His Trophy His War
Mine Again
The cellar drain stank of mildew and rot, but Livia didn’t care. She dropped through the hole into darkness, scraping her palms raw on the edge, her body hitting damp concrete three feet below. Footsteps pounded above. Dante shouting her name like a prayer and a curse.
She didn’t look back.
The sewage tunnel was narrower than she’d hoped, but she crawled. Fast. Blind. Her clothes were filthy, her lip split, her body aching from three days of his hands, his breath, his voice whispering that she belonged to him.