Chapter 30 Raphael
Raphael
A PSYCHOPATH HAS NO MERCY.
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Runaway (From Myself)
She’s not ready to run. But she will.
And when she does, I will hunt her like I hunt all my prey.
She’s tiptoeing out of Vincent’s cabin in nothing but her sundress. She’s already solidified her revenge on him. Her steps are slow and cautious. Still healing.
As soon as she crosses to one of the connecting bridges, I step out from the shadows, appearing on the opposite edge. I’m but a silhouette, a shadowy figure to her, but everything about her body language screams she knows it’s me.
“I wasn’t running,” she says, stepping onto the bridge, saving face.
“I know.”
I wait for her. I’ll give her credit for crossing the space to me when she could have turned tail and run right back to Vincent’s cabin.
“Your laws are vague,” she points out with a bite in her voice, but keeps her distance from me. “You didn’t say I had to spend all night sleeping with him.”
“Acknowledged.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Briella pins her warm hazel eyes on mine. “Do you always speak in one-word answers and short sentences?”
“Mostly.”
Why give anyone the possibility of leverage against me? I’ve known how to keep secrets since my youth. Even from my own Kin. I have more to keep from her.
She glances down before flicking her eyes back up. “Do you know where I’m going?”
“I have my suspicions.”
She tilts her head with a sweet smile, waiting.
I narrow my eyes. “Rory’s cabin.”
Her smile grows. “He needs more punishment. Are you going to stop me?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Five days of immunity. Of service.”
“Will I be disciplined after?”
“Not by me. But you will need to contend with him under Kinship Law.”
“Your law.”
Vincent must have told her. But I give her nothing.
After a staring contest, she gets restless and boldly scoots around me, moving across the next bridge. Except, she heads for the barn first.
“Why aren’t you stopping me?” she wonders with her fists swinging at her sides.
“You intrigue me.”
“You intrigue me, too. Doesn’t mean I want to follow you around all over the place like a creepy shadow.”
“And amuse me.”
She swings her gaze back at me. “Is that high praise coming from a psychopath?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re a real psychopath?” she wonders, but keeps moving forward.
“Yes.”
I’m intrigued by how she doesn’t turn to look at me. No, she sighs, as if it’s a relief to confirm the theory.
While I was never officially diagnosed, I was evaluated.
It was enough. Especially given my past. I’ve always known something was “wrong” with me by society’s moral standards.
Something missing. Psychopaths may not feel empathy or love, but we can value others—those who are useful or central to our sense of self.
My foster brothers are both. Now Briella is, too.
I feel no love, but possession and authority matter most. They are mine. And not because I am possessive, but because they are far more extensions of myself. She is mine. And I protect what’s mine, even if it means breaking them, making them stronger.
“You will receive the list of my Kinship Law in due time,” I tell her.”
Her hand pauses on the barn door as she eyes me from the side. “Vague again.”
“Such maintains the intrigue.”
My amusement grows when she enters the barn, grabs a rope from the tack area, and loosely loops it around the pregnant goat’s neck. “Hand me that bag of goat pellets?” Briella gestures to the sealed bag next to me.
“I will bring it for you.”
“Hmm…so not just stopping me. You’re enabling me.” She pats the swollen belly of the goat.
“Enabling is a strong word. Not applicable to a psychopath.”
“Fair enough. Oooh.” She grabs a set of gloves. “I’m gonna need these.”
We leave the barn, and she heads for the next cabin opposite Vincent’s. Seems she knows the pecking order. Jude’s lies to my right, my strong right hand—Vincent just in front. Rory’s cabin sits on my left, with Seth’s in front of his.
The goat bleats but follows her lead, nudging her leg now and then.
Once we arrive at Rory’s cabin, she tests the door, surprised when it opens. “Guess I should have expected the craziest in the group would keep his cabin unlocked. Oh, wow…” she pushes the door open. “Vincent wasn’t lying. He really is a slob. Perfect.”
Dirty dishes piled in the sink. Clothes haphazardly strewn all over the bed and floor.
With a devious smile, Briella unties the goat and lets her loose into the cabin before opening the food bag and tossing it everywhere.
By morning, she will have chewed through a good portion of the clothes and shat all over the place.
“One last thing,” she says after closing the cabin door before taking a deep breath of fresh air, taking a step toward the woods, nodding to me…expecting me to follow.
Intrigued more, I observe as she slips on the gloves, then approaches a plant growing thickly along the tree line. My lips tug into a smirk because I recognize it, though I’m curious as to how she will apply it to Rory.
She fascinates me. And when something fascinates me, it stays in my world. She caught my attention from the moment I saw her. For more reasons than one. But that one I will take to my grave. She would have to dig as deep as hell to unearth it.
I follow her back to the main cabin. She tiptoes inside, not disturbing Seth, who’s snoring away on the sofa.
Jude has opted for his leather chair, book open on his chest. She glances at him, her eyes softening.
I will need to consult with my partner soon.
He has established the thinnest bridge of trust with her.
His involvement will be necessary to maintain her presence here.
Briella is intelligent. She won’t run until she’s healed. But she doesn’t understand our Law…yet.
With me, only me, her eyes turn into prey, ready to run because it’s what she knows. Those demons in her past are why she survived the Initiation. She will confess them to me in time. Once she does, she will know without any doubt…she is our blood. Our Queen.
She fetches a product from Jude’s medicinal closet stash. Capsaicin Cream or Tincture. And a mortar and pestle. What a devilish, wicked girl.
She knows Rory’s first move in the morning will be to use the upstairs shower.
I stand by, enjoying the sight of her crushing the plant before unscrewing the faucet, then smearing the oil and crushed wet leaves inside the shower head.
She adds more oil to the body wash. Finally, she pours the tincture into the shampoo bottle.
I can hardly wait for tomorrow.
Once she cleans up, stashing the evidence under a stack of towels beneath the bathroom counter, I take Briella by the arm and shove her against the door.
She trembles. Good. She should fear me. Obey me. Surrender to me. Her eyes stray everywhere but mine, and she swallows hard.
“Look at me,” I command.
She hesitates at first.
“Look at me,” I growl.
Finally, she musters up the strength to lift her eyes to mine. Burning hazel eyes. The green is more prominent. My cock stirs, hardening in my pants, and I damn well know she can feel it, judging by how she flares her nostrils.
“What kind of a psycho are you?” she asks, tilting her head, genuinely curious.
With a shrewd smile, I cup her breast, thumbing her hard nipple, testing her, confirming her arousal when she hisses. “The kind who has no wish or intent to kill you.”
“The kind who gets off on his god complex and control issues?”
Fuck.
Quicker than she can blink, I swipe the sashes from the bathrobe hanging on the nearby wall hook, wrap it around her throat twice, then drag her out of the bathroom to bind it tightly to the hook in the reinforced ceiling, anchoring her here.
“Raphael!” she wheezes, her eyes widening with fear, her whole body shaking deliciously.
Smirking, I don’t hesitate to strip her, glorying in her nude form. Rory’s teeth marks have begun to fade. But the stripes and welts are pink. Jude changed her bandages before she left with Vincent. A quick healer. Good.
I have no remorse for punishing her. In the past half-hour, she’s dissected more of me while keeping the doors to her mind locked tight.
I admire her body as she struggles with the bonds around her throat until I swipe at her hands, forbidding her from interfering. Her tits bounce from her writhing, the nipples rosy and stiffening by the moment, begging to be sucked.
“Please!” she rasps, rising on the balls of her feet.
I turn around and approach the dresser behind me, retrieving the item from the bottom drawer, wagging it to her shocked gaze. “Don’t scream, my Queen. I don’t want you waking the house.”
I remove my cap and shove it in her mouth.
Then, I suck her breasts, licking and tormenting those nipples like bits of hard, pink stone before kicking apart her legs and lowering the vibrator to her rosy clit.
She cries as I rub it on her, moving in tormenting circles until she bites my cap hard, screeching her climax while rocking her hips. I don’t stop.
Shoving the cap deeper into her mouth, I train the wand on her clit, lick her tits, and eat her mouth until she begs for mercy.
A psychopath has no mercy.
And this?—is her reward for amusing me.