Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
NORTH CAROLINA
A dria sat at the head of the table, watching.
Bryson had taken the far end.
Alone.
Just like her.
Kaydon sat a few chairs down, with Seth across from him. The two of them, at least, still had each other.
Adria tapped a single nail against the wood, drawing their attention.
“New rule,” she announced. “Everyone sits on my side of the table.”
She had never needed a rule like this before. Normally, her submissives wanted to sit close to her. Mealtime had always been something to enjoy.
Now, it was thick with tension.
And it wasn’t hard to pinpoint where that tension was coming from.
It didn’t hurt her feelings. Unlike Bryson, she had no illusions about what this was.
But time was ticking.
And she needed to step up her game.
Seth moved first, sliding into the chair to her right. Kaydon followed, graceful as ever, taking the seat next to him.
Bryson hesitated.
Then, with visible reluctance, Bryson moved to her side of the table—sitting so close to the edge that he nearly spilled onto the forbidden side.
Seth and Kaydon exchanged a knowing glance.
Bryson, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed anywhere but on them.
Adria turned her focus to Kaydon.
“How was working with Eric today?” she asked, deliberately ignoring Bryson.
A grin broke across Kaydon’s face, and it made something in her chest ache.
Kaydon didn’t know that working with Eric was part of phase three.
He was just eager to learn.
Normally, she would have relished that. Would have been excited to see a submissive thriving.
But this wasn’t about training.
This was about eroding their bond.
Piece by piece.
“Eric’s great,” Kaydon said. “He showed me around the gambling center yesterday.”
“No shit,” Seth said.
“Wow,” Bryson drawled, stabbing a carrot with unnecessary force. “I wonder where the two of you will go next.”
Kaydon’s grin withered.
He took a slow bite of his chicken before responding. “Yeah, well, he showed me how they make sure people betting actually have the means to pay. Less hassle with shake-downs. More above board if you ask me.”
That caught Adria off guard.
He wasn’t wrong.
The Federov side of the Nine dealt in gambling .
But she had done everything in her power to keep it as clean as possible.
And she hadn’t expected Eric to share that with Kaydon.
“How altruistic of her,” Bryson muttered, his fork clanking against his plate.
She turned to Seth. “Care to explain to me why your brother is in a mood today?”
Seth looked up, but didn’t answer. His eyes were still glassy from their earlier play session.
“Why would he know?” Bryson sneered. “He’s too busy fucking you .”
He said it directly to Seth.
Seth flinched.
His dazed expression snapped into something harder.
Kaydon tensed beside him, his easygoing demeanor vanishing.
“How about you take care of your own shit,” Kaydon snapped, “instead of dumping it on us?”
Bryson stood, the chair scraping violently against the floor.
“How about you fucking make me?”
The tension exploded.
“ STOP! ”
Adria was on her feet as fast as Bryson.
Kaydon opened his mouth, but she was quicker.
She turned to him, her gaze cutting like a knife.
“Not another word.”
Kaydon’s jaw snapped shut. His eyes held the words she was sure Bryson would eventually hear. And that was fine. Kaydon could tell him later. She didn’t need to hear it, and Seth sure as shit didn’t need to either.
She grabbed Seth’s chin, tilting him to meet her eyes. “Okay?”
He looked nervous. Due to his history, it made sense that he wouldn’t like family conflict .
“Don’t worry, your brother isn’t mad at you. He’s mad at me,” she said as she looked over at Bryson. “Isn’t that right, Brysey?”
He bristled at the pet name but nodded.
She tsked. “Don’t worry, Mommy knows how to handle it.”
She was going to teach this little shit a lesson.
Bryson rolled his eyes and walked over to the counter, bracing his hands on the edge.
Adria felt a surge of something foreign but familiar.
“What are you doing?” she asked innocently.
“What does it look like?”
She picked up his chair from the ground, positioning it in the center of the room. “It looks like you are asking for a paddling.”
When he didn’t answer, she continued, “If you are going to insist on being disrespectful, why would I give you something you clearly want?”
He growled but stood up, turning to face her.
“Pants off, sit in the chair.”
Bryson undid his belt, unbuttoning his pants, each movement punctuated with disdain.
Adria’s eyes traced the ink across his chest—a large moth below the collarbone, a female demon nestled beneath his right nipple.
His right arm was a canvas of Romanian colors, a full sleeve with a lynx as the focal piece.
He sat there, gold earrings swaying, hands draped lazily at his sides. His messy hair falling into his eyes, and Adria hated that it made her think of Cole.
Cole had worshipped her.
Adored her.
Her little angel.
Bryson was just as attractive as Cole—his features a perfect balance of masculine and feminine.
But unlike Cole, he was anything but obedient .
A devil, disguised as an angel.
“Sit up straight.”
He ignored her.
She let the silence stretch before speaking again.
“Stop eating.”
Forks hovered midair.
Kaydon froze, his utensil suspended halfway to his mouth.
“No one eats until Brysey completes his reprimand.”
Kaydon let out a sharp breath, slamming his fork onto the table.
His glare cutting across the space.
Bryson, unfazed, stared right back. But after a slow moment of resistance, he adjusted his posture.
“Spread your legs apart.”
He did.
“Wider . ”
She grabbed supplies from the kitchen, moving with practiced efficiency.
Stepping closer, she secured his right wrist to the back of the chair with a sharp zip.
Then the left, slightly higher than the right.
The forced angle made his back arch, his body drawn tight.
She worked fast, fastening his ankles to the chair. Fixing him in the uncomfortable posture.
Then she stood back and watched. For once, he wasn’t looking at her. She reached out, tilting his chin up.
He looked away. She moved his face back.
Again.
And again.
Until he held the position she had created for him.
His chest rose and fell, but his breathing slowed. Settling.
She leaned in. Closer . Their faces mere inches apart. And in a voice only he could hear, she whispered, “You are not in charge.”
He twitched, looking away.
She guided his face back, holding him there until his breath steadied once more.
“Accept it,” she murmured, “and things will get easier.”
The mask slipped, pliable Bryson vanishing. Replaced by the real one.
Angry Bryson.
Defiant Bryson.
The one who barely held it together under the best of circumstances. The only version of him that was real.
His lips curled into a sneer.
“I don’t do easy,” he said, voice laced with contempt. “Wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess .”
That nickname.
Again.
Something inside Adria snapped.
Her hand moved on its own. Fingers wrapping tightly around his throat. The speed of it startled even her.
But fuck?—
She liked the feel of his neck beneath her hand. She leveraged her weight, and the chair tipped back slightly.
Bryson struggled.
The restraints held.
Adria watched as anger and fear warred across his face—as the realization dawned.
He was truly helpless.
She could feel his pulse hammering against her palm. She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “If you want it hard ,” she whispered, “trust me when I say?—”
Her fingers tightened. “—I understand that a lot more than you think.”
A shudder raked through his body.
The pleasure of it rippled through her in turn, sinking deep into her core.
She had him.
His life in her hands.
It would only take a little more pressure.
A little more .
Her gaze drifted over his body?—
To the Romanian script inked along his left flank, below the dark sweep of a feather:
"The world breaks everyone, and afterward some are strong in the broken places."
His pulse slowed. Black spots would be forming in his vision.
A little longer—and he would pass out.
Longer still—and he would be dead.
She let go.
The chair thudded back onto all four legs. Bryson gasped, his breath returning in ragged bursts.
Slowly, the room tilted back into focus and Adria stepped away. A steady tremor ran through her fingers, her body buzzing with leftover adrenaline.
She turned.
“Finish eating,” she ordered.
“Then untie him.”
Her heels echoed against the marble as she fled.
It wasn’t until she was in her room—alone—that she allowed herself to register it.
Bryson had been hard.
The realization landed like a punch, sending a ripple of something dark through her.
Something about their interaction had turned him on .
And worse—she was soaked.
Adria pressed her palms against the cool surface of her vanity, grounding herself.
It wasn’t about control.
It wasn’t about power.
It was about survival.
That’s what she told herself. What she needed to believe.
But in that moment, when no one was watching, she wasn’t so sure.