TICKET TO HELL

Damien

The night clung to me like a second skin, thick and suffocating, as I leaned against the rough bark of a tree outside her house. The faint, warm glow spilling through her living room window made my stomach churn. She was there—with him . Every muscle in my body coiled tight enough to snap. He was too close, his hand touching her like he had any damn right to.

My knife was a comforting weight in my hand, the blade gleaming faintly as I let it drag across my palm, just enough to feel the bite. It whispered promises to me—sharp, delicious promises. The sliver of moonlight caught its edge, a mocking reminder of how easy it would be. One clean swipe. One .

I pulled out my phone, the live feed from her house filling the screen like some sick reality show. Cameras I’d installed without her ever knowing—they gave me her every move, her every breath, even when she thought she was safe. Safe . The word was a joke. No one was safe, least of all her.

She tilted her head toward him, her lips curling into a laugh that made my ears buzz with static. He leaned in, his hand sliding to her waist like it fucking belonged there. My fucking waist. My fucking laugh. My Millie.

And then—then the bastard dared . His hand slid up her neck, his mouth grazing hers, and I felt it—my pulse spiking in my chest like a bomb. My grip on the knife tightened, the blade trembling against my skin. The thought of splitting his throat open, feeling the hot spray of his blood on my hands, sent a twisted thrill through me. I wanted to watch his face drain of life, his stupid fucking smile replaced with fear as he realized he’d fucked up touching what was mine .

It would be easy—too easy. Slip through the door, carve him open in a heartbeat, and let him die choking on his goddamn arrogance. I could almost hear the wet, gurgling sound he’d make, the way his body would collapse at her feet. She’d cry, scream maybe, but she’d learn . She’d fucking understand.

I held myself back, the fire roaring in my chest, threatening to consume me whole. But no. Not yet . I forced it down, every sharp, violent impulse clawing to be let loose. She didn’t know I was here, didn’t know how fucking close she was to crossing a line she’d never come back from. This game— my game —was just getting started. I felt a manic grin tug at my lips, the thrill surging up my spine. Patience, Damien. Patience .

The knife in my hand was a lifeline, its cold, unyielding weight grounding me, reminding me who was in control. Her? Him? The world outside that window? They didn’t fucking matter. They were oblivious, blind to the storm sitting just beyond their reach. The anger thrummed under my skin, sharp and hot, but I’d learned to wear it like a second skin. Waiting was an art. I had perfected it.

Through the screen, I watched her let that bastard touch her, his hand on her waist like he thought he had a claim. My stomach twisted, my pulse hammering in my ears. I wanted to rip that hand off— every fucking finger —and shove them down his goddamn throat. But where was the fun in that? Where was the satisfaction in simply taking what was mine without giving her a choice?

No, no. I wasn’t some impulsive animal. I was methodical, deliberate, righteous . I wouldn’t kill her little plaything without first giving her the chance to save him. After all, what would be the point if she didn’t know what it meant to hold his fate in her hands? To realize that with a single word, she could bring him back from the edge—or let him fall .

It was so much more delicious this way, watching her struggle with it, watching her wrestle with the choice, knowing that she’d see the monster within me and, despite her best instincts, still be drawn to it. It was inevitable, really. She was already too far gone, whether she knew it yet or not. This was just a reminder. A lesson in power.

I’d make her understand that she couldn’t outrun this. She could play house, laugh with her little friends, pretend she was safe, but we both knew the truth. She belonged to me . Her choices, her fears, her desires—all of it was mine to twist and shape .

So yes, I would give her the choice.

With my gaze locked on the screen, I watched as she laughed, the soft light illuminating her face as she leaned into him. I could feel the anger simmering, like a low, dangerous hum vibrating beneath my skin. The little pet excused himself, disappearing down the hall, leaving her alone for a moment.

Perfect timing .

I dialed her number slowly, each press of the button deliberate, savoring the anticipation of hearing her voice. The phone rang only once before she picked up. I could practically feel her hesitation through the line.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft, cautious, as if she already sensed something was wrong.

I let a beat of silence linger, enjoying the tension, the way the fear crept in when she wasn’t sure who was on the other end. Then I spoke, my voice low and venomous.

“Millie.” I let her name drip from my lips, a twisted mockery of affection .

She inhaled sharply, a sound that made my pulse quicken with satisfaction. “ Damien… ” Her voice shook, barely above a whisper.

I closed my eyes, letting her trembling voice echo in my mind, wrapping around me like a noose I was more than happy to tighten. Fuck . The way she said my name—soft, broken, dripping with fear—sent a jolt straight to my cock. It wasn’t just a name. It was surrender. It was power. It was a goddamn symphony , and I was the conductor, savoring every shaky, desperate note.

“Damien.” Just that. One word. One fucking word, but it was enough to unravel me, to stoke the fire that already burned too hot. Her voice was laced with fear, maybe even hate, but fuck, that just made it better. Made her mine in ways she didn’t even realize. Every little tremor, every goddamn breath, was a gift she didn’t know she was giving me.

I licked my lips, the blade in my hand pressing hard enough against my palm to sting, grounding me in the chaos she stirred. The thought of her whispering my name like that again, but louder, rougher, needier , made my blood fucking sing. She could fight it all she wanted, hate me, curse me, scream at me—but she’d still come apart for me. She’d still whisper my name with those perfect, trembling lips while I made her fucking forget every other word she knew.

Goddamn, she didn’t know what she did to me. She had no idea how deep this ran, how much of her was already mine—her fear, her anger, her goddamn defiance. They all belonged to me, tangled up in that one broken whisper. Fuck . It was enough to make me want to kick her door down and take her right then and there, make her scream my name until it was the only fucking thing left in her vocabulary.

She thought she had a choice. She thought she could run, hide, resist . She didn’t fucking understand yet. But she would. Oh, she would . Because I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t . Not until every breath, every thought, every goddamn piece of her was mine .

And when she finally got it, when she looked at me and realized there was no escape, no salvation—only me —I’d hear her say my name again. But this time, it wouldn’t just be fear. It would be surrender. Complete. Fucking. Surrender . And it would be the most beautiful thing I’d ever fucking hear .

Millie threatened to call the cops, as if dialing three goddamn numbers would somehow save her from me. Pathetic . Like a fucking phone call could undo what’s already been done—what’s still coming. I almost laughed. Almost. Because it was kind of cute, really, her clinging to this flimsy little idea of safety, like it was something real. But cute doesn’t cut it, not with me. And hope? Hope is a fucking lie . One I’m more than happy to rip out of her hands.

So I leaned in, let my words slice through her like the cold edge of a blade. Her brother. The detective . The one she thinks is untouchable, her knight in shining armor. I dropped his name, let it hang in the air like a loaded fucking gun, because she needs to understand : there are no limits with me. No fucking lines I won’t cross.

Her face— God , the way her eyes widened, the way her breath hitched. She knew I wasn’t bluffing. Could fucking feel it. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? The moment they realize you’re not playing by the same rules as the rest of the world. Her brother? I’d put him in the fucking ground if it meant keeping her where she belongs. Loved ones, family, innocent fucking bystanders—none of it means shit when it comes to her .

She doesn’t get it yet, not fully. Not what I’m capable of, not what I’d do to keep her. But she will. Oh, she fucking will . Because here’s the truth, the one she’s too scared to admit to herself: I’m not just her shadow, her obsession, her inevitable. I’m her fucking world now. And in my world, no one—not her brother, not the goddamn police, not anyone —gets to take her from me.

So let her scream, let her fight, let her cling to whatever scraps of resistance she’s got left. It won’t fucking matter. I’ll tear it all apart. Every connection, every illusion of safety, every single thing she thinks can protect her—I’ll crush it. Because Millie’s mine . And the sooner she figures that out, the better it’ll be for everyone.

I ended the call and leaned back, letting the silence settle around me, thick and charged. I could already taste it—the panic crawling under her skin, the fear sinking its claws into her chest. She thought she was clever, thought she could keep me at arm’s length, but all it took was my voice, just a few well-placed words, to crack her fragile little world wide open.

I could see her now, that perfect flinch rippling through her body. Jake, the oblivious bastard , wouldn’t even notice. But her? Oh, she’d feel it. That itch she couldn’t scratch, the cold sweat on her skin, the way my words wrapped around her throat like a vice. She was mine in that moment, whether she wanted to admit it or not. My good girl, already learning the rules.

I grinned to myself, thinking of all the ways I could reward her. Maybe I’d send her a little something—a sweet, innocent token to remind her who she belongs to. A note with her favorite cookie, maybe, something so normal it’d feel obscene . The thought alone sent a thrill through me. Because every fucking move she made now, every thought, was about me. I’d carved myself into her mind, and no locked door or smiling idiot like Jake was going to save her from that.

Then she ran. Like a scared little rabbit, locking doors, closing windows, her eyes darting around like the walls themselves might betray her. Fuck , it was beautiful. It did things to me. Watching her scramble, as if she could actually shut me out. As if a deadbolt or some cheap camera could stop me from being in every shadow she turned her back on.

Each frantic step she took was like a goddamn symphony, every panicked glance feeding the hunger roaring inside me. She was unraveling, piece by piece, and I was there, savoring every fucking second of it. She didn’t get it yet, not fully . That no matter what she did, no matter how fast she ran, I was always going to be there. In her head. In her fucking veins .

It took her too long to settle, her little dance of desperation dragging out like a masterpiece I couldn’t stop watching. Pacing, checking, locking, unlocking—she was like an animal caught in its own trap, thrashing and panicked, not realizing she’d already lost. And then, finally, exhaustion claimed her, her body surrendering where her mind never could.

And me? I waited , a predator in the dark, watching, savoring, knowing that the fear wasn’t gone. It never would be. Not as long as I was in her world. And I wasn’t going anywhere.

When her breathing slowed, steady and soft like a lullaby for the damned, I knew she was mine—completely fucking mine. I moved then, quiet as death itself, slipping around to the back door, where her so-called security faltered. She’d been careful, sure, but not careful enough . The cracks were there, waiting for me, practically begging me to step through and claim what was already mine. Her little fortress of safety was nothing but a joke, and I was the punchline .

Inside, the scent of her hit me like a goddamn drug . Sweet, soft, and laced with something that made my blood fucking boil . I inhaled deeply, letting it settle in my lungs, feeding the twisted obsession burning under my skin. Fuck , it was everywhere, clinging to the air, the furniture, the walls, like she was leaving pieces of herself behind just for me to find.

My fingers brushed against her things as I moved, each touch a reverent claim. A book she’d dog-eared, the sweater she’d left on the arm of the couch, even the fucking coffee cup in the sink—it was all hers , and now it was mine . She didn’t know it yet, but she’d built this life for me to step into, a world where every corner whispered her name and begged me to stay.

And then I found her.

The bedroom was dark, but the faint glow of the moon cast her in soft light, painting her like a goddamn masterpiece just for me. She was so serene, lying there in her little bubble of oblivion, completely defenseless . Her hair spilled across the pillow like a dark halo, her lips parted slightly as if whispering secrets to the night. Fuck. She was perfection , and she didn’t even know it .

I stood there for a moment, letting the sight of her wash over me. She was at my mercy now. The darkness inside me roared, urging me forward, telling me to take, to claim , to leave a mark so deep she’d never forget. My hands twitched with the urge to touch, to press, to own .

And I did. Slowly, I climbed onto the bed, careful not to wake her. My knees sank into the mattress on either side of her, framing her body like a predator closing in on its prey. I hovered above her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, close enough to hear the soft whisper of her breaths. Her chest rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm, and I matched my own breathing to hers, letting her pull me into her world without even knowing it.

Fuck.

The urge to press closer, to leave an imprint so deep she’d feel me even in her dreams, clawed at me. My cock throbbed, my fingers ached, every nerve in my body screamed for release. But no. Not yet .

Patience . This was a moment to savor. A slow, perfect descent into madness, where I ruled her world and she didn’t even fucking know it. Yet .

I leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, my gaze tracing every detail of her face. The way her eyelashes kissed her cheeks, the slight twitch of her lids—she was dreaming. Maybe somewhere, deep in that unconscious little world of hers, she knew something wasn’t right. Maybe she could feel the weight of me in her room, the storm brewing just inches from her perfect, defenseless form. Vulnerability clung to her like a second skin, and fuck, it was intoxicating .

She didn’t know I was here. That made it all the better. A lamb in her own den, wrapped in the false comfort of her little sanctuary. The locks, the cameras, the rituals to keep herself safe—it was all bullshit. I was inside. I was always inside. And this moment? It was mine. Stolen, secret, sacred . She belonged to me, even if she didn’t know it yet. Hell, especially because she didn’t know it yet.

I stayed still, patient, letting the quiet thrum of her breathing match the wild rhythm of my pulse. Every second dragged sweetly into the next, anticipation twisting itself into something dark and electric. I could already see it—how her face would become when she woke. The moment those beautiful, honeyed eyes opened, when terror began to seep into her sleepy gaze. That fear would be mine. Crafted for me, shaped by me , etched onto her face like a goddamn work of art.

I let the possibilities unfold in my head, savoring them like a fine whiskey. What would I do? How far could I push her, twist her, break her? I didn’t need to touch her, not yet. The tension in the air, the control I held over this moment, was a sharper thrill than any physical act. My hands stayed at my sides, fists clenched with restraint, even as I burned to leave my mark.

She stirred, her body shifting beneath me, soft and unsuspecting. Fuck . My breath caught as her lashes fluttered, teasing me with the promise of what was to come. She was so close now, teetering on the edge of wakefulness, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. My whole body tensed, the anticipation building to something sharp and unbearable. I wanted to see it—the exact moment her peace shattered, when she realized the nightmare wasn’t something she could just wake from.

And then it happened. Her eyes opened .

For a heartbeat, there was calm. Confusion flickered in her gaze, soft and unfocused, like she was still clinging to the last shreds of a dream. But reality has a way of cutting through soft things, doesn’t it? Slowly, like ink spreading through water, understanding dawned. Her pupils blew wide, her breathing hitched, and fuck, the terror bloomed. It was raw, unfiltered, painted across her face like the most exquisite canvas I’d ever seen.

She froze, her body trembling under me, every muscle tense with panic she couldn’t suppress. The silence between us was thick, electric, as her mind scrambled to catch up with her reality. Her lips parted, but no sound came, her fear so complete it stole her voice before it could find her throat.

And me? I drank it in. Every trembling breath, every flicker of terror in her wide, pleading eyes. It was fucking beautiful . That fear, that raw, primal thing—it was mine. My mark on her, proof that she could never escape me.

Slowly, I leaned in closer, letting my breath ghost over her skin, hot and deliberate, sinking her deeper into the abyss of her own helplessness. My shadow swallowed her whole, dragging her into the dark where I ruled, where she didn’t stand a fucking chance. The silence between us stretched tight, suffocating, broken only by the faint tremor of her breaths. I could almost feel her pulse slamming against the air—erratic, frantic, a song composed just for me.

I drank it in—the wild panic in her eyes, the way she froze under the weight of my presence—and it was pure ecstasy . A brutal, twisted rush surged through me as her gaze locked on mine, terror widening those honey eyes until there was nothing else. Fucking perfection .

She gasped, her hands shooting up to push me away, a desperate, useless little attempt that only made me smile. Her strength was nothing, and she knew it. I seized her wrists in one swift, brutal motion, slamming them above her head and holding them there like a fucking trophy . The hitch in her breath, the flutter of her pulse beneath my grip—it was intoxicating . She was trembling now, wild and fragile.

My other hand slid free, the cold gleam of the blade catching the dim light as I brought it to her lips. I didn’t press hard— not yet —but just enough for her to feel it, to understand that every inch of control was mine. The steel whispered against her skin, sharp and unyielding, a silent promise of what I could do if I wanted to. And I fucking wanted to.

“ Shh ,” I murmured, my voice a low, poisonous drawl, the edge of it brushing her fear like a knife through silk. “You don’t want to scream, do you, Millie? Not unless you’re begging me for something you can’t take back.”

Her lips parted, trembling against the blade, her breath stuttering in shallow, panicked bursts. A single tear welled in the corner of her eye, sliding down her cheek like a slow admission of defeat. I could see her mind fracturing, the terror warring with some ember of defiance that refused to burn out. But she wouldn’t fucking win. Not here. Not against me .

“Good girl,” I whispered, and the words curled out of me like smoke, dark and possessive. I tilted the knife just enough to catch her gaze, forcing her to focus on the razor-sharp glint of metal and the promise it carried. Her eyes were wide, desperate, screaming in silence as her body betrayed her, frozen beneath me like a bird trapped beneath a cat’s claws.

Finally, she found her voice, weak and shaking but there. “What do you want from me?” she choked out, every syllable laced with raw fear, her words barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

I laughed then, low and dark, the sound rumbling through the air like thunder before a storm. “What do I want ? Oh, Millie,” I said, leaning in so close my lips almost brushed her ear, my voice a vicious whisper that twisted the knife already embedded in her psyche. “I want to drag you into another one of those sweet fucking nightmares .”

Her body jerked beneath me, a futile attempt at escape, but the words had already started working their way into her mind. Confusion flickered across her face, and I could practically hear the gears grinding as she tried to piece it together. “What… what are you talking about?” she stammered, her voice cracking like glass, her gaze darting between mine in frantic disbelief.

“Think harder , sweetheart,” I urged, pressing the knife a fraction deeper against her lips, watching her flinch under the touch of cold steel. “Those dreams you’ve been having? The ones that make your heart race, your skin crawl, your head fucking spin ? They’re not dreams.” My voice dropped, venom dripping from every word. “They’re all very real. ”

Her breath hitched, her eyes widening with the weight of my revelation. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, the word trembling on her lips like a lifeline she couldn’t bear to lose. “No… that’s not possible. I… I would know.”

I leaned back just enough to let her see the truth in my eyes, the manic, unrelenting hunger that burned there. “Would you?” I hissed. “Because, Millie, every night, you’ve been mine. And every time you wake up thinking it’s over, I’m still there. Right here .” I tapped the knife lightly against her temple, watching as her face twisted in horror. “In your head. In your fucking dreams. In every shadow you’re too scared to look at.”

Her world was crumbling now, her mind shattering under the weight of my words. And I relished every second of it.

I leaned in, so close I could feel her shallow breaths, my voice low and jagged with menace. “You didn’t realize it, did you? Every scream, every fucking whimper you thought was locked in your head—I was there, Millie. Whispering in the dark. Guiding you. Claiming you. Those nightmares? Those were my gifts. Sweet, twisted little presents. Now tell me, Doctor , how do you separate reality illusion? ”

Her eyes widened, that perfect flash of disbelief I’d been waiting for. There it was—the spark of realization, the sharp sting of horror lighting up her gaze. She shook her head, trembling, her lips parting on a shaky, breathless denial. “You’re lying…” The words came out so weak, so goddamn fragile, I almost laughed. Almost .

A smile curved my lips, sharp as a blade. “Am I?” I let the question hang there, my tone dripping with venomous amusement. “Look at you. So lost .” I brought the knife to her jawline, the cold steel kissing her skin as she flinched—a gorgeous, involuntary dance of fear . I could feel her pulse beneath the blade, a frantic little drumbeat begging for mercy.

“Let me spell it out for you,” I murmured, my voice dipping into something feral, something raw. “Every night, I was there. Taking you. Molding you. Twisting your dreams into a fucking symphony of terror. And now, Millie—now we bring that symphony into your waking hours. Let’s make your nightmares real , sweetheart.”

Her lips trembled, a soft gasp escaping her, and I watched her crumble under the weight of the truth. “You’re insane…” she whispered, voice trembling, barely audible .

I barked out a laugh, sharp and cruel. “Really, Doctor? That’s your diagnosis ? Fucking lazy for someone with a fancy degree, isn’t it?”

From my pocket, I pulled the mask , sleek and black, its surface glinting under the dim light. Attached to it was the little bottle, dark as my intentions, its contents shifting with the slightest movement. Her reaction was fucking perfect —her eyes widened, her pupils blown with panic. She was shaking her head before I even said a word, as if that could undo the inevitable.

“What… what is that?” she stammered, her voice breaking. Oh, the fear in her voice—it was like music, a delicious harmony that sent a thrill straight through me.

I leaned closer, the mask dangling between us like a promise. “This, my dear, sweet Millie,” I murmured, my tone dark and mocking, “is your one-way ticket to hell. And I’m the devil holding the fucking reins.”

She tried to recoil, her body pressing back against the headboard, her limbs scrambling in vain. Pathetic. Fucking adorable, but pathetic. I caught her easily, my grip steel against her fragile wrists. In one swift motion, I pinned her down, my knees framing her hips, locking her in place. The mask hovered above her face, a weapon of my own making.

“Breathe,” I whispered, my voice smooth and cruel. “Come on, sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

Her body thrashed beneath me, all wild limbs and panicked desperation, but I was stronger. So much stronger. Her fists slammed against my chest, her muffled screams breaking through the mask, but it didn’t matter. It only made it better. She was fighting, and fuck , I loved it when she fought.

“ Shhh ,” I cooed, the mockery dripping from my tone. “It’s useless, Millie. Just let go. Let me in. Let me own you.”

Her struggles began to falter as the drug took hold. Each gasp she managed pulled her deeper into my grip, her body betraying her as her strength melted away. Her eyes, so wide with terror, started to glaze over, the fire dimming as the poison worked its magic.

I pressed closer, watching her, drinking in every second of her unraveling. Her body sagged beneath me, her final, weak attempts to fight nothing more than a ghost of resistance. She hit me one last time, a pitiful slap that only made my grin widen.

“Good girl,” I murmured, voice low and thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Give in.”

When her eyes fluttered closed, when her body finally went limp, I let the mask drop. The silence that followed was intoxicating, a void filled only with the sound of my own breathing and the slow, steady rhythm of hers. I lingered above her, savoring the stillness, the victory, the fucking power of having her completely at my mercy.

This was only the beginning.