Chapter 30
Bastian
My hands won’t stop shaking.
It’s been happening all day. A fine tremor that starts in my fingers and radiates up my forearms, settling behind my temples where it hums like a faulty wire.
It’s the comedown from weeks of pretending to be something I’m not.
I’ve paced every room in this house at least a dozen times since then.
Started grading papers, abandoned them when I read the same sentence four times without comprehension.
Opened my laptop to deal with Evelyn’s estate, closed it when a solicitor’s email made me want to put my fist through the screen.
Made coffee, had one sip, tossed it down the drain.
Now it’s nearly six, the light outside bruising to purple, and I’m standing in my bedroom staring at the leather pouch I swore I wouldn’t touch.
“One line,” Bad Wolf coaxes. “Just one line to take the edge off. You’ve earned it.”
I have, haven’t I?
Too many hours without sleep. A pair of ungrateful brats pounding on my door at one in the morning.
Me chauffeuring them home in a vehicle that should have been scrapped a decade ago.
The boy looking at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe, even after I’d done exactly what they’d asked—respected their boundaries, kept my hands and my cock to myself.
And for what?
…manipulative, controlling cunt…
Kai’s words have been playing on a loop since he stormed into my office on Thursday to exorcise his demons.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear them. When I try to focus on something else, they drag me back.
I set the leather pouch on my nightstand.
Pick it up again.
Set it down.
“You’re pathetic,” Bad Wolf sneers. “Look at yourself. Pacing around like a lovesick teenager, refusing the one thing that would actually help, all because you’re trying to impress some children who couldn’t care less whether you live or die.”
Good Wolf remains silent. Has been silent since I got in that Uber.
The leather pouch sits on my nightstand, waiting. One line would clear the fog. Two would make me feel good as new. Three would make me stop caring that I no longer know what ‘good’ is supposed to feel like.
I leave the pouch where it is and walk to the window instead.
The woods are darkening. The security lights haven’t triggered since Haven and Kai came knocking.
Nothing’s moving out there. No cars coming up the driveway. No drunk, stoned idiots fucking with my sleep.
No one.
“Call them,” Bad Wolf commands. “Demand they come over. Punish them for last night. Remind them who’s in control.”
One message and they’d know I wouldn’t tolerate being treated like—
Like what? A predator?
Isn’t that exactly what I am?
All I can think about is Kai’s face in the rearview mirror. How he flinched when I called him ‘boy.’ The way he looked at me outside the Airbnb—like he was waiting for me to be the monster he’d already decided I was.
Instead, I did nothing.
Drove them home. Didn’t push. Didn’t manipulate. Didn’t do any of the things he clearly expected me to do.
And he still looked at me like I was filth.
“Because you are,” Bad Wolf says. “Pretending you aren’t won’t help. They’ve been around predators their entire lives. They can smell them.”
Good Wolf still says nothing.
“Just one line,” Bad Wolf whispers.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I grab it, heart lurching pathetically, hoping to see a message from the group chat saying they’ve changed their minds—
It’s spam.
I throw the phone onto the bed.
“Why would they message?” Bad Wolf’s voice is almost gentle now. “They don’t care. They were never going to care. You were a game to them—a thrill, a danger, something to flirt with when they were bored. Now even you’re boring them.”
I sink onto the edge of the bed, the leather pouch clutched in my fist.
It’s true. With Kai’s charges dropped, there’s nothing to hold over them anymore. I could threaten Haven’s tuition…but I’m too fucking tired.
I’ve spent my entire adult life cultivating fear. Using it as a tool, a weapon, a shield. Fear keeps people manageable because it ensures they never get close enough to see what’s actually underneath.
But I let them see.
In the mausoleum, in my office, in a hundred small moments…they’ve seen parts of me I’ve never shown anyone.
And—surprise, surprise—they ran.
“When they run, you chase,” Bad Wolf says. “That’s what prey does. That’s what you do. You chase, you corner, you catch.”
“And then I kill,” I murmur under my breath as I bat my eyes open.
I stare wide-eyed at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I don’t remember walking in here. Don’t remember showering, but my hair is wet and there’s a damp towel around my waist.
I definitely don’t remember cutting the two thick lines of coke on the counter between my hands.
My cock twitches.
It’s been half-hard all day. Every time my mind drifts to Haven and Kai, my body responds, but every time I’ve tried to do anything about it, the fantasy disappears.
Now, though, with the cocaine in reach and my resolve finally crumbling, my body decides this is the moment to demand attention.
“Do it,” Bad Wolf purrs. “Then you’re going to remind those two brats who they’re dealing with.”
I drop my towel.
If I’m going to do this—if I’m going to relapse after nearly two weeks of white-knuckling sobriety—I might as well enjoy it.
My cock springs free, already stiff, and I wrap my hand around it with a groan that echoes through the bathroom.
A fantasy is already playing through my mind. Haven on her knees, watching Kai’s mouth wrap around me. Both of them fighting over who gets to—
I stroke faster, chasing the release that’s been eluding me all day.
Haven becoming impatient, standing, shoving my hand between her legs as her nails rake down my chest.
Kai’s eyes locked on mine as he swallows.
Haven whimpering as I finger her, those sounds growing louder when Kai turns to her and—
A sound shatters the fantasy, and my concentration. I stop, blinking hard as I strain to hear. Must have been my imagination, because—
Three sharp raps against the front door.
I freeze, hand still wrapped around my shaft, heart hammering.
They came back.
They fucking came back.
“It’s not them,” Good Wolf growls, breaking its long silence. “They’re never coming back. Never, ever—“
I ignore the whiny little bitch, slinging my bathrobe around me as I leave the bathroom. My cock tents the fabric, but I can’t be fucking bothered. If it’s them—if they’ve finally stopped being stubborn little shits and come to me—I want them to see exactly what they’ve been doing to me.
I stride to the front door and yank it open.
“About fucking time, you—”
Ezra stands on my porch in the deepening twilight, a hoodie drawn up over his face. The deep shadows it casts hide some of the obscene scar tissue on his face, but the pure, undiluted hatred in his eyes is unmistakable.
He lifts his chin, a bemused smile on his mouth as I shove a hand in my robe’s pocket to push down my fading erection.
“Did you miss me, Daddy?” he murmurs.