His Private Hell - Chapter 102: Chapter 102

She didn’t sleep.
Not because of fear.
But because Garrison held her all night like something he had stolen from God and dared anyone to take back.
By morning, her skin was marked in shades of violet and fire. His hands had etched new territories across her ribs, her thighs, her throat. The man hadn’t just touched her. He had consecrated her.
And somewhere in the deepest part of her that once feared him, she felt peace.
Not safety.
Not love.
Peace.
Like the calm that comes before a massacre.
When she woke, he was already out of bed, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, shirtless, smoking, wearing sin like a second skin.
She wrapped a sheet around her and approached him slowly. “Do you always watch the world like you’re planning to burn it?”
His smirk was lazy. “I’m not planning.”
She stood beside him, watching the city pulse and glitter beneath them. “You terrify me.”
“Good.” He took a slow drag, then leaned down to brush his lips against her shoulder. “Because that means I’m doing something right.”
But then he froze.
The soft hum of the penthouse intercom cut through the silence.
He didn’t move, didn’t blink.
Only two people had access to override the lock on that channel.
Darcie.
And Lazarus.
He stubbed the cigarette out on the marble. “Stay here.”
“No.” Eella’s spine straightened.
He turned. “I’m not asking.”
But she’d seen Darcie’s prison. She’d stepped inside the nightmare. She wasn’t going to pretend anymore that ignorance would protect her.
“Garrison, if you walk out there and leave me behind, I will follow.”
His nostrils flared. “This isn’t a game.”
“I’m not a child.”
He watched her for a long beat. Then nodded once.
They moved together into the hallway. The air was colder. Sharper.
When he opened the panel, a voice filtered through the encrypted line.
“I’m calling in your favor.”
Lazarus.
Garrison’s hand curled into a fist. “Now?”
“You owe me, Garr. I need a body moved. Discreetly. You and only you.”
Eella’s eyes widened.
Lazarus’s tone didn’t waver. “I’ve already sent the location. You have twenty minutes. Or I call Kozlov.”
The line cut.
Garrison slammed the panel shut, jaw tight. “I told him I wouldn’t play cleanup anymore.”
“You said you owed him.”
“I didn’t say for what.”
He stalked into the bedroom, dressed fast—black-on-black, a knife tucked at his ankle, another beneath his belt.
“Stay here,” he repeated. “This time, I mean it.”
“I won’t—”
“You will.” He turned, eyes like frost. “Because what I’m about to walk into isn’t meant for you. And if I find out you followed me, I’ll put you in the basement with Darcie and weld the damn door shut.”
She didn’t argue again.
But the second the elevator doors closed behind him, her heart dropped.
Not with fear.
With anticipation.
Because she already knew she wouldn’t obey.
—
The address was an abandoned textile factory off the river.
Eella stayed two blocks away, in the shadow of an old parking garage, eyes locked on the entrance.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then Garrison emerged—dragging a tarp-covered body across the cement, face impassive.
Her breath caught.
Blood dripped in a slow, lazy line behind him.
Then another figure appeared from the shadows.
Tall. Broad.
Kozlov.
No.
She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Garrison’s stance changed—tense, ready to kill.
Kozlov pointed at the tarp. Then laughed.
And then he spit at Garrison’s feet.
Whatever pact they had was breaking.
Fast.
Eella gripped her phone. Her chest pounded like war drums.
She pressed record.
Because if Kozlov was ready to bring blood, she needed proof.
Garrison stepped forward. Kozlov didn’t flinch.
The two alphas circled like wolves, speaking too low to catch.
And then—Garrison punched him.
Hard.
A knife flashed. Blood sprayed. Kozlov lunged.
She couldn’t stay still.
She ran.
—
By the time she reached them, Garrison had Kozlov pinned against the concrete wall, knife buried in the other man’s shoulder.
Kozlov was laughing.
“Still got the fire, Garr,” he hissed, blood leaking from his lips. “She’s made you soft.”
“Wrong,” Garrison snarled. “She made me unforgiving.”
He twisted the blade.
Eella shouted. “Garrison—enough!”
His head whipped around.
Kozlov seized the moment—rammed his forehead into Garrison’s nose.
Blood exploded.
The knife clattered to the ground.
Eella rushed forward, snatched it up, and without thinking—sliced it across Kozlov’s cheek.
His scream echoed down the alley like a prophecy.
He stumbled back, eyes wild, blood dripping onto his chest.
“You little bitch.”
She raised the knife again. “Come closer. I’ll carve you open.”
But Garrison was already in front of her, shielding her with his body.
“No more,” he growled.
Kozlov backed away, breathing hard. “This war was already lit. Now it’s burning.”
He disappeared into the shadows.
Eella dropped the blade.
Garrison turned to her slowly.
His face was bleeding. His eyes were fire.
“You disobeyed me.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He stepped closer. “You could’ve died.”
“So could you.”
His fingers curled into her hair, pulling her face up to meet his.
“You’re not like them,” he rasped. “You don’t fight to survive. You fight because it turns you on.”
She bit her lip.
“You knew I was coming. You wanted it.”
“Yes.”
His voice dropped. “Say it.”
“I wanted to watch you bleed.”
He kissed her like punishment. Like sin.
Then pulled back. “Come. I need to show you something.”
—
The drive was silent.
They ended up at an old warehouse. Private. Undisclosed.
Inside, beneath layers of dust and darkness, was a single red chair.
Chains.
Cameras.
And in the corner—an exact replica of Eella’s childhood bedroom.
Her blood ran cold.
“What the hell is this?”
Garrison stepped into the room and ran a hand across the twin bed. “When Lazarus recruited me, he made me build psychological profiles. One of them… was you.”
She stared at him.
“You built this?”
“I didn’t know it was you back then. Only that he wanted someone broken. Submissive. Prone to trauma looping.”
Eella backed away.
He followed.
“It was a test, Eella. He wanted to see if I could create not just a prison—but a mindfuck.”
Tears burned her eyes. “So this was all fake?”
“No.” His voice cracked. “It started as an assignment. But then I met you. And everything changed.”
She shook her head. “No. No, you used me.”
“I loved you.”
She laughed. “You don’t know how to love.”
“I do. But I never learned how to stop.”
He reached for her.
She slapped him.
Hard.
He didn’t flinch.
“I deserve that,” he said. “And more.”
“You made me believe you saw me.”
“I did. I do.” His voice broke. “But Lazarus… he owns the footage, Eella. He owns everything. If he leaks it—”
“What?”
“It’s not just our lives he’ll ruin. It’s everyone’s.”
Eella stepped closer, fury making her eyes electric. “Then we burn him first.”
Garrison froze.
She leaned in, whispered against his lips, “You want to destroy a monster? Let’s become worse.”
And in that moment, everything shifted.
From prey and predator.
To partners in a darker war.
Together.
Against everyone.