Evil MC's NTR Harem

Iris turned back to the two men, her gaze sharp despite the tears that blurred her vision.

The young man, standing silently in the corner, observed her with an unsettling smirk, as though he were watching a play unfold.

His expression was one of casual amusement, as if this was all some twisted game to him.

The masked man, who had said nothing this entire time, remained still, his presence as oppressive as the dark shadows surrounding them.

They said nothing. They did nothing. They simply watched her, unmoved by her distress, her pain, and her son's suffering.

"Call 911! PLEASE!" Iris shouted, her voice sharp with panic as she sprang to her feet.

Her heart was racing as she searched the room frantically, hoping to find some means of communication—some way to call for help.

Her eyes darted from corner to corner, but there was nothing. No phone. No sign of any way to reach the outside world.

"Karl! Help! Help! Help!" she screamed again, her voice desperate and raw as she called for her husband. Her words echoed in the room, but there was no response.

The silence that followed her frantic cries only deepened her sense of isolation. No one came. Not a single sound from the outside, not a footstep from anyone who might answer her pleas.

She looked around the room, every inch of it now unfamiliar, foreign. The bed, the furniture, the decorations—all wrong. It was nothing like the comfort of her own home.

"Where am I?" Iris whispered to herself, her voice shaking with confusion and fear. She stumbled back, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Where is this place?"

It hit her then. She wasn't in her own home. This wasn't anywhere she recognized. The walls, the air, the smell—everything felt wrong.

She could almost feel the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. Her mind raced, trying to piece things together, but it was all too overwhelming.

Frozen in place, she stood there for a few breaths, struggling to process what was happening, to make sense of the nightmare unfolding around her. And then, her instincts kicked in. She couldn't stay here.

She had to get out. She had to find someone, anyone, to help.

Iris's legs moved before she could even think. She rushed toward the door, her heart pounding in her ears. The cold metal of the door handle seemed like the only thing standing between her and escape.

She reached for it, her fingers trembling as they wrapped around the knob, but before she could turn it, the sound of heavy footsteps made her freeze.

A loud thud echoed in the room. Iris's stomach dropped as the massive figure of the demon-masked man filled just behind, fully intending to block her exit with his imposing presence.

"No!" she hissed, her voice filled with defiance, despite the fear that clawed at her insides.

"Go away! Don't come closer! Move! Now!" Her eyes narrowed as she faced him, refusing to let fear control her.

He was huge—easily six foot five, built like a tank—but she was driven by a mother's love, the kind of strength that could overcome anything when it came to her son.

She was not about to let him suffer because of these monsters.

With a burst of adrenaline, Iris acted without hesitation. She swung her leg forward, aiming a kick straight at Brandon's groin.

The impact was brutal—she could feel the sensation of something crushing beneath her foot. She had hoped for at least some reaction, something to knock him off balance.

But nothing happened. Brandon stood there, unmoving, unfazed by the blow. Iris's breath caught in her throat. How was it possible? He was a giant, and yet, the kick had no effect on him.

He didn't even flinch.

Her moment of shock was brief. Without another second of hesitation, she made her move. She darted past him, her body in full flight. She had to make it to the door. She had to escape.

Brandon's hand shot out, trying to grab her, but she was too quick. She felt his fingers graze her skin as he missed, but she didn't slow down. She couldn't. There was no time to waste.
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But then, it happened. In her desperation, the towel that had been wrapped around her hair slipped from her body.

The fabric fluttered to the floor with a soft tap, and for a brief moment, Iris's body was completely exposed.

She didn't care. She couldn't care. She was in full survival mode now, and nothing else mattered.

Her form, toned and fit from years of careful upkeep, was on display for anyone in the room to see.

Despite being 45 years old, Iris's beauty was undeniable—her face still held the youthfulness of a woman in her late twenties, and her body was flawless, a result of her consistent care and effort.

But in that moment, her beauty wasn't what drove her. It was pure survival.

She didn't stop. Not for a second. Iris turned toward the door, heart hammering in her chest, her only focus on the single goal of getting out.

But as her fingers grasped the cold metal of the doorknob, a wave of horror swept over her. The knob wouldn't turn.

It was locked!

Her hand froze on the door, her body slumping in shock.

Locked? How could it be locked? Panic surged within her again as she tugged at the door, pulling, pushing, trying every angle. But it was useless.

No escape. She was trapped.

With a final scream of frustration, Iris stepped back, her mind whirling.

She had no idea what they wanted, what they were going to do, but one thing was clear: she and Derek were at the mercy of these men.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she turned back to face them, her body trembling, exposed, and vulnerable.

The demon-masked man stood still, his cold gaze never leaving her, while the young man observed her with a smile that made her stomach turn.

"Now that you grasp the gravity of your situation, I have something to tell you about your son," Ross said, his voice dropping to a low, ominous tone.