He feedsme—one grape at a time, then small bites of the sandwich, pausing between each as if this is some domestic ritual, some twisted game. To him, maybe it’s comfortable, a moment of control and routine. To me, it’s a prison. Every second stretches out, the silence choking, every touch another reminder that he holds all the power here.
The chains clink softly, my hands trembling, but I keep my eyes on the wall, anywhere but him. I focus on survival, on getting through one bite at a time. I count down every grape, every crumb, every swallow, promising myself that if I get the chance, I’ll make him pay for every humiliation.
He wipes my mouth gently with his thumb, lingering a second too long. “See? Was that so hard?”
My skin crawls, but I grit my teeth and say nothing.
The sandwich sticks in my throat. I can barely swallow, my mouth so dry it aches. I want to refuse, want to spit in his face, but my body betrays me again.
“Water, please.”
He picks up the bottle, and I hear the cap crack open. He holds it in front of my face, tilting his head as if weighing my worth.
“Don’t make me almost have to drown you again.”
A cold shiver races through me at the memory, the way he forced the water down my throat. I try not to flinch, try to hold his gaze, but I can’t stop the fear from flickering in my eyes.
He brings the bottle to my lips. “Open.”
I obey, keeping my breathing steady, swallowing carefully as he lets me drink—just enough to soothe my throat, not enough to make me feel whole. Every moment is a reminder that I have no power here, that every ounce of kindness is just another chain that binds me.
When he finally pulls the bottle away, a droplet of water clings to my chin. He wipes it with his thumb, then presses his masked face close to mine.
“That’s better,” he purrs. “See how simple things can be when you listen?”
I swallow the taste of fear and hate, refusing to let him see me cry.
But inside, there is still a fire.
I tell myself I will not let him win, but then I feel his hand on my knee. I jerk away as far as the chains let me, hissing, “Don’t touch me!”
He only grips my knee harder, his gloved fingers digging into my skin. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” he sneers, that twisted voice warping the words. “There’s only one of me. You’ve been fucking two guys at the same time. I’ll be nothing.”
My stomach twists, everything he just fed me threatening to come right back up.
His hand slides higher up my thigh, every inch a fresh invasion. My skin crawls, a cold sweat prickling over me. I press myself flat against the mattress, trying to shrink away, but the cuffs and chains keep me helpless and exposed.
He leans in closer, mask reflecting my wide, panicked eyes. “Don’t worry, pet. You’ll get used to it. You’ll beg for me soon enough.”
Tears sting, hot and bitter, but I choke them down, meeting his gaze with as much hate as I can muster. I might shake, I might be trapped, but I will not give him my soul.
The door shuts behind him with a dull, echoing thud.
His words still claw at my skin.
His touch still burns on my thigh.
I can still feel the weight of that mask, the knife, the threat in every move.
I try to breathe, but the air comes in ragged gasps, panic making my chest tight and hot. My body shakes uncontrollably, the chains rattling softly as I curl in as tight as I can—knees to my chest, wrists aching in the cuffs, forehead pressed against the mattress.
Tears spill over, silent and hot. I no longer even try to stop them. I sob until I’m hoarse, until my stomach aches, until there’s nothing left but shaking and the raw, guttural sound of my pain filling the dark.
All the humiliation, all the fear, all the shame—I let it out, because if I keep holding it in, I’ll break for real. I cry for Jasper, for Riot, for Macee, for myself. I cry for the girl I used to be, and for the girl I have to become if I’m going to make it out alive.
Chapter 27
JASPER
