Chapter 2

Layla’s POV

I gripped the broom, sweeping dust, my eyes on the floor. My heart pounded. I wanted to run, but this room, this broom—it was a cage.

“Thanks, Jett,” I mumbled, avoiding his stare.

He stepped closer, boots scraping. “Those bruises look rough. Agnes hit you hard, huh?” His hand brushed mine, staying too long. My skin crawled. Jett was our friend, our only help. Why did his touch feel so wrong now?

“I’ve got salve,” I said, stepping back. My hands shook, purple and sore from Agnes’s slaps.

“Why’re you pulling away, Layla?” His voice was soft but sharp. His smile faded. “Just checking on you.” His eyes turned dark, hungry. My stomach twisted. I felt trapped, like prey.

“I’m fine,” I said, voice tight. My pulse roared. Jett used to sneak us candy, smile when we were starving. Now the air felt heavy, dangerous.

He didn’t stop. “You and Olivia, almost eighteen.” His eyes glinted, creepy. “Bet her wolf’s red, like her hair. Yours? Brown, maybe. Strong.”

“Yeah, can’t wait,” I said, desperate to change the subject. “No one’ll touch us then.”

He laughed, low and wrong. “You two are like sisters, huh?”

“She is my sister,” I snapped. Olivia’s scared face flashed in my mind—her shaking hands when Clara and Finn came at us, her whispers about freedom.

“Right, right,” Jett said, his smile twisting. “Heard Olivia’s talking to that rogue, Raze. Bad news, Layla. Tell her to stay away. He’s trouble.”

I bristled. “Olivia’s smart. She wouldn’t fall for a creep.” Doubt hit me. Raze was a shadow, a rogue wolf, dangerous. I pushed it away, focusing on Jett.

Then he grabbed my waist, fingers digging in. “Damn, Layla, you’re hot,” he growled. “This body—damn.”

My heart stopped. “What’re you doing? Let go!” I shoved his chest, but he was solid, unmoving. Jett, our savior, was a monster.

“Don’t act shy,” he sneered, gripping harder, bruising me. “I’ve taken care of you and Olivia for ten years. I deserve this.”

“Deserve what?” I yelled, panic rising. “Get off me!”

“Come on,” he said, voice thick. “You’re stuck in this shithole. No mate’s coming for you.” His hand slid up, grabbing my breast. I froze, nausea hitting me. My body reacted, and I hated it, hated myself.

“Stop!” I screamed, clawing his arms. He was too strong, pinning me against the wall.

“Ungrateful bitch,” he spat. “I saved you from Clara and Finn today. This is how you thank your hero?”

“You’re no hero!” I sobbed, tears burning. “You’re a pig!”

He laughed, cold. “Ten years I’ve waited. You owe me, Layla.” He tore my dress, the rip loud, exposing my skin.

“No!” I screamed, voice raw. “You’re disgusting!”

“Shut up,” he growled, shoving a dirty rag in my mouth. I gagged, tasting filth, my screams muffled. My heart pounded, fear choking me. I thought of Olivia, her trembling hands. I had to protect her.

Jett’s hands roamed, rough, grabbing my thighs, my chest. “So perfect,” he muttered, eyes wild. He knelt, his breath hot on my bare leg, his lips brushing my skin. I choked on the rag, my stomach twisting. He moaned, low and sick, his hands shaking with excitement. “You’re mine,” he said, voice thick. “Always wanted you like this.”

I thrashed, my body shaking, tears soaking my face. I felt small, helpless, like I was nothing. My chest ached, my heart breaking. I wanted to scream, to fight, but the rag choked me. Jett stood, unbuckling his pants, his hand moving on himself, right in front of me. “Look at me,” he taunted, smirking. “You want this, don’t you? You’re gonna love it.”

I shook my head, sobbing, my body trembling. Fear clawed at me, my mind screaming. I was trapped, my body pinned, my soul crushed. “Stop fighting,” he hissed, leaning closer, his breath foul. “I’ve been good to you. I get to have you now.” His hand smeared something wet on my arm, his touch like poison. I gagged, my vision blurring with tears.

“You’re nothing without me,” he growled, his face inches from mine. “No one’s coming to save you. Not Olivia, not your mate, nobody.” His fingers dug into my arm, his eyes gleaming with sick pleasure. “I could do this all day, Layla. You’re mine.”

My heart raced, panic drowning me. I felt dirty, broken, like I’d never be whole again. But I wouldn’t give up. I thought of Olivia, her soft voice, her dreams of freedom. I had to fight for her, for us.

His hand grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. “Say you want me,” he demanded, his voice low and cruel. “Say it, or I’ll make it hurt.”

I shook my head, choking on the rag, my eyes burning. I’d rather die than give in. My hands shook, my body weak, but my will held. I wasn’t his. I’d never be his.

He snarled, grabbing rope from a shelf. “Fine, I’ll tie you down, you little bitch.” His eyes were wild, his breath heavy. “You’ll learn to love it.”

My eyes caught a dusty wine bottle in the corner. As he reached for me, muttering, “You’re mine,” I lunged. My hands grabbed the bottle, heart pounding. Survive. I swung hard, glass smashing into his skull. Blood sprayed, warm on my face. He dropped, limp.

I stumbled back, hands shaking, the broken bottle cutting my palms. Blood dripped, mixing with my tears. I checked his nose—no breath.

He was dead. I’d killed him.

My chest heaved, panic choking me. I only wanted to knock him out, not kill him. My heart raced, my mind spinning. Olivia’s face flashed—her wide eyes, her shaky hands. What had I done? Agnes would find us. They’d kill us.

I dropped the bottle, my hands trembling, blood and glass everywhere. My breath came in gasps, the room closing in. I had to protect Olivia, but I’d just made everything worse. Fear gripped me, my body frozen, the silence deafening. I was a killer now. We had to run, but where?