My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}-Chapter 149: When All Hope Is Lost

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘❦✾❦∘∙⊱⋅•-

"Look at you," he breathed out with that awful grin, his eyes bright with cruel delight. "Trying so hard."

He didn’t give me another second.

His knee slammed into my stomach—sharp, brutal, knocking the breath out of me as if he’d punched a hole straight through my lungs. Pain exploded across my torso, hot and blinding, and I folded over with a strangled cry. My knees hit the floor first, then my palms, and I curled instinctively, clutching my stomach as nausea surged up my throat.

"Fuck—" The word barely managed to escape me.

Jace ripped the pipe from my hands, victorious now that my strength had finally faltered. I lifted my head just in time to see him arc it back like a baseball bat, his expression gleaming with something feral.

"Don’t worry," he murmured. "This part won’t take long."

The pipe cracked across my back. "AHHH!"

A thunderbolt of agony tore through my spine, knocking stars into my vision. My body hit the concrete, my cheek smashing against the cold floor as a thin cry slipped out of me. For a second, just a second, I thought I would black out again. The edges of my vision blurred, darkened, then sharpened back into focus with a sickening lurch.

"Got the little fucker?" Liam’s voice came from somewhere behind me, shaky but trying to sound unaffected.

Liam stumbled into view next, his forehead smeared with blood where I’d hit him earlier. His expression was twisted with both irritation and distorted amusement. "He hit me so damn hard," he said, pressing a hand to the side of his head. "Little bitch actually got me."

"Quit whining," Jace snapped, kicking my leg lightly as if testing whether I could move. "Get him on the mattress. We don’t have time for this."

I tried to scoot away, but my arms were trembling, too weak to hold me up. Patrick grabbed my arm and hauled me upright, and the world tilted violently. My stomach twisted, and I gagged from the motion, but he didn’t care, he just dragged me like I weighed nothing.

Liam was already setting up the tripod again, muttering curses under his breath. "This is such a mess," he said, adjusting the camera angle while dabbing uselessly at the blood trickling from his head. "We need to hurry before someone shows up."

Patrick laughed and leaned close to me, his breath hot and sour against my ear. "Aw, look at you," he cooed mockingly. "Trying your best. Cute... but useless."

My voice broke as I fought against his grip. "Let me go," I gasped, my legs scraping helplessly against the concrete. "Let me go, you sick...bastards—"

He tightened his grip, dragging me the last few steps before shoving me down onto the thin mattress. My body hit it awkwardly, pain ricocheting up my ribs. I tried to sit up, tried to crawl away, but Patrick’s hand pressed on my shoulder, pinning me there as he chuckled.

"You really thought you could get away?" he asked, smiling like this was all some twisted game. "Come on, Noah. Be realistic."

I stared up at the ceiling, every breath shaky and shallow, fear pulsing through my body like a second heartbeat.

I needed to get through this, I needed to hold on just a little longer.

Someone was coming.

Someone had to be coming.

I barely had time to catch my breath before Liam burst back into the room. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, and in his hand was another syringe, smaller than the first, the clear liquid inside trembling from how fast he’d been running.

"Got it," he said breathlessly. "This one’s... it’s a smaller dose. Just enough to keep him compliant but awake."

His voice had that unsteady excitement to it, like he knew he was crossing a line but was pretending he didn’t care.

My stomach twisted in pure terror.

Patrick tightened his grip on my wrists, pinning them above my head, his weight bearing down on me so heavily that I could feel the bruise forming on my forearm. "Hold still," he said, as if I would ever willingly obey them.

"Get off me, fucking pig!" My voice cracked as I writhed under him. Every muscle screamed, but I kept struggling, refusing to stay still. "Don’t touch me, don’t fucking touch me!"

Jace rolled his eyes. "Christ, he’s dramatic."

Liam crouched beside me, his expression cold and focused as he reached for my arm. "Just make it easy on yourself," he muttered. "You’re only hurting yourself more."

"Don’t—" I jerked my arm away, but Patrick slammed it back down against the mattress, hard enough to knock the air out of me again.

"Stop moving," Patrick snapped, his fingers digging painfully into my wrist. "Damn, he’s stubborn as hell."

Tears blurred my vision as Liam shoved the needle into my skin. The sting was immediate, a sharp burn that spread quickly through my veins. I choked on a breath and squeezed my eyes shut as the weakness rolled over me like a wave.

"N...no, pl–please don’t!" My voice shook uncontrollably. "Let me go! I swear—please—"

"Save the crying," Liam muttered, withdrawing the needle and tossing it aside. "This won’t take long."

The room tilted.

My limbs went heavy first, my strength slipping out of me like someone had pulled the plug. The fight that had been burning through my body just minutes ago fizzled into nothing, leaving me gasping and trembling beneath Patrick’s weight.

I tried to lift my arm,.it barely twitched.

I tried to kick, my leg wouldn’t even cooperate.

A helpless sound tore from my throat as the realization hit me like a physical blow: There was no way out.

No one was coming.

No one knew where I was.

No one even noticed I was missing.

I never should have gone to that stupid party. I never should have listened to Skylar when she kept telling me to be braver, to step out of the shadows, to live a little. Maybe the shadows had been the safest place after all. At least there, no one could drag me into hell like this.

I should have listened to Gigi.

My breath hitched painfully as the thought dug deeper.

This wasn’t new.

It was happening again.

My mind splintered as memories I had buried, memories I swore I would never touch again...rose like ghosts, dragging their nails across every part of me.

Fourteen years old, a locked bedroom door, the weight pressing against me, the smell of alcohol. And a voice whispering, ’Don’t cry... this is normal.’

My own father.

My stomach lurched violently, and I turned my head to the side, sucking in air that wouldn’t fill my lungs. I felt so small again, like that terrified little boy he used to corner, the boy who learned how to go still like a statue just to make it end faster.

Patrick’s breath was hot against my cheek. "There you go," he said softly, almost humming. "Just relax. Doesn’t it feel easier when you don’t fight?"

A broken sob escaped me and I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t even cover my face, my hands pinned too tightly above my head.

Jace called out from across the room, adjusting the camera again, as if he were setting up for some disgusting photoshoot. "Hurry up," he barked. "We’re already behind schedule."

Liam added, "Just keep him awake. That’s all that matters."

They continued talking, laughing, planning like monsters in human skin—while I lay there, sinking deeper into the mattress, my body no longer responding, my mind spiraling somewhere between panic and numbness.

My tears soaked into the thin sheet beneath me.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to claw my way out, I wanted someone, anyone at all, to crash through the door.

But no matter how loudly my heart pounded, no matter how desperately I tried to move, the thought kept repeating in my mind like a cruel mantra:

No one is coming.

No one knows about this.

No one will save you this time.

I could feel Patrick quickly unbuttoning my pants like he just couldn’t wait to violate me completely.

The room blurred.

And I felt myself slipping into that same, familiar darkness I had promised myself I would never let swallow me again...