Survivor of Nightshade

Chapter 7

My father rose from behind his desk and crossed the office in long strides. The dull thud of his boots against the floor seemed to echo in my ears with every step. Before I could react, he roughly grabbed me by the hair and pulled my face up, so my eyes were locked onto his dark brown eyes full of suffocating rage.

“You will f*****g look me in the eyes!” he growled. “You will not show any weakness! How could I have ended up with such a pathetic sack of s**t as you!?” His raucous voice shook the room, making my stomach drop.

No matter how many times this happened, the nauseating fear never fully went away. It just became conditioned and engraved deep into my bones.

He dragged me toward the adjoining room connected to his office. The moment I saw the door, a cold dread sunk into the pit of my stomach. The room was soundproof. Almost everyone in the pack knew it existed, but no one ever talked about it. My heart pounded against my ribs as the familiar dizzying thought quickly ran through my mind. When this was over, I knew I wouldn’t be walking out of there on my own. I couldn’t after what was about to happen.

My father slams me hard against the wall, causing my head to bounce back from the force. My body goes limp for a brief moment as my consciousness flickers, black spots dancing through my vision as he restrains my wrists. The silver cuffs bite into my skin, and I can already feel the uncomfortable burn searing my skin.

I look up at him in despair and resignation. This is nothing new; I already know how this ends.

His towering six-foot-nine frame feels even larger from where I stand. Broad shoulders, powerful muscles, and years of lawless authority give him an overwhelming presence that seems to fill every corner of the room, stealing my breath away. His long raven-black hair is pulled back into a ponytail, exposing the hard lines of his face. Under the bright lights, his wheat-colored skin carries a faint sheen of sweat and the smell of tobacco hangs heavily in the air, clinging to his clothes, his skin, and every breath he takes. He must have been chain-smoking before I arrived. Something had obviously put him in a foul mood, and judging by the tension in his jaw and the anger smoldering in his eyes, the cigarettes hadn't done much to calm him down.

Which means I already knew why I had been called here. Whenever something went wrong, whenever his temper boiled over, whenever life failed to bend to his will, he needed someone to blame. And more often than not, that someone was me.

My head spins as I force myself to meet his gaze.

Part of me wants to look away. The other part knows that would only make things worse.

He leans down until we’re at eye level, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “You will not make a sound. You will take your punishment quietly, and if I hear so much as a peep from you, I will add more lashes.” The threat hangs in the air between us.

My stomach churned as a taste of bile crept into the back of my throat. There's no escaping what’s about to happen. I slowly blink, trying to brace myself, detach from this s**t reality.

He grabs me by the chain around my wrists and yanks it upward, forcing my arms above my head. The chain is bolted to the ceiling, leaving me suspended by my wrists. My feet remain planted firmly on the ground, but the strain pulls painfully through my shoulders as I’m forced to stand with my arms stretched overhead. He strips me of my clothes and a lewd chuckle escapes his lips. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as goosebumps form from pure disgust. He strides over to the far wall, where a number of whips, belts, and other tools hang for him to use. Slowly, he uses his fingertips to gently trace over the leathers and cold metals, deliberately drawing it out to f**k with me. Finally, he chooses a thin black leather crop whip, slowly making his way back over to me with a delighted grin on his face.

The heavy sound of his boots against the floor echoes through the room, each step sounding like a demon crawling straight out of hell. I take a silent breath and stare blankly at the wall in front of me, focusing on the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears—anything to distract me from what’s coming. When his footsteps finally stop behind me, a quiet chuckle escapes my father’s lips. Then, with a swift, razor-sharp movement, he starts lashing me across my back, ass, and thighs.

The minutes blur together in a haze of soul-numbing pain. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek and force myself to stay quiet. The copper taste of blood fills my mouth and throat. Every instinct is screaming at me to cry out, to beg for it to stop, but I know better. My body becomes colder and my senses more dull with each passing second.

My thoughts becoming a tangled mess from exhaustion.

I can’t f*****g do this. It’s so painful. Please make it stop. How does he expect me to keep quiet when he is hitting me so damn hard and aggressively?

Goddess knows how long he whaled on me before he slowed down, and the room finally grew quiet. My breathing is coming out shallow and uneven as I stare at the floor, barely daring to breathe. Then I hear footsteps. The sound of my father walking away, opening the door. For a brief moment, relief creeps into my chest. Maybe it’s over. I keep my eyes fixated on the ground and silently pray that the nightmare is coming to an end. That the so-called punishment was finally over.

Shortly after, the door opens again, and I hear a second set of footsteps enter the room. Panic crashes into me almost instantly.

Who is it? Who did he bring back with him?

My heart slams against my ribs as I tentatively lift my head. Through blurred vision, I catch sight of my eldest brother, Alpha Armon Shade. I look into his deep blue eyes and see the tangled emotions flash across them—shock, disbelief, and horror.

My father's cruel, amused voice cuts through the silence. “Son! It's time you showed me how much of a man you really are. And what better way to practice than on this pathetic piece of s**t? I've already roughed him up a bit, but you can take a few swings and get the hang of it.”A grin spreads across my father’s face as he looks over at me.

There is something deeply unsettling in the way he looks at me, something that sends a chill racing down my spine. Revulsion washes over me, thick and immediate, and I have to fight the urge to vomit. I lower my gaze to the floor again, my entire body tense. The room feels more narrow, and the air heavier.