14
They say the easiest way to escape hell is to convince the devil you’re done fighting. Smile. Play along. Make him believe you’re tame. Then, when his guard’s down, run.
So I smiled. I woke up early, and did my hair. I picked the softest sweater. Sat across from Pierce at the marble kitchen table like we were some twisted version of domestic bliss.
“Morning,” I said, sweet as poison. His eyes flicked up, searching my face for the fight he was used to. But I buried it deep.
“How’s your sleep?” he asked, voice gravel and honey.
“Better than expected.” I tucked my legs beneath me. “Maybe you’re right… maybe I’ve just been scared.”
That softened him. Like some fool that he is. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Lyra. You’re safe here, with me.”
Safe, huh. Same as a mouse in a snake tank.
He poured me coffee and kissed my hair. I let him touch the back of my neck like I was something delicate. Resist myself even though there’s a hint of strange feeling inside me when he’s near.
All day, I played the part. I ate the food he gave me. Sat on the couch while he talked about old enemies and fake friends. I smiled and leaned on him. I even laughed one time.
It was perfect.
By the time the sun dipped low and he was in the shower, I was already counting the seconds. I waited until he was asleep near me that night, his breathing steady, one hand draped over my waist like a lock I couldn’t shake.
When I finally slid out of bed, my heart was hammering.
I didn’t grab anything except a fork inside my boots. I eased the door open, every creak sounding like a scream. The hallway was dark, and dead quiet. I made it to the warped window, hands shaking, breath barely contained. My fingers worked the latch. It clicked.
The rush of cool night air was the first thing in days that felt real. I climbed out fast, knees bruising as I slid down the trellis, vines scratching my arms.
When my feet hit the ground, I didn’t hesitate and ran as fast as I can.
Branches whipped my face while my legs burned and lungs screamed. But I saw the tree line, I was so close and then I heard this scary calm voice.
“Lyra.” Pierce’s voice. It was low, but calm. Terrifying.
Hell no, I didn’t stop.
“Lyra, don’t.” I ran harder. And then… impact. His arm came around my waist, dragging me to the ground like I weighed nothing. I hit the dirt with a gasp, gravel scraping my palms.
“Let me go!” I screamed, kicking, clawing. Pierce didn’t say a word, he just hauled me back, ignoring every hit, every curse, every beg.
When we reached the house, he slammed the door behind us. “I fucking warned you,” he said.
I stepped back, yanked the fork from my boot and raised it. “Get away from me.”
His eyes lit up amused. “You’re adorable when you think you’re dangerous, little fox.”
“I’ll stab you.”
“Then do it. I dare you.” He opened his arms and I immediately lunged.
Steel scraped his skin, a shallow bloody cut across his shoulder. Like a fucking villain with supernatural powers in movie, he didn’t flinch. Just grinned, and then slammed me into the wall so hard the air flew from my lungs.
The fork clattered to the floor. His hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing hard enough for me to barely take a full breath.
“You want war?” he whispered. “Good. I’m done playing nice.”
“Let me… go! You crazy dog!” I thrashed, kicked, shoved at his chest, but it was like fighting a wall of fire and stone.
“Actually stabbing me was not the best idea of yours,” he said, a little laugh in his throat. “Do you even know what that means to you?”
He leaned in, pressing his mouth beside my ear.
“I’m done pretending to be gentle.” I froze. The air went still around us the moment words left his mouth.
He stepped back slowly releasing me with chest heaved. His hand was bleeding, but he didn’t look at it. Couldn’t. Fucking. Care. Less.
“I tried to be patient,” he muttered, pacing once, twice, like a wolf in a cage. “I gave you food. I gave you privacy. I gave you every fucking chance to stop running.”
“And I’ll keep running,” I said, voice shaking. “Until you kill me.”
He stopped pacing and turned to face me. I smiled despite the eerie feeling inside me.
“No, Lyra. Oh no, no, no~ my little fox,” he whispered. “I’m not going to kill you.”
He walked to the closet. Yanked it open, dug into the drawer and when he turned back to me… a thick coil of rope unraveled down his forearms. My stomach turned cold.
“I’m going to fuck you on my bed, just as I told you when you try to escape again,” he said calmly, like it was the weather. “And this time, there will be no more open doors. No more games. No more freedom. This bed will become your new life once you are tied to it.”
“You’re fucking insane. Stop it!”
He stepped forward, dragging the rope slowly through his hands like he was imagining how it would feel wrapped around my wrists.
“Pierce,” I said, voice low. “Don’t.”
“No. A stubborn woman like you needs to be punished.” Without a warning, he moved.
I turned to run. Got maybe two steps before his arm wrapped around the back of my head, yanking me backward like a rag doll. I hit the floor and my elbow cracked against the edge of the dresser. Pain shot through my arm, but I didn’t stop thrashing.
“Get off me!” I screamed, kicking. “Don’t touch me—” But he was done listening.
“You had your chance,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I gave you comfort. I gave you options.”
He pinned me on the bed, straddling my hips, forcing my wrists above my head. I bucked under him, twisting hard. “Pierce, stop!”
He looked at me like that was the funniest thing I could’ve said. “You don’t know me, Lyra. Not yet. But I’ll give all the ugliness of me.”
The rope dug into my wrists as he tied me down tight, brutal, no room to slip free. I fought so hard I couldn’t feel my hands anymore.
“Let me go!” I gasped. “You don’t have to do this— Pierce, please!”
He leaned down, breath hot against my cheek. “Beg all you want. It won’t change the rules.”
Before I could reply, his mouth crashed against mine. There was no tenderness, just bruising force. I turned my face away, but he followed, devouring every inch like he had a right to me. His grip tightened on my jaw as if daring me to resist.
“Stop,” I sobbed between gasps, trying to twist away. “Pierce, please stop!”
He kept kissing me—hard, relentless, deaf to every desperate plea spilling from my lips. The moment his mouth found mine again, I bit down, sinking my teeth in as hard as I could until the sharp, copper taste of blood flooded my mouth.
He jerked back, his eyes snapped wide—blue fire turning wild, unhinged. For a second, I braced for the blow, the snap of rage. But he didn’t hit me.
No. He turned and walked across the room like he was getting a drink. Instead, he opened the closet—and came back holding it.
A black leather whip.
“No,” I whispered, breath catching in my throat. “Don’t do this. You hear me? Don’t you fucking dare!”
He didn’t hesitate. A sharp, searing line of fire tore across my thigh and I screamed, my entire body convulsing against the restraints. “Stop! Please!”
The second blow hit harder, slashing across my shoulder. My back arched painfully off the mattress, a sob ripping free from my throat as the pain echoed through my spine.
“Pierce, I’m begging you, stop!” Still, he didn’t.
The sound of leather cutting through air, the brutal sting of it finding skin, again and again—each strike was crueler than the last. My voice grew weaker with every cry, every broken plea.
My skin stung, hot and throbbing, covered in lines of fire. It felt like he was trying to erase me piece by piece, like if he could just break my body, maybe I’d break inside too.
He kept going until my sobs dissolved into silence. Not until my body slumped, too exhausted to fight. I was shaking, blinking through tears, choking on the hurt pounding in my chest.
Then… stillness. Like that finally woke him up.
His hand trembled slightly as he dropped the whip to the floor. He didn’t say a word or even look guilty. Just… unreadable.
He stepped back, breathing heavy, like he’d just finished a workout not a breakdown.
I cried. Tears flowed continuously while I felt every part of my body hurting, bleeding.
He just stared at me for a beat then he turned and walked out, the door slammed shut behind him. And I lay there, wrists burning, skin stinging, body shaking, wondering if this was the part where I finally stopped fighting or started plotting again.
