Chapter 4 #2
Hot pain shot through Bryson’s shoulder as the prod’s metal brushed his skin. His entire body tensed involuntarily, and Bryson felt himself arch away from the chair. His fingers dug into the seat’s edge, and his teeth locked together.
Normally, play like this would start with a lower voltage, and at higher levels he would be provided with something to bite on to protect his teeth.
But nothing that happened with Regan was safe, sane, or consensual.
When the voltage stopped, relief filled his limbs, only to be immediately replaced with another round of punishment.
By the fifth time, the smell of burnt skin had filled the room. And Bryson struggled to stay conscious. His body couldn’t accept what was happening to it, and if he wasn’t careful, he would go into shock.
Bryson focused on his breath, trying to ground himself.
Adria’s face flashed in his mind, and he grasped at the sensation of her arms around him. Her breathing and the gentle thrum of her heart. Her red-painted lips parting in pleasure as her head fell back.
Regan jabbed the device into his side, and electricity thrummed through his body. Instead of stopping, Regan kept the electric pulses coming. Adria’s sensation jolted away, and the room blinked.
For one terrifying moment, Bryson was surrounded in darkness. But then soft hands were on his head. Fingers running through his hair. His mother’s voice floating around him. “Bryson, open your eyes. It’s your turn.”
Bryson looked into his mother’s porcelain face. His brother Luca had just finished slitting a man’s throat. The dead man’s face was frozen in a shocked expression. Like he truly believed that Luca would spare him.
Blood poured from the wound unnaturally as men carried him away.
His mother’s hand was soft at his back, as his father took the bloodied knife from Luca and handed it to him.
“Bring in the next one,” Callen said.
His father’s words and the world blurred around him as Bryson noticed the smell of something awful. Another wave of stench brought his focus back into his body.
Regan removed the smelling salts from his nose and stared at him with a peculiar expression. Bryson stared right back.
Regan was a predator, through and through, and Bryson couldn’t be mistaken as prey. He needed to establish himself as a predator too, if this sick little game of theirs was going to continue.
“Had enough?” Regan asked, his voice thick with arousal.
Bryson turned his head from side to side, making a show of cracking his neck and stretching, ignoring the pain in his body. “I could go another round but,” he leveled Regan with a dark stare, “I think you’re getting impatient.”
Regan’s face broke out into a huge grin.
Standing, Bryson pushed Regan backward until his body hit the foot of the bed.
“Lay down,” Bryson commanded.
Regan took off his shirt and shook out of his pants, moving to get on the bed.
A darkness uncoiled in Bryson. He remembered the blade his father had handed him. Remembered its warmth from its prior victim’s blood. What he wouldn’t give to have a blade right now.
To feel the heat of Regan’s essence dripping down his palm.
“All of it comes off,” Bryson said.
Regan hesitated.
“Had enough?” Bryson asked.
Regan took off his undershorts and climbed onto the bed.
Bryson ignored his body’s protests and climbed on top of Regan. Their bodies pressed together, and he could feel Regan’s arousal beneath him. Pushing Regan’s hands above his head, he felt resistance.
“It’ll feel better,” Bryson said.
He didn’t say to trust him, because they didn’t trust each other. But Bryson had made him feel good. Day after day, time after time. Bryson had given him pleasure.
Even if his soul died a little every time, he did it. Bryson knew exactly what Regan needed, and he gave it to him. He would do anything to protect his brothers, even if it meant selling his soul to the devil himself.
After some consideration, Regan stopped struggling and allowed Bryson to tie his hands above his head.
Moving back, Bryson retrieved the Picana. One glance at the settings and Bryson could see that Regan had used the highest one. Rage coursed through him, and darkness settled in his chest.
If Regan wanted to play, Bryson could show him what that meant.
The bed shifted under Bryson’s weight as he moved to stand over Regan’s bound body. Jabbing the Picana into Regan’s inner thigh, Bryson’s lip twitched when Regan tensed.
“Two for flinching,” Bryson said before delivering two shocks.
Regan’s body moved unnaturally. When the pulse finished, Bryson moved the prod further up Regan’s thigh. The metal prongs brushing at his sensitive hip crease. Before Regan had a chance to register the device’s proximity to his dick, Bryson delivered another round of lightning.
When Regan’s body settled, Bryson saw red trickling down the side of his mouth. No doubt blood from biting his tongue.
Bryson hit him again, this time on the right nipple.
With every delivered shock, he felt Adria’s face slip further away.
The memory of that day with his father was so much more fitting.
Bryson could almost feel the skin slicing beneath his hand.
Could hear the gurgling as the man choked on his own blood.
Feel the warm spray of fluid mixing with the tears on his face.
He did it because he had to, because that was what it took to survive in the Nine.
With each burn and every red mark of pain that Bryson gave to Regan, it reminded him of that.
Except he couldn’t shake the feeling that with every action he was moving further away from her and closer to turning into him.
But maybe his father was right. Only monsters made it out alive.