Chapter 182
Magnus Hale
A brat who, as far as I know, has never faced a dozen men at once, as I
have done so many times. Or maybe he has. I don’t doubt it. He
carries an absurd, almost supernatural strength.
A touch on my face pulls me from my thoughts. I blink, staring into
those black eyes that look like bottomless abysses, dense darkness
pulling me in. Instinct screams to pull back, and that is exactly what I
- do.
I push his hand away and limp toward the bed. The uniform is already
pulled up to my waist, so I finish dressing myself, carefully pulling up
the zipper.
I sit down slowly, trying to relieve the pressure on my aching body.
The pain in my ass is unbearable; every muscle throbs in protest.
He remains standing, still, watching me. The smile on his lips might
seem kind to anyone else, but to me, it is the cruelest of provocations.
It is the smile of someone who has reduced me to a toy, a
domesticated animal.
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“Did you enjoy the bath?” he asks, his voice soft, almost sweet. “Did it
help with the pain?”
I ignore him, fixing my eyes on the hallway ahead as if he were just
distant noise.
“And the food? Was it good?” he insists, like a mosquito that never
tires of buzzing in one’s ear.
I remain in silence, firm in my refusal. The air fills with the sound of
a long sigh.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” The softness in his voice contrasts
with the shadow lighting up in his gaze. “I am patient, Magnus… but
even my patience has limits.”
Still, I say nothing. I lock my eyes on the wall, imagining I could dig a
tunnel just with the strength of my determination.
He shakes his head, his expression transforming into feigned
disappointment.
“Then you’ll go without dinner.” The tone now is low, almost bored.
“The only thing you’ll have is the slop we give the others. Tasteless
scraps, moldy bread, sour meat. It will be fun to see the great
Enforcer fighting over filth like an animal.”
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My jaw tightens; the heat of fury runs through my veins. I know my silence will give him the victory he so desires.
“What do you want me to say?” I mutter, without looking away from
the wall.
Over my shoulder, I notice the satisfied glint lighting up in his eyes.
“I just want to know what you thought. That’s all. I’m trying to make
you comfortable.”
I turn my face to him, unable to contain the gaze loaded with
contempt.
“If you really wanted to make me comfortable, you’d get out of here.
Just seeing your face makes me sick.”
The smile vanishes, replaced by a cold mask.
“By your tone, you’ll go without food tonight.”
I stare at him, stunned.
“Unless…” he continues, with calculated calm. “That you apologize.”
A humorless laugh escapes my lips.
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“Apologize? You’ll never hear that from me. Never.”
I lie down on the bed, turn my back, and fix my eyes on the damp
wall. I close them tight, trying to pretend I’m sleeping, ignoring his
presence as if he were just a cursed shadow stuck to me.
The silence that follows is heavy. I know he’s still there, watching me,
studying every detail, waiting for some sign of weakness. I won’t give
him that pleasure.
No matter how much my body screams, how much my stomach
grumbles, or how much my mind wavers, I will not beg.
Never.
If this is his game, I’ll play it to the end.
The sigh comes like someone tired of dealing with a stubborn child.
“Very well. I’ll leave you alone.”
I answer nothing; I stay in the same position, motionless and
attentive to my own body. Footsteps move away, the click of the bars
being unlocked is heard, and then the metallic sound of the iron
being closed. The hallway goes silent again.
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Only then do I turn my face; the cell is empty, and his presence still hangs in the air like a scent that won’t leave.
I sit up with difficulty. The pain persists in every movement; my lips throb, and my face hurts.
I stand, staggering to a small mirror nailed to the wall. The reflection
gives back a battered face: purple bruises on the cheeks, the cut on
my lips inflamed, and an expression marked by massive exhaustion.
On my neck, the marks jump out: bites, hickeys, everything branded
by that bastard’s possession. A map drawn over the skin, a record of
his whims.
And the worst is the rage I feel toward my own body: this miserable
body that surrenders at the slightest touch, that trembles when his
tongue invades my anus, that reacts when his hand reaches my cock.
It is too much humiliation.
A traitorous body, piece of shit.
I need to pull myself together.
Feed myself.
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Chapter 182
Rest.
Recover completely.
Begging? Never.
I would sooner die than kneel and plead for mercy. It was enough that
I had to plead once for him to stop… I don’t even want to relive that
filth.
Who is this boy?
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