Chapter 6 Priest
Dark red lipstick stains my cock as she gags around it, throat stretched to take me deeper. Her hands shake where they grip my thighs, nails digging in. My hand fists in her hair, forcing her lower, watching her mascara run in wet, ugly streaks down her cheeks.
Raze’s pace behind her is relentless, his cock slamming into her cunt loud enough to echo off the polished walls. “Fuck,” he grunts. Her moans are muffled, caught on my dick.
She tries to reach for her clit.
I yank her up by the roots of her hair. “Stupid fucking cunt, did we say you could touch yourself?” Raze grabs her wrist and twists it behind her back until she cries out.
She sobs around my cock, eyes wide, tears slipping down her face.
But all I see is her.
The little defiant bitch who made me bleed.
I can’t get her out of my fucking head—her mouth, her scream, that fucking attitude begging to be crushed. That mouth is the one I want wrapped around me. The one I want to shut up.
Not this one.
My hand fists tighter in her hair, and I drive into her throat, harder, trying to scrub the image from my mind with the sound of her choking. Doesn’t work. Doesn’t even scratch the fucking itch. Pisses me the fuck off.
Raze grunts behind her. His pace falters. “Fuck—gonna come.”
He buries himself with a groan, pumping into her while she gags on my cock. Her body locks up under both of us.
That’s when I finish.
I grip both sides of her head and shove myself so deep she twitches, holding her there until every drop’s down her throat. I watch her choke on it. Then I shove her off. She coughs, spit and cum dripping from her lips, face wrecked.
And I feel…nothing.
No satisfaction. No relief.
Just empty.
She wipes her mouth and tries to stand like she still has dignity. Her knees shake, dress clinging to the mess between her thighs.
Raze zips up, breathless. “Christ.”
I light a cigarette. The nicotine hits my lungs, sharp and bitter, but it doesn’t clear my head.
She smooths her hair. “That was…” she starts, stepping up to me. Her hand drags over my chest as she leans in close to my mouth. I blow smoke in her face. She jerks back.
Raze laughs. “Priest doesn’t kiss.”
“I just thought…”
“Don’t think.” My eyes cut into her. “Just take what we give you and get the fuck out.”
Her cheeks go red. She nods and stumbles toward the door, heels clacking.
“Go remind your Senator husband what you’re worth. Your makeup is fucked,” Raze calls after her.
The door shuts behind her. Raze lights his own smoke, chuckling. “Damn. You’re extra mean tonight.”
I take a swig of scotch straight from the bottle and yank on my black hoodie, blood caked under my nails.
“You look like a fucking prom date,” I mutter, moving toward the door.
He snorts, straightening his tux jacket and flashing a grin. “I don’t have the bloodlines to get away with being underdressed in a room full of billionaires.”
We step out of the room and head down the corridor. The private wing of Senator Kelly’s mansion reeks of old money and rot.
This whole thing is Sterling’s flex. His idea of power: rubbing shoulders with South Section’s elite, pretending we’re civil. As if the blood under our nails gets scrubbed clean the second we walk into a room full of champagne and plastic smiles.
The ballroom doors open. Noise washing over me—laughter, overpriced jazz, and the dull murmur of the powerful stroking each other’s egos.
The city’s filth dressed up in designer suits, wives dripping in diamonds, fake smiles stitched onto faces that would sell their own children for influence. Sterling did. They’re all here to play pretend. Pretend they don’t know what we are, the price they pay the Sovereign to remain rich.
I don’t belong in this fucking place. Raze grabs a whiskey off a tray and takes a long drink.
“Underground fight ring out on the outskirts,” he mutters. “Might swing by after. See if I can pick off some talent.”
I grunt. Not interested.
My gaze cuts across the room, watching as Alistair and Dalton walk toward me. The two polished golden boys of the South. Groomed since birth to play nice, shake hands, and stab backs with a smile.
Alistair’s teeth flash as he walks up, bright white against his dark skin and tailored tux.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You two smell like sex and cigarettes.”
“Better than reeking of Daddy’s money, dick,” Raze says, knocking back his drink.
Dalton snorts. His eyes land on my hoodie, the blood still wet on my boots. “Bold choice, Priest. Really going for the psychotic vagrant vibe tonight?”
“Sterling’s gonna blow a vein,” Alistair adds with a headshake. “He wants the Trinity unified, not looking like you just buried a body behind the house.”
“I don’t bury bodies. I cut them into pieces and feed them to the fucking dogs.”
Alistair opens his mouth to toss another pathetic insult, but I’ve already shifted focus.
Sterling.
Standing across the room. Stiff. Eyes locked on me with that same tired blend of disgust and disappointment. His expression says everything: I’m his greatest mistake, and he’s still pretending he can fix it.
Good fucking luck.
I smirk. Let him see it. Every inch of my blood-streaked hoodie, the defiance carved into my posture. I wore this for him. To remind him that he doesn’t own me.
The four of us drift into the dining room, slipping into our assigned seats at the grotesquely oversized table. I’m seated next to Sterling, of course—because he wants control. Needs proximity to leash me. But lucky me, I’m also across the Senator, just the man I wanted to see.
I’m about to sit when Sterling’s voice slices through the air.
“Priest. A word.”
I don’t move.
“What?”
His eyes flick down my clothes, lip curling. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“I just spent nine hours peeling skin off a traitor who gave up your dirty little secrets. This?” I gesture to the blood. “Is the only thing keeping your empire from falling the fuck apart.”
He clenches his jaw.
“I don’t give a shit about your reputation.
I’m not here to impress your rich friends.
I’m not here to make small talk and shake hands.
I kill for the Sovereign. I torture for the Sovereign.
I keep the ghosts off the Vault’s fucking doorstep.
So unless you want a fresh corpse on the table to pair with your wine, back the fuck off and let me drink. ”
He finally waves me off, like swatting a fly. But I see the tremor in his hand. The way his throat bobs.
He’s afraid of me.
He fucking should be.
As the meal drags on, I drown my disgust in bourbon—glass after glass of numbing fire that barely takes the edge off. The conversations at the table are the usual bullshit—politics, power plays, the kind of small talk that makes me want to carve someone open just to feel something real.
Senator Kelly leans toward me, his teeth yellow behind his smile. Grease in a suit. His slut of a wife next to him, doing everything she can to avoid looking me in the eye like she didn’t swallow my cum an hour ago.
“So, Priest. You’ve got quite the legacy to live up to. Your father is a true force. You ready to fill his shoes?”
I stare at him and toss a mint into my mouth. Let it crack between my teeth. Then I smile. The kind that makes men piss themselves.
“No. When I lead, you’ll be the one on your knees.”
He chokes on his drink, spluttering like a little bitch. “E-Excuse me?”
I don’t blink. I don’t raise my voice.
“When. I. Lead. You. Will. Be. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.”
Sterling’s knife slams into his plate with a sharp clang. I don’t look at him. Kelly’s face turns a shade redder than the wine he’s holding. His hands tremble.
“Ever heard of the blood eagle?” I ask. “You slice open the back. Snap the ribs from the spine. Pull the lungs out, stretch them like wings. By the time you get to the lungs, the man’s already dead, but you get the idea.”
I pop another mint into my mouth, the crunch echoing through the sudden silence. “I watched my first one when I was six. Performed it when I was nine.”
Kelly’s lips part in horror. Sterling’s breathing has gone sharp and shallow beside me.
“Priest, enough! You’ll regret this,” Sterling hisses next to me.
I grin wider. “I don’t regret shit.”
I glance back at Kelly, letting every ounce of violence I’ve ever committed bleed into my stare.
“Your days of stuffing your cock in Sovereign power are done. When I lead, the Sovereign won’t bow.
We’ll burn everything you’ve built and piss on the ashes.
All your political fuck-buddies can kiss the days of the Sovereign catering to their bullshit goodbye.
You’ll kneel, or you’ll find your lungs laid out across your fucking spine. ”
The room’s gone silent. Dead silent. Even Dalton and Alistair have stopped smirking, their half-chewed food on display in open mouths.
I push back from the table. The sound of the chair screeching across the polished marble floor slices through the room. Sterling reaches for my arm, but I dodge his grip, leaning in close instead.
“I’m not your lap dog. And I’m not your goddamn son. You should have killed me, Sterling. Now you have to live with it.”
I stand, turning to the rest of the table. “Fuck this. I’m done here.”
Without another word, I stalk out of the room. I don’t need Sterling’s bullshit. My father wanted a soldier. What he got is a rabid fucking god.