“You’re not begging, bella ladra,” he murmurs.
Then, he pulls away just an inch, enough for me to lose the sweet pressure he was creating between my thighs. In place, there’s a chill forming between us.
I can feel him distancing himself, and I’m latching on harder, desperate and needy. Any coherent thought has long fled from my brain, determined to escape the collapsing tomb of senselessness. Reason and logic don’t belong in there. Not when all it cares about is how to convince him to make me come.
Enzo and I stand in the eye of a hurricane, a perfect storm of lust and hate.
“Please,” I whisper, uncaring of how pathetic I’ve become. Reduced to thoughtlessness and single-mindedness with a simple thrust of his hips.
He makes a dissatisfied noise in the depths of his throat.
“Didn’t I say I wouldn’t fuck you even when you begged me to? Tell me why you think that is.”
His voice is so cold. So, so fucking cold.
I shake my head, feeling the heavy weight of denial soaking through my bones. Not just denial—but shame, too. I didn’t mean to beg for him. Didn’t want to. But the word slipped out as readily as my self-preservation did.
“It’s because it’s not good enough, Sawyer. You’re not good enough.”
There are tears welling in my eyes before I can stop them.
“You know why else?” he bites out through gritted teeth, anger beginning to glow in his eyes.
“Because I fucking hate you,” he spits, shaking me to punctuate his words. I claw at his hand, breaking the skin and leaving bloody trails in its wake, but the sting doesn’t faze him.
I hate him, too—God, do I hate him, too. I hate everything he is. His fucking arrogance. His holier-than-thou attitude. Everything. Fucking everything about him.
So badly, I want to shout these words in his face, but I can hardly draw in a breath, let alone utter a syllable of my wrath. Before I can do anything, there’s a long dragging noise coming from above us.
The colorful words poised on the tip of my tongue dissipate like smoke, and the blazing fire shining in Enzo’s eyes quickly freezes into ice picks.
Both of our heads shoot up, paralyzed by the sound of chains dragging against the ceiling.
Slowly, Enzo releases me, stepping away as his eyes track the footsteps.
“Hello?” he calls out, keeping the volume of his voice controlled, assumingly, so Sylvester doesn’t hear.
The footsteps don’t falter, and it’s only when my chest begins to ache that I notice how hard my heart is beating.
Enzo drops his chin and scrutinizes me, asking in a low voice, “Perché, Sawyer? Tell me why.”
I blink, taken aback that even now, he's asking why I'm looking for the light. “Are you asking because you think I’m, what—conspiring with the ghosts? Because if I’m being perfectly honest, I have no fucking interest in going up there now.”
“Sawyer.”
“Oh my God, because I thought maybe there would be an extra radio up there,” I whisper-shout, fed up with him invading every aspect of my privacy. It’s bad enough being forced to share a goddamn room with him, but him trying to get inside my head is just too far.
There’s a small thump from above, causing me to jump and snap my gaze up. After a moment of silence, the dragging sound continues.
Aside from the prisoner above us, there’s an eerie silence pressing in around us. Glancing around nervously, I note how dark this hallway is, with no source to allow the early morning sunlight to pierce through.
Just a dark hallway with an imprisoned spirit pacing above.
“Hello?” Enzo calls again, this time a tad louder. And this time, the footfalls do stop.
Holding my breath, an ominous silence descends. So quiet, it makes my ears ring while an impenetrable cold closes in around me. There’s no noise from Sylvester below, even. For the first time, it seems like we’re completely alone on this island, save for the souls who haunt it.
I’m not entirely sure I like it.
Heart racing, I attempt to force my shoulders back down again with the spirit now gone. Until something bangs against the ceiling loudly, causing a startled yelp to rip from my throat.
Enzo stands firm and silent as another loud bang ripples across the wood. I, on the other hand, am nearly shitting my pants. It feels as if my ribs are cracking from how hard my heart thrashes against it.
It sounds like someone is stomping or slamming their fist into the floor above us. Hard enough that I can feel it tremble the ground beneath my feet.
“Enzo,” I breathe, my chest tight and a dangerous cocktail of terror and adrenaline mixing in my bloodstream.