Chapter 10

It's way past midnight, and I am lying in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. Eli snores beside me, loud and untamed, making it impossible to sleep. My mind races, churning over the past, the present, Eli, and the future.

After what feels like an eternity, I gently draw the duvet back and sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Without waking Eli, I quietly sneak out of the bedroom and head to the living room. I grab my hoodie and sneakers before slipping them on, then head for the door.

Stepping out of my trailer, the cold night wraps around me like an icy cloak. I gently close the door behind me, pulling my hoodie over my head and shoving my hands deep into my pockets for warmth. Once I feel prepared, I head toward the main carnival, eager to explore it.

The fog is thick and dense, obscuring my view of the ground beneath my feet and when I've made my way through the maze of trailers, I slow my pace, aware that I'm nearing The Hollow's trailer. Deep male voices drift from that direction, and I stop, pressing myself against a trailer. Carefully, I peek around the corner and see all three of them—Hell, Soul, and Wrath—talking, with Soul perched on his bike.

My mind races, trying to plan a way around them, when suddenly Hell spins around. I jerk my head back into the shadows, flattening myself against the trailer while my heart hammers in my chest. How the fuck did he spot me?

The murmurs of Soul's voice continues, but Hell's sharp instincts keep my nerves on edge. I risk another small peek, instantly seeing his glowing eyes sweep over the area, not quite looking at me but close enough to send a tremble through me.

The silence that follows becomes deafening until I hear Soul speak louder. "What can you sense, Hell?"

Hell's eyes continue to search, his posture is taut, coiled like a predator, ready to pounce at any moment.

After some time, he finally responds. "Nothing."

I notice Soul shifts, standing off the bike, his own senses now heightened by Hell's. His eyes dart around, analyzing every shadow and flicker of light. "You sure?"

Before Hell can answer, in the distance, a faint noise—a metallic clang—echoes through the night, drawing all their attention away from me. It's a small distraction, but it's enough and I take advantage of the moment, inching my way along the side of the trailer. After striding over the paths between the trailers, taking another route, I finally find myself at the edge of the carnival grounds.

The mist thins and I pause, catching my breath. The silence is heavy except for the hum of the Ferris wheel and the occasional creak of the rollercoaster. The carnival, once a place of joy and screams, now feels like a haunted wasteland.

As I walk in deeper, I slowly pass a large, eerie carousel, creaking and groaning, but it isn't the cheerful ride of childhood memories; instead of the cute creatures that you would usually sit on, it has skeletal horses. Their empty eye sockets and gaping mouths give the impression that they are trapped in eternal torment, forever galloping on their circular path.

I continue, passing by the rollercoaster, its tracks rusted and twisted, and the Ferris wheel, its cabins swaying gently in the cold breeze, empty and abandoned. I notice a huge sign that reads: The Glass Maze, but I pass it, heading toward the death rooms behind the wheel, feeling my sudden fear teetering on the edge.

My mind becomes hazy, screaming at me from the inside to turn back, to return to the safety of my trailer, but I don't. I push forward, wanting to find out about The Death Room's most of all. I have a feeling that I am being kept in the dark about this place on purpose. People are not telling me what Dark Night is, avoiding my questions, so, tonight I plan to get some answers.

Once behind the wheel, I find myself confronted by a tall metal fence that is locked by a heavy chain. The bars are cold under my fingertips as I peer through them, scanning the area behind it. The fog is thicker here, the air almost suffocating, but in the distance, partially covered by the trees at the forest's edge, I notice a huge, black building. It stands with blacked out windows that have bars across them.

The building gives an aura of warning and the trees surrounding it seem to lean in, like they're trying to shield it or perhaps to scare off intruders. The forest itself is deadly silent, the usual night sounds of crickets are missing, as if even nature is too afraid to stir in this place.

Suddenly, a figure catches my eye from behind the fence, near the building, and my stomach drops, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. I squint, pressing my face closer to the cold metal bars, straining to see more clearly in the dim light.

Then I see it's her. Her outline is faint, hidden by darkness, but unmistakable. Arabella. Her dark hair shines against the moonlight, and she moves slowly, almost cautiously, as if she knows she's being watched, but her eyes are fixed on something ahead of her. Not me.

She seems oblivious to my presence, and something awful settles in my gut. My breathing picks up, tightening my chest until she suddenly darts into the building. Not thinking clearly, I leap up, grasping the top of the fence, and climb it as quickly as I can, the metal clinking loudly with each movement. I drop down the other side before sprinting toward the building.

As I make it to the entrance, I pause, my breath ragged, my hand gripping the cold door handle. I glance back, half-expecting to see someone there, but the area is deserted. Taking a final deep breath, I pull the door open and step inside, the heavy door creaking behind me.

Inside, the air is musty, the heavy scent of decay lingering, so potent that I have to cover my nose with my sleeve to stop myself from hurling. Shadows loom on the black walls, twisting and turning with each flicker of the dim overhead red lights. Thick, silver chains hang low, clinking as I walk through, attempting to push them out of my way. My footsteps echo softly as I move deeper into the building, my eyes scanning every corner for any sign of Arabella.

Once I am through the corridor of chains, I hear a gentle rustling ahead and I freeze, my pulse racing. Arabella's silhouette appears at the far end of the long hallway, her back to me. She stands still for a moment, then slowly turns her head, her empty eyes meeting mine. A chill runs down my spine, but I force myself to move forward, wanting to reach her.

"Arabella? What are you doing here? Are you okay?" I murmur through a shuddering breath.

As I get closer, her expression shifts—a flicker of something haunting—and she opens her mouth into a wide gape, like a huge black hole, before letting out a high-pitched scream that pierces through me.

The sound is unlike anything I've ever heard, a blood curdling wail that reverberates through the building, echoing off the walls. I instantly slap my hands over my ears, the pain in them unbearable, as I drop to my knees. The scream continues, a relentless assault on my senses, making my vision blur and my head throb. The red lights start to flicker, and Arabella's face is twisted in a distorted mask of agony and rage, her eyes wide, and locked onto mine.

I struggle to stay upright, the pressure in my head building. My heart hammers furiously in my chest, but through the daze of pain, I try to crawl toward her, to tame her, my movements sluggish.

Just as I think I can't endure another moment; the scream abruptly stops and silence crashes down around me, so sudden its disorienting. I remain on my knees, panting, my hands still pressed to my ears.

Slowly, I lower them, blinking rapidly, but I instantly notice through my blurred vision that Arabella is gone. The hallway stretches out in front of me, empty, the chains swaying behind me, and I push myself to my feet, trembling while I stagger ahead, still determined to find her. I can't lose her again.

My legs feel heavy with exhaustion, and I have to lean against the cool walls for support. Tears stream down my cheeks as I fight to maintain my balance, but when I turn a corner, I catch sight of her once more, standing beside a door on her right.

Her crystal blue eyes bore into mine, emotionless. I take a shaky step forward, but before I can get close enough, she darts through the door, slamming it shut with a loud thud. I sprint ahead and push open the door, my mind full of desperation, but as soon I cross the threshold, I suddenly feel myself tilting forward over an edge, hardly noticing the gaping chasm below.

Terror grips me as I feel myself falling, but a strong hand swiftly seizes the back of my hoodie, keeping me suspended over the abyss. My breath is caught in my throat as I hang over the hollow floor, my wide eyes scanning the deadly spikes below while my Converse grip on the edge of the bottom of the door tightly.

The realization of how close I was to meeting my death by a trap hits me until I am yanked back to safety. I stumble backward as they release me, and I fall up against a wall.

Suddenly, the lights cut out, plunging me into darkness. My breathing quickens, becoming the only sound I can hear apart from the ringing in my ears. Panic sets in, and I start running, banging into walls as loud, heavy footsteps chase me from behind. My shrieks of horror echo through the building until I spot a set of red, swirling eyes far ahead.

Hyperventilating, I turn on my heel, only to see another pair of green, vortexed orbs closing in. I run again, my hands scraping down the walls in a frantic search for an exit. The eerie laughter of men surrounds me, growing louder, more menacing.

Suddenly, I bang into something hard, and I stumble backward from the impact, but before I can react, I'm hoisted over a strong shoulder. I scream and kick out as they carry me, still in panic mode, but they are seemingly unfazed by my fight, until we enter a dimly red-lit room.

With a thud on my back, I'm lowered onto a hard surface, the impact knocking the air out of me. Once my vision clears, I'm met with the sight of Hell looming over me, his gaze stern. As I lie on a wooden table, he is positioned between my legs, his hands braced beside my head. After scrutinizing my frightened expression with curiosity, he lowers his face toward mine, and I draw in a quick breath.

"What the fuck are you doing in here alone, Dolly?" He asks, biting on his words.

I shake my head once, not willing to tell him about seeing Arabella since it was clearly some fucked-up hallucination.

"Why were you guys scaring me like that?" I say, trying to catch my breath.

He tilts his head to the side, "What?"

I stay silent, wondering if my fear had made me imagine Soul and Wrath as well.

"You nearly got yourself fucking killed, Noir, and when the automatic lights cut out, you ran for your fucking life."

I quickly change the subject, shifting the focus away from my vulnerable moment, trying to unwind my coiled body. "I was just curious. What is this place?"

I look up and glance around me, taking in the surroundings. A small black room illuminated by a single red bulb, sharp spikes protruding from the walls and ceiling, with a table in the centre. Hell's presence above me feels oddly comforting even though he creeps me the fuck out as well.

"It's exactly what it's called. The death rooms." He responds.

I stare at him, searching his eyes, "You guys kill people here?"

"In here, they kill them fucking selves. Hence the death traps."

My gaze drops to his lips. "Again, your warped perception is shining through, Hell."

He suddenly grips the small of my waist in his large hands, pulling me further down the table until my crotch is pressed against his.

"And what would you do without my warped fucking perception, Noir? Your tiny body would have plummeted into those spikes if I didn't think or watch you like I do." His gaze hungrily wanders down my frame as he continues. "Nothing in this place is as dangerous as you being alone here with me though." My breathing quickens, my body tense, and the weight of his words sink in. "Me saving you is becoming a regular occurrence, don't you think, Dolly? I am now demanding shit in return."

"The first one was your fault, so it doesn't count."

When I snap out the words, his black-painted mouth twitches with a small smirk, lowering his eyes again to my heaving chest before responding. "Maybe not, but this one definitely counts and I'm ready to collect the debt."

"So, you didn't just save me out of the goodness of your heart, Hell?" I ask, hoping for a lifeline.

He arches an eyebrow at my question. "Goodness? Heart? I have neither, pretty girl. I'm either completely empty or overflowing with darkness. Tonight, you get to decide which."

I swallow hard, "I did say I would never let you touch me."

His eyes flash to mine in an unsettling manner, and I can feel a swirl of conflicting emotions within me.

"Oh no, I won't be touching you if I can help it." He responds calmly.

I feel confusion before he murmurs close to my face. "You're going to make yourself fucking come in front of me. That's what the fuck I want. I want to see what you look like when you're actually coming apart."

As his dirty words hang in the air, I find myself stunned, my lips parting slightly in surprise. While staring back into the depths of his whirling lenses, I am reminded by the emptiness that exists within me when it comes to pleasure. It's a void that has been shaped by a history of trauma. One that E has never been able to fill. His struggle with medication doesn't help.

The truth is, I rarely find release by doing it myself either. Pleasure is non-existent in my life, a haunting memory that I have never truly experienced. It was stolen from me long ago, but now as Hell's heated gaze lingers on me with such ferocity, I am almost tempted to confront the reality of my own desires—or lack thereof. I could be rubbing or fucking my pussy with my dildo for hours and the orgasm might not strike, which is embarrassing. I would be humiliated if that happened in front of him.

"But this place, it's—" I say anything to get out of it, knowing I am not mentally sane after the shit I just went through tonight.

He brings his mouth dangerously close to mine, cutting me off, and clenches his teeth with aggression that shows his inner sexual frustration. "You either do it or I fucking will. I am not letting you leave this place until I know your pussy is dripping and satisfied."

I gulp down the lump forming in my throat, but he doesn't wait any longer. He grasps the waistband of my sweatpants and yanks them down my legs until they're at my ankles, trapped by my Converse.

"Hell, wait." He continues to pull my sweatpants off completely, but his eyes stay on mine. "This is the last time you ever come near me like this again. The watching and stalking shit stops. The fucking torment and weird ass behaviour stops. This obsession stops. I don't want you."

His jaw tenses, revealing his displeasure at my cold words, but I mean it. I didn't come here for this. My purpose was to fucking work and leave, not to entangle myself in a sexual relationship with a psychotic maniac.

His eyes trail down my body before returning to meet mine, a silent challenge in them before he finally speaks. "I better make the most of it then. Strip naked."

I shake my head once before responding. "What?"

"Strip. The. Fuck. Naked. Noir."

His icy tone is full of dominance, a silent threat that if I don't do as I am told, he will still do it himself, which I think he wants; he seems to crave full control, but I know I need control too.

The command hangs between us, charged with tension as well as the strange connection we share. I inhale deeply before sitting up, then drag the zipper down on my hoodie. After shrugging it off, I move on to my white crop top, rising it over my head until my bare tits bounce free.

I can feel his feral stare all over me, analysing my movements and biting into my flesh, yet I refuse to look him in the eyes. I lift myself, dragging my black panties down my legs and as soon as I'm only in my Converse and my clothes drop to the floor, the room falls silent. A wave of self-consciousness washes over me, even though I know he's already seen me naked, but this time I am not in the safety of my trailer, so instinctively, I cover myself with my arms, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Suddenly, Hell seizes my waist, roughly manhandling me and effortlessly forces me up onto my knees in the middle of the small table, positioning me exactly how he wants.

He leans down, delicately scooping my panties up with one finger and he raises them to his eye level, inspecting them closely before tossing them onto my lap.

"Stuff them inside your cunt. Let's see how wet you can get them." He demands.

I blink blankly at him, sensing that he's pushing my boundaries right away, but I am not sure how to react to his degradation.

"Now, Noir! I'm not going to hold myself much longer; I will force them inside your fucking pussy."

My body tightens as his powerful voice echoes through the dead silent building, and my eyes close briefly before I glance down at my panties.

I hesitantly take them from my lap, clutching them into my fist. With trembling fingers, I lower them between my thighs, gradually stuffing them inside myself until they're entirely engulfed.

"Now touch yourself. No shyness around me, pretty girl." He orders, "Your body is beyond beautiful."

I keep my head lowered, hearing his boots against the hard floor as he slowly walks around the table, taking in every inch of my naked body from all angles. The small room is thick with tension, my skin prickling under his greedy gaze. As soon as I press my fingers through my folds and touch my clit, the sensation that is supposed to follow is non-existent, as usual. I push down, rubbing my bud, trying to coax some feeling from it. The circular motion is familiar, but it gives me no real pleasure. I keep my eyes screwed tight, focusing as much as I can, willing myself to gain something, anything so this can be over with.

His wicked presence looms over me, a dark and intense energy that heightens the pressure of the moment, making me wonder if he can sense that I am odd, not like the other girls he has probably fucked. My thoughts swirl, anxiety peaking, not helping the fucking situation at all.

After some time, my hand starts to ache, and my clit throbs, but not in the right way. I hear him stop right in front of me, and the sound of his blade flicking out makes my heart jump. He places the chilly metal beneath my chin, forcing me to raise my head, and my eyes instinctively meet his.

"You struggle to find pleasure, Dolly."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks, the sting sharper than his knife could ever be. It hurts more than he could ever know. My movements freeze, and when he withdraws the knife, I lower my head again, avoiding eye contact, my body so stiff with humiliation that its ready to run out the fucking door.

He moves around me again and when he halts behind me, he suddenly cups his hand over mine between my legs causing them to tense. His other arm wraps beneath my breasts, dragging me closer to him and the table's edge. My heart races, my breathing picking, his grip is strong while he asserts control.

"Now rub your cunt," he orders with a snarl, his breath hot against my ear.

"But—"

He removes his hand from mine and roughly snatches my face, forcing me to look back at him.

His swirling eyes are filled with a darkness, and he tightens his teeth. "Do as you're fucking told, or I'll do it for you, and trust me, Noir, I won't stop. I'll keep forcing those fucking O's out of your tight pussy until you can no longer stand it."

His voice is full of honesty, his grasp on my face is so tight that it's almost painful, but it roots me to the spot, and I find myself obeying.

When I start to stroke my clit again, his eyes scan my features and he lowers his palm to my throat, almost stealing my breath with how hard he grabs it. His lips brush over mine, just as they did this morning, but this time, there is no one here to stop me from caving in. No one is coming to save me from his wicked embrace.

Tilting his head to the side, he flattens his pierced tongue at the edge of my parted lips, trailing it teasingly across them and instantly, the walls of my pussy clench around my panties, a surge of electricity surging through me. His grip tightens on my neck, the forbidden intimacy becoming consuming, pulling me deeper into a vortex of lust and danger.

As soon as he tries to lick me again, I do the inevitable and catch his tongue between my lips, sucking it hard, since I can't seem to stop myself, which instantly pulls a beastly growl from him.

Oh fuck.

As soon as I let go, our mouths merge and our tongues collide. The connection that storms through me sets my entire body on fire, and I start to stroke myself harder. He devours my mouth hungrily, his fingers digging into my jaw, anchoring me and with each flick of his piercing over my tongue, he delves deeper, attempting to taste every corner.

The flavour of him is intoxicating, a mix of tobacco and aggression, but when his hand glides down my chest, tracing the contours, I instinctively reach up, grasping his wrist, not allowing him to take any more than what he asked for.

"I swear to fucking god, Dolly if you don't start being a good little slut..." He snarls furiously against my lips, flicking my hand away.

Following his angry warning, his hand lands on my breast, giving it a tight, bruising squeeze, the sensation delivering a delicious pain, causing my brows to crease. He growls against my lips as his thumb flicks over my ridged, pierced nipple, then lowers his hand until he is grabbing mine. He takes it away from my bud, lifting my fingers to his mouth and he sucks the tips that were just on my clit, holding eye contact as he makes them wet for me. I watch through heavy eyes as he does it, the act driving me crazy.

Fuck. This man.

He returns my hand between my legs with his over it and presses his fingers down on mine, adding further pressure to my aching bud and he guides my movements.

As I feel his wetness on my clit, I start to become desperate for my release and for him. I fill my mind with dirty thoughts of him taking me as I keep my eyes closed and just when I think I couldn't want him any more than I do, I feel the cold steel of his blade dragging down my inner thigh, teasing and threatening me. How I was feeling tonight and what he said to me this morning returns to my mind, sending arousal through me at the possibility of him cutting me while he fucks me, and the fantasies start to consume my senses.

"Fuck, cut me, Hell." I demand, my murmur breathless.

Without hesitation, he slowly slices my skin, a sting followed by a warm trickle of my blood running down my thigh. The pain barely registers amidst the rush of adrenaline and desire it brings, eliciting a dragging moan from my lips.

"Again." I gasp out with my eyes rolling.

He moves on to make another cut beside it, this time firmer, and sharper, causing me to groan from the sensation. The friction against my clit starts to send shockwaves of pleasure through my veins and my body trembles, knowing that what he is doing is working in the most fucked-up way possible.

I surrender to my unhinged mindset, riding the waves of euphoria that is swelling inside of me as he continues to mark me. After dropping the knife onto the table, his hand moves over my hurting wounds with a possessive power, smearing the blood over my skin. When he grasps my breast again, painting my flesh with gore, he squeezes it viciously and my moans escalate into desperate cries against his lips.

The rougher he gets with me, the further I teeter on the edge of destruction. With a feral hunger, he sinks his teeth into my bottom lip so harshly that it pulls a scream from me, a raw sound of bliss. Once he releases, he licks away the blood he drew before plunging his tongue back into my mouth.

While he consumes me, his fingers and thumb press harshly over the slices he inflicted, the boundary between pain and satisfaction blurring into oblivion. I find myself riding both our hands, rocking my hips in the same rhythm as my pounding heart until I am utterly consumed by the most powerful climax of my entire life.

As a scream rips from my throat, my pussy and body convulsing with the force of my orgasm, I throw my head back, crashing against his chest as my spine bends inward as if an entity is trying to escape me. His hand strengthens around my throat, grounding me against him while with the other, he forces me to continue rubbing my throbbing clit, pushing me into overdrive.

"That's my good Little Dolly. I knew you had it in you," he growls, satisfaction evident in his tone.

Once I have ridden out my high, we slow down, my breathing steadying, and my sweaty, blood-dampened body gradually unwinds from the powerful release. I feel him reaching down behind me until he's gently pinching my panties that are still stuffed inside me, and slowly, he drags them out.

When he has them, he releases my throat before taking a step back and sliding them over my Converse. As the wet fabric meets my bare legs, I lift myself so he can continue putting them on me. He wedges them far up my ass crack before releasing them with a sharp snap against my hips.

Without warning, he seizes a handful of my hair, yanking it back, causing me to hiss and when I finally open my heavy eyes, I find myself locked in a silent stare with Hell, our gazes speaking volumes where words fail.

Slowly, he brings his mouth close to mine, his breath warm against my parted lips, "Now go back to him, wearing the sinful fucking mess you just made for me. Let every step remind you of how I degraded you tonight, and how you relished every filthy second of it."

My gut twists with guilt, but I don't show it as he searches my eyes before his sweep down the front of my body once more.

"You're fucking perfect, Noir. Every single part of you. Don't ever think otherwise," he says, his words genuine and raw.

A strange sensation overrides the guilt I just felt, but I continue to remain expressionless even if the insane connection between us has never been clearer. His sharp jaw visibly tenses, his demeanor showing his temptation to take more than what we agreed to before he suddenly releases me, his warmth dissipating from my body.

My eyes close, then I glance down at myself, noticing my thighs decorated with his slices. Turning my head to look for Hell, I find him gone, disappearing like a ghost in the night, leaving me alone in the aftermath of our depraved moment.

With furrowed brows, I call out for him, "Hell?" My voice echoes through the empty building, but there is no response.

I can still feel his burning touch lingering on my skin as I sit in the same position for a moment, wondering why he left so quickly until my thoughts turn to how he is the first man to ever accomplish that. I liked the way he guided the situation, but also allowed me to have full control of my pleasure.

Is Hell truly the monster he portrays? He breathes evil yet radiates a beautiful darkness that connects to my soul. Why do I have a feeling this is the beginning of the end and what's between us won't stop? I can already feel myself crumbling every time he wants to take from me. I need to avoid him at all costs or leave entirely. I can't get attached just because he's the only man who's ever made me feel things I never knew I could.

I also have to figure out what to do about E and make sense of what happened tonight. Maybe not taking my medication caused a psychotic hallucination when I saw Arabella, a gut-wrenching reminder of how much I miss her and that I'm here, in some kind of fucked up killing carnival and not searching for her anymore. Perhaps it's a sign that I shouldn't be here at all.

After some time alone, I gather my clothes and get dressed, starting to feel the unease settle over me at the thought of being here on my own again.

Finally exiting the death rooms, I make my way back to the trailer, each step weighed down by the confusion of the night's events, the wetness of my panties and the discomfort of the wounds etched into my flesh.