His Private Hell - Chapter 80: Chapter 80

His breath was chaos against her neck, hot and unrelenting, like he needed to consume her just to keep himself sane. Garrison didn’t touch her softly. He didn’t know how. His fingers sank into her hair, dragging her head back, his mouth claiming her like a man who had bled for her, killed for her, burned everything for her—and still needed more.
“I should lock you away,” he hissed against her ear, teeth grazing skin. “Keep you where no one else can even fucking think about touching you.”
Eella’s pulse stuttered violently. She should’ve been afraid. Should’ve run the first time she saw the look in his eyes—the storm, the possession, the raw, lethal devotion that didn’t just promise ruin, but reveled in it.
But she moaned instead, fingers clawing at his back. “Then do it,” she whispered. “You keep threatening. Maybe I want to see how far you’ll go.”
That was all it took. The world snapped.
He shoved her against the wall of his private penthouse, a picture frame crashing to the floor. His hands were everywhere—rough, demanding—ripping her blouse open, shoving her skirt up, one hand curling around her throat.
“I should make you beg,” he rasped.
“I won’t.”
He smirked, dangerous and devastating. “You already are.”
She didn’t get a chance to argue before he was inside her. No buildup. No mercy.
Just raw, brutal need.
The way he took her—like she was air and he’d been drowning. Every thrust echoed with desperation, the slap of skin against skin, her cries muffled by his mouth. And in between each kiss, each ragged breath, were his promises.
Dark.
Violent.
“I’ll never let you leave me.”
“I’ll destroy anyone who touches you.”
“I’ll burn the world to keep you mine.”
It should’ve terrified her.
But all Eella could think was—finally.
Because she wanted the same.
Because she was just as twisted now.
Just as damned.
And then the knock came.
Three soft raps.
Followed by silence.
Garrison froze.
His chest heaved, jaw tight, body trembling between pleasure and lethal restraint. “No one comes up here,” he said darkly.
“I didn’t order room service,” she whispered, heart pounding harder.
The knock came again.
Then the voice. Feminine. Clear.
“Darcie says hello.”
It was like a bucket of ice water.
Garrison stepped back, cock still hard, expression darkening with something primal.
“Who the fuck—”
The door exploded inward.
Three men. Black suits. Guns drawn.
And in the middle of them—
A woman in red stilettos.
Eyes that gleamed like oil.
The kind of smile nightmares wore.
“Hello again, Garrison,” the woman purred. “I told you Darcie wasn’t finished.”
Eella barely processed it before hands dragged her back. Garrison lunged, but a pistol slammed into his temple. He went down, groaning, blood dripping down his cheek.
“NO!” Eella screamed, fighting, thrashing—until a needle stabbed into her neck.
Darkness sucked her under.
⸻
She woke up bound to a chair.
Metal. Cold. Her wrists were numb. Her throat raw.
Across the room, Garrison sat slumped in another chair—shirt bloodied, lip split, face blank. But his eyes…they were awake. Alive. Watching her.
And then the woman stepped into view.
“Eella Hart. I must admit, I thought he’d kill you by now.”
“Who the hell are you?” Eella rasped.
She smiled. “My name’s Astrid. But really, it doesn’t matter. All you need to know is—I used to be Darcie’s handler.”
“Darcie’s dead.”
“No, sweetheart.” Astrid crouched in front of her, brushing hair from her face like a lover. “Darcie’s just buried deep. And you woke her up.”
Eella’s blood ran cold.
Garrison spat blood onto the floor. “If you touch her—”
“Oh, hush.” Astrid rose, glancing at the guards. “Show them.”
The lights dimmed.
A projector flickered to life.
Footage. Grainy, black-and-white. Of the 33rd floor.
Of Darcie.
Screaming.
Thrashing.
Chained to a wall.
And Garrison standing over her.
A whip in his hand.
Eella recoiled. “What the fuck—”
“She was sick,” Garrison said hoarsely. “She wanted it. Begged for it.”
“She begged you to kill her,” Astrid sneered. “And you did. Just not the way she wanted.”
Eella couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in. Garrison’s secrets weren’t just scars—they were open graves.
“You don’t understand,” he said, eyes on Eella. “She wasn’t a victim. She was a monster. She used me. She ruined everything.”
Astrid’s voice turned cold. “She loved you. And you made her disappear.”
“I saved her,” he snapped. “The real Darcie died long before that footage. What was left was a weapon you built.”
Astrid laughed. “And now it’s your turn, sweetheart.”
She turned to Eella.
“You’ll break him better than Darcie ever could.”
⸻
The torture didn’t start with blades.
It started with silence.
They locked them in the room together—hands still bound. Blood still drying.
Eella didn’t speak for hours.
Neither did Garrison.
But when the lights finally flicked off, and they were left in the dark, his voice came low, thick with pain.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
She didn’t respond.
“I tried to protect you. That file you found—everything in it was a trap. Darcie’s trap. You were never supposed to open that door.”
Still nothing.
He turned toward her. “Say something.”
She finally looked at him.
“You tortured her.”
“She was evil.”
“You enjoyed it.”
His eyes gleamed. “And yet you still moaned my name when I choked you against the wall.”
She slapped him.
Hard.
But her thighs clenched.
Because he was right.
She hated herself for it.
But it was true.
The monster in him saw the monster in her.
And maybe that’s why it hurt so much.
Because they were the same.
“Untie me,” she said finally.
“They’ll be watching.”
“Let them.”
He crawled to her.
Untied her slowly.
And when their hands were free, she didn’t run.
She grabbed him by the throat and kissed him like she was the one who held the whip.
Because she wanted it.
Because she understood.
And that was the true hell.
Loving the fire that burned you alive.
⸻
The escape wasn’t planned.
It was instinct.
A fire alarm triggered.
The guards ran.
Garrison broke a chain.
Eella grabbed a scalpel.
They ran barefoot through the corridors, blood smearing floors, alarms blaring. Garrison shoved a guard down the stairwell. Eella stabbed another in the thigh. The elevator was rigged, so they took the roof.
But Astrid was waiting.
Gun pointed.
Eyes blazing.
“You’re not leaving.”
Eella stepped forward. “Kill me then.”
Astrid blinked.
“I said kill me!” Eella screamed. “You want to break him? Take me out of the equation.”
Garrison’s hand gripped hers behind his back.
Astrid hesitated.
And in that second—he lunged.
Gunfire.
Blood.
Astrid fell.
The world spun.
Sirens below.
And finally—
Freedom.
They collapsed in a stolen car two blocks away.
Covered in blood.
Heaving.
Laughing.
Crying.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.
“I always was,” she breathed.
But neither of them noticed the phone still blinking in Astrid’s jacket.
Recording everything.
And far away… a new voice played the footage.
Low.
Dangerous.
Feminine.
“She took my place,” it hissed.
“Then it’s time I take it back.”
Darcie wasn’t done yet.
Not even close.