I wrinkle my nose and twist my wrists, letting the rough hemp bite into my skin. This time, the knots shift just a hair, and it takes everything I have not to squeal or kick my feet in triumph.
Damon’s laugh is low and twisted, sending a cold shiver racing up my spine. That sound has haunted my nightmares for years.
“My darling flower.” He tsks softly, running the tip of his finger along my bruised cheek. “It is almost cute that you think you will have a choice in the matter.”
Oh, this bastard.
I lunge forward, clamping my teeth down on his probing finger until I taste blood.
He rips his hand free with a howl, face twisted in rage, and backhands me so hard the flimsy wooden chair explodes beneath me as I crash to the concrete.
Perfect.
There’s my way out of these ropes.
Here’s the secret about surviving under a monster’s thumb. While he’s obsessed with crushing you, you’re quietly memorizing every flaw, every crack in his armor. Damon’s humanity is long gone, but his ego is a parade float—huge, loud, and begging to be popped. Poke at it just right, and he’ll unravel in seconds.
And just like that, his oversized ego takes a hit. He lashes out, sending me sprawling. Suddenly, freedom is within reach, and so is a weapon, practically begging for my grip.
I am absolutely going to drive this stake through that rotten excuse for a heart, vampire-style. Maybe I’ll even keep it as a trophy, a twisted little keepsake for my mantel.
I don’t know.
Definitely somewhere everyone can see, a bold reminder that this time, I was the real monster in the room.
A ghost of old fear flutters in my chest as Damon grabs a fistful of my shirt, yanking me off the floor. The fabric protests, threads snapping under the strain.
As I’m dragged through the rubble, my hand closes around a broken chair leg. A jagged nail jabs my palm, its rusted tip promising violence.
Oh, hell yeah.
What a perfect little tool for gouging out your eyes, darling.
Stay stone-faced, Mari. Don’t let him catch the thrill lighting up your eyes. Now is definitely not the time for a victory jig.
Damon rants at the top of his lungs as he drags my body across the concrete floor of the warehouse, but I completely tune his voice out. My gaze darts through the gloom, cataloging beams and exits, wrists twisting against fraying ropes.
“Do you not understand that you are mine? You belong to me. Me.Mylittle flower,” he screams, his grip tightening on my shirt. “You will listen to me. You will submit to me. I will make you see that I am the only one on this earth who truly loves you.”
A wild cackle bursts from me. Not just at his pitiful words, but because the splintered wood has loosened the ropes. Blood slicks my wrists, letting my hands slip free, warm drops pattering onto the cold concrete.
Damon is so completely lost in his own unhinged villain monologue that he completely misses the faint sound of the rope falling uselessly to the floor. Lucky for me, he ordered his men to guard the main exits and leave him undisturbed. Not because he thought I’d break free, but to keep out any would-be heroes. Not that I’m sweating it. My guys could wipe the floor with his hired guns any day. Besides, the real danger isn’t lurking outside. It’s right here, sharing the same stale air as him.
Honestly, I’m amazed he let that slip his mind. Last time I escaped, it was nothing but dumb luck. Back then, I was just a trembling, shattered kitten. Now, I’m a whole different animal.Maybe there’s still a flicker of fear in me, but then I look at him and see nothing but a fragile man desperate to feel big.
I’m a baddie in love with an even meaner biker who always has my back. That thought alone fuels every ounce of grit I need to rescue myself and claim my own hero moment.
“Damon,” I sing out, my voice a sweet, mocking melody as I finish wiggling the rusted nail entirely free from the shattered wood of the chair leg.
I wedge the nail between my middle and ring fingers, pressing the blunt end into my palm so the sharp tip juts out like a punch-dagger. In my other hand, I grip the last sturdy chunk of chair leg, ready to swing it like a club.
With everything in place, I drag my boots across the concrete, letting my body go limp in Damon’s grasp. He falters on his next step, his pricey shoes skidding on the boards, totally blindsided by my sudden dead weight.
“Damon,” I say again, raising my voice just enough to cut cleanly through his unhinged ranting.
He jerks his body around to face me, a vicious snarl completely disfiguring his features.
I shoot my right fist forward, fast as a lightning strike, giving him zero time to process the shift. The rusted nail buries itself deep in his socket with a wet, stomach-churning squelch. He lets go of my shirt, howling in agony so loud it rattles the walls.
