The ambient sounds surge around us, terrifying, and yet strangely beautiful. A low, heavy bass pounds through my bones. High notes spike my nerves. Each rhythmic beat swells and fades, the reverb off the stone shaping my own personal chamber of fear, driving a painful pulse through my heart.
The dark observatory bleeds away. The briny scent of ocean is replaced by the earthy smell of dirt, the grainy texture of it gritting between my teeth. Dread courses through my bloodstream like tar, thick and toxic.
Keeping my palms fused to the vibrating wall of speakers, I struggle to drag in a breath. The dark too smothering, the scent of the vinyl canvas too potent.
It’s not real.
One. Two?—
I clench my eyes shut against the climbing anxiety, unable to count myself out of this hell.
A cruel portal to the past opens around me, and I’m submerged further, feeling the horrifying sensation of clothes ripped away, the hard floor pressed into my shoulder blades as heavy weight bears down. Splinters collect beneath my nails as I scrape and claw, teeth gnashing until copper spills across my tongue.
Sharp pain spears my breastbone.
My body freezes, palpitations thrashing my sternum to match the thundering chorus until I’m fading beneath the loss of oxygen. Then mercifully, the tie slips loose.
On reflex, I drag in a deep, staggering breath.
Orion’s heavy exhale fans across the top of my head. “Tell me to stop,” he demands for the second time. His voice sounds worn, an almost desperate quality to the rough tone, as though he’s fighting to hold himself back.
And losing.
Lightheaded, I rest my forehead to the cool mesh, the vibration of sound oddly soothing against my skull. His music is one of his secrets; a part of him he doesn’t share.
Yet he shared it with me.
Determined, I lift my head, taking measured breaths to regulate my erratic heart rate. A pinch of pain tightens beneath my ribs. But the movement, coupled with the intense rattle, stimulates my nipples, and despite my body’s protest, a hot current licks my skin.
“Collins—” He makes a demand with my name, raw fury bleeding into his tone. The abrasive caress of it drags between my spread thighs like an intimate touch, eliciting a torrent of flames.
And something wicked ignites from my depths.
I draw in a steadying breath, filling my lungs with the stubborn, resentful rage that fuels my next words. “Orion. I’m not scared of a little breath play and creepy music.” To deliver my point, I arch my back and grind lewdly into the speaker, a moan torn from my inflamed throat as the current of sound waves strokes my clit.
He curses on a fierce groan, his body locking tense around mine. Through the dark encasing us, I imagine the flex of his cut muscles. His body corded tight with frustrated need. “All that fire in you, goddamn. You want to fight me, little archer?”
Just the suggestion stirs something heady in my blood. An ember flares hot from deep inside, a kindled flame to lash out—to fight back this time.
The threat of being overpowered. Trapped. Caught between fight or flight.
My breath shallows at the danger, and I swallow hard, the silk tie shifting against my throat.
Our bodies have the ability to retain the memory of a traumatic experience, where the slightest whisper of danger triggers our fight-or-flight response. And my body?—
I freeze.
If I don’t move—don’t even breathe—it will be over soon.
“Mmm.There it is,” Orion rasps, as attuned to my body as the music. “That delectable taste of fear and fury. God-damn, you do crave a little struggle. The way I could ruin you—” He tugs the necktie, pressure edging threat against my skin. “Fuck. Don’t fight, Collins. I’m not sure what I’m capable of.”
Raw honesty frays his voice, his restraint wearing dangerously thin as he battles his compulsion toward harm.
Every organized killer has a trigger. Some incitement that will spiralthem over the brink. Uncovering Orion’s is a delicate dance; exploiting his suppressed sexual violence without shattering his weakening impulse control.
The art of manipulation isn’t about force—it’s the subtle pull of the thread until it snaps.
I seal my eyes shut, knowing with terrifying certainty that, once the monster is unleashed, there’s no locking him back up.
