Chapter 109 - ONE HUNDRED AND NINE

Chapter 109: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND NINE

ANGEL

There were two of them, actually. Familiar, haunting faces I knew all too well from the island.

Kayla and Lona. Damien’s willing little slaves.

They weren’t even wearing masks. They stood at the far end of the club’s dimly lit hallway, holding drinks, completely oblivious to the masked stranger watching them from across the crowded room. Kayla’s hair was shorter than I remembered—a sharp, sleek bob that framed her heart-shaped face—and Lona had traded her tight ringlets for something pin-straight. Otherwise, they looked identical to the last time I’d seen them: pretty, unbothered, and utterly at ease in a place built for degradation.

"Angel, what’s wrong?" Kevin’s voice cut through the thrumming bass beside me. I hadn’t realized I’d completely stopped dead in my tracks. "You know them?"

"Sort of," I muttered, my stomach turning.

For a split second, my instincts screamed at me to bolt before they could recognize the girl hiding beneath a blonde wig and a cheap disguise. But a dark, reckless curiosity pinned my feet to the floor. I needed to know what had happened after I escaped. I needed to know what became of Damien’s twisted little harem after his death.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I walked straight toward them.

They both looked up, mild confusion flickering across their faces at the masked intruder invading their space.

Then, I reached up and pulled the mask off.

Kayla’s eyes blew wide, her drink freezing halfway to her mouth. "Angel?"

"Hey, Kayla."

"Oh my god!" Her glass hit a nearby pedestal with a sloppy, careless clatter, and she immediately grabbed both my hands, squealing like we were long-lost high school besties instead of two girls who’d spent weeks competing for the same monster’s attention. "I was literally just talking to Lona about you! What the hell are you doing here?"

Her eyes darted past my shoulder, landing on Kevin, who had hovered a few paces back. She sized him up with unhidden, curiosity.

"Just trying new things," I lied effortlessly, keeping my voice light and bratty. "With a friend."

"Us too!" Kayla beamed, her smile entirely too wide. "We’re actually looking for a third girl tonight. I was literally just telling Lona—if we could find someone who looks like you, it’d be perfect. And then you just manifest out of nowhere! What a total mind-fuck."

She giggled, delighted by the universe’s timing, while a wave of cold nausea washed over my skin.

Lona hung back, giving me a lazy wave.

"I didn’t expect to run into either of you," I said smoothly, angling for information. "I assumed you’d still be on the island."

"Oh, we travel all the time," Kayla chattered casually. "Master always encourages us to go out and get fresh experiences." She leaned in, her eyes gleaming with gossip. "So what actually happened with you two anyway? Camilla and Maria were throwing absolute fits after you vanished with him. They swore up and down that you stole him right off the island."

I shrugged, forcing my face to remain deadpan, even as the mention of his name made my pulse spike into a panic.

"Nothing. We parted ways right after we left," I said, testing the waters to see if they knew he was dead.

"That’s it?" Kayla’s perfectly arched brows shot into her hairline. "Angel, please. You had him completely fucking obsessed. We all saw the way he looked at you. And you just... parted ways? Come on. What’s the real story?"

"There isn’t one. We split up. End of story." Because he got blown to fucking pieces, I added silently.

"Drop it, Kay. Stop harassing her," Lona interjected, stepping forward and giving Kayla a sharp nudge. She turned her dark eyes on me, glinting with amusement. "Besides, seeing as you’re clearly done with him, Camilla’s back to being his absolute favorite. She’s insufferable."

I blinked, the room suddenly feeling a little too small. "What?"

"The favorite," Lona repeated, letting out a soft laugh. "You know how unbearable she gets when she thinks she owns him. Ever since Master got back, she won’t shut up about how she’s his primary girl again."

The words didn’t make sense. They floated in the air, heavy and poisonous.

"Got back?" I rasped, the syllables scraping against my throat. "Got back from where?"

Kayla and Lona exchanged a brief, puzzled look—the universal why is she acting so crazy look.

"From wherever he vanished to after you two ran off," Kayla said, frowning slightly. "He was gone for weeks. No one knew where he went." She waved her hand dismissively. "But he’s been back at the estate for a month now. Wait... didn’t he tell you?"

The world tilted beneath my boots. The noise of the club muted, swallowed by a deafening, high-pitched ring in my ears.

"He’s alive?" The words tore out of me, thin and suffocating.

Kayla’s frown deepened into actual concern. "Of course he’s alive. Angel, what is wrong with you? You look like you’re about to pass out."

He’s alive.

Damien is alive.

He didn’t die in the fire. He survived the explosion, he was breathing, and Vincenzo had no idea.

I was running before my brain could even process the movement.

"Angel!" Kayla’s voice echoed behind me, sharp and startled. "Wait! What’s wrong with her? Angel!"

I didn’t turn back. My feet pounded against the hardwood, shoving ruthlessly through the sea of masked bodies and painted faces. My vision narrowed down to a single, desperate target: the exit.

Kevin’s footsteps stormed after me, his voice cutting through the roar of my blood. "Angel! Stop! What happened?!"

I slammed through the heavy double doors, bursting out into the freezing night air.

The cold hit my wet skin like a slap, but it did nothing to stop the violent spiral in my head. I doubled over on the sidewalk, gripping my knees, gagging as I tried to force air into my lungs.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

The thought clawed at the inside of my skull like a caged animal.

Damien was alive this whole time. Where was he? Was he watching me right now? Was he coming to drag me back to his red room?

"Angel!" Kevin grabbed my arm, spinning me around, his face pale with panic. "What the hell just happened in there?! Talk to me!"

"He didn’t die," I sobbed out, the terror tearing out of my chest in a sharp, pathetic gasp. "The man—Damien—he’s alive. Kevin, please, I need your phone! I have to call Vincenzo right now!"

Kevin’s face drained of all color beneath the harsh streetlights. "I don’t have it! They checked my phone at the entrance, remember?"

"Fuck!" I screamed, clutching my hair, spinning around in a blind, frantic circle.

I needed a phone. A stranger, a taxi, a payphone—anything to get a hold of Vincenzo before it was too late.

Then, my eyes locked onto a car parked down the block.

A black sedan. Dark, tinted windows. Sleek.

My heart dropped into my throat. I had seen that exact car before.

The driver’s side door swung open.

I froze, every muscle in my body coiling, preparing to sprint for my life.

A woman stepped out.

I let out a dizzying, shaky breath of pure relief. It wasn’t Damien. It was just Dr. Moreau, my therapist.

The relief vanished almost instantly, replaced by a cold spike of dread. What the fuck was my therapist doing outside a underground slave club?

"I’m going back inside to grab my phone," Kevin grunted, already turning back toward the club doors. "Stay right here. Don’t move."

He vanished inside before I could scream at him not to leave me alone.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, trembling uncontrollably, the cold biting deep into my bare skin. Across the street, Dr. Moreau was staring down at her phone, illuminated by the screen’s pale glow. I took a hesitant step toward her. Maybe I could borrow hers, even if our sessions had been a total nightmare.

A soft rustle of footsteps sounded directly behind me.

"Oh thank God, Kevin..." I breathed, turning around—

CLICK.

Something freezing cold and brutally hard pressed directly into the back of my neck.

Steel. The unmistakable crown of a gun barrel.

"Don’t move a fucking inch, little girl."

My whole body went rigid.

That voice.

It was all too familiar, sliding into my ears like smooth honey.

My heart stopped beating entirely, suspended in a moment of pure terror.

The gun pressed harder into my skin, grinding against the vertebrae at the top of my spine, and I felt my knees threaten to buckle.

Across the street, Dr. Moreau looked up from her phone.

Our eyes met.

I saw the exact moment she registered what was happening—the figure behind me, the weapon at my neck.

"Help," I tried to mouth, my lips forming the word even though no sound came out.

She didn’t move.

Something sharp pierced the side of my neck. A needle. A sting.

The darkness came fast after that, rising up from the edges of my vision like a tide rushing in to drown me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

The last thing I felt was hands—two pairs of them—dragging me backward into nothing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​