Chapter Two - The Start of a Living Hell
1105 Words
Was he?
The first thing I registered when I woke up was warmth. The second was the ache in my muscles, a dull throbbing that spread through my body like I’d been tossed around.
The third was him.
I blinked against the blinding light, my head still foggy from exhaustion. My vision adjusted, and I froze.
Dustin Salvatore stood at the foot of the bed. Naked.
Heat shot up my neck, and my breath lodged in my throat. Broad shoulders. A chiseled chest dusted with dark hair. His stomach—hard, defined, brutally unfair. My gaze accidentally flicked lower, and—
Oh.
Oh God.
I ripped my eyes away, panic clawing up my throat. He was standing there so casually, completely unbothered by his state of undress, like he wasn’t the most sinfully sculpted man I had ever seen.
And he was watching me.
I yanked the blanket up to my chin, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“What—” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard.
“Why the hell are you naked?”
Dustin smirked—slow, wicked, deliberate. He ran a hand through his dark hair, stretching lazily, like he had all the time in the world.
“My house. My rules.”
But I did not need that mental image burned into my brain. I clenched the blanket tighter, my fingers curling around the fabric like a lifeline. His gaze flicked lower and I saw the way his eyes dragged down my body, barely hidden beneath the sheets. Something dark flickered in them, something hot, and a shudder crawled down my spine.
Then, slowly, torturously, he reached for a towel draped over a nearby chair. He took his time wrapping it around his waist, watching me the entire time, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
Bastard.
I forced my voice to work. “Where am I?”
His smirk didn’t fade. He walked toward me, his movements unhurried, predatory. Like a wolf circling its prey.
“My house,” he murmured, repeating his earlier words.
I swallowed. The room was massive—dark walls, sleek furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows casting golden light across expensive sheets. The whole place smelled like leather, spice, and something devastatingly male.
I tried to sit up, but my body protested, stiff and sore. My breath hitched when Dustin stopped at the edge of the bed, towering over me.
“How are you feeling?” His voice was too smooth, too knowing.
Like he expected my answer to be something other than terrified.
I refused to give him that satisfaction. “Like s**t,” I muttered.
He chuckled, low and intentful. “Good.”
My stomach twisted. Everything came back in a rush—Luka. The storage room. The money. The betrayal. I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart hammering. Luka had given me up without a second thought. He hadn’t fought. Hadn’t even hesitated.
And I had been so stupid to ever believe he would.
Dustin watched me carefully. “You get it now, don’t you?”
My throat tightened. I did get it.
Luka hadn’t been desperate when he begged Dustin for mercy. He had been negotiating.
For himself.
I forced myself to meet Dustin’s eyes. “He sold me.” My voice came out small, like I barely believed my own words.
Dustin tilted his head. “Like pocket change.”
The truth burned, but I didn’t cry. I fought back the tears because Luka wasn’t worth my tears.
I let out a shaky breath. “What do you want from me?”
Dustin’s gaze flickered lower, lingering.
Heat curled under my skin. That look. Like he was considering all the ways he could ruin me.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he murmured.
Dread coiled in my stomach.
He reached out without warning, his fingers grazed my cheek. I flinched, but he didn’t move away. He studied me, like he was seeing something he didn’t expect.
His touch was deceptively soft. Too soft.
I swallowed, my breath uneven. “You said you’d let me go once I learned my lesson.”
Dustin hummed, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “Did I?”
The way he said it made my stomach drop.
He leaned in slowly, close enough that his breath brushed my lips. My heart slammed against my ribs, and I shrank back instinctively—but there was nowhere to go.
Dustin’s lips quirked, amusement flashing across his face. “Are you afraid of me, sweetheart?”
Yes.
No.
I had no idea anymore.
I sucked in a breath, trying to muster something sharp, something defiant, but my voice betrayed me.
“You’re a f*****g asshole,” I muttered instead.
His smirk deepened. “That’s not an answer.”
His thumb dragged across my bottom lip, slow and deliberate. My breath hitched.
My entire body felt like it was on fire.
He exhaled, like he was barely holding something back. Then, just as quickly as he’d touched me, he pulled away.
The sudden absence made my skin prickle.
Dustin sighed, rolling his shoulders before turning toward the sleek black door to the left. “You stink.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You stink.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes laced with something different. “Take a shower.”
My face flamed. “f**k you.”
His smirk returned full force, and then, before I could process the wicked gleam in his eyes, he dropped his towel.
Holy. f*****g. Hell.
I squeaked; an actual squeak and whipped my head away, squeezing my eyes shut. Dustin laughed, the bastard. The sound was dark and full of sin, like he enjoyed how easily he could rattle me.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice full of mockery. “You keep acting like that, sweetheart, and I might think you like what you see.”
I scowled, still refusing to look. “Go to hell.”
His footsteps moved, then the sound of a drawer opening. A moment later, fabric rustled, and I risked a peek.
He had tugged on sweatpants. Nothing else.
My heart didn’t slow down.
Dustin smirked as he leaned against the wall. “Bathroom’s there.” He nodded toward the door. “Unless you need help?”
I shot him a glare, yanked the blanket tighter around me, and stomped toward the bathroom.
His chuckle followed me.
I hated him.
I hated how much my skin still burned.
And I hated that deep, dark part of me that was starting to wonder what would happen if I just accepted my fate.
- Writer
