in the corner, motionless and melted into the concrete like they’ve been here for years. Clothes mottled with time, skin slack and discolored in a way that says there’s no one left inside.

And even through the blur, through the haze and pain and panic, I know who it is. Jake.

My breath stutters. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

But it is. My chest rises and falls fast and shallow, the gag tightening against my lips with each jagged inhale.

The ropes bite harder as I twist uselessly and my thoughts race, snapping and overlapping each other in a panicked loop I can’t break.

Clara is slumped against him, her head tilted unnaturally against his shoulder, like she fell asleep there long ago and never woke up. Her hair is matted, tangled with dried blood.

I choke on the gag, bile climbing hard up my throat and my legs kick instinctively, scraping against concrete. I’m not dreaming. I’m here. I’m really here. My pulse spikes so hard it drowns out everything else, I can hear it in my ears, feel it in my teeth, and behind my eyes.

Where is he? Where’s Nikolai? He said he’d come back. He said he’d protect me. Where the fuck is he—

Suddenly, a door creaks. Not fast, not loud. Just that slow, deliberate kind of sound that scrapes its way down your spine like a sharp nail. Then I hear boots, heavy and rhythmic as they make their way down a staircase behind me. Without looking I already know it’s Carl.

I can’t see him yet, but I feel him. It’s like a shift in pressure, like the temperature in the room dropped five degrees. The air thickens and chokes me through the gag once more as my pulse kicks into overdrive, my heart thrashing hard against the inside of my ribs.

He emerges from the shadow like he owns it, wearing that same lazy, polished grin, but it’s darker now, completely stripped of charm. All the softness in his face has hardened and when his eyes catch mine, they gleam with something that makes my stomach twist.

Not triumph and not lust, no. It’s something much darker.

Hungrier . “I wondered when you’d wake up,” he says casually, like we’re old friends picking up a casual conversation.

His voice is calm and that somehow makes it worse.

He doesn’t need to raise it, because the power isn’t in the volume—it’s in the fact that he knows there’s no one coming.

There’s no one watching. No one who can stop him.

His gaze flicks toward the bodies in the corner, lingering a beat too long before making its way back to me. “I thought a reunion might be good for morale,” he says, smirking. “I’m sure he’s missed you.”

My breath stutters behind the gag and the rope at my wrists burns. My mind screams at my body to move, to do something , but I can’t. He crouches beside me, one elbow draped over his knee like we’re sharing some intimate joke.

His hand brushes the side of my face, too gentle to be comforting, too intimate to be anything but a threat.

I flinch hard, jerking away and the rope bites deeper into my skin.

“Oh, come on,” he says. “We were getting along so well before.” His smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“What happened to all that fire, Lila? Hmm?”

He stands again, towering over me now. His boots scrape the concrete with every slow step he takes, pacing like a predator circling a wounded animal.

“They say you’re soft.” he murmurs. “But I saw something in you the day we met. There’s an edge behind those pretty eyes, defiance .

I thought...” He tilts his head. “Maybe you’d make this fun. ”

Suddenly distracted, he glances down at his phone and smiles.

A message flashes across the screen just out of my view, yet he holds it up like I can read it anyway.

“They want a recording,” he says simply.

“Proof of product. You know, the kind that gets buyers excited.” His voice turns low, mockingly sweet. “You understand, right?”

Then, without a word, his hand drifts lower, down the slope of my throat, his knuckles grazing my skin. He traces the hollow between my collarbones, then follows the line of my bra, slow and exploratory, like he’s studying me. Like I’m a specimen, not a woman.

His finger slips beneath the fabric, dragging along the seam with maddening precision, barely brushing the edge of my nipple, just enough to make me shiver in disgust. His breath hitches with satisfaction, as if my reaction is exactly what he wanted.

And then he moves again, his hand curling around the back of my neck, gripping the nape tight like a leash.

“You know what I’ve learned about girls like you?” he murmurs. “You break so beautifully. Not all at once. No, you splinter.” I shake my head, fighting the sting behind my eyes.

Carl crouches again, his presence heavy and suffocating as he leans in, his mouth just inches from my ear.

“You know, they tend to pay more when the product’s been trained.” His voice is low and intimate. “Obedience drives the price up. Willingness to suffer ... that’s what really gets them hard.”

He chuckles, his voice holding no warmth. “They don’t want to fight with their toys, Lila. They want something that trembles when they say kneel. That flinches just right when they reach for a belt.”

He pulls back just enough for me to see the gleam in his eye. “So here’s the deal, sweetheart. You behave, follow commands and put on a good show, and I might take it easy on you. But keep that little attitude?” He shrugs. “Well, I do have some buyers who prefer the ones that scream.”

My stomach turns and a rush of bile threatens to rise again.

I try to steel myself but every word from his mouth settles like a wire tightening around my throat.

He stands, his eyes lingering on me, as he speaks again, his voice harder this time.

“Make this easy for me.” he says. “Perform and obey to survive. It’s really as simple as that. ”

Then he turns, casually crossing the room and whistling under his breath.

When he stops, it’s by a table I hadn’t noticed until just now.

It’s metallic and stained, with tools spread across it like instruments in a symphony of suffering.

There are blades, clamps, and a small handheld device that looks like something torn out of a warzone.

He lifts it before weighing it in his hand. “You scream just because I ask you to and they can tell it’s fake. But silence? Silence means you’re still fighting.” He turns back to me, his smile stretching. “We don’t want that either. There’s really only one way to make it authentic enough.”

He walks slowly and then kneels in front of me again. The device hums faintly in his hand and my breath stalls. It’s not a weapon, not exactly. It’s electric, pulsing gently like it’s charging up.

“I read your file, Lila.” He leans in. “You suffered a bit of damage in your right leg from that car accident years ago, didn't you?” His thumb traces the scar through my jeans with cruel reverence. “So sensitive and so easy to light up.”

Without warning, he presses the device to my thigh and the jolt hits like lightning.

Sharp and burning. My body seizes and twists, legs spasming against the restraints and my scream tears from me before I can stop it, muffled behind the gag but still loud.

My vision blanks out for a split second as pain slices through me and Carl smiles wider.

“See?” he whispers. “You're a natural.” Carl doesn’t move right away, he just watches me writhe, lets the silence settle after the scream like he’s savoring every moment.

Then there’s a click as he lifts his phone again and points it straight at me.

“One more, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “For the client.” He presses the device to a different spot now, lower and even more tender.

My scream this time is shorter, rawer, and hoarse from the last one, but the pain is just as brutal.

The sound tears from my throat like a pig being slaughtered.

Carl lowers the phone, seemingly satisfied. “Perfect.” He grins. “You’ve got talent, Lila. Real star quality. That little sob at the end? Fucking art. They’ll eat it up for sure.” He slips the device back onto the table and sighs dramatically. “And now ... we wait.”

He leans against the wall with his arms crossed, staring at me like he’s bored. “God, I’m restless,” he says. “Would love to have you suck my cock right now, but you’re in such a mood.” His head tilts, amusement darkening. “Sulky little thing. But I get it, first day’s always hard.”

He steps forward again and kneels down, close enough that I can smell the mint on his breath.