Mark of Sin: Bound to the Cruel Alpha

"May I borrow a bucket and a mop, please? And maybe a few rags to wipe down the dust?"

I stood outside the janitor’s closet, where all the cleaning supplies were stored, nervously shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The elderly woman held her lower back as she straightened up, regarding me with a flicker of gentle pity in her eyes.

"Disciplinary duty?" she asked softly, sympathetically.

I offered a glum nod, a bitter knot twisting in my stomach at the realization that I was about to spend the next few hours scrubbing that wretched lecture hall.

We had only two classes scheduled for the day, as the physical education instructor had been called away to referee a tournament. The class had simply been canceled; while the males and females of higher status headed off to their athletic training, the rest of us were dismissed for the day.

I decided not to waste any time and get the cleaning over with early, though dread pooled in my chest at the thought of facing the professor without the transcribed notes. He would likely fly into a rage, barking insults loud enough to echo down the hallway and deepening my humiliation.

When I stepped into the classroom, he was nowhere to be found. Seizing the opportunity, I resolved to work quickly in hopes of finishing before he returned—I could clean up and slip away unnoticed, claiming later that he had been absent when I arrived. I refrained from leaving the incomplete notebook on his desk.

It was a flawless plan, and hope flared within me as I neared completion. With only the top shelves left to dust, I was almost convinced I would escape unscathed.

Slipping off my shoes, I stepped onto a chair and reached toward the highest shelf, rag in hand. I was nearly done when a heavy hand suddenly dropped onto my rear, squeezing hard with predatory, possessive certainty.

I shrieked, spinning around so violently I nearly lost my balance, only to come face-to-face with the professor. He was standing directly behind me, far too close, a look in his eyes that made my blood run cold.

"What do you think you’re doing?!" I cried out, leaping off the chair and scrambling away.

I winced as cold moisture seeped into my socks—the floor was still damp. Damn it.

The man stared down at me with a dark, heavy scowl. The sheer threat radiating off him rooted my feet to the floor, my instincts screaming at me to run.

"You’ve been asking for this with the way you carry yourself," he said, his voice dropping into a low, predatory gravel as he took a step forward. "Don’t play the innocent little Omega now."

"What are you even talking about?!" I gasped, panic clawing at my throat.

Spinning around, I bolted to the door and yanked the handle. Once. Twice. It didn’t budge. Locked tight.

"No one is going to interrupt us. There are no other classes in this wing today," the man said calmly, advancing toward me.

My heart hammered so violently against my ribs it threatened to stop altogether. With trembling hands, I fished my phone from my pocket and speed-dialed the only number I could rely on, praying with everything I had that he would answer.

Dashing toward the far side of the room, I wove frantically between the rows of desks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the professor, despite his heavy frame, cut across the aisle to intercept me.

I let out a terrified cry and pressed the phone to my ear, praying I could keep out of his reach long enough for the line to connect before he caught me.

The call had barely begun to ring when his thick hand clamped around my wrist like a vice, yanking me backward.

His fingers dug into my wrist with such brutal, crushing force that I heard a sickening snap. A white-hot agony flared straight up my arm like liquid fire. I screamed, but before the sound could clear my throat, he ripped the phone from my palm and hurled it across the room with vicious fury. It shattered against the far wall and collapsed into the corner.

I didn’t care about the phone.

Driven by raw instinct, I yanked my broken arm free while his heavy, bloated frame stumbled between the narrow aisles. I bolted, my feet catching against the floor as my legs threatened to give out beneath me. My heart battered against my ribs so violently it echoed in my ears like thunder, drowning out all sound. My breath caught in my throat, ragged and broken by violent sobs.

I darted across the classroom like a trapped animal, wildly scanning for any gap, any shadow where I could hide. But with every passing second, the suffocating reality settled in: there was no escape. The heavy door remained locked.

I was trapped in a cage with a monster.

He let out a low, revolting laugh, the sound dripping with triumph that sent a wave of nausea straight through my core.

"Run, little Omega, run," he rasped, his voice thick with sick gratification. "I knew you were a sweet little thing. I knew you liked to play games."

My desperate scrambling only fueled his twisted excitement. He was a sick, sadistically warped predator.

Apparently growing tired of the chase, he lashed out with a heavy kick, sending an entire row of desks flying. Metal and wood crashed against the floor with a deafening screech that made me shriek, throwing my hands over my head. The desks flipped and splintered, blocking my only clear path back toward the entrance.

I was backed into a corner.

A wave of absolute helplessness burned through my chest, searing like acid. The sheer terror was so overwhelming it threatened to break my mind completely.

I threw a frantic, desperate glance toward the nearby window. It was a massive, floor-to-ceiling glass panel—and it had no handles.

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