Under His Command.

First Task

Chapter Two

Emma's POV

The room is small, cold, and suffocating-a cage. A dim light bulb flickers above me, casting eerie shadows on the cracked walls. The bed-a thin mattress on a metal frame-the sheets scratchy. The air smells damp, with a metallic tang I'm not quite placing.

I manage to sit on the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms tightly around my knees in an attempt to still the relentless trembling. My head is racing with questions that aren't mine to answer. Why am I here? What does Alex want from me?

The sound of footsteps outside the door wrenches me from my thoughts. I tense, my heart racing as the heavy door creaks open. One of Alex's men steps inside, his expression hard and unreadable.

"Boss wants to see you," he says, his voice gruff and devoid of emotion.

I stare at him, my throat dry. "Why?"

He doesn't answer, just jerks his head toward the hallway.

I swallow hard and rise to unsteady legs. My hands shake as I smooth my dress, trying to find the courage to move. The man doesn't wait for me to gather myself. He turns and walks out, the open door a silent command for me to follow.

I follow him down the narrow hallway, my bare feet cold against the concrete floor. The walls seem to close in on me with every step, and the faint hum of distant voices only heightens my anxiety. When we stop outside a large, ornate door, my escort doesn't say a word. He simply opens it and steps aside, motioning for me to enter.

My stomach churns as I step inside.

Alex is there, seated in a plush armchair near a roaring fireplace. The flickering flames illuminate his sharp features, casting shadows that make him look even more menacing. He's dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored suit that screams power. His dark eyes meet mine, and I feel like a moth caught in a flame, unable to look away.

"Leave us," he says, his voice low and commanding.

The man behind me doesn't say a word, just slams the door shut and leaves me well and truly alone with Alex.

"Come here," Alex says; there is no give in his voice.

I don't move. My legs refuse to budge.

"I said, come here," he repeats, this time harder.

My feet appear to act of their own accord, carrying me closer to him before my brain cottons on. I stop a few feet away, my hands wringing nervously in front of me.

Closer," he directs, his eyes unyielding.

I take another step, and another, until I'm standing right in front of him.

His eyes rake over me, weighing, calculating. "Do you know why you're here?"

I shake my head, unable to find my voice.

A smirk pulls at his lips, but there's no warmth in it. "I brought you here to serve me, Emma. And that starts now.

My breath catches in my throat. "W-what do you mean?"

He stands, towering over me, his presence overwhelming. "You're mine now," he says, his voice dark and possessive. "And I take what's mine."

Panic surges through me, and I take a step back, but he's quicker. His hand shoots out, gripping my wrist and pulling me toward him.

"Please," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I… I'm a virgin.

For a moment, surprise dances upon his face. Then his smirk reappears, colder than before.

"A virgin?" he mulls, the inflection mocking. "How. sweet."

"Please," I beg, tears brimming in my eyes. "Don't do this. I'm begging you."

His grip on my wrist tightens, and he pulls me closer until our faces are inches apart. "Begging won't save you, Emma. You belong to me now. And I always get what I want."

He drags me to the bed, ignoring my protests and tears. My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear his low, commanding voice.

"Stop fighting," he growls. "You'll only make this harder on yourself.

I try to twist away, but he pins me down with ease, and my struggling becomes futile.

"

Please," I sob, the tears spilling into a flood of despair. "Don't do this. I'm not ready."

He pauses a moment, his eyes locking onto mine. "You'll learn, Emma. You'll learn to please me. And you'll learn to enjoy it."

I close my eyes as he takes what he wants, my face streaming with tears, and cries of pain and fear filling the room.

"You're not that bad," he says in a murmur-low voice, almost thoughtful. "I like how you sound when you cry."

His words felt like the cut of a knife, yet he didn't stop.

"And this," he says, the sound of dark humor in his voice, "it's much sweeter than what I had hoped for."

When it's over, I feel hollow, as if something inside of me has been torn out. Alex stands, smoothing his clothes as if nothing has happened.

"You'll get used to this," he says, his voice cool and detached. "The sooner you stop fighting, the easier it will be."

He leaves the room without another word, the door slamming shut behind him.

I curl myself into a ball, shaking all over, my heart in pieces. The darkness around me presses upon me and smothers, and for the first time, I have the feeling that maybe I'll never wake up from this nightmare.