She knows. But she can’t reach me. No one can.
“Beautiful, naïve Aurora,” Jameson croons, guiding my head into his lap.
“You don’t even know who you are. You’re so sweet and trusting. It makes my cock ache.”
He strokes my hair like this is the grand fucking finale of some dark romance novel—moaning like this is love and not rape.
“If you’re wondering, baby girl, I gave you a little something to keep you still. Just enough to leave your mind awake. The roofie I slipped into your wine should wear off soon, but this?” He taps my neck where he stuck me. “This’ll make sure you feeleverything.”
Shit. He drugged me. My house is in the middle of nowhere. No one will ever know.
I’m scared.
More scared than I’ve ever been.
But beneath the terror, something ancient and brutal begins to stir.
He thinks I’m weak.
A victim.
Something he can break.
Like I’m just another girl who’ll shatter for him.
But I’m still here.
Even like this, I’m still fucking here.
The fog from the roofie lifts—not all at once, but in jagged, slicing fragments.
And with it comes the truth.
This isn’t just an assault.
It’s an execution.
Every move calculated. Every moment choreographed. He’s done this before.
Fear wraps cold fingers around my throat.
But rage digs in deeper.
I won’t beg.
I won’t break.
And if I go down?
This flannel-wrapped, cult-chugging fuck goes with me.
“Fuck, baby girl, I know you’re still a virgin.” Jameson groans, his voice thick with sick satisfaction. “If you weren’t, you would have killed me by now.”
His hands roam, pinching and claiming. Then his hips flex, and his erection presses against my cheek. Because, of course, he wants me humiliated.
How the fuck does he know I’m a virgin?
His fingers tangle in my hair, thenyank. My head jerks back, then down, between his knees. My neck strains, vertebrae popping. But that’s the least of my worries.
