Page 8 of Dark Prince

“Why are you smiling?” I don’t have the fucking time to deal with his crazy right now.

“Because you’re fucking adorable when you’re mad.” He replies, which only infuriates me more. Digging my nails into his throat I scream in his face but he just screams back, the vein in his forehead starts to make an appearance which only makes him look hotter with his big dumb, dummy headed face.

I stop screaming and decide that I’m just going to leave. I don’t have to be here, and if he tries to stop me, well, I’ll kick him in his balls. The absolute go to move for when a girl’s gotta get away.

“Little deer.” Axel warns.

I push off him and hop, skip, and jump over his body and chair, stumbling through the hall as I run harder than I’ve ever ran, my feet screaming for me to stop.

“Run, little deer.” I hear Axel’s growl echoing behind me. I slide around the corner, my body slamming against the wall and push on down the next section. The lights flicker and I officially feel like this is just an elaborate horror movie come to life. The bitch who runs, always gets caught.

I see a lit doorway in front of me, but there’s no fucking way I’m falling into another one of his traps, so I turn down the next hall and keep running. My heart is hammering so hard as I try to find my way out. I chance a glance behind me to see if he’s following to find the hallway empty.

I push open a door and slam right into something, knocking me to the ground. When I look up I’m met by his fucking face, “Hello, little deer.” I really want to stab him for each time he’s called me little deer.

“How the fuck did you know I’d open this door?” I ask, brushing the hair that’s fallen out of my ponytail away from my face.

He holds up a phone and turns the screen towards me, revealing this exact location, me sitting on my ass and him standing in the doorway. I look up to see the camera. “So, you just followed me on the camera and picked this one to stand behind?”

“It is the only door that can be opened aside from the one with the light on. I didn’t think you’d go through the only exit door, bet you thought it was a trap.” He laughs, pushing his phone into his pocket.

“That light was the fucking exit?” I smack the concrete with my hand and let out a grunt. He’s got me all kinds of fucked up right now.

“Sure was, come on.” He bends over and grabs my arm, pulling me off the ground.

“Where the fuck are you taking me now?” I ask, trying to pull out of his grip, but I’m so tired and sore that fighting him off again, or attempting to, isn’t in my wheelhouse right now.

“First, I’m going to take you to the showers, get you all cleaned up nice and pretty like.” He drags me along into the room he was standing in and kicks the door shut.

“Where are we?” I ask, looking around.

“This whole place is a warehouse where one of my dads took my mom once upon a time. Now we own it and when we’re feeling a little frisky, we bring our prey down to play.”

“Is that what I am now? Your prey?”

“And we’ll keep playing.” He drags me into another smaller room inside the room we were just in and flicks a light on, nearly blinding me.

Blinking away the burn, I look around to see I’m standing in a bathroom, fully stocked with everything anyone would need. This is for fucking real. They do this, his family takes people and brings them here to play games. How many has he brought here?

“What number am I?” I ask, trying to not fall over when he lets go of my arm and starts the shower.

“Number?” He asks, looking at me like I’m the crazy one.

“How many other women have you brought down here?” I shout at him, my throat still raw from earlier.

“How many men have you made disappear?” He volleys.

“They made their own choices. You didn’t give me a choice like I gave them.” I snap back.

“So they wanted you to take them home, for you to kill them?” He’s fishing for information.

“I didn’t say that. I said they made their choice.” I remind him, not wanting him to put words in my mouth, I won’t be caught up in a battle of he said, she said bullshit with this fuckwad.

“Get in the shower.” He commands, grabbing my wrist.

“I can do it myself.” I really, desperately want to stab him in his face.

“You’re barely standing, take the help.” He’s not asking, he’s telling me that he’s helping whether I like it or not. And even if I want to be all I am woman hear me roar, I could totally use his help. My palm hurts and I doubt I’d be able to wash my hair.

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