Chapter 34 Priest
Arsen’s in the front of the rig, going over specs with everyone on the comms. The inside of the SUV is a metal tomb crammed with bodies, gear, and the sour stench of stale coffee and weapon oil.
Raze tilts his head back against the wall beside me, pulls his earpiece out.
“This whole goddamn op’s a suicide run,” he mutters.
He’s not wrong.
Sterling’s using Dalton and Alistair as bait. He knows we’ll come. He wants us to. A perfect trap and we’re driving straight into it anyway. Because it’s the only way I get close enough to rip Sterling’s heart out of his chest.
Arlo’s silently sitting in the back. She hasn’t looked at me since she climbed in. The gear she’s wearing is too big, stolen from some dead fuck’s locker. The oversized tac vest swallows her frame, making her look smaller. It will do its job. That’s all that matters.
I move toward her, my shadow spilling across her boots and up her legs. She flinches when I get closer. Her knuckles white on the rifle, eyes glued to the floor.
“Kitten.”
I drop onto the bench beside her. My leg presses against hers, closing the space.
“What.”
“I need to check your gear.” My hands go to the straps on her vest, tightening and adjusting them.
“I can do it myself.” She tries to shrug me off.
“Don’t fucking move.” I lean into her ear. “Unless you want me to bend you over this bench and remind you who you belong to in front of all these men. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She stills under my touch. I finish with the vest, then slide my hands lower, spreading her knees just enough to reach the knife strapped there. I pull it free; the blade catches a thin slice of light.
“You stay close to me.” I press the flat of the knife against her inner thigh. “Always.”
Her breath stutters.
“Do you understand me, Arlo?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
I sheath the knife, fingers trailing the inside of her leg before curling around her waist and pulling her onto my lap.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses.
“Clearing my head.”
I breathe her in. Gunpowder. Sweat. That sweetness that only clings to her. That only exists for me. The noise in my skull starts to fade, dulled by the beat of her heart thudding against my arm.
But it’s not enough.
My hand drags down her stomach and finds her heat through the rough fabric of her pants, and I squeeze. She makes a small, choked sound. Fucking perfect.
“What did I tell you about moving, kitten?”
Her head whips around, her eyes flashing with rage. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
“Make me.”
I press my thumb harder against her clit, the fabric growing damp beneath my touch. Her body betrays her, always. It’s the only truth I can count on in this world of lies and deceit.
Fucking hell. I draw in another breath of her. This is my peace. My sanity. My sickness. My salvation. A perfect, broken paradox holding what’s left of me together.
I press a kiss to her neck, slowly dragging my tongue across bruised skin. Her ass grinds against me, unintentional, but it doesn’t matter. My cock throbs behind the zipper.
I tug her pants down just enough to expose her ass to me. One hand wraps around her waist, keeping her tight against my chest, the other slides my zipper down. Ignoring her pathetic attempts to struggle. I bite the back of her neck, making her yelp.
I keep her pinned, letting the head of my cock drag against the tight pucker of her ass.
“Please not here. Please.”
I don’t answer. I just thrust, my cock gliding between her ass cheeks. Not inside. Just using her. For friction. For heat. For something to cover in my cum.
To lose myself in.
“What’s wrong, kitten? Don’t like being used like a cheap fucking fleshlight? Thought you liked playing my toy.” I grind harder. “Make a sound, and every man in this truck will know exactly what you are. What you let me do to you.”
I need this. The way her body trembles against mine. The static is fading. The pressure behind my eyes is easing. She’s my fucking fix.
“Imagine how they would look at you when we get out of this truck. They would see the cum stains on your pants. They would smell me on you. They’ll know who you belong to.”
“Priest…”
“Shh, I’m going to use your tight little body to get myself off, and you’re going to sit here and take it.” I slide my cock against her, the friction building, her body so tight and hot. I move one of my hands from her hip and slide it into the front of her pants, my fingers finding her slick heat.
“Fuck. Always so fucking wet for me. Too bad you don’t get to come this time.” I bite her earlobe, my hips pistoning, my cock sliding between her ass cheeks. I rock against her body, chasing my release. The truck jostles, and her ass clenches, forcing me to bite back a groan.
The others in the truck are too focused on the mission to pay us any mind, or maybe they just know better than to look. The pressure in my balls builds. My control is fraying. I speed up my thrusts, my mouth buried in her hair to muffle my grunts.
“That’s it, kitten. Take it.” A living, breathing sheath for my cock. She’s trying so hard not to make a sound, to deny me the satisfaction. But I feel the tremor in her thighs. Her breath hitching every time my cock slides deep.
“We aren’t so different, are we? Both just broken things looking for a way to feel. Life fucked us over, and now we’re monsters.”
I don’t know if I’m talking to her or myself. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe we’re the same now—two halves of the same ruined soul.
“I am nothing like you.”
“Aren’t you? You crave the pain because it’s the only thing that silences the noise in your head. The one that tells you you’re worthless. That you failed. That you’re alone.”
One more thrust.
I bury my face against her neck and groan as I come, thick and hot, painting her underwear and slicking between her cheeks.
“Now look at you. A filthy, cum-stained mess. Just how I like you.”
She lets out a small moan, a sound of pure humiliation, as the wetness spreads. I quickly pull up her pants, the rough fabric sticking to her skin.
“Behave, and maybe I’ll let you come next time.”
I tuck myself back in, zipping up my pants. My head is clearer. The static is gone. Replaced with a cold, sharp focus. The mission. The target. The kill.
She scrambles off my lap and retreats to the far end of the bench, putting as much distance between us as the truck allows. Staring at the floor—jaw clenched, fists tighter. The rage rolling off her.
Good. Let it burn through her. She’s going to need it to survive what’s coming. And I’m going to need her strong enough to be useful.
The truck slows.
Showtime.
The mission’s simple. In theory.
It’s a secluded bunker. Old Sovereign training grounds no longer in use. We intercepted encrypted messages—Dalton and Alistair are being held there. Arsen knows the terrain. Said he used to run drills with recruits on those same blood-soaked floors.
Drone footage picked up heat signatures in the far east wings. The corridors are tight with limited access points. We’ll need to split and cover ground fast.
I reach across the bench and grab Arlo’s arm, yanking her toward me until I can lean in close.
“You stay with me. You don’t leave my fucking sight. You do exactly what I say—when I say it.”
She stiffens and I tighten my grip.
“If you hesitate—if you even think about playing hero—I will put a bullet in your leg and drag your bleeding ass the rest of the way. Do you understand me?”
The truck doors swing open, and the cool air rushes in, smelling of pine and damp earth. The second we breach the perimeter, it’s too fucking quiet.
Old metal siding groans in the wind. Rust flakes off the chain-link fencing as we cut through. No alarms. No patrols. Not even a goddamn bird in the sky.
It’s wrong. All of it.
Every instinct screams trap.
I motion with two fingers. Axe peels off toward the east entrance with his team. Arsen leads a second squad to the opposite wing. I take the center.
My hand closes around Arlo’s vest, yanking her behind the line of stacked crates outside the main doors. Her eyes flash with defiance, but she doesn’t argue.
Raze clips the last tripwire. “It’s a fucking party now.”
We move.
The entrance creaks open with a whine that echoes through the hall. I go first. Rifle raised, finger tight on the trigger.
Inside, the bunker is a corpse—long corridors of decay, old training signs still peeling on the walls. Condition Red. Code Black. Immediate Compliance Required.
And then—gunfire explodes from the east wing. Axe’s team.
Raze opens up first, suppressing fire down the corridor. Muzzle flashes bloom in the darkness, bodies dropping. We push forward, boots crushing shell casings and skulls, stepping over the dead.
My blood’s humming. My heart isn’t. This is what I’m made for. Not peace. Not mercy. Just this.
A slaughter.
Sterling’s men flood the hall from a side corridor, dressed in tactical black, faces hidden by night-vision goggles.
Arlo pulls the trigger first.
Her shot’s off-center, hits the shoulder. The man screams—until I finish him. A double-tap to the throat. He goes down, gurgling. Raze takes out two more, the rounds thudding wetly into their chests.
The hallway explodes with gunfire.
We push deeper into the facility. The fighting’s getting heavier. Blood slicks the floor, making every step treacherous. I take out a target at the end of the hall, a single shot to the head. Raze and I take point, the team spreading behind us.
“Move! Move! Move!”
I kick open a door, rifle up. The room’s empty, but a flicker of movement catches my eye through the window. A shadow disappearing into the woods.
“Down!” I yell.
A grenade sails through the window. I grab Arlo, throwing her to the ground, my body covering hers. The explosion rips through the room, the force of it lifting us off the floor. Debris rains down. Shrapnel sings past my head.
Smoke curls from the blown-out window. My ears ring. My pulse hammers.