Chapter 13 Brax
Brax
The smugness in Talia’s voice makes my dick hard. She’s fire-fueled wrath and purpose. She’s not the heroine—she’s the villainess. Her sense of morality isn’t rooted in societal rightness—it’s jaded and twisted, a beautiful blend of ferocity, intelligence, and elite skills.
I need her to be mine—
—She is mine.
I had to correct myself. My little fox has been mine since that night three years ago.
Never in my life have I met someone I wanted to possess.
Fuck? Sure.
Date? Maybe—
But want to tie someone irrevocably to me in every legal and illegal way? Not ever.
As eager as I am to claim her, I want—
No.
—need her to want to be soul-tied, so regardless of which part of the multiverse we’re in, we’ll always belong to each other.
“Fuck,” I groan, welcoming the pain as my shaft grows painfully hard.
Smirking, I envision Talia on her knees, swallowing my dick until my balls high-five her chin. I can hear garbled, erotic moans as she chokes me back so deeply that I welcome it as if she swallowed me whole.
A grunt breaks my focus, annoyance prickles my skin even more than usual because I know who it’s from.
Mikah.
I remember every detail down to the blueberry-colored birthmark on his dick.
Name: Mikah Phillip Gordon
Current Age: 34
Age at the time of gruesomely murdering his family: 16
Height: 6’4”
Crimes: murder, familicide, sodomy, rape, incest, violent acts against women and children
It would be shorter to list what vile things he hasn’t done.
Shock would be a normal reaction when you learn how young they all were when they committed these barbaric acts.
I don’t give a fuck about their age or their youthful innocence.
They were old enough to know better.
But when you’re raised as entitled as these shitstains were, it’s almost to be expected. I won’t dismiss the horrors they endured before becoming the monsters they were bred to be, but I won’t use the why as a get-out-of-jail-free card either.
“Fuuuckk. Your cunt tastes so fucking good,” Mikah groans, and my stomach churns. “I get why your pretty little snatch was a top money maker for Serge.
Rage smothers the acid lining my stomach at the mention of the fucking usurper Bratva Pakhan, who also violently slayed his family for power.
It’s always interesting when people claim that women are too emotional to lead. Meanwhile, men’s temper tantrums cause world wars, famine, genocide, erasure of cultures, and revisionist history that makes them the winners when they try to indoctrinate the masses.
“Don’t,” the soft yet strong voice begs, but there’s no real note of fear in the plea, making me genuinely curious.
There’s more sloppy slurping, leaving my movements unnoticed.
I picked up Mikah’s trail two minutes after I killed Jackson. It took me ten minutes to reach the spot where he decided to rape the woman he picked, who was bound to a barbed-wire fence.
“You’ve been with Serge for many years, Aubrey. You knew better than to touch his latest toy,” Mikah lectures before rising, lifting, and spreading her legs.
“Mikah,” she moans, and I roll my eyes. These two obviously have had previous encounters where sex was definitely involved. Her earlier protest was role play. “How else was I going to be free of Serge and that new bitch, Reina?”
Reina?
Her name is unfamiliar to me, and I make a mental note to get more information on Serge’s new obsession. I know he won’t share her. But is she a victim or much like the many bastards whose final resting place is on this farm?
Mikah’s fucking the life out of this woman, and she’s eating it up, a Cheshire Cat that ate the canary smile is plastered to her face.
“I’m better than that bitch of a sister, aren’t I, Mikah?”
Snorting, I shake my head. Some people have zero sense of self-preservation.
“Aubrey, you’re in danger, girl,” I mock, smirking when I see the shift in Mikah’s features without seeing his face.
His back stiffens—his spine straightening as his thrusts become erratic.
They stagger until he stops, pulling out without nutting.
His dick is tucked back into his pants by the time the idiot realizes what she did wrong.
Shock replaces Aubrey’s earlier confidence while she scrambles to get to her feet, but it’s too late. She’s already tied down. The only thing she does is squirm, allowing the barbed wire to dig into her skin.
I watch in rapt attention as Mikah’s posture stiffens, his back going ramrod straight while his shoulders curve up and out, extending as if bones are about to crack in order to accommodate the very visible vitriolic rage seeping through his skin.
It wouldn’t surprise me if he shifted into a werewolf or some shit.
Nostrils flared, Mikah’s skin blooms redder than the blood currently pouring out of her arms, as he cracks his neck and spins, snatching his chef’s knife before whirling back around.
Fear—unadulterated fear sparks off her skin. It’s more than enough to light the embers of Mikah’s devolving state into a raging inferno.
“You—”
Stab.
“Shouldn’t.”
Stab.
“Have.”
Stab.
“—Mentioned her.”
The violent cadence of each thrust, as if he’s the conductor of a symphony, speaks to the level of the psychopath he is.
As much as I’d love to sit and watch the lovers fight, I have a gift I need wrapped before my little fox arrives.
I move without any further provocation. Sharing the same air as the pricks that killed my sister is enough to usher them both into the afterlife, leaving a trail littered with their innards, an action that more than proves why I earned the title Shinigami—God of Death.
“Stop fucking crying,” Mikah growls, yanking at the ends of his hair while pacing a hole into the dirt. His Michael Myers mask is tossed on the ground, flecks of blood splatter on it.
I smirk, “Perfect.” It saves me the time of having to carve it off his face.
“L-l-let m-m-me g-g-go,” she pleads, her face streaked with tears and caked in blood.
Mikah looks up, eyes wild and frenzied. His hand is swinging through the air, and before I can blink, his fist cracks the side of her face, launching her head back. Blow after blow, her body slowly grows limp. It’s only then that he stops.
“I can’t keep you around. My sister’s here.
She can’t see—she can’t know what I do,” Mikah stammers, walking away from the barely breathing woman.
Her face is swollen beyond recognition. “She can’t know what I’ve done.
She has to understand that I saved them.
I saved them for her. I killed them for her. ”
Confusion and shock plaster my face, and I’m left momentarily stunned at the piece of information that Mikah just dropped.
He killed them for her.
Was Talia’s survival hinged upon the death of her adoptive family?
“No,” I mutter. “That can’t be the truth.”
At least. A dozen questions try to find answers at the same time in my head.
“They promised… they promised me. I just had to—”
A branch snaps off in the distance, and both Mikah and I turn in the direction of the noise.
“She’s coming,” he says as he kneels down next to her. “You have to go now. We can’t play anymore. My sister’s almost here, and she’ll be upset if she sees me hurting you. She always is.”
I freeze, comprehending the last three words he uttered. She always is.
Before I can make sense of what Mikah confessed, he plunges a chef’s knife into her chest before yanking it free and stabbing her mercilessly.
“She’s here. Can’t you hear her?” Mikah questions Aubrey’s dead body, hanging from the barbed wire fence.
“I finally get to take her home. They won’t touch her—they promised,” he rambles, each word more erratic than the last, filling the night with promises of safety and recompense.
“If I kill for them, they won’t harm her—they promised. ”
Who the fuck is they?
My mind connects the semblance of pieces, loosely strung together.
Serge had my sister killed.
Serge sends them victims.
Serge… Serge… Serge.
But the tangential lines are too easily linked. They—is somebody or somebodies.
I’ve always known these blockheads were the twisted muscle—lapdogs of whoever is barking commands. But outside of Serge, there’s nothing. Not one shred of evidence points to who’s really in charge.
Wanting to prepare a surprise for my little fox, I jump down from the tree, strolling into the moonlit clearing. “You really should see someone about your delusions, Mikah,” I suggest. “I’m sure they’d help you realize the pipe dream you can’t seem to let go of.”
Mikah whirls around, looking, but he’s not seeing me.
His head tilts and blinks like he’s bringing me into focus.
He shakes his head, raising his hands and slapping himself in the face.
“No—no… no… no. They can’t find me here.
It’s safe—it’s where I can keep her safe.
” Then he turns, giving me his back as if he’s dismissed whatever momentary disturbance I’ve caused.
Amused, I lean against the nearest pine tree and watch Mikah spiral. Hopefully, he’ll accidentally spill on who’s the all-powerful Oz.
I must admit that seeing him in this state of paranoia makes me equal parts happy and annoyed. I want him destroyed, but not by his own madness.
How will I face Emi and my ancestors with such a weak-minded kill?
My mood immediately shifts, and the quirk of my lip sinks into a thin line at the thought of his dismissal and its implications.
Clenching my fists at my side, I ignore the itch in the palms of my hands, screaming for me to unsheathe my katanas and gut him, and then stuff him like a turkey. “I’m talking to you,” I snap, but get no acknowledgment.
Mikah is still mumbling the exact words on repeat. “They said she’d be safe.”
Having reached my limit for the grumblings of this fucking loser, I draw my sword and close the distance between us before knocking him unconscious with the tsuka of my sword.
Time is running out.
I need to have him wrapped up by the time Talia arrives.