I stiffened as the clatter of glasses from the other room echoed through the apartment followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as they neared my door. No, no, no. I barely had time to calm my breathing when the door opened with a soft creak.
I squeezed my eyes shut, sweat trickling down my spine. I didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe too loudly. The room was pitch dark, but I knew it wouldn't matter. Not to him. A predator's eyes didn't need light. I could already feel him watching me, assessing, devouring with that cold gaze.
The door shut, sealing me inside with him. I could sense the shift in the air, the oppressive weight of his presence thickening the silence. The little light that had seeped into the room was gone, swallowed by the darkness. Damn, why couldn't my heart stop pounding so loudly?
The bed dipped beside me. My muscles tensed, my mind racing. Judas never shared a bed with me. He never came this close. So why was he here now? Was he going to… violate me again?
I lay still, barely daring to breathe as I felt his fingers brush against the sheets, his hand moving slowly, deliberately. A predator stalking its prey. Then I felt it-the cold, familiar hard metal of his gun tracing the line of my collarbone, sending a shiver through me. The cold steel made its way lower, over the swell of my breast, resting for a long, agonizing moment against the small metal barbell piercing my nipple.
I bit down on my lip, hard. My body reacted without permission-my back arching slightly, nipples hardening under the faint pressure of the gun. It wasn't arousal. It was fear. Raw, primal, all-consuming fear.
His breath ghosted over my ear, and I could feel the smirk forming on his lips without even seeing it. He loved this. Loved the power, the control. The way my body betrayed me, trembling under his touch.
The gun slid lower, down the valley between my breasts, tracing every inch of skin with agonizing slowness. My fists clenched the sheets, my nails digging into my palms. I wanted to scream, to fight, but I couldn't. My body was frozen, every nerve locked in terror.
He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. His dominance bled through the silence. His actions spoke volumes-possessive, unapologetic, sadistic. The gun was his voice now, commanding my body with every touch, every cold graze of the barrel against my skin.
I couldn't stop trembling. I knew he could feel it, sense it. My breath hitched as the gun moved lower, dangerously close to my waistline. I still hadn't opened my eyes, couldn't face the reality of what was happening. My mind screamed at me to move, to push him away, but my body wouldn't obey.
I could feel his eyes on me, watching every flicker of my reaction, feeding off my fear. He pressed the gun harder against my skin, and I bit my lip until I tasted blood.
"Are you awake, Ptichka?" His voice was low, slightly slurred and dark, taunting me. He already knew the answer.
I didn't respond. I couldn't. I was too busy trying to keep myself from breaking apart under his control. He moved closer, his body heat radiating against my back, the bed dipping further as he shifted. The gun remained on me, like an extension of his hand reminding me he held all the power here.
My heart raced, so loud I was sure he could hear it. My chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, every second stretched into an eternity.
I still didn't open my eyes. If I opened them, it would be real.
I stilled the second the gun stopped just above my waistline. I could feel the silence and hear my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. He was toying with me-I knew he was. My body quaked. He was so close, so unbearably close, and yet I couldn't move. Couldn't scream. The terror that held me captive was suffocating.
His hand shifted, cold fingers grazing my hipbone as the gun pressed harder into my skin. I bit down on my lip again, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth. His touch was a nightmare, searing, branding me in a way that was neither soft nor tender-just cruel, like the monster he was.
He leaned down, his lips barely brushing my ear, and I could feel the smirk that curled against them, that twisted mockery of a smile. "Ptichka," he whispered again, low and venomous, "I know you're awake. I can feel you." His breath was warm, but it did nothing to quell the ice running through my veins.
The gun slid down further, teasing the edge of my panties, and I fought the scream rising in my throat. My fists clenched tighter, nails cutting into my skin, pain grounding me when I felt as if I might shatter at any moment.
I couldn't show fear.
I thought, though I knew it was futile. He could sense it. He loved it. The way my body trembled beneath his, the way my breath hitched with each deliberate movement-it was fuel to him.
He didn't need to tell me that I was his-to ruin, to torment, to destroy.
My body betrayed me, didn't it?
Like a storm that raged in silence, like a moth drawn to a flame-unwilling but inevitable.
His fingers were rough and calloused, slid across my abdomen, tracing small, agonizing circles as the gun followed. Each movement was slow, deliberate, teasing. My mind screamed at me to move, to push him away, but my body lay limp, frozen under the weight of his control.
Monsters were not born in darkness; they were shaped by it, molded by cruelty, sharpened by pain.
Judas's lips hovered near my ear, his breath hot against my skin, sending chills down my spine. "You're shaking, Ptichka," he murmured with amusement. "Do I scare you that much?"
The words twisted in my gut, made my breath hitch in my throat, but I stayed silent. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of a response. He chuckled softly, the sound dark and menacing, before leaning even closer, his chest brushing against my back, his voice a low rumble. "Good."
If I closed my eyes long enough, perhaps the world around me would disappear. Perhaps nightmares would stay locked within the shadows.
Suddenly, his weight shifted on the bed, pressing down beside me as he adjusted his position. I could feel his body heat now, radiating against my skin, the hard lines of his form so close, suffocating. The gun moved again, this time sliding lower, grazing the edge of my thigh, and my breath faltered, a tremor passing through me.
I was drowning in this moment, suffocating in the spaces between his cruelty and my fear.
Then, as if some cruel god had answered my silent prayers, he stilled. The gun stopped its way across my skin, and for a moment, I thought I'd imagined it. The darkness seemed thicker, the silence louder. But then, I felt it-the slow, deep rise and fall of his chest against my back.
I opened my eyes, only to find the room as dark as it had been before. The air felt different, lighter somehow, but still suffocating under the weight of his presence. I turned my head, just slightly, daring a glance at him over my shoulder.
He had fallen asleep.
The tension in my muscles didn't leave me. I stayed still, listening to his breathing, still steady, deep. My gaze traveled over him, taking in the disheveled strands of his hair, the unkempt scruff along his jaw, and then it landed on his cheekbone-a fresh scar. The cut was red, raw, still healing. A mark of violence. Of him.
And then I noticed-his coat. It was missing. The one Kyle had given me, the one that was supposed to be with him.
My heart flipped, and that was the first time I had seen him drunk and so calm. No cruelty on his face, just serenity. Something I never imagined seeing on him.
Why were the monsters the ones we find alluring the most? Why was it that their darkness drew us in, even when we know it would ruin us?
His arm tightened around me in his sleep, pulling me closer, as though I were some cherished possession. My mind screamed at me to pull away, to get out of bed and run. But I didn't move. His hold on me, even unconscious, was unbreakable. And worse, deep down, some dark, twisted part of me didn't want to leave.
I should be terrified and yet, I was captivated. By his destruction. By the raw, terrifying beauty of him. He was the abyss I had fallen into. The darkness I couldn't escape.
The faint glow of moonlight slanted through the window, casting faint silver light on the edge of his face, softening the harsh angles for just a moment. In sleep, Judas almost looked peaceful-beautiful, even.
How could something so cruel be so captivating? He was the devil draped in shadows, a beast of nightmares, and yet, here I was, lying in his arms.
I could feel him pressing down on me, both physically and emotionally, as though his presence alone had the power to break me. Yet, as I lay there in the suffocating silence, one thought echoed in my mind:
I must escape. Before he would ruin me completely.
But even as the thought formed, I knew it was a lie.
I was already ruined.