Chapter 25
Ipull her back against me the second she starts twitching, her body jerking in my arms.
“No, no. Stop. Don’t. Please.” Her head twists against my chest. I lock her in, crushing her trembling frame to my chest until her breathing slows.
“Little one,” I whisper into her hair, dragging in her scent like I’m starving for it. Her small fingers curl into my shirt and my pulse evens out the second she clutches me.
I should let go.
But I can’t.
Not after the bathroom. Not after the way her tight little body melted under my hands—fighting me with that sharp mouth, even as her hips rolled against my fingers like the filthy little thing she is.
The pills weren’t for her. They were for me.
Because nothing works anymore. Not the gum. Not the blood. Not the fights. Nothing but her. She’s the only thing that shuts off the noise.
I bury my face in her hair again. She smells like sweat, steel, and that sweet, maddening something that’s just hers. It crawls through me, claws at me, until I’m so fucking wired I can’t tell where the obsession ends and I begin.
My muscles uncoil, my mind quiets. Just for a second, the rage stops screaming. I want to take her back to the bathroom. Lay her out on the counter and fuck her until every broken, fucked-up thought in my head goes silent.
I slide my hands and grip her fingers. Removing a roll of medical tape from my pack. I begin retaping and adjusting her finger splints. Raze slumps beside me, muttering curses, his mask hanging loose.
“You knock her out just to hold her, huh? You’re so fucked in the head it’s almost impressive.”
My fingers tighten on her hand. “Fuck off, Raze.”
“Does Arsen know his little whatever-she-is is curled up on the chest of the bastard who messed her up? Or is that your fucked secret?”
I pull her closer, caging her in with my arms. Her head fits perfectly under my chin, her hair brushing my throat. My pulse evens out for the first time in hours.
After a few minutes of silence, Raze speaks again. “You believe Alistair? That he didn’t give up the bunker location?”
“No.” Alistair’s been a snake for years—he’d do anything for Sterling’s approval.
“So what now? Sit around until he sells out the next place too?”
I rub my temple. “We’ll stash him in a separate bunker. Don’t give him the real location.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “You think he’s worth that much trouble? Why not just kill him?”
“Then we’ll kill him.” I shrug. “But Arsen’s convinced he’s useful. Until he’s back from Facility 42, we stick to the plan. If Alistair’s holding anything back, I’ll carve it out of him until he’s begging for a death I won’t give. Until then, he stays on ice where he can’t fuck anything else up.”
I lean my head back against the wall, shutting my eyes. Too wired to sleep. Too empty not to try.
“What kind of condition do you think Lev is gonna be in?” Raze mutters, stripping off his vest.
“Dead.”
“Shame. Another legend down the drain. Fuck Sterling.”
I don’t answer.
Because I know.
I know what a place like 42 does. The smell of blood and bleach. The hum of the lights that never shut off. The silence between screams. You don’t come back from that. You rot from the inside out until there’s nothing left but a hollow thing that wears your face.
Arlo doesn’t understand that the father she remembers is already gone.
I press my nose into her hair and inhale until my lungs burn, forcing the flashbacks down. The edges still bleed in—the sounds, the taste of copper and fear. Her face twitches when my lips brush her forehead. My thumb traces the stitches running down her back. My chest tightens.
I did this to her.
I will keep doing this to her.
Because I can’t stop.
I’ll keep breaking her until there’s nothing left but what I want her to be. Until she hates me as much as I hate myself. And even then, I’ll never let her go. Because she’s the only thing that reminds me I survived hell, even if I came out of it a fucking monster.
The new bunker is bigger and better stocked. I still hate it. Every inch of it. Every person inside it. Every fucking thing that keeps me trapped here.
“Where’s Arsen?” I ask as Sovereigns rush past, hauling in more gear and setting up comms.
“Arsen?” Raze raises a brow, slamming a crate of ammo onto the table. “Where the fuck have you been, stray? Arsen’s been gone for over a week.”
“What?” My stomach twists. Have I really been so drugged and out of it that I lost days? A whole week? “Where?”
He digs a cigarette out of his vest, tossing the pack to someone across the room.
“He’s off trying to get—”
“He’ll be back soon,” Priest cuts in.
“That’s impossible.” My voice sharpens, loud enough to turn a few heads. “He’s been here. He—” My throat tightens. “He’s been leaving clothes on my bed. Refilling my pills…”
Raze snorts a laugh. “You seriously think that was Arsen?” He tips his chin toward Priest, grinning. “You’ve been wearing his shit this whole time.” He laughs again, shaking his head as he walks out. “Fucking clueless.”
I blink, trying to process the words slamming into me.
It was him?
He’s been the one leaving his shirts. The one stocking the nightstand. The one—
I look down. My fingers graze the hem of the black shirt draped over my skin. My cheeks burn.
“Are you—” My voice shakes as I snap my gaze to him. “Are you fucking serious? This is yours?”
He doesn’t even glance at me as he picks up a gun off the table, loading it.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t. I don’t want your shit, Priest. Not your shirts. Not your pills. Not anything.”
I spin on my heel, storm down the hallway, and shove the door to my room open. The shirt comes off fast, ripped over my head and thrown into the trash can. Leaving me in a sports bra and leggings.
The cold air hits my bare skin, and for the first time in days, I don’t care about the ache crawling through my body. I’d rather freeze than have him anywhere near me.
The soft click of the door shutting makes me whip around.
Priest leans against the wall, watching me. His gaze slowly slides over my stomach, up to my chest.
“So this is your plan, kitten? Walk around half-naked?”
I cross my arms over my chest, but it doesn’t stop the burn of his stare. “Stop fucking calling me that. And get the hell out.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve reminded you what happens when you run that mouth.”
He steps closer, closing the distance between us until his heat burns into me, his chest brushing mine with every shallow breath.
“Get. Out.” My voice is sharp, but my pulse is a riot, traitorous and loud.
“Tell me. Do you think about it? About me? About all the ways I’ve made you come? About how good I made you feel, even when you hated me for it?” His mouth curves. “Is that why you’re mad, kitten? Because you want me again and you hate yourself for it?”
My nails dig into my palms. “I don’t want you. All you’ve done is force yourself on me.”
“That’s what you like.” His breath skims the shell of my ear. “Being used. Being owned. That perfect little cunt taking everything I give it.”
I hate him. God, I hate him. And I hate myself more for the part of me that flinches when he steps closer, for the heat that curls low in my stomach even as my rage builds.
“We’re going out tonight.” His lips stay near my ear. “Found some intel we need to follow up on. I think you’ll really enjoy this place.”
“What?”
He ignores the question, eyes flicking to the closet and dresser. “There should be clothes in there. Put something on. You’ve got an hour,” he pauses, eyes trailing over me, “I prefer you like this—half-naked. But I’m not the only one here. So you’re going to cover up.”
He pulls his shirt over his head, muscles flexing, tattoos shifting with the movement. He tosses the black shirt onto the bed and walks out. I flip him off as the door clicks shut, then snatch the shirt off the bed and hurl it into the trash with the other one.
Bastard.
The dresser has a small, tight, black tank top. I pull it on, trying not to think about who it belonged to, just grateful it’s not his. By the time I step into the hallway, the place is a storm of motion. Raze catches my eye as he checks his ammo.
“Where are we going?” He doesn’t answer. “Raze! Where the hell are we going?”
He finally looks up with a lazy grin. “Don’t worry, stray. You’ll love it.” He winks, slides his gun into his jacket, and whistles to the men around him. Priest steps into the room, towering over me, those ice-blue eyes landing on the low neckline of my tank.
“Come on. We’re leaving.”