Break her slowly

Elena’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Damien’s weight shifted on the mattress, his arm dropping across her waist like a barricade. He didn’t kiss her. His face was close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, but his eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, not seeing her seeing something else, someone else, in the fog of whiskey.

“What are you doing?,” she ask. Her voice was low, steady, even though her hands were shaking under the blanket.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he caught her wrist when she tried to push him back. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was immovable. He tugged, and her injured back screamed as he dragged her down the length of the bed, away from the edge.

“Stop,” she shouted, biting back a whimper.

Damien muttered something incoherent and shifted, pulling her down the bed with a loud turdand he let go of her. His head dropped to the pillow on the bed.

Elena cried in a whim.

Every muscle in her body wanted to fight, to claw, to run. But one wrong move and the bandages on her back would tear open again. The painkillers were wearing off. She could feel it in the hot, pulsing ache down her spine.

She lay there, stiff and silent, not moving, and watch Damien from the floor. His breathing was uneven at first, ragged with alcohol and whatever war he was fighting in his head. Then it slowed. Deepened.

He was asleep.

Elena didn’t move.The room was dark now, only the faint glow of the streetlight outside filtering through the curtains. She stood up and went to him , taking his shoes from his leg and losing his shirt button.She could feel the damp heat of his shirt against her arm, the rise and fall of his chest.

It wasn’t safety. It wasn’t comfort.

But it wasn’t the slap, the whip, the cold concrete of the east wing either.

Her eyes burned. Not from tears—she’d run out of those yesterday—but from exhaustion,from pain.

Carefully, she shifted his head properly against the pillow. The mattress was soft, too soft. It made her remember what it was like before all of this. Before Damien. Before the contract, the marriage, the flogging.

She hated that part of her missed it. And she went for the door looking back at him

Victor’s words echoed in her head "This isn't the first!, be a good girl.

Elena swallowed hard and walked out.

If this was what it meant to survive in his house, then she’d survive it.

For now.

---

[Satan's Heirs Hideaway]

It's an hideaway because it's where they live at guys who already gave their souls to the devil FOR FREE.

They're not the only ones who call themselves Satan's Heirs, everyone else does cos they really are.

They're the most notorious males existing.

Some call them the antichrist, some call them the wolves.

Any bad name you come up with belongs to them, they eat it all up.

They're only three, Their bond is too strong to be broken.

The three of them are in different spots in the devilishly designed house. Wallpapers of burning humans, skulls and bones, black mamba snakes and black money shades are hanging around.

The ceiling design is transparent too, radiating the 3D projection of a thick, black forest.

The lights in the house is rotating from purple to green to red to blue.

Smokes rose to the stiff air from a marijuana kettle on a black table, and the whole house smells like it.

Uriel...the silent devil is on the couch, his ringed face hidden behind a magazine as he slumbered.

Ashtin...the pop-god is sitting not far from him with a lollipop stick in his mouth.

His pops are specially made, soaked in marijuana from the manufacturing industry, so he's always high, and his tongue is always coloured.

Kerce, who's the angry bird is just coming down on the snake-like stairs, his hair falling over his hazel eyes.

Pretty eyes, heartless chest.

Everyone of them feeds on chaos, they breath in darkness and anarchy.

No one has ever seen their faces before no one knows their real face , real name except them. They walk freely but their fake name reach every where.

"He's here" Kerce announced in a ringing voice which resonated.

Uriel removed the magazine from his face and stood with Astin at the same time.

The door opened, and a guy walked in, freezing the already cold air.

He's wearing a matte black hoodie and madly ripped jeans.

The hoodie covered his head, up to his eyes, to half of his face.

The only thing visible is his pink, pale lips. There's a bird on his left shoulder though... A white dove.

Even from a short distance, he looks dead. Nothing is alive inside of him, and it shows.

His jaws tightened as the three walked up to him.

"Welcome back to the outside world, Z" Uriel patted him.

" Z any news?"Ashtin said, patting him too.

" New doll in town, Let open the wound again" Z replied curtly, his voice too, too deep.

"Blood" kerce smile instantly.

Kerce’s grin widened. “I like her already.”

Uriel didn’t smile. He studied Z, taking in the dead look in his eyes, the way the white dove on his shoulder hadn’t moved since he walked in. “Who’s the girl?”

“X new bride,” Z said. “The first one ran. This one’s still bleeding.”

Ashtin sucked on his lollipop, tongue turning violet. “X never keeps them long. He breaks them too fast.”

“Not this time,” Z said. His voice was flat, but something under it sharpened. “This one’s different. She didn’t scream.”

The room went quiet except for the hum of the shifting lights.

Kerce stepped forward, eyes gleaming. “Then we’ll give her a reason to.”

Uriel finally spoke, low and even. “We don’t touch what belongs to X. Not unless he gives us permission.”

Z tilted his head, the hood shadowing his face further. “He won’t remember giving it. He never does.”

Ashtin laughed, the sound wet and high. “So we play?”

Uriel looked at Z a long moment, then nodded once.

“Play,” he said. “But don’t kill her. Not yet. The fun’s in watching them break slowly.”

Z’s lips curved, the first sign of life in him.

“Slowly,” he agreed.