The prey

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"Apologies for being late. Had to run a small errand." The brooding man sauntered in, wearing a black leather jacket and matching jeans. His tattoos peeked through the sleeves, and several skull rings adorned his fingers, looking like they could summon a demon particularly the one he worked for.

He looked everything but a billionaire's butler-or whatever he was supposed to be. His hair was slicked back with what appeared to be rebellion, and his face was contorted in a permanent scowl that suggested he had just eaten a particularly sour lemon.

He looked anything but sorry.

He opened the door of the car and bobbed his head in the passenger seat. "Get in." This was the second time in two hours a man I didn't trust was telling me to get in his car. This time I couldn't resist.

"It's alright," I muttered, making myself comfortable as he slammed the door shut, making me jump in my seat at his rudeness. "You didn't have to pick me up..." I whispered, watching him round the car and get into the driver's seat, shutting the door like a madman.

Kyle adjusted his skull rings as if they were crucial for driving, glancing over at me with an expression that could only be described as a mix between annoyed and slightly amused. "Mr Romanovski insisted," he grumbled, revving the engine unnecessarily loud.

I gulped. "Oh," Insisted. More like threatened. That demon looked unaccustomed to hearing no.

Kyle gave me a side-eye as I cleared my throat and focused on the view out.

"Этот ублюдок думает, что я его мальчик на побегушках." He murmured something under his breath in Russian I didn't understand as he pressed down on the gas pedal.

(The fucker thinks I'm his errand boy.)

"So," He began with his low and menacing voice, "You're quitting?"

I shifted uncomfortably, the leather seat creaking beneath me. "I didn't ask for this," I muttered. "Mr. Romanovski..." That maniac. "He's not exactly someone I can work for."

To my surprise, he let out a dark chuckle. "You think I don't know that? The man has a way of making you feel like you're making a choice when in reality, you never had one to begin with." His lips curled into a sardonic smile.

I glanced at him, trying to gauge what he was getting at. Was this a test? To see if I bad mouth his master? "Why do you work for him then?" I found myself asking despite the thudding of my heart.

His smile faded, replaced by a hardened expression. "We all have our demons," he said cryptically, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Some of us just happen to work for one."

A shiver ran down my spine as I absorbed his words. The car revered faster, the surroundings becoming more desolate and foreboding. I tried to distract myself by looking out the window, but the desolation only amplified my unease.

"He's scary," My voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicked toward me for a moment before returning to the road. "Пугает мой зад, у ублюдка несколько шурупов в голове ослабли," he muttered. "I'd say he's... particular."

(Scary my ass, the fucker has got a loose screw or two.)

I swallowed hard, the knot in my stomach tightening. "I just want to quit." My voice was shaky, barely audible over the hum of the engine.

He let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any real amusement. "He's got his claws in deeper than you can imagine." His knuckles whitened as his grip on the steering wheel tightened further. "You don't leave. Not unless he wants you to."

The car sped up, the city outside becoming a blur of shadows and twisted shapes. I could feel the weight of his words pressing down on me, each word like a nail in a coffin. This was the first time I had conversed more than pleasantries with him, and it was not pleasant at all.

I felt a cold sweat break out across my skin. "What kind of man could have that much power?" I whispered, more to myself than to him.

He shot me a dark look. "Don't provoke him if you want normal."

The car swerved slightly as we hit a rough patch of road, and I clutched at the seat, my heart racing.

My breath hitched, my heart skipped several beats, and I almost forgot to breathe as Kyle parked the car outside the mansion. The sky had started to descend into the evening. But the unsettling feeling returned. I didn't want to face him. I knew I'd lose my sanity just like Kyle said. He was a demon.

This couldn't be happening. I didn't want to go in there. My mind was racing. Why was I here? What was I even thinking? I should run. Kyle was right-he was dangerous. My stomach twisted. I could feel the fear, like ice in my veins. I knew what he could do. How could I face him? My legs felt weak. I needed to breathe. Calm down. But I couldn't. I couldn't do this.

"You couldn't be thinking of running away, do you?" Kyle whispered near my ear and I jumped startled. Clutching my bag tighter, I swallowed and noticed the door opened. Be brave, Sera.

I curled my lips in a grin though sweat beads were rolling down my neck and forehead. I bet he could see. And yet I tried to put on a mask. "I don't fear him."

"Says the lamb getting ready to get slaughtered." He smirked and I narrowed my eyes. Was he making fun of me? "Don't make him wait. He's not a patient man."

I ignored his remarks took a deep breath and stepped in.

This was the last place I should be. Cold. Daunting. Haunted mansion.

Not to be dramatic, but ever since I ran away from this place last night, I vowed myself not to set foot in this place ever again. Too much for making a vow. A vow I was going to break. A vow he was making me break.

When Kyle and I walked inside, I had to make sure my hands were not trembling and I was breathing.

What I wasn't expecting was to be welcomed by his presence in the living area. He was sitting there, looking like a replica of the man I ran away from last evening. Same aura. But he was not dressed in his signature robe and minimal clothes, but a decent, perfectly-fitted suit. The deep crimson tie demanded attention against his dark shirt and suit.

He didn't look at us, simply adjusted the cuffs on his shirt, and I caught a glimpse of his gold watch. My eyes involuntarily took in his lethal frame. He looked as intimidating while sitting down as he did towering over me in the library.

His chiselled features were sharp, almost predatory. Raven hair styled back baring a face that could have belonged to a dark angel. His eyes, cold and piercing, were like shards of ice. Every movement was precise and controlled. Dangerous.

He was a storm in a tailored suit, a riddle cloaked in menace.

But when my eyes found the deadly ones, staring right into my soul, my hands started shaking and I momentarily forgot how to breathe. My tight sweater clung to my sweaty skin, and the jeans I wore provided no comfort either. With one shaky, forced breath I walked towards the couch. Hell, I should've stayed where I was.

I should've listened to the warning bells. I should've worn more layers today. And I definitely should've brought an inhaler because, for crying out loud, I was about to start wheezing like a busted trumpet.

The cold brewing, pale blue eyes peered into my soul when I sat on the couch. Hunter. He was looking at me with a smirk and a glint in his eyes as if he just captured a prey he had been hunting for ages.

For instance, I couldn't understand him, couldn't read him, like a snake. He moved with deceptive grace until it was too late. Blind or not, I feared this man.

Though there were moments I doubted him, there were those small moments too where I hated myself for doubting him. His gaze was often distant, like a foggy horizon. He needed assistance, always relying on his cane, a serpent's tongue feeling the way. He was a riddle wrapped in sins, a silent predator. I knew because there was no way he was a saint.

I read in an article about him that he was not born blind but was met with an accident. There were few details about the incident, only a few loose ends, which fuelled my curiosity. What could have been so powerful to change a man like Judas Romanovski into this?

He wasn't any less powerful, of course. He was a billionaire, a titan of industry. His mansion, gilded in gold and opulence, was evidence of his wealth and influence.

There were some things I had naturally come to notice about him. The teasing smirk that never left his mouth. The dangerous glint in his eyes, even though his gaze appeared distant. His aura forced me to submit and bow down.

I didn't know I was so engrossed in my thoughts when I felt something caressing my nostrils, slowly travelling down my throat and burning my lungs. I coughed bending over as my eyes watered. I blinked. My vision cleared and through the smoke, I met his amused smirk.

"I told you, Kyle. They always come around." Voice wrapped in deceit and poison. Lips dragged in a puff of the cigar between his fingers.

His words stung as much as the smoke.

I cleared my throat, the lingering earthy sweetness of the cigar leaving me momentarily frozen before I spoke with my reserved courage. "I'd appreciate it if you-"

"Did I tell you to talk, ptichka?" His sharp voice cut me off, I raised my head to look at him with furrowed brows. He leaned back, his left foot crossed over his right thigh, left arm draped over the leather couch.

His eyes pierced mine. I shut my mouth instantly.

The silence that followed was suffocating, punctuated only by the soft crackle of the cigar's ember. He took another drag, his eyes never leaving mine, and exhaled a slow stream of smoke that curled lazily in the air between us.

I was afraid to even move a finger.

He tilted his head slightly, a small, almost unnoticeable smile playing at the corner of his lips. "That's better," his voice lowly rumbled. He tapped the ash from his cigar onto the table, just outside the ashtray. It reminded me of our first meeting. And my mind fuzzed. I couldn't tell If he was looking at me, or if his gaze was just distant.

My heart pounded in my chest. I fought to maintain my composure, my hands clenching into fists beneath the table.

"You see," he continued, his tone deceptively calm, "power is a currency. One that you seem to be in short supply of." I sucked in a sharp breath. "And in this world, ptichka, those who cannot pay the price often find themselves... lacking."

I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat making it difficult. "I understand," I managed to whisper.

"Do you?" he raised an eyebrow and then took another slow drag from his cigar, the glow illuminating his face in a sinister light. "Because understanding is not enough. Actions speak louder, wouldn't you agree?"

I nodded, my mind racing, searching for the right response, the right move. But every instinct screamed at me to tread carefully, to not provoke him further. I just wanted to run away from here.

He leaned forward slightly. "Good," he said softly, unlike his rugged features. "Now, let's see if you can show that understanding in a more tangible form."

He curled his fingers and I was confused for a second before Kyle stepped forward and placed a document on the table. My eyes caught the familiar English words and my breath hitched. The weight of the situation hit me like a physical blow, and I felt the blood drain from my face as I read the words again and again.

Denial of Contract Termination.

"What is this?" I tried to keep my voice steady as I glanced at the papers.

"Before you sign it," Kyle began, and I felt my world colliding, "you should consider the penalty clauses. Contracts often include clauses that impose financial penalties or fees for early termination. These penalties can deter someone from ending the contract prematurely, as they may incur... significant costs."

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. "What are you getting at?"

Judas leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "If you think you can just walk away from this, you're sorely mistaken. Do you have any idea how much it'll cost you?"

I swallowed hard trying to ignore the fear creeping up my spine. "I... I don't understand."

"I want you to understand the consequences," He sighed leaned back and inhaled, the end of the cigar glowing a fierce red. "If you break this contract, it will ruin you. Financially, emotionally, every way possible."

I looked down at the papers, suddenly feeling trapped.

"But there's always a way," My lips wobbled as I tried hard not to cry. "But it's going to cost you. More than you worth."

I felt a chill run down my spine as his words sank in. There was no escape, no way out without paying a steep price. He had me cornered, and he knew it. This was all predicted.

"Now," He loosened his tie a bit, "the choice is yours."

"You... cannot do this to me."

Judas's eyes gleamed with a predatory satisfaction. He took another long, slow drag from his cigar, savouring my misery. The smoke curled around him like a serpent, enhancing the menace in his demeanour. He leaned back, crossing his legs with an almost casual grace, and exhaled a plume of smoke into the air. "Oh, little bird, you really think this was an easy game. And trust me if you terminate the contract, I'll make you pay every little cent."

My heart raced. "But I don't have that kind of money, I barely worked for a month." I stammered. The noose around my neck tightened. Anger bubbled, but more than that, I felt stuck.

He casually shrugged. "Desperation is a bitch, isn't it?"

I felt a shiver run down my spine. "What do you want from me?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

He leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. "For now, your company."

Tears threatened to spill over, but I refused to let them. "And if I refuse?"

His smile widened, revealing a glimpse of the monster within. "Then you'll learn how scary I can be."

Without waiting for my reply, he dusted the non-existent dust off his slacks and stood to his full height, making the gigantic living room suddenly too small for his presence. My jaw clenched tight as he blindly reached for his cane. "Fix yourself, and join me in the car." He commanded. "Make yourself worthy to sit beside me." He adjusted the cuffs of his blazer and tapped the cane on the ground. "Do you understand?"

I refused to acknowledge him, keeping my eyes averted and my lips sealed. He had played with me, trapped me, and now he wanted to parade me around like a prized possession. The thought made my blood boil, but my defiance was short-lived.

The tip of his cane struck my shin with a sharp sting, and I couldn't suppress the yelp that escaped my lips. But even that moment of weakness was fleeting, for in the next instant, he was looming over me. His face was inches from mine, and his hand shot out, seizing my jaw in a harsh grip. His fingers dug into my cheeks, squeezing painfully until my lips puckered and my eyes widened with the sudden pressure.

"You have this for a reason, right?" His voice was cold, laced with a dangerous edge. "If you don't want to use it, I'll have it cut." His thumb pressed against my tongue, forcing my mouth open, and I shivered at the invasion. His breath was hot against my skin as he leaned in closer, his tone dropping to a menacing whisper. "I need your words, ptichka, or I'll make sure you never speak at all."

I could feel the threat in his words, the promise of pain and silence.

My mind raced, fear and anger battling for dominance. His grip tightened, and I knew he meant every word.

I managed a nod, and he let his thumb caress my tongue for a brief, unsettling moment before pulling it back.

Seizing the chance, I dashed toward the back of the living room where I knew the washroom was. My legs felt wobbly beneath me, fear and adrenaline making my steps uncertain.

Reaching the washroom, I slammed the door shut behind me. I leaned against the door, my breath coming in shallow, rapid gasps. My reflection in the mirror showed wide, terrified eyes and a pale face. I turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run, and splashed some on my face, hoping to steady my nerves.

The washroom felt like a temporary escape, but I knew it wouldn't last. He would be expecting me to return, to use the words he demanded. I gripped the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white. I had to think, to find a way to escape this nightmare.

******