Chapter 2 CHAPTER 2: TROUBLE WITH GRAVES

Sandra Robben POV

Inside Red Hollow, solitary confinement isn't merely punishment. It's a warning.

The guards haul me down the hallway like an animal headed toward slaughter. Every bone in my body aches while exhaustion claws viciously at my joints.

The inmates here are treated worse than dogs, nothing more than breathing, enslaved people trapped inside a private hell. And unfortunately for them, I happen to be the most rebellious inmate in this entire prison.

"I'm going to make sure you never use those hands against anyone again." Marcus flexes his muscles arrogantly while searching through his collection of torture tools.

I glare at him with pure hatred burning across my face, my teeth grinding together furiously.

"Still acting tough without an ounce of regret. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"The woman who just destroyed one of your attack dogs," I fire back before spitting directly into his face.

"You bitch!" He charges forward and drives his boot brutally between my legs.

Pain tears through my body instantly as I curl inward desperately, praying the monster hasn't permanently damaged me.

He crouches beside me with a twisted smile. "This is only the beginning of your hell."

Suddenly, Marcus stops. He straightens his uniform calmly and adjusts his shirt professionally.

The sudden change confuses me instantly. Why stop now? What changed?

As I struggle to understand what's happening while mentally preparing myself for solitary confinement yet again, heavy footsteps begin echoing steadily through the hallway, each step calm, deliberate, and powerful enough to silence the entire atmosphere around me.

Then he appears.

Warden Dominic Graves is the man feared by both inmates and guards alike. He stands in the doorway, dressed entirely in black, his towering presence swallowing the room whole, while the guards behind him remain completely silent.

Looking down at me like discarded trash, his cold voice shakes the walls as he speaks to Marcus without taking his eyes off me. "Uncuff her."

Marcus hesitates nervously. "But sir, she's in danger..."

"I said uncuff her."

"Right away, sir."

Marcus quickly removes the cuffs from my bloody wrists, and for the first time in hours, I breathe properly.

"Leave us," Dominic orders coldly.

Marcus eyes him suspiciously before walking out and slamming the heavy door shut behind him. The sound sends a cold chill down my spine.

Dominic removes his gloves slowly before unbuckling the thick leather belt around his waist. The sharp, metallic click against the floor instantly draws my attention to him.

"You seem lost in thought, Robben," he murmurs darkly. "Allow me to bring you back to reality."

He shoves me violently against the freezing concrete wall.

"You thought causing a riot would earn my attention? Congratulations. It worked." He presses his knee against my head while I struggle desperately to breathe.

Grabbing my hair tightly, he drags me downward onto my knees.

Pain shoots violently through my scalp.

"Quiet." His fist crashes across my jaw, and within seconds, the left side of my face goes numb.

"Sandra..." he growls softly while leaning closer, his cologne filling my lungs with fear. "I'm going to teach you exactly what discipline means in this prison."

Then he points toward the belt lying on the floor.

"Use your mouth. Pick it up."

I immediately realize it's a trap, one of the most degrading situations any inmate can experience here, but my exhausted body barely has enough strength left to resist. The second I hesitate, he forces my head downward toward the belt.

"That's it..." Dominic whispers darkly.

Within moments, he moves behind me, his eyes filled with dangerous hunger as they roam over my trembling body.

"Bend properly," he commands coldly. "Let me feel you."

Before I can even react, pain and pleasure crash violently through me all at once, stealing the air from my lungs.

"Damn..." Dominic groans roughly. "So tight... exactly how I like it."

"Bend properly, Robben," he growls against my ear. "In here, I'm your salvation. I'm the judge, the jury, and the executioner."

Each movement grows rougher as filthy words continue spilling from his lips.

"Stop..." I whisper weakly while clenching my fists tightly.

"Mmm..." he moans softly. "I enjoy hearing you beg. It drives me insane."

Minutes later, shame wraps around me like chains while Dominic finally slows down. Once satisfied, he gently brushes his fingers through my hair.

"You did well, Robben." A satisfied smile spreads across his lips. "From today onward, I'm officially your godfather inside Red Hollow."

At that moment, I want nothing more than to kill him.

And as fate would have it, my eyes drift toward the sharp skull engraved at the tip of his belt, sharp enough to end a life, even if it means dying for it afterward.

The moment he finally steps away from me, the silence inside the solitary cell becomes unbearable. My chest rises unevenly as I struggle to steady my breathing, but nothing about me feels stable anymore. My knees ache against the cold concrete while shame settles deep beneath my skin like poison slowly spreading through my veins.

I hate him. God, I hate him so much.

Yet the terrifying part isn't what he did to me. It's the way my own body betrayed me in the process, enjoying the painful pleasure of the sin I just committed.

The realization crushes me instantly: I squeeze my eyes shut, disgust twisting violently inside my stomach as memories of my lover begin flooding my mind—soft touches, gentle whispers, warmth that never demanded pain in exchange for affection. Compared to that, this should have felt revolting from beginning to end. It should have broken me completely.

So why did part of me respond? Why did I enjoy it so much? Why did my body react when every piece of my soul wanted to resist him? The guilt tears through me harder than the bruises on my skin ever could. 

Dominic adjusts his belt casually, completely unaware of the storm clawing through my head. His arrogance disgusts me: the confidence in his movements and the certainty that he owns every broken piece of me now, and maybe he does.

Maybe this prison finally destroyed the last decent part of me.

Slowly, I lift my head and glance toward the tiny glass opening on the steel door. No shadows move outside. No guards stand watching. The hallway remains silent except for the faint hum of distant prison lights.

My eyes drift downward towards the sharp skull-shaped tip of his belt, which still rests near my knee.

One strike, that's all it would take.

But hesitation grips me instantly. My fingers twitch uncertainly as doubt crashes into my thoughts. If I attack him now, there is no escape afterward. They will beat me, torture me, maybe even kill me before sunrise.

But if I don't. Then I become exactly what he wants me to be: broken and owned.

My breathing hardens as rage finally crushes the hesitation inside me. Before fear can stop me again, I slowly reach for the sharpened metal beside my knee and tighten my fingers around it. Then I rise.