The corridor was a throat of darkness, and Zarek pulled her through it like a man dragging a caught animal to slaughter. Elsa’s bare feet caught on debris.
"Stairs are blocked," he muttered, mostly to himself. "We go up. Roof access on six."
She stumbled. He caught her by the elbow without breaking stride, hauling her upright like she weighed nothing.
"Keep up or I leave you."
She kept up.
They passed a room with its door hanging off one hinge. Inside, she glimpsed a shape on the bed—too still, too small. A child’s shoe on the floor. She looked away.
Room 612 was at the end of the hall, its door intact, its lock still functional. He shoved her inside first, then followed, closing the door behind them and throwing the deadbolt.
The room was... clean.
Not just cleaner than the others. Clean. The bed was made. The carpet showed faint vacuum lines. A tray of tiny soaps and shampoos sat on the dresser. The air smelled of nothing . No blood, no rot, no fear-sweat. Just the faint chemical ghost of industrial cleaner.
"Housekeeping never made it here," Zarek said, reading her expression. "Lucky us."
He moved through the room with efficiency . Checking the bathroom, the closet, the window. He wanted to make sure nothing disturb them.
Elsa stood exactly where he’d left her, in the center of the room, shivering despite the warmth. The water bottle slipped from her fingers and rolled under the bed.
"Strip," Zarek said.
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"You heard me." He was already unzipping his jumpsuit, peeling the blood-soaked fabric off his shoulders. The wound on his left arm was ugly four deep punctures, the skin around them puffy and red. "Your clothes are filthy. You’re filthy. We both are. And I’m not sleeping next to a corpse until she turns into one."
"I’m not."
"You’re not what? Clean?" He stepped out of the jumpsuit and kicked it aside. His body was a roadmap of scars old knife wounds, burn marks, the raised tissue of bites that had healed wrong. "Neither am I. But I’m not fucking you while you smell like a sewer."
Elsa’s face burned. She crossed her arms over her chest, a futile gesture given how little her torn blouse covered.
"I don’t want to fuck you at all," she said.
"Liar." He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The pipes groaned, then coughed up a stream of rust-colored water that gradually ran clear. Steam began to fill the room. "Get in."
"No."
Zarek turned. He didn’t look angry. He looked bored. That was worse.
"I’m not going to argue with you," he said. "You can get in that shower on your own two feet, or I can drag you in by your hair. Either way, you’re getting clean. The only difference is how much it hurts."
Elsa stared at him. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. But she was so tired. So tired of fighting. So tired of being afraid.
She reached up and peeled the ruined blouse off her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a whisper of torn fabric. Her skirt followed, then her underwear plain gray cotton, damp with sweat and something else she didn’t want to think about.
Zarek watched her undress. He didn’t leer. He just... looked. Assessing. Like she was a piece of equipment he was considering for purchase.
"Go," he said.
She went.
The shower was hot. Scalding. The water pounded against her skin, washing away layers of grime and blood and fear. She stood under the spray with her eyes closed, letting it run over her face, into her mouth, down her throat. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she still was.
The glass door opened behind her. She didn’t turn around.
Zarek stepped in, his body crowding hers against the tile. The water ran over both of them now, flowing down his chest, his stomach, the thick length of him already half-hard against her hip.
"Turn around," he said.
She turned. Slowly, reluctantly, her back pressing against the cold tile. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. The water plastered his hair to his forehead, and for a moment, just a moment, he looked almost human.
Then he grabbed her chin and tilted her face up.
"You’re going to suck my cock," he said. "And you’re going to do it well. Because if you don’t, I’ll bend you over that sink and take your ass instead. And I don’t think you want that."
Elsa’s throat closed. "Please"
"Please what?"
"Please don’t."
He laughed. It was a low, humorless sound. "That’s not how this works. You gave up the right to say no when you drank that water. Now get on your knees."
The tile was hard and cold against her knees. Water sprayed into her face, and she had to blink it away. Zarek’s cock was right there, thick and veined, the head flushed dark. She stared at it like it was a snake about to strike.
"Open your mouth."
She opened her mouth.
He pushed in.
The first thrust hit the back of her throat, and she gagged immediately, her hands flying up to his hips. He didn’t stop. He grabbed her hair with both hands and held her head still, fucking into her mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.
"That’s it," he murmured. "Breathe through your nose."
She tried. She really tried. But he was too big, and she was too scared, and every time he pushed deeper, her throat closed up and she choked. Spit ran down her chin, mixing with the shower water. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
Zarek didn’t care. He fucked her mouth like he fucked everything else with brutal rhythm . In and out. In and out. The head of his cock bruising the back of her throat with every thrust.
"Look at me," he ordered.
She looked up. Her vision was blurry with water and tears, but she could see his face. His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark. He was enjoying this. Not just the physical sensation the power. The control. The way she was kneeling at his feet, taking him because she had no other choice.
"You’re beautiful like this," he said. "Broken. Desperate. Mine."
She wanted to bite him. She wanted to sink her teeth into his cock and tear. But she didn’t. Because she knew what he’d do. Because she knew what she’d lose.
He pulled out suddenly, leaving her gasping and empty. A string of saliva connected her lips to his cock, and he wiped it away with his thumb.
"Stand up," he said.
She stood. Her legs were shaking so badly she had to brace herself against the wall.
Zarek grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. Her hands hit the tile, her cheek pressed against the cold porcelain. She could feel him behind her, his cock sliding between her ass cheeks, slick with her own spit.
"No," she gasped. "Not like this.."
"Shut up."
He kicked her legs apart. His foot hooked around her ankle and dragged her stance wide, leaving her open and exposed. The shower water ran down her back, between her legs, mixing with the wetness that was already there.
"Heh.. You’re dripping," he said. "You like this. Don’t you ! . You like being used."
"I don’t.."
He reached around and slid two fingers into her cunt. She cried out , not from pain, but from the shock of it. Her body clenched around him, wet and hot .
"Liar," he said again. "Your mouth says no, but your cunt says yes."
He pulled his fingers out and pressed the head of his cock against her entrance. She could feel it hot, insistent, demanding. Her whole body tensed.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, I’ve never"
"I know."
He pushed in.
The pain was immediate , a burning, tearing sensation that made her see white. She screamed, her nails scrabbling against the tile, her whole body trying to pull away. But he held her hips in an iron grip, pulling her back onto his cock inch by inch.
"Relax" he ordered.
"I can’t.."
"Relax, or this is going to hurt a lot more than it needs to."
She tried. She took a deep breath, forced her muscles to loosen, and he slid in another inch. And another. And another. Until he was buried to the hilt, his balls pressed against her ass, his cock stretching her wider than she’d ever thought possible.
"Good girl," he murmured. "That’s it."
He pulled back and thrust forward, burying himself in one brutal stroke.
Elsa screamed again.