Chapter 22
Afresh bottle of pain pills sits on my nightstand.
“Thanks, Arsen,” I mutter, dry-swallowing two.
My body aches. My head pounds. My stomach growls. I need coffee, food, anything to feel human—but mostly, I need to get out of this room before I lose what’s left of my mind.
Every day’s the same.
Wake up. Pop pain pills. Stare at the ceiling.
Take more pills to make me sleep.
Repeat.
It’s a boring, mind-numbing cycle. One I’m desperate to escape.
Desperate to get away from Sovereigns.
From Priest.
I tug on a pair of leggings and one of Arsen’s oversized shirts and step out. The second I hit the kitchen, nausea kicks in. My stomach begs for food, but my brain recoils at the idea. The smell. The texture. It all makes me want to throw up. It’s been that way for days.
Wolff’s at the table, cleaning a gun. At the far end is a stale, half-eaten container of fries. I sit down anyway and start picking at them, forcing myself to chew. They taste disgusting, but I need to get something in me that isn’t a pill or water.
Raze walks in, gives me a quick glance, then launches into conversation with Wolff—something about an extraction plan for Dalton and Alistair. Great, more Sovereigns. I catch pieces but I’m not paying attention. My mind’s drifting somewhere else.
To my father.
Alive.
I never got to say goodbye. Sovereigns stormed the house in the middle of the night. He shoved me into the panic room and sealed it shut. Told me not to come out until he came for me.
I waited. Waited until hours turned into days.
Until the food and water ran out.
He never came back.
Now he’s out there. Somewhere. Breathing. And all I can do is sit here. Wait again. My throat tightens as memories flood my mind.
His final words echoing in my head—
“You were the last good thing I ever did, firecracker. I love you.”
My fingers graze my necklace. I miss him so much it feels like a blade twisting between my ribs. I push back from the table. I can’t sit here a second longer.
I walk for the door, punching in the code I watched Arsen use. I just need air. Space. One fucking minute where I’m not surrounded by testosterone and violence. I need out before I crack.
The lock clicks—
A hand clamps around my arm and yanks me back.
My skin ignites. I don’t have to look up. My chest tightens, lungs refusing to work.
“Not so fast, kitten.”
He smells like soap and mint. His hair’s still damp from a shower.
“Get your hands off me.” I rip my arm free and spin around, holding my ground. “What the fuck do you want?”
His eyes slowly drag over me, lingering on the oversized shirt I stole from Arsen’s drawer. His jaw ticks. Then he looks back at my face—stopping on the necklace around my throat.
“Stop staring at me, you psycho.”
From behind him, Raze chuckles. “Looks like your little stray found her bark again.”
Priest doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“You’re on lockdown.”
I snort. “You don’t own me. I’m going out.”
I spin on my heels, but before I can get a step, I’m pinned to the door. Priest’s hands on either side of my head, caging me in. His hard chest presses to my back. The heat of his skin bleeding through my clothes.
“Get the fuck off me.” I try to shove him off, but he presses harder. I feel his cock twitch through the thin barrier of fabric. Nausea coils in my gut as he grinds his body into mine.
“Christ, I forgot how good you feel underneath me.”
The words gut me.
My fists clench, my body trembling from rage—and something worse. Something that makes me hate myself more than I already do.
“Fuck. You.” I force the words past my teeth, each one burning.
“Is that an invitation?” His teeth graze the shell of my ear. His tongue flicks against my lobe, and his hand drops from the wall to my waist, his fingers digging into my hip.
“Would you like that? Me deep inside you again? Making you scream?”
I slam my elbow back hard, catching him in the ribs.
He doesn’t flinch. Just laughs. “So violent.”
He leans in, dragging a slow inhale along my neck. His grip tightens. Then his mouth brushes a scratch on my neck, pressing a kiss there. I shove at him again, but he’s a brick wall.
“You ever plan to kill me, aim between the third and fourth rib. Soft spot, kitten,” he adds with a smirk against my skin. “Right where the heart should be.”
Finally, he steps back and I spin around. Raze watches from the table, his eyes dropping to the bulge in Priest’s pants, and he smirks.
“You’re a fucking animal, Priest,” Raze says. “I like it.”
“Go to hell, both of you,” I snap, storming toward the door.
“Don’t even think about it,” Priest calls. “You take one step outside that door, I’ll chain you to your bed.”
My stomach twists, and I glance over my shoulder. His eyes are pitch-black. No warmth. No soul. And on his lips—there’s a smile.
My hands won’t stop shaking until I’m storming through the bunker to the training room. I scrub at my neck, trying to wipe his disgusting kiss from my skin. But even then, he’s still there, on my skin. In my head.
Fucking bastard.
I’m losing my goddamn mind in this bunker. Pain flares through my fingers, tearing up my forearm as my knife connects with the swinging tire.
Again. Harder. Faster.
My body’s healing, but not fast enough. Muscles scream, stitches pull, bones ache. I push through anyway. Rage is the only thing keeping me upright. I can’t grip shit; my hands are wrecked, my back stiff, my body rigid like my muscles are already atrophying.
Sweat drips into my eyes. I wipe it away and swing again. The blade bites rubber, the tire swings wide, and I sidestep.
“You need to widen your stance. Put your weight into the swing,” a voice calls from the doorway. Why won’t he just leave me alone?
My hand burns, but I don’t stop.
“You come near me, I’m throwing this blade at your face, Priest.”
I turn and find him leaning against the doorway, tatted arms crossed. Stray strands of hair fall in his eyes. Watching me. Always fucking watching.
“With those fingers? You wouldn’t hit me.”
I whip the knife at him. He snatches it midair, expression flat, spinning it between his fingers.
“Nice try, little girl. But you’ll have to do better.” He flicks the blade back at me. I duck as it barely misses me, before it thunks into the wall.
“What the fuck, you asshole!” I go to grab another blade from the weapons table, but he’s already moving—closing the distance, pressing me into the wall.
His body cages me in. His scent cuts through the sweat. I shove; he doesn’t move. He just grips my wrists and pins them high above my head. Plucking the knife free from the wall, he twirls it, then presses it into my palm before stepping back.
“You won’t get better cutting rubber,” he says, nodding at the tire. “Practice on me.”
“No.” The word comes out a snarl, but I’m already falling into position. Desperate to prove I can hit him.
I lunge. He dodges. My blade slices air.
“Again. You’re slower on your right.”
“I’ve stabbed you before, prick. I’ll do it again.” I slash at his throat, catching skin.
He grins. The bastard actually grins.
I throw myself at him, but he spins my back into his chest, hand flattening low on my stomach, breath hot against my ear.
“Focus, kitten.” His teeth catch my earlobe.
“Fuck you.”
“That’s still on your mind? Fucking?” His other hand slides over my ass. “Because you’re certainly not focused on stabbing.”
His words sink into my stomach.
I throw my head back, pushing on my heels just enough to land a solid hit to his fucking chin.
He stumbles, and I drive my elbow into his gut, spinning on him before he can recover. The tip of my blade finds his throat, slicing just enough to draw blood.
He doesn’t flinch.
Instead, he leans into it. The steel bites deeper, a slow streak of red sliding down his throat, disappearing into the black ink of the number 187 tattooed under the curve of his jaw.
His hand closes over the blade, blood running hot over my knuckles. “Do it.”
“What—”
He steps forward, forcing me back, the blade digging deeper into his flesh. He slides the knife along his neck—across the thick, raised line of that tattoo.
His tongue drags over his teeth in a sick, satisfied grin. “Right here, kitten. Drive it in. Kill me.”
Something inside me splinters. The knife slips, blood and metal spatter the floor. I want to kill him. God, I want to carve him open. But not on his command. Not on his fucking terms.
I spin to leave. He presses me back against the wall, forearm crushing my throat. My legs kick air. He jams the blade back into my grip, forces my hand against his neck.
“Stop, you’re insane—”
“Kill me.” His blood drips down my hand.
“Stop!”
“Fucking kill me, Arlo!”
I freeze. Can’t move. Can’t breathe.
“No,” I rasp. “When I kill you, it’ll be when you least expect it. You don’t get the privilege of choosing your death.”
I twist the blade, cut him just enough to make him loosen. I shove him off. Tears sting my eyes. He’s the only man who’s ever made me feel so much at once—violence, fury, fear—mixed with the one emotion I can’t even name.
“I was made for death.” He drags his fingers through the blood on his neck, before smearing it across my lips. My pulse shreds itself. “Death is all I bring to this world.” His thumb presses against my mouth. “But not to you, kitten. Never to you.”
“Stop.” My voice cracks.
“You hate yourself more than you’ll ever hate me. Because even after everything I’ve done to you, you still want me.”
“I—” Words choke me.
He smirks, stepping back and releasing me. “Lie to yourself all you want. You can’t lie to me.”
“You’re fucking delusional. I don’t want you.
I don’t want a single thing from your sick head.
” The lie is ash in my mouth. My disgusting body betrays me every time he’s near.
I can’t forget his hands. His cock pounding into me, taking everything I had.
I’m still haunted by the feeling of him coming in me. Marking me. Ruining me.
His blood still seeps down from the cut on his neck as he steps in, pressing against me until I feel the smear of it on my skin.
My lip trembles. I hate that it does. I hate that he can see me crack. “Get the hell off me. Right now.”
His hand curls around my throat. Not choking—just enough to remind me he can.
“You and that—”
“I didn’t deserve what you did to me!” The words explode out of me, tearing through my chest. Stupid tears spill down my cheeks.
I don’t bother wiping them away. “You didn’t have to fuck me.
You didn’t have to humiliate me like that.
You could’ve just turned me in, and I would’ve rotted.
But no—you had to break me first. You had to make sure I never forgot you every time I close my eyes. ”
He freezes. Silent. Not even a flicker in his expression.
My voice fractures, but I force it out. “I’m tired of being your little fucking game, Priest. I’m tired of being the thing you spit your hate on. I’m not your plaything or your prey. I’m not—”
He leans in slow, lips brushing against the salt of a tear sliding down my cheek.
“I don’t hate you. I’m fucking obsessed with you.”
When he pulls back, I swear—for one heartbeat—his eyes look almost human. Regret.
Then it’s gone. His hand falls away, and he turns, wiping the blood from his neck with a rag, leaving me hollow and burning.