⚡ Chapter 57: Bound by Survival
(Phoebe POV)
We’d been trapped down here for two days before we finally heard it — a door slamming somewhere above us. The sharp crack made both me and Lee flinch. After hours of silence, even sound itself felt foreign. My pulse jumped, dread twisting in my gut.
“Is it him?” I whispered.
“Sounds like him,” Lee muttered. His jaw tensed. “And he sounds pissed.”
The locks clanked open. The heavy door groaned, and Killian stepped inside.
Blood — everywhere. Spattered across his shirt, smeared on his face. He looked like he’d just walked out of a slaughterhouse, and I knew exactly what kind of animal he preferred to butcher. My breath caught in my throat. He was calm — too calm — the kind of calm that only followed chaos.
Without a word, he strode to Lee, pulled a knife, and sliced through his restraints.
“I need you to dig this bullet out of my arm.”
Lee didn’t hesitate. Didn’t speak. He just picked up that black medical bag from the corner — the same one he’d used on me once — and got to work. Like this was normal. Like being chained in a basement wasn’t worth flinching over.
How could he act so damn calm? How could he patch up the monster who’d left us here, starved, tied like animals? The quiet compliance made anger burn through my fear.
Killian perched on the table, blood drying along his jaw. Lee cleaned the wound and worked the bullet free with cold precision. I watched him stitch the skin, my stomach turning with every tug of the needle.
“You look like hell,” Lee said finally, wiping his hands.
Killian flexed his fingers, then snapped his nose back into place with a sharp crack. I nearly gagged.
“Warehouse job,” he grunted. “My brothers decided to surprise me.”
“Did you kill them?”
“One’s gone. No way he survived that. Other one’s in the trunk, hog-tied and grumpy.”
Lee frowned. “Which one?”
“John.” A dark smile twitched on his lips. “Thomas is my guest.”
“Thomas shot you?”
“Yeah. Got a few licks in. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Lee nodded, repacking his kit. “You’re patched up.”
“Good.” Killian slid off the table. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Just one request,” Lee said.
Killian arched a brow. “Hmm?”
“Let me untie her. She needs to eat. Clean up.”
Killian waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. I’ll go grab our new friend. You handle that.”
As soon as the door shut, Lee was beside me, knife in hand.
“Listen to me,” he hissed, sawing at the ropes. “Things are about to get worse. He’s bleeding, pissed, and cornered. That makes him dangerous.”
“I noticed.”
“You keep your mouth shut. No more backtalk, no jokes. Survive. You hear me?”
I nodded, rubbing my raw wrists.
“Thomas — the guy he brought back — he’s your shot out of here.”
“What? He’s half-dead!”
“He’s still your best chance. You make him like you. Earn his trust. We’ll need him if we’re gonna end this. Killian’s not gonna be watching you closely while he’s dealing with Liam’s mess. Use it.”
My throat tightened. “Okay. I’ll try.”
The door slammed open again. Killian dragged a body in behind him — a man bound, bloodied, unconscious.
“Gonna give me a hand, Lee? This fat bastard’s heavy.”
“Yeah,” Lee said, already moving.
Killian unlatched the chain from my collar and sliced through the rest of my bindings. My legs wobbled, circulation screaming back to life.
I watched, frozen, as they hoisted Thomas up — strung him from the same hook I’d seen another man die on. His blond hair was streaked with blood, muscles twitching even in unconsciousness.
“Clean him up,” Killian ordered. “He’s no good to me dead.”
“On it.”
Killian turned, leash in hand. “You. With me.”
I followed, silent, every instinct screaming to run. One glance back — Thomas hung limp, his chest rising shallowly. My supposed savior. God help me.
“Keep up, pet,” Killian snapped, giving the leash a tug.
He led me through the hall, down another set of stairs, and toward the back of the house. My heart hammered harder with every step.
Was he taking me outside?
“Stop.”
I froze mid-step. The air shifted — faint wind, sunlight leaking under a door.
He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen. My stomach twisted. I remembered the last time the collar had shocked me.
He smiled faintly. “You really think I’d bring you out here just to fry you?”
“Yes,” I said flatly.
He laughed — low, dark. “Fair. But not today. I’ve extended your leash, pet. Come.”
The door creaked open. Sunlight hit me like fire. My skin burned; my eyes stung. I hadn’t seen daylight since I’d been taken.
We stepped out onto the patio, circling the pool. The air smelled of chlorine and citrus, clean — wrong, compared to everything else here.
He stopped by a blue-and-white shed and pointed. “Stand there.”
I obeyed, trembling.
“Good pet.”
A short chain hung from a loop in the wall. He clipped my collar to it, then disappeared behind the shed.
For a second, hope flickered — maybe he’d leave me.
Then I heard the hiss.
He rounded the corner with a hose.
Cold water blasted me full-force. I shrieked, stumbling back, but the chain yanked me short. The freezing stream bit into my skin like knives, soaking bruises, reopening cuts.
He didn’t stop. Just circled me like I was livestock, washing blood from his prize. His fingers combed through my hair, scrubbing hard, then slid down my spine.
I clenched my jaw. Don’t cry. Don’t react.
His hand lingered too long. Neck. Shoulders. Breasts.
My legs shook. My stomach turned.
By the time he finished, I was shaking, lips blue, skin raw.
“There we go,” he said softly, coiling the hose. “All clean.”
I stared at the ground, dripping, every breath a tremor.
Clean. Like something you owned.