Twenty minutes earlier…
AVA
The ropes were thick but cheap—likely an afterthought. A man like him didn't expect anyone to fight back, let alone escape. But he hadn't noticed the claws. He hadn't seen the way my fingernails had sharpened once the panic bled into rage. I'd kept them tucked under, hidden in fists, waiting for the right moment.
When he left, I used them.
Slivers of rope fell to the floor in quiet defiance. I didn't waste time celebrating. My wrists throbbed from the strain, blood crusting in thin lines, but I was free. That was all that mattered.
Now, I was climbing.
The fence was high, twelve feet or more, wrapped in coils of barbed wire and ivy like some twisted fairytale. My feet slipped against the metal rungs, slick with condensation. Every breath scraped my lungs raw, my chest tight with terror and hope.
The moonlight carved silver edges on the fence, and the trees beyond danced like phantoms. Freedom. So close I could taste the cool wind drifting through the gaps. My fingers ached. My nails dug in.
One more pull—
"Going somewhere, little one?"
His voice slithered up my spine.
No.
I didn't turn. I couldn't. If I looked at him, it would be real. Instead, I gritted my teeth and kept climbing. I'd made it two more feet when something heavy slammed against the fence below me.
My body jerked, and I lost a grip on the rung.
A hand closed around my ankle like a vice. Strong. Warm. Unshakable.
"No!" I screamed, twisting, kicking, nails slicing—but he was faster. Always faster.
He yanked.
I fell hard. My shoulder cracked against the chain-link, and my body collapsed into his with a thud. The world spun. I barely registered that I was on the ground until the grass pressed cold and wet against my skin.
Before I could scramble away, he was on me. One arm around my waist. The other pressing my face into the dirt with calm, unshakable strength. His breath was unhurried. Mine was ragged.
He chuckled, low, throaty, maddening. "Didn't think you'd get far, did you?"
"Let me go!" I snarled, bucking, writhing, trying to scratch whatever part of him I could reach.
But he didn't flinch.
"I was gone twenty minutes, and you decided to grow wings?" he murmured. "I'm almost impressed."
I screamed, a sound born of fury and frustration. He let me thrash. Let me wear myself out. And when I stilled, trembling and breathless, he finally moved.
Not off me. God, no. He dragged me upward instead, pinning me like a butterfly to the fence. My chest crushed against the metal mesh, the chill seeping through my thin clothes. His body pressed behind mine, a furnace of strength and silent threat.
"I gave you a chance to be good," he whispered into my ear, his breath hot. "Now you'll have to learn the hard way."
"I don't even know your name," I spat, the words bitter on my tongue.
He smiled against my temple. "You don't need it to scream for me."
My skin prickled.
He shifted.
That's when I realized… he was only wearing a towel.
I felt it before I saw it—his skin brushing mine, the heat of him almost unbearable. Something inside me went tight. My muscles clenched in protest—or anticipation—I didn't know anymore.
And then, without fanfare, the towel dropped.
It hit the grass with a soft thud.
My eyes widened. Every breath became heavier, tighter. I wanted to look away. I didn't.
He saw.
A slow, delighted inhale.
"You're distracted," he murmured, his tone darkly amused. "Interesting."
"I'm not—" I started, but he cut me off with a hand pressed gently to my throat, not squeezing, just… reminding me of its presence.
"You are," he said. "I can smell it. The way your blood rushes. The scent of fear, fury… and something else."
I stiffened. He leaned in, nuzzling the side of my face with obscene tenderness.
"You're aroused."
"No," I whispered, horrified.
"Yes."
His hands came to rest on my hips. Gentle, almost reverent. I didn't dare move. Not from fear. From shame. Because he wasn't wrong. My body was betraying me in real time, and he knew it. Felt it. Smelled it.
His chuckle was poison.
"Bad little thing," he murmured. "You try to run, and yet here you are—breathing like you want me to ruin you."
"I didn't—"
"Shh." His fingers tightened, and I felt the fence shake with the force of my restraint. "Don't lie. Liars get punished."
He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear with a voice so low, it curdled the blood in my veins.
"I'm going to punish you now." I tensed, my heart in my throat. People like him never made empty threats. He would. I gulped.
He graced the skin of my thigh, trailing upwards, slowly bunching my skirt around my waist, ripping apart my underwear. I wasn't sure what exactly I felt; shame that I was bare before a complete stranger, or anger towards this stranger.
He raised his perfectly sculpted hand in the hair and I felt it before I heard it.
Slap!
My body shook at the impact, recoiling as something warm threatened to spill from my libido.
He stopped, eyes taking my body, taking me in as I was at his mercy. His lips tilted upward in a lopsided smile like the sadistic bastard he was, but when I felt how I throbbed underneath, my brain called me out on my hypocrisy.
Was I a massochist?
The question never got answered as his hand collided with my butt cheek, again and I trembled. Fuck.
"Such a bad girl aren't you, love?" His voice was low, close to my ear, the hot breath making me shiver. Why the fuck was I enjoying this?
His palm collided with my ass, this time with maddening intensity, and I was sure they would start to become red and have the prints of his palm. Yet, I was getting off it and he knew as my juices were sliding down my thighs.
I couldn't help the little moans that escaped my lips and the hungry way he looked at me showed how utterly fucked I was.