Hunted

Naomi

Chapter 25

I shiver as the wind blows through me, my hands wrapped around my chest to shield myself from the cold and drizzle.

I watch Kaya as she steps out of the car, her fingers tugging her sleeves down to her wrists, like she's bracing herself. "I've been here," she murmurs, almost like she's ashamed, "because Vaughn ordered it."

I turn to the mansion, its looming walls stretching high, shadows pooling in the arched windows, the whole place heavy and cold. It's a fortress, not a home. "And your parents?" I ask quietly.

Kaya's shoulders drop as she lets out a breath, her voice barely a whisper. "After we left Vallory Bay, I was set on going to the police, to tell someone about... everything. But somehow Vaughn found out and didn't let me live up to it." Her eyes flicker up, haunted. "But it wasn't until two months ago that he decided to kidnap me and bring me here. My parents still think I'm studying abroad." She pauses, her gaze locking with mine, and I see the fear and the loneliness in her eyes. "They have no idea."

A wave of dread crashes over me. What have we gotten ourselves into?

I force out a breath. "Marcus threw me out, locked me out of my accounts, everything. I have nothing left. I don't even know where my mom is..." My voice cracks, but I hold it together. Barely.

Kaya reaches over, gripping my arm, her touch steady. "Listen, your mom—she's an adult. If she walked out on you once, she'll do it again." She doesn't sugarcoat it, and somehow that makes it hit harder, the truth settling heavy between us.

I swallow, the ache in my chest tightening. "Kaya... I'm so lost. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I'm not okay."

She wraps her arms around me, holding me like she's afraid I'll break.
I'm in pain.

"If you're done with the sob stories, get the hell inside."

A voice cuts through the quiet, making us both flinch. We turn to see Vaughn standing there, hood pulled low, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. His gaze sweeps over me, sharp and calculating, like he's debating whether he has something to add or if I'm just wasting his time.

Kaya stumbles for a second, then tugs me toward the mansion, her grip tight.

"Kaya," Vaughn's voice snaps. "You stay right here." His eyes shift to me, cold and commanding. "Naomi, get inside."

My heart pounds, and I hesitate, glancing at Kaya, who gives me a look that's just as lost as I feel.

"Where's Marcus?" I ask, my voice wavering.

He only shrugs, taking a slow drag on his cigarette, smoke curling around his face as if he's unfazed by any of this.

With a shaky breath, I step into the mansion. The door creaks shut behind me, sealing out any hint of light from the outside. Inside, it's all shadows—barely a glimmer from the windows, the walls pressing in with a cold, eerie silence. The air feels heavy, like it's been shut up for too long.

I wrap my arms around myself, calling out, "Marcus?" My voice echoes, but there's no answer.

I strain to see, scanning for a switch, anything to bring light into this darkness. But there's nothing.

A gust of wind sweeps behind me, cold and sudden, and I spin around, peering into the shadows.

"Marcus?" I call, my voice barely steady.

The air shifts, and I feel it—hot, heavy breaths brushing against the back of my neck. A shiver runs through me, and I whip around, heart racing. But there's no one there.

"This isn't funny!" I shout, but the silence that follows is thick.

"Are you sure?" a voice whispers behind me, low and unsettling.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat, heart racing as I whip around, but there's nothing but darkness.

"Marcus?" I whisper, my voice trembling.

A soft chuckle. "Try again," the voice murmurs, and before I can react, something soft but firm slips over my eyes—a blindfold. The world goes black.

"Stop!" I thrash, kicking and twisting, desperate to break free, my pulse thundering in my ears. "Let me go!"

"Keep struggling," another voice taunts, calm and almost amused, like my fear is entertainment. "If you want to put on a show for them, go ahead. Me? I wouldn't recommend it."

The voice sharpens, and I recognize it.

Marcus.

My knees give out beneath me, and I hit the floor hard, the cold surface biting into my skin. I scramble to tear off the blindfold, but his hands clamp around my wrists, pinning them in place.

"It's only fair you see things from my point of view," he breathes, his voice low, smooth, and dripping with venom. "What do you see, baby?" His lips brush my cheek, a cruel imitation of tenderness, and I shudder at the closeness, at the heat of his breath against my skin.

I shudder—for the man who ripped my life apart. The one who made me homeless, whose brother recorded my humiliation, my assault, who dangled my survival by a thread, threatening to take every last cent. How fucked up am I to still tremble under his touch?

"Black," I whisper, voice trembling, the word barely audible.

His fingers slide to my throat, curling around it, not squeezing yet, just a reminder of control. "Suffocating," he hisses, the word like poison. "Every fucking moment suffocated me, Naomi. You gave me more reasons every day to want to break you. To make you kneel. And yet..." His grip tightens, his breath shaky. "Yet, all I wanted was to own you. To claim every last piece of you."

I gasp, choking on fear, but his words cut deeper than his touch.

"I wanted to get bored of you," he snarls, his voice rough, broken, "to play with you and throw you away so I wouldn't have to think about you every goddamn day. But then they locked me up, and you were all I thought about. Every hour, every second, it was you."

My body trembles uncontrollably, the fear sinking deep into my bones. "I didn't mean to," I whisper, voice cracking under the weight of my own words. "I'm so sorry, Marcus." The apology tastes like desperation, but I can't stop myself from saying it. I just want this to end.

His grip tightens around my throat, cutting off more than just my air—cutting off hope. "It doesn't matter anymore," he says, voice low, steady, and terrifyingly calm. "None of it matters."

I choke on a breath, my hands trembling against his, useless. The pressure isn't enough to choke me fully, but enough to remind me how easily he could. My heartbeat hammers in my ears, loud and frantic, but I hear him perfectly.

"You don't have anywhere to go," he continues, his fingers flexing around my neck like he's savoring the control. "So I have you."

The words feel heavier than his hand, sinking into me, suffocating me in ways air can't fix. My vision blurs behind the blindfold, tears I can't stop, and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from falling apart completely.

"I have you," he repeats, softer now, almost gentle, and it twists something deep inside me. There's no warmth in it, only possession, like I'm something he's already won.

I try to swallow, but his grip makes it impossible. My voice is barely a rasp, cracking like glass. "Please..."

He leans in, his lips brushing my ear, "God, I love it when you cry and beg for me. I've always wanted that."