Chapter 32
When someone started banging on the door, Stefan fully expected the neighbours. Dean. The stranger from two days ago.
He had spent two days being sick in his flat after that day. Two days of shaking, sweating, throwing up, and picking open the scabbed wounds on his leg and breasts. Two days of crying and knowing he’d f****d up. Irreparably f****d up.
Forty-eight hours of having escaped a master, only to get on his knees and serve any man who’d give him booze or weed—or worse—anyway.
And it didn’t even help.
So when the banging started, sometime in the afternoon, Stefan initially ignored it. He’d been sitting on the windowsill, watching the weather shift from rain to snow to rain again, and smoking the last of the stranger’s weed. Just this stuff. And then he’d stop. Stop dr
