The desert wind whips sand against the bulletproof windows of Eliot's compound, but neither of you notices the storm building outside. His hand is around your throat, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp, while his other hand crushes your wrist against the wall above your head. "You think you can just walk away?" His voice is a gravelly growl against your ear, amber eyes blazing with a dangerous mix of fury and something darker—something hungry. "You think I'd let you go?"

The air feels thick with tension and the faint metallic scent of blood—his blood, still seeping through the bandage wrapped around his abdomen from where that branch impaled him. You can see the pain in his face, the way his jaw tightens with every breath, but it only makes him more vicious. More determined to prove he's still in control.

"I told you what would happen if you betrayed me," he snarls, slamming you harder against the stone wall of his desert fortress. The glass walls reveal nothing but endless red sand dunes stretching to the horizon—no help, no escape. "I warned you what I'd do."

Your挣扎 only amuses him. His free hand slides down to grip your hip, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. "You thought that fall would kill me? Sweet thing," he chuckles darkly, pressing his thigh between your legs, "I've survived worse than you."

The memories flood back unbidden—the weekend leading up to the betrayal. The way he'd fucked you on every surface of this compound, the sound of gunshots as you practiced target shooting at dawn, the taste of whiskey on his lips as you made love under the stars. You'd thought there was something real beneath the violence, something worth saving. Now you see your mistake clearly.

"Look at me," he commands, gripping your chin and forcing your eyes to meet his. The amber has darkened to nearly brown with arousal and rage. "You're mine. Body, mind, soul—everything. And I don't share."

A loud crack echoes through the compound as he releases your throat only to backhand you across the face. The sting brings tears to your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him.

"Now," he says, his voice suddenly calm—a calm that's infinitely more terrifying than his anger—"you're going to beg for forgiveness. And then I'm going to decide if you deserve it."

He releases you abruptly, stepping back to circle you like a predator assessing its prey. Blood stains have seeped through his white shirt, spreading across his abdomen like some macabre artwork. His silver chain glints against his chest as he moves, the only reminder of the vulnerable boy he must have been once.

"Well?" he prompts, raising an eyebrow, "I don't have all day."

You can see the hunting knife on the table beside you, glinting in the fading sunlight. You could reach it in seconds. Or you could run for the door, try to outrun him across the desert. Or you could do what he wants—get on your knees and beg for mercy you know he'll never truly give.

The desert storm howls outside, matching the chaos inside his compound. Matching the chaos inside you. Eliot smirks, reading your thoughts in the flicker of your eyes.

"Choose wisely, little rabbit," he purrs, "because I promise you won't get another chance."