Chapter 8

Eight

The cool night air, tinged with the faint scent of freedom, brushed against my fingertips. I stretched higher, my muscles straining as the rusted window latch gave under the pressure. It was open now, a thin crack of possibility, the outside world so close I could almost taste it. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope flared hot and sharp in my chest, pushing against the numbness that had threatened to consume me.

But then, the hair on the back of my neck prickled as the primal sense of danger crept over my skin. It was as if the very air in the basement had shifted, charged with a presence that had haunted me day and night. I froze, my heart stuttering in my chest as a chill swept through me, washing away that fleeting spark of hope.

He was here.

I didn’t need to turn around to know that Owen’s eyes were on me. I could feel them, dark and piercing, cutting through the dim light and pinning me in place. My pulse quickened, the blood roaring in my ears as I fought the instinct to bolt, to scramble up and out through the narrow window. But it was too late for that now. Any move I made would be a mistake, and Owen didn’t forgive mistakes easily.

“Kira.”

The sound of my name, low and almost tender, slithered through the room. It would have been a caress if not for the razor’s edge beneath it. The air in my lungs turned to stone, suffocating me as I slowly, reluctantly, lowered myself back down. My bare feet touched the cold concrete floor, grounding me in a reality that now felt like a trap snapping shut.

I turned to face him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. He stood in the shadows by the door, his frame draped in darkness except for the sharp gleam in his eyes. A chill swept over me, not from the cold, but from the way he watched me, silent, unreadable, the calm before the storm.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Owen said, stepping closer, his voice smooth but carrying the weight of disappointment. That was worse than rage. Disappointment from Owen meant something deeper, more insidious.

“I… I was just—” The words died on my tongue as his lips twitched with a flicker of something that might have been amusement or menace. He reached out, and instinctively, I flinched. A fleeting shadow of pain crossed his face, so brief I wondered if I’d imagined it, but then his fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

“You were just what, Kira?” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. The tension in the air thickened, wrapping around us like a noose. I wanted to shrink back, to melt into the floor and disappear, but his touch held me captive, a cruel reminder of my place.

“I thought… maybe… I could get some air,” I finally stammered, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. He hummed, the sound vibrating through the inches between us as his thumb stroked along my jawline in a gesture that could almost be mistaken for affection. Almost.

“Lying doesn’t suit you,” he said, his eyes hardening as he leaned in, the distance between us evaporating. His presence overwhelmed me, and I felt myself being dragged under, like a ship caught in a whirlpool.

“I’m not lying,” I whispered, more for myself than for him. The silence stretched, suffocating, until he stepped back, and the sudden loss of his touch made my skin burn with shame. I hated that I felt the absence of him, that I craved it even now, when everything inside me screamed to fight, to escape.

Owen’s expression darkened, and he took a measured breath, the sound like a warning. “Do you know what you’ve done?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

“I trusted you, Kira,” he continued, each word laced with something sharp and unyielding. “I thought you understood what we have here, what I’ve given you. And yet, here you are, trying to run.”

“No,” I said, the denial slipping out before I could stop it. “I wasn’t?—”

He moved so fast I barely registered it before I was pressed against the wall, the cold, hard surface digging into my back. His hands bracketed my head, caging me in, and his face was so close I could see the storm brewing in his eyes, dark and hungry. My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic drum beat that matched the chaos in my mind.

“I don’t want excuses,” he said, his voice a growl. “I want you to understand that there are consequences, Kira. I won’t let you forget that.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to break under the weight of his gaze. He was too close, the heat radiating from him tangling with the anger and something else that coiled low in my stomach, confusing and sickening all at once. I hated him. I hated that I wanted him. That, despite everything, a part of me still longed for the twisted, dark comfort he provided.

“Do you understand?” he asked, his voice softer now, dangerous. His fingers slid from the wall to the back of my neck, pulling me forward so that our foreheads touched, and I felt trapped in the intensity of it, the intimacy laced with control.

“Yes,” I breathed, hating the way the word came out cracked and broken.

A small, satisfied smile ghosted across his lips before he pulled back, releasing me so suddenly I nearly stumbled. He reached into his pocket, the metallic clink of the handcuffs making my blood run cold. My eyes widened as he grabbed my wrist and secured one cuff around it, dragging me to the mattress before looping the chain around the old iron pipe above it. He clicked the other cuff around my opposite wrist, effectively binding me, arms above my head, unable to do more than sit on the edge of the mattress.

He stepped back, eyes tracing my face, watching the realization sink in. I was trapped, more than ever before.

“Stay here,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that was both a command and a warning. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room. I sat there, breathless and paralyzed, the cuffs biting into my wrists, heart hammering as I heard footsteps outside. The basement window, my last hope, shifted with a sudden, sharp sound.

I watched, horror prickling through me as Owen’s shadow loomed from outside. He lifted a board and hammered it into place, the sound a final, crushing blow. Each strike of the hammer echoed like a death knell, sealing away the last fragment of hope that had kept me clinging to the idea of freedom.

The last sliver of light disappeared, and with it, any chance of escape.