Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 74: ’The Prey Bites Back’

Chapter 74: ’The Prey Bites Back’

Florian inhaled sharply, forcing his hands to remain steady as he gestured toward the worn-out chair. "Sit down." His voice was firm—an order, not a request.

Charles arched a brow, amusement flickering in his dark eyes, but he didn’t hesitate. With an easy, unhurried grace, he sank into the chair, sprawling lazily like a king on his throne. One arm draped over the armrest while the other reached for his whiskey.

He swirled the amber liquid in slow circles, letting the light catch on the glass before taking a long, deliberate sip. His gaze never wavered, watching Florian over the rim, the weight of his attention heavy and unshaken.

The dim lighting deepened the shadows across his sharp, angular features, carving them into something more menacing, more cruel. The smirk curling at his lips was smug, knowing, a silent taunt that sent a slow, creeping chill up Florian’s spine.

"And here I thought you’d be too shy to take charge." Charles’ voice dripped with dark amusement, a quiet purr laced with condescension. He leaned back slightly, settling further into the chair, exuding the kind of effortless dominance that made Florian’s stomach twist. "Now, when are you going to strip?"

Florian forced a smile, tilting his head slightly. "Soon."

The word tasted like rust on his tongue.

With measured, deliberate ease, he moved forward, swinging one leg over Charles’ lap, lowering himself with a slow, practiced control. His every motion was calculated, an illusion of confidence stretched thin over something far more fragile.

The moment Charles’ hands settled on his waist, fingers pressing in with a firm, possessive weight, an icy shudder rippled through Florian’s body. His skin prickled, too aware of the heat of Charles’ palms, the way they fit against him like they had the right to be there. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to stiffen, not to recoil, not to let even a flicker of discomfort show.

His breath came in shallow pulls, his chest tight, lungs refusing to expand properly.

’Almost there. Just a little longer. Just breathe.’

Then—

A sharp, piercing ring exploded in his ears.

Florian flinched.

The world around him dimmed, edges smearing into a haze of indistinct shapes and muted colors.

Not real.

No, not a sound. A memory. A ghost of a past that wasn’t his, clawing its way up from the depths of his mind, dragging him under before he could resist.

Sobbing. Desperate, broken cries.

"Please—please stop, please, no more—!"

His breath hitched violently. The voice—his voice—no. Not his.

The real Florian’s.

"Heinz...help...please..."

Raw. Trembling. Pleading for mercy that had never come.

A violent shudder wracked through him as his mind was wrenched back into a nightmarish haze—

Hands. Rough, unyielding. Pinning down slender wrists. Bruises blooming beneath an iron grip. A sharp gasp, choked and breathless, wide panicked eyes stinging with unshed tears.

The sound of fabric tearing.

The sickening press of unwanted weight.

"PLEASE!"

The taste of fear, bitter and metallic on his tongue.

’NO.’

His pulse spiked, hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break free. A tremor raced down his spine, fingers twitching, going numb. His stomach twisted, nausea curling deep in his gut, coiling tighter with every breath.

The room swayed around him in a sickening lurch, and for a moment—just a moment—he wasn’t here.

He wasn’t Florian, sitting in Charles’ lap.

He was someone else, trapped in a body that wasn’t his, reliving a horror he had no right to claim.

His nails dug into his own palms, sharp enough to sting, sharp enough to ground.

’Not now. Not when I’m so close.’

He forced a shallow breath, dragging himself back to the present. The air in the room felt thick, cloying—each inhale like breathing through smoke. Charles’ fingers traced slow, lazy circles over his hips, completely oblivious to the war raging beneath Florian’s skin.

’I have to do this.’

He swallowed the bile threatening to rise, forcing his body to stay still. His limbs felt stiff, unnatural, like a puppet held together by brittle strings.

"I have a surprise for you," he murmured.

Charles hummed, pleased. "Oh yeah? Another surprise?" His grip on Florian’s waist tightened, his smirk deepening. He thought he was in control. He thought this was his game.

Florian’s fingers brushed against cold metal—the hidden fork tucked beneath his clothes.

The pulse roaring in his ears drowned out everything except—

"STOP—please, please stop—!"

His breath came out ragged, uneven. The voice echoed in his skull, seeping into his bones. He could still hear it. Still feel it. The weight of phantom hands pinning him down, breath hot against his ear, nails biting into his skin. His stomach twisted violently.

But he didn’t stop.

He leaned in, tilting his head as if to kiss Charles, their breaths mingling in the charged space between them.

Charles’ eyes darkened with hunger, his fingers digging in, pulling Florian closer, greedy, eager. His lips parted, waiting—

Florian’s fingers curled around the fork.

"You really thought I would use this body to fuck you?" he whispered, his voice laced with venom.

Confusion flickered across Charles’ face—

Then pain.

Florian drove the fork into his chest, just above the ribs.

Charles let out a strangled yell, body jerking in shock. His hands shot up, fingers clawing at Florian’s arms, but Florian didn’t give him a chance to recover. He ripped the fork free—warm blood splattering against his fingers—and plunged it again, this time burying it deep into Charles’ shoulder.

A guttural snarl tore from Charles’ throat as his body convulsed beneath him. Pain twisted his features, rage flashing in his eyes as he writhed, blood pooling beneath him.

Florian’s breath came in short, ragged bursts. His hands trembled, slick with heat and crimson, but he didn’t loosen his grip. The weight of what he’d done hadn’t settled yet—not fully. Adrenaline crashed through him, drowning out hesitation, silencing doubt.

"You are a fucking predator," he spat, his voice shaking—not just with fury, but with something raw, something dangerously close to hatred.

’This is for the real Florian.’

Charles gasped, his chest heaving, blood seeping through his fingers, dark and glistening in the dim light. He let out a ragged, disbelieving chuckle, his head lolling back slightly. "You little—fucking—shit—"

Florian didn’t let him finish.

Now.

Bracing himself against Charles’ chest, he planted his foot firmly before slamming it into his stomach with everything he had.

Charles lurched back with a violent grunt, the chair scraping against the floor as he doubled over, coughing wetly, blood dripping from his wounds.

Florian didn’t wait.

His heart pounded against his ribs as he lunged for the discarded pants, his fingers fumbling, slick with blood, as he snatched them off the ground. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to move, to run, to get the hell out before Charles regained his senses.

He bolted toward the emergency exit, his breath burning in his lungs.

Levi had left marks for him to follow.

He just had to make it.

He had to run.