“Does anyone have a problem with that?”
They exchanged glances and murmured amongst themselves for a moment.
Then Demyon turned me. “I trust you know what you’re doing. So, carry on.”
I leaned back in my chair, a smirk tugging at my lips.
Chapter 7 — Kiera
A few days had passed since the incident that nearly took my life. But I hadn’t been able to get that arrogant man out of my head. Each time I closed my eyes, his face would flash in my mind: his cocky smirk, tousled black hair, and cold gaze.
The condescending son of a bitch watched his victim attack me and did nothing to stop him. He told me to my face that it was because I never asked for help.
Was I supposed to? I thought he didn’t want me dead. So I figured he was going to stop the fuckin’ idiot from strangling me to death. He did not. And even until now, that pesky smirk of his still haunted me all the time.
I wasn’t entirely sure why I was pissed off at him for doing nothing. He was my captor, a ruthless monster. What did I expect? Yet I couldn’t help the rage coiling in my chest. I should be afraid of the man, the man whose victim chose death over capture.
How bad did someone have to be to push another person into taking their own life?
“He chose suicide because he was aware of what fate awaited him if I got hold of him again. One worse than death. One so cruel the devil would weep.”
His voice echoed in the back of my head, reminding me that he wasn’t a man I wanted to play with. He was the definition of evil, the devil incarnate. That’s the man who held me prisoner.
But why hadn’t he killed me yet?
He made it clear to my attacker that I wasn’t worth a dime to him. If that were true, why didn’t he kill me from the start? Also, what if my attacker hadn’t decided to take his own life? Would my captor have just stood there and let him strangle me to death?
The uncertainty of this unsettled me more than I thought. The man was unpredictable, and that made me dangerous.Verydangerous. The only reason I was still alive was because he allowed it. That’s what he said.
As much as it pained me to admit it, it was nothing but the truth. My life was in his hands; he had the power to decide my fate. I hated this situation with every fiber of my being, especially because I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
I’d studied this place like a book and had come to the conclusion that escape was impossible. The place was heavily guarded with armed men and trained hounds. Their barks alone were terrifying enough to separate one’s spirit from their body.
If I attempted an escape and, by some error of chance, I was able to elude the guards, the hounds would rip me to shreds. I wasn’t the kind to be easily intimidated or afraid. But those things looked like demons from the underworld. And that scared the hell out of me.
I always stayed in my lane, avoiding them like a plague. Another thing keeping me bound to the compound was the fence. Too high to jump over.
Even though I was allowed to roam around, I was still trapped in here with these vicious men. Most of them didn’t give a shit about me. But some did. They glared at me in ways that revealed their ill intentions. Murderous. Sexual.
Eww. Gross.
I knew that I was surrounded by wolves on a leash, waiting for their master’s order before they pounced on me.
The worst of them all was the angry dude, the one I kicked in the nuts on the day of my adoption. He never passed up the chance to tell me how much he would enjoy making me suffer when the time came.
He desperately wanted to be my executioner. Although I never let him see my fear, I was terrified deep down. And that fear only fueled my anger.
The only man here who didn’t strike me as a predator was the one who brought me food. His huge statue and eerie silence reminded me of the character Lurch from the showWednesday.
Every time he brought me food, he only said one word: “Eat.”
At first, I didn’t want to because the food was disgusting. But after a whole day of starving, my stomach began to protest, begging me to put something in it. I didn’t have to enjoy the meal; I just needed to eat to stay alive.
The next time he showed up with another plate of food, I rushed the damn thing, swallowing without chewing. It didn’t matter whether it was delicious or not. The plan was to stay fed.
I meant it when I said the filthy cup wasn’t going to touch my lips. So each time I drank from it, I would lift my head and the cup, open my mouth, and pour the water down my throat.
I’d been doing this for days now. And slowly, I was turning into something primitive. I ate for survival. Slept on the hard floor in a dark, smelly room. Battled against mosquitoes every night. And my roommate was a dead rat.
