Chapter 28
Lola drowns in my old Ravens hockey shirt, her legs bare beneath borrowed shorts. The sight of her in my clothes does something to my chest. Noah's safe house smells like old money and secrets— the kind of place rich people keep for bodies that need burying.
The bedroom at the end of the hall hasn't seen life in months. Dust motes dance in what little sunlight filters through heavy curtains. Lola hasn't spoken since her breakdown in my bathroom, since learning what kind of monster gave her life.
"Am I still safe?" Her voice sounds young and uncertain.
"You’re safe. Nobody touches you." My promise feels carved in stone.
She watches me head for the door. "Different room?" Her voice is small.
I drop my bag, the thud echoing in the empty space. "You're mine, Duchess. Remember?" The words come out gentler than intended. "I’m staying in here with you."
"I’m so tired," she says. She sinks onto the bed like her strings have been cut.
"Go to sleep, Duchess." I pull back the covers. "You're safe here."
She curls into herself, small and vulnerable in ways that make my hands itch to destroy anyone who'd hurt her. My phone vibrates again—Jackson's name lighting up the screen for the dozenth time. But right now, Lola's steady breathing takes priority.
Once she's asleep, I find the guys in the second living room, discussing cleanup like we're talking about a spilled drink instead of multiple bodies.
"How’s the Duchess?" Noah asks.
"Finally sleeping." I grip the back of a chair, knuckles white. "So… what now?"
"Nico's handling the fallout. Negotiating. We wait it out, and we'll be home soon like nothing happened."
My mind races with all that happened last night. The Reapers answer to whatever fucking joint Nico is running, and that’s clear as day now. We’re just the middleman, handling some parts of the business for him. I grip the chair tighter and glance at Noah. He’s probably the most dangerous guy I know. His connections run deep. I was aware of this before, but now I truly know not to get on his bad side.
Jackson's call cuts through our discussion. I glance at my phone at my brother’s image. I nod at the guys as I take the call and walk into the other room.
"Where are you?" His voice carries tension.
I walk through the hall. "Safe house. Waiting it out."
"You good?" he asks, concerned.
I head back toward Lola's room, needing to check on her. "Yeah. You?"
"More relieved than you know." His exhale carries years of weight.
"Rick Kemper said something last night." I peep into the room and watch Lola's chest rise and fall. I close the door. "What aren't you telling me?"
The silence stretches between us, and I question if the call dropped.
"My girlfriend." Two words that explain everything. Why he’s in the wheelchair. Why Rick Kemper said that my brother took something from him. He’s talking about a money asset. A girl. "It's over," Jackson says, sighing with relief.
"Yeah," I say, but my head is still fuzzy with what I did to Lola to get to this point. No, it needed to get done.
Jackson asks, "Got your red mask?"
"I will, yeah."
"Be careful, brother." His voice carries a warning. "Some masks are harder to take off than others."
I open the door again and watch Lola sleep, wondering if I just became a different kind of monster, but still a monster nonetheless.
Back in the living room, the guys are still playing cleanup crew. My mind's stuck on one detail we can't control.
"Lola's mom?" I catch Noah's eye. "Any word?"
He shakes his head, and my stomach turns. One more way I might fail her.
Caleb drones on about the operation, dissecting every moment like we're reviewing game tape instead of discussing murder. I tune him out, typing message after message to our contacts, searching for any trace of Lola's mother. The woman's a ghost—just like her daughter was supposed to become.
The kitchen staff—because of course Noah's family keeps a full staff even in their emergency bolt-hole—brings dinner. I carry a plate to Lola, steam rising from food she probably won't eat. She's tangled in expensive sheets, dark hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink.
"Duchess." My fingers brush her shoulder. She mumbles something, turning away from my touch. Even in sleep, she knows to reject me. I try again, gentler this time, but she burrows deeper into the blankets.
The shower does nothing to wash away the day's memories. Water can't clean the blood from my conscience. I slip into bed beside her, keeping my distance from her sleeping form. The ceiling becomes a movie screen playing tonight's greatest hits—Lola bound to that chair, her body responding to pain and the pleasure I got from inflicting it. My dick reacts to the thought of her bound and helpless. The things I would fucking do to her.
The moonlight catches the waves in her hair, turning each strand to silk. My hands remember how it felt wrapped around my fist in her dorm room when I fucked her mouth for being foul. How she yielded to me before she knew what I was capable of.
My body stirs with unwanted desire. Even now, after everything, I want her. Need her in ways that have nothing to do with revenge or initiation rites.
I reach for her shoulder again, telling myself I'm checking if she's awake. But really, I just need to touch her, to remind myself she's chosen to be here beside me. That she survived what I did to her. And trusted me the entire way.
She asleep, unaware of the monster lying beside her. My dick aches for her, so I pull her body into mine, using her ass for my own pleasure. I grind her against her, daring to pull down these shorts. She’s still asleep, so I brush the hair out of her face and kiss her ear, hoping that’ll wake her up.
It doesn’t.
I’m harder than a fucking rock, so I slip my hands under her loose shirt and rub her back. Then my hands travel down her shorts to that fine ass. I reach between her legs and feel if she’s wet.
"Duchess," I moan, hungry for every piece of her. Her pussy is perfect, tight and soft.
I slide her shorts down, leaving them at the top of her thighs, exposing that sexy ass for my own pleasure. I squeeze her ass, and she let’s out a quiet moan. That’s enough to send my dick into overdrive. I stick my fingers straight into her pussy, getting her wet and ready for my dick. She sticks her ass out even more, still fast asleep, and I’m so fucking turned on, I can’t wait any longer.
Her walls are slick against my fingers, so I pull them out and lick it. She tastes so fucking sweet. I grind her ass for a few hip thrusts and then I aim my tip right inside her wet pussy. I lift her leg to allow me in. As I push into her, her pussy is so fucking tight. I lift her knee higher and force my dick into her.
I can’t fucking stop now. I throw the blankets off, prop her ass in the air while holding her hips up, and rail into her. I pump into her over and over, wondering when the fuck she’s going to wake up.
"You were right, Duchess," I groan, watching as I slide in and out of her. "I fucking love your tight pussy." I glance down at her ass, loving this fucking sight. "That beautiful fucking pussy." I start ramming her harder. When I spank her, she finally wakes. She’s in a haze and I rub her hair to the side to watch her reaction.
"Oh, fuck," she says between her teeth. "Oh my fucking God. Brody."
"Fuck yeah, Duchess." I start circling my fingers on her clit and breathe in her hair. "That’s right, baby. I’ve been waiting for this pussy."
She presses her ass up, now using her strength to withhold how much I’m pounding into her. She cries out in pure pleasure, "And I’ve been waiting for your big dick, Brody."
At the sound of that, I start moving faster. She cries out my name again as I work her clit with my fingers as fast as I can. She’s basically vibrating on my cock.
She starts rolling her hips, so I slow down but keep the pace of my fingers.
Her sounds are loud as she comes undone. The noise is fucking music to my ears, so I start pumping into her harder and blow my load inside her. She keeps moaning, so I don’t stop.
"Are you fucking your cum into me?" she moans, pressing her ass hard against me.
"I am, Duchess. Don’t forget who you belong to."
"I’m on birth control," she says, still allowing me to fuck her slowly.
"Well, that’s too bad." I grab her neck, possessiveness taking over. "I’m still going to fuck you like this because accidents can happen."
The thought of breeding her makes my cock harder as I continue to slide in and out of her. It’s sticky, but I don’t care. This is fucking sexy.
She tries to push my face away, instead I pull her up and bring my legs under her. Now she’s sitting on me in reverse cowgirl style. I keep my hand on her neck and take off her shirt. She’s so fucking beautiful, I don’t know what to do with myself.
"That wouldn’t be good," she says, but her body speaks otherwise. "That wouldn’t be good at all." She starts bouncing on my dick, and it feels so fucking right to be inside her. Then she stops to lean back on me. I grab her perfect tits and bite her neck. "I should shower," she says.
I bite her again, sucking this time. I whisper, "After you ride my dick for a few more minutes."
She works her hips, giving me a full view of how much she wants this. I grip her ass and watch as she rides me.
"That’s right, Duchess," I mutter, watching her. She flips her hair, looking back at me. With her messy hair and the exotic look on her face, I’m completely satisfied. "You’re mine."