Chapter 284
ALINA
His expression changed in an instant.
The pleasant smile vanished. Something dark, obsessive, and completely unhinged took its place — like a switch had flipped inside him.
He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back so hard my scalp burned like fire. His face was inches from mine, eyes wild, breath uneven.
“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you,” he snarled, almost laughing — a broken, manic sound that made my skin crawl.
“I can’t wait to feel how it feels on my cock. I’ve imagined it for years. Every night. Every single night. I’ve jerked off to the thought of you on your knees, tears streaming down your face, choking and gagging while I fuck that pretty throat raw until you can’t breathe without thinking of me. I’ve pictured you crying, begging, drooling, finally learning who you really belong to. And soon I’m going to take everything that bastard stole from me. I’m going to use every hole you have — your mouth, your cunt, your ass — over and over until you’re nothing but a shaking, broken mess that only knows my name. I’m going to ruin you so thoroughly that even if he ever finds you, there won’t be anything left of the woman he married. Just mine. Completely, permanently mine.”
Disgust rose hot and immediate in my throat, so strong I almost gagged. His words painted pictures I didn’t want in my head — crude, obsessive, filthy — and the way he said them, like he was already living the fantasy, made my skin crawl.
Every instinct screamed at me to look away, to show fear, to give him exactly what he wanted. I didn’t.
I forced my chin higher even as my pulse hammered against the bruises on my jaw. My heart was slamming so hard I was sure he could hear it, fear coiling tight and cold in my stomach — but I locked every trace of it behind a cold, mocking smile.
“Eww. You’ve been jerking off to me for years? That’s… pathetic. Truly. Do you have to hold it up with both hands just to aim, or does that wrinkled, bitter little thing of yours still try to hide from the cold like a scared old man? Tell me, does it even still work, or has all that obsession and self-pity shriveled it down to something that needs a magnifying glass and a prayer just to be noticed? Because from where I’m sitting, the only thing you’re going to choke me with is your delusion.”
I tilted my head, eyes cold with pure disgust.
“You couldn’t take a piss without missing the bowl. Keep dreaming, old man. Your fantasy ends the second someone with a real cock shows up. And as for taking what that ‘bastard’ supposedly stole from you… he didn’t steal a damn thing, you bastard. I gave it freely. To a real man. Not to some aging, obsessive creep who’s spent years fantasizing about a woman who never once wanted him.”
For a second he just stared at me. Then his face twisted so violently it barely looked human.
A raw, animal sound tore out of his throat — half snarl, half broken laugh — and his hand shot out, locking around my jaw hard enough to bruise. His fingers dug into my cheeks, forcing my mouth open as he slammed me back against the cold stone wall. The impact knocked the air from my lungs.
“You fucking cunt,” he snarled, voice cracking with pure, unhinged rage. Spittle flecked my lips as he leaned in so close I could smell the sour rot on his breath.
“You think that filthy little mouth of yours gets to talk about my cock like that?”
His free hand yanked my head back by the hair, hard enough that my scalp burned.
“I’ve waited years for this. Years of watching. Years of planning. Years of patience while that bastard played house with what was always mine.”
His eyes swept over me, lingering on the chains, the bruises, the dirt on my clothes. There was no pity in his gaze — only possession, and a sick, shining happiness that made my stomach turn.
“And you stand here, chained, bruised, completely at my mercy… and still run that smart fucking mouth?”
Santos hissed the words against my ear, breath hot and uneven. His body pressed harder into mine, pinning me to the cold stone wall. One hand stayed locked around my jaw while the other braced beside my head, trapping me completely.
“Keep talking. Keep mocking me. Because every word out of that pretty mouth is just another reason for me to make sure the next time you open it, the only thing coming out is a scream while I shove my cock down your throat.”
His grip tightened until my teeth ached.
“That bastard stole from me. He got everything I’ve spent years waiting for… and you stand there calling me wrinkled? Calling me old?”
Fear coiled tight and cold in my chest, but I forced the words out anyway, voice low and steady.
“You weren’t robbed, Santos. You were rejected. One man was loved. The other had to kidnap a woman and chain her to a wall because he couldn’t accept she never wanted him.”
The slap came so fast I didn’t see it.
His open palm cracked across my face hard enough to snap my head sideways. Pain exploded through my cheek. Blood filled my mouth.
“I’m going to fuck that sarcasm out of you until you’re crying for real,” he snarled. “Until that mouth is too full of my cock to say another word. And when I’m done, you’ll beg me to let you choke on it again. You’ll forget every other man. You’ll only remember me.”
I met his eyes even as my pulse hammered with fear.
“Go ahead,” I rasped. “Split my lip. Shove that wrinkled little cock down my throat. Make me cry. Make me beg. Do every filthy thing you’ve jerked off to for years. I’ll still be thinking of him. Because that thing of yours probably couldn’t find its way in without a map and a prayer.”
His face twisted. “You bitch!”
“You’ll never be as good as my husband,” I continued, voice shaking but clear.
“Not now. Not ever. He'll always be first, and the truly pathetic part is that you won't even be last. Last still means you made the list. You never did. So keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep at night, but no matter what you do, you'll always be nothing more than the obsessed stranger who convinced himself he was entitled to a woman who never wanted him.”
“I paid your fucking father for you!” he roared. “For your virginity!”
“I wasn’t for sale. My father didn’t own me. He couldn’t promise my body to anyone. And it was never yours.”
His jaw clenched so hard I heard it. "Shut the fuck up!"
“You keep talking about my virginity like it was something you were owed,” I said, voice dripping with pure contempt.
“You don’t even have the right to claim a single thing about me. You don’t own me. You don’t own my body. You don’t even own the shit I take in the morning. You didn’t lose anything, Santos. You were never even in the running. I gave Alexander everything freely — my heart, my trust, my body — because I wanted to. Because he’s a real man. Because he didn’t have to buy me, stalk me, or chain me to a wall to make me stay. The difference between you and him is simple. One man was chosen. One man was loved. And the other is a pathetic, aging predator who had to kidnap a woman and lock her in a dungeon because he couldn’t accept the truth — that I never wanted him. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
The second slap was harder. My head cracked against the wall. Tears sprang to my eyes. Blood ran from the corner of my mouth.
“Say whatever you want, bitch,” he hissed. “You’re mine. Mine!”
His tongue dragged wetly down my cheek. When I turned my face away, his hand moved lower, rough and possessive, groping my breast through the thin fabric of my clothes.
His fingers squeezed hard enough to bruise, then slid lower, shoving beneath the waistband of my pants in a crude, claiming touch that made my stomach turn.
I shuddered, every instinct screaming at me to disappear. Fight, Alina.
Without thinking, I wrapped the heavy chain around my hand. One second he was groping me — the next I swung with everything I had. The metal smashed into the side of his head twice. Skin split. Blood ran down his temple. He roared and staggered back.
My whole body trembled. I scrambled backward until my spine hit the wall, breathing hard, eyes searching frantically for any way out.
Santos recovered too fast.
He straightened slowly, blood dripping down the side of his face, and when he looked at me the last trace of anything human was gone. His eyes were pure black rage.
“You hit me?” he whispered, almost laughing. Then his voice rose into a raw, animal snarl. “You fucking hit me?!”
He was on me in seconds. One hand tangled brutally in my hair, wrapping it around his wrist so tightly I felt strands tear free. The other slammed into my stomach hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. Before I could even double over, he yanked my head forward and smashed my face into the stone wall. Once. Twice.
Pain exploded through my skull like lightning. My vision went white, then red. Something warm and wet ran down my face — blood, I realized dimly.
My cheek, my lip, maybe worse. For a terrifying second I wasn’t sure if my jaw or cheekbone had cracked. My entire face was on fire.
He didn’t stop. His boot slammed into my ribs. Agony exploded through my side.
The impact drove the air from my lungs, and the chains rattled violently as my body jerked against them.
I doubled over as far as the restraints would allow, coughing and gasping for breath while pain radiated through my ribs.
“You think you can hurt me?” he roared, leaning down until his bloody face was inches from mine.
“You think you get to fight back after everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve waited for?”
His hand closed around my throat, not quite choking, just holding — a promise of how easily he could.
“I’m going to break every defiant bone in your body,” he hissed. “I’m going to make you regret every word, every look, every second you ever spent with that bastard. And when I’m finished, you’ll crawl to me. You’ll beg me.”
I slumped against the cold floor, dazed, blood dripping from my lip and temple, as his shadow fell over me once more.
Somewhere under the fear and the pain, one thought cut through everything else.
Alexander… please find me.