Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
ANGELICA
Sleep came for me, leaving me to drift untethered in the darkness.
But when I woke, I woke alone.
The sheets were cold, the space beside me empty, but the scent of him still clung to the pillows, to the air, to me.
For a moment I lay there, disoriented, the silence pressing in from all sides.
Something felt wrong.
Off.
I could still feel him, the weight of his hands on my hips, the heat of his breath against my throat, the bruises he’d left in his wake.
But he was gone.
And I felt it.
A slow, curling unease slithered beneath my skin.
I sat up, pressing a hand against my chest, my pulse steady, but too sharp, too aware.
I didn’t know where he was.
How long ago did he leave?
The emptiness should’ve been a relief. But it wasn’t. Because without him—without the weight of them, the possessive press of their bodies around me—I felt…hollow.
Like something inside me had been carved out and left to ache.
I shifted, wincing at the soreness between my thighs, at the deep, bone-deep throb still pulsing through my body.
It was a good ache.
A delicious, bruising, possessive ache.
And that alone should’ve terrified me.
Something inside me had changed. I could feel it in my bones, in my blood. I wasn’t the same woman who had fought them, who had tried to hold onto some version of herself they hadn’t corrupted, claimed, used.
No .
Something inside me had snapped.
Cracked wide open.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to put myself back together again.
I dragged in a breath, slow, unsteady.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Like the silence itself was watching me.
Waiting.
Pressing .
I ran a trembling hand through my hair, exhaling softly and licked my dry lips, trying to work the moisture into the back of my throat.
I needed water.
Needed to get out of this bed, out of this feeling, out of the haunting weight of absence. I laid my legs over the edge of the mattress, my underwear lying discarded on the floor. I picked up my panties and slid them on before slowly rising and saw Silas’s t-shirt tossed over the back of his chair.
My legs trembled, each step growing bolder before I grabbed the garment and pulled it on, ignoring the way the soft cotton brushed over my tender nipples. Still it did little to ease the discomfort in knowing what had happened in this room, my face and my body said it all.
I didn’t need a mirror to know I was wrecked.
I could feel it.
And I wanted more.
The house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn’t natural—one that settled into the walls, thick with something unspoken, unfinished.
I moved through the darkened hallway, my bare feet whispering against the hardwood. Every step felt heavier than the last, like the silence itself was pressing down on me.
I hadn’t meant to pay attention. To the way Silas had changed when the phone rang.
To the way his body had gone still as he listened to whoever was on the other end.
To the way his voice had dropped into something dark, something unreadable, something that made the air feel too thin.
He had barely looked at me when he hung up.
Barely breathed before grabbing his shirt from the floor, dragging it over his shoulders.
Stay in my bed. His command still echoed inside me, his voice final, demanding.
Like I was something that could be commanded, placed, owned.
Like I was something he wasn’t willing to leave unguarded. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That I knew exactly what kind of man Silas was and me thinking I was anything more than a toy for him to use and discard was only going to destroy me in the end.
The air was cool, but my skin still burned, still thrummed with the remnants of what had been done to me.
The hunger was still there.
Low and simmering.
I should be sated and repulsed, all at the same time.
But I wasn’t.
I was desperate and thirsty.
I stepped into the kitchen, exhaling softly as I reached for a glass, filling it from the tap.
The first sip did nothing. The second barely touched the fire still twisting inside me.
I pressed the glass against my lips, closing my eyes, trying to will away the feeling.
But it didn’t work. Because I wasn’t just thirsty. I was starving.
For them.
For this thing they had created inside me, the thing that no longer belonged to me. My fingers tightened around the glass, my pulse thudding against my ribs. I should go back to bed—my bed. And pretend this ache will go away on its own.
I should?—
The prickle of awareness slid over my skin, slow and heavy, curling down my spine like smoke.
My breath caught.
I turned.
And there he was.
Jude .
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching me.
Waiting.
Something deep inside me twisted, sharp and hungry.
Because I knew.
This was never just about water.
This was about him.
About of all them.
And me .
The moment stretched out between us, thick and weighted, pulling tight like a thread about to snap.
Jude didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
But his eyes—God, his eyes.
There was something cold in them. Not detached, not indifferent, but something darker. Restrained. Calculated.
Something that said he wanted to destroy me, and hated himself for it. I swallowed, my throat suddenly too dry, too tight.
He wasn’t like Silas.
Wasn’t like Theo.
They took me with fire and obsession, with greed and possession.
But Jude?
Jude was fighting himself, and that battle terrified me.
Because I could feel how close he was to losing.
And I wanted him too.
I wanted him to fall the way I had already fallen.
“Do you even know what you look like right now?” His voice was low, almost quiet, but there was an edge to it. A sharpness.
I wet my lips, heart hammering.
His jaw tightened. His nostrils flared.
“Do you?” He repeated, the question softer this time.
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew.
Bruised, swollen, still aching from Silas, from Theo, from the way they had taken me, used me, fucked me.
And I was still here, standing in front of him, wearing Silas’s t-shirt of all things, my panties still damp from my own desire.
Still hungry.
Still wanting.
Still having that sickening need inside my head howling like an animal into the wind.
Still theirs for the taking.
Jude let out a slow, sharp breath. His fingers curled into fists, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he fought himself, fought me, fought this thing between us.
“Use it on me,” he said suddenly.
My stomach clenched. “What?”
His eyes flashed. Something unhinged, something raw.
“Your power,” he said. “ Use it . Make me want you more.”
A shiver slid down my spine.
He was playing with fire.
And so was I.
I let that hunger slip out, a whisper of something forbidden, curling through the space between us, brushing against him like an unseen touch.
Jude inhaled sharply, his pupils blown wide, his body reacting instantly as he searched my gaze. His breath came faster, his shoulders rising and falling, his entire frame wired tight with tension.
But he didn’t move.
Not yet.
Not until I whispered?—
“Touch me.”
The second the words left my lips, his hand shot out, grabbing my waist, pulling me against him.
I gasped, the impact jarring, my body melting into his without resistance. His grip was too tight, fingers pressing into my hips, his breathing uneven, shaky, wrecked.
“Fuck,” he muttered, like he’d just lost. A battle he’d spent years trying to win.
Then his fingers slid lower, moving between my legs. Those thick fingers plucked the elastic of my panties and slid under. I didn’t need to think, just react. My foot shifted, legs widening as he pushed into the flesh that was already swollen and tender.
I trembled, my body betraying me, opening for him, ready for him.
Jude let out a sharp, ragged breath.
“You’re already wet for me,” he murmured, almost like he hated it. Almost like it ruined him to know it. “Or are you thinking about my brothers instead?”
A tremble coursed through me. Heat flashed, twisting into something painful in its desperation.
Because I wanted to be ruined by him.
I wanted him to hate this.
Hate me.
And still give in anyway.
His fingers teased, brushed, dipping in and out of my body in slow, measured strokes.
My head fell back, a soft, broken moan spilling from my lips.
And Jude—Jude clenched his jaw so hard I thought it might break. Shadows carved lines down his strong jaw. He was so savage in this moment…so utterly savage.
“You’re so fucking desperate,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Still aching from them. And yet?—”
His fingers pushed deeper, curling until I saw stars. Until a sob wrenched free. Jude reacted like I’d struck him, like the wrenched sound that came from me physically hurt him.
His grip on my hips tightened, hard, almost punishing.
I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t want to.
Not if it meant he’d stop.
I rocked my hips forward, driving against his hand, trying to push him deeper, seeking more. But his hold tightened, forcing me still.
Forcing me to take exactly what he wanted to give me. No more. No less.
It was torture.
And exquisite.
“You love this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, breaking, fingers still slow, teasing, taunting.
I bit my lip, a sharp, desperate sound slipping out.
Jude groaned, deep in his chest.
And then—his control snapped.
His fingers slammed into me, deeper, harder, his pace no longer measured, no longer restrained.
My body shattered, my back arching as that heat flooded me. I was so close…so goddamn close.
Jude watched me falling apart, his own breathing ragged, uneven, pupils glistening with hunger. But there was something else too, something breaking inside.
He was fighting a losing battle as his head inched down until his lips came close to mine. His breath was hot, heavy, a blast of panic and hunger all mingled into one.
“Tell me you want this,” he rasped.
“Yes,” I moaned. “I want this.”
“Tell me you want me to take you the way they do.”
My pussy clenched around the invasion of his fingers, my body screaming for release.
“Just like that,” I moaned, my voice desperate.
Jude let out a low, wrenched curse, like my words finally shattered what was left of his resistance. His fingers moved faster, hitting deeper and I felt myself spiralling, teetering on the edge of falling away completely.
Stars sparked in the back of my eyes, glinting with the oblivion I craved.
And then. “Enough!”
Gabe’s voice was a blade, sharp and deadly, cutting through the haze of desperation like a gunshot in the dark.
Jude’s fingers slipped free, jerking the edge of my panties before the elastic snapped back in place. I caught the slow, calculated smirk as though he knew Gabe was going to walk in.
I gasped, body jerking, throbbing as my pussy clenched around the loss, so goddamn close to breaking and now?—
Now I was aching all over again.
Left starving for something ripped away from me.
Anger raged inside me as I turned my head?—
Gabe was no longer standing in the doorway. He was moving toward us.
Fast .
Before I could react, he grabbed Jude by the collar and yanked him back, hard and punishing.
In this moment Gabe was no longer the baby brother. He breathed raw, terrifying rage. His shirt stuck against his skin, the sheen of sweat still glistening across his brow as he stood there still dressed in the clothes he wore to the gym.
I hadn’t heard him leave, but he must have. Now he was back and desperate for an outlet for his anger.
Jude let out a sharp grunt as his back hit the counter, but Gabe wasn’t looking at him.
He was looking at me.
His breath was fast, too fast.
His fists were clenched at his sides, his entire body tense. I swore I could feel the heat rolling off him.
His eyes.
His maddening eyes.
Dark.
Wild .
Desperate .
And I knew.
He had seen everything.
His chest heaved, his pulse a visible, violent throb at his throat. Then—before I could move, before I could speak, his hand shot out.
I barely had time to react before his fingers curled around my waist, yanking me against him, too hard, too desperate, too much.
I let out a sharp, shocked breath, my body crashing into his, my hands flattening against his chest.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
And neither did I.
The heat between us roared, electric and unstoppable, re-igniting the desire between us from hours earlier. But this was different now, no longer silent, no longer able to be ignored.
His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my skin like he was trying to anchor himself to something real. But didn’t he know by now, I wasn’t real?
I was whatever they wanted me to be.
A liar.
A betrayer.
Something to use.
Anyway they wanted.
And then—he released Jude and tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him.
I blinked, my lips parting, my breath shaking and uneven as he released his hold. His thumb dragged across my bottom lip.
A soft, slow stoke.
Like he was going to taste me.
Like he was going to take me.
Then, his voice—low and breaking.
“You want to be used, don’t you?”
A sharp pulse of need shot through me and centred between my legs. My lips trembled, but I didn’t speak.
I didn’t have to.
Gabe glanced at his brother and then back at me, looking at me, really looking at me. My dishevelled hair. Silas’s t-shirt I wore, then he lowered his gaze to between my legs.
Then he let me go.
Fast.
Abrupt.
Like he’d just realised what he’d done.
Like I had burned him.
His chest rose and fell, his breathing still uneven as he took a step back, and then another.
“This doesn’t happen.” His voice was low, raw, dangerous. “Not with me.”
I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Because something had shifted.
No, not shifted.
Snapped.
Gabe wasn’t untouched anymore. I could see it now. See how he was falling. Just like the rest of them.
And it was only a matter of time before he stopped fighting.
Before he stopped fighting me.
And that sick, darkness inside me chuckled with enjoyment.
That’s my Angel.
You’re doing so well.
Exactly as we’d planned.
A shudder ripped through me. Icy. Terrifying. Uncontrollable.