Chapter 2
The comments grew even more shameless and aggressive.
[I hate girls who act all high-class and artsy.]
[Quit acting so innocent. Once the drug kicks in, you'll be begging for it.]
[Hurry up already. I bet they'll give in within five minutes.]
[They were given Desire Serum, the strongest drug there is. I'm betting all my assets they won't last.]
I had no idea what drug they were talking about.
I stared frozen at the screen. The warmth that had been spreading under the skin suddenly flared up violently inside me the second I read those words.
Cold sweat broke out and rolled down my forehead at once.
I snapped my head toward Charles in the corner.
He leaned one hand against the wall, his forearm muscles so tight that they twitched, like a trapped animal fighting something no one else could see.
I already knew exactly what the drug was meant to do.
I finally understood why he had looked like he wanted to say something but held back.
He was too embarrassed to put it into words.
I rushed to the heavy iron door and hit it frantically. "Let us out. Is anyone there? Open the door."
"Isabelle, if you keep acting like this, you will only make the drug work faster." Charles tried to stop me.
His voice was completely hoarse but still deadly attractive. His breathing was hot and unsteady.
In the silence, his rough and rapid breathing filled the corner, and it felt almost intoxicating in such a tense situation.
A crazy thought crossed my mind. If he came toward me, I wasn't sure if I would push him away or give in.
I shivered when I realized I had already let myself think that way.
I kicked the iron door even harder.
"The door is welded shut," Charles said again.
I turned around and stared at him. Overwhelming panic and the burning heat made my whole body shake, and my heart hammered painfully against my ribs.
"What am I supposed to do then?" I shot back.
I broke down in tears and shouted, my voice cracking sharply, "Should I wait here and let this drug drive me mad or torture me to death?
"Do you expect us to do something here in front of all those people like wild animals?"
I regretted my words the second I spoke them.
Charles's eyes flushed bright red, but he gritted his teeth and looked away.
His throat moved violently as he fought against his own urges. He was clearly suffering even more than I was.
It had sounded like I was accusing him of planning to take advantage of me.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," I apologized.
I slid down against the cold iron door and tried to steady my trembling voice. "I just hate feeling completely powerless and at the mercy of others."
"Don't worry," Charles said, his fists clenched tight. Sweat broke out across his forehead and his shirt stuck to his back. "I swear I won't lay a finger on you."
"Ugh, you two are so noisy," the electronic voice purred, cold and menacing. "Guess I didn't give you enough of the drug after all."
Pink gas filled the room from the vents a moment later, carrying an overly sweet smell that filled my nose immediately.
The scent, like melted honey, settled heavily in my chest as I breathed in, and a faint numbness spread across my fingertips.
Charles turned toward me sharply, his eyes fixed on me with his pupils tightly constricted.
My heart clenched and my body trembled on its own, and I felt a shameful flicker of anticipation I couldn't control.
"Don't breathe this in," he said quickly, stepping forward and covering my mouth and nose with his hot palm.
The rough texture of his skin brushed roughly against my lips in a harsh, urgent motion.
I flinched and turned my head in surprise, only to end up pressed firmly against his chest.
His face was only inches from mine, and his breath, laced with the drug's scent, came hot and ragged against my skin.
The comments on the screen erupted in a frenzy.
[Finally, he's moving. Hold her tighter!]
[Look how hard he's gripping her face.]
[Quit acting like a gentleman. Her husband isn't watching.]
Charles's fingers tightened suddenly, and I let out a small pained sound.
"Sorry." He seemed to snap back to his senses right away, letting me go and stumbling backward until his back slammed hard into the wall.
A dull thud echoed through the room, and he let out a quiet groan of pain.
A nail sticking out of the wall sliced a long gash into his forearm.
Blood began to flow at once, running down his arm and dripping onto the pale floor in vivid, sharp drops.
I gasped in shock.
"Don't be afraid," he said.
He staggered back into the corner and dug his fingers into the gash on his arm, letting out a low, agonized growl.
He was using the sharp pain to keep himself clearheaded and force himself to stay away from me.
The comments on the screen quickly turned more vulgar.
[Wow, he is really bleeding. Is he trying to make her feel sorry for him?]
[Tell her to lick your wound while she's at it.]
[He's clearly dying to hold back and still acting all pure.]