Saving My Boyfriend I
A rough hand, calloused and unfamiliar, gripped my jaw. Not Silas’s hand. It couldn't be Silas’s. My breath hitched. The air in the room, usually stale with Silas’s unwashed laundry and cheap cologne, felt thick, suffocating. My eyes, still adjusting to the dimness, darted to Silas. He was there, slumped against the headboard, ropes cutting into his wrists, his ankles bound. His eyes, wide and pleading, were fixed on me.
“Look at him, Rumi,” a low voice rumbled. I recognized Jordan’s voice. His fingers tightened, forcing my chin up. “He’s watching. Every little bit of what we are about to do."
My throat tightened. I swallowed, a dry, painful rasp. “What do you want?” The words came out a whisper, barely audible.
Jordan chuckled, a deep, unsettling sound that vibra
