27. Maddison #2
A crimson pool soaks the floor, the colour so dark in the low light it looks almost black.
A muffled groan sounds from further in, low and raw enough to make my heart spike.
Every cell in my body halts as my eyes track the room, finding a man tied up by his wrists, hanging from the roof.
His feet barely touch the ruined floors, his body limp and defeated.
I wouldn’t be able to recognise him even if I knew him, his face nothing but a bloody, swollen mess. But I can see his leather vest. And on it says Wraiths.
Before the dying man, stands Ash, his eyes on me as he gages my expression, both of his fists raw and bloody. His grin is feral, eyes dilated. The picture of insanity. The room is quiet now, the group watching me as I try not to empty my stomachs contents onto the floor.
“What are you doing,” I choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
Ash’s hands close into a tight fist, his lip curling in a mix of a snarl and a grin. Even in his state, wild and unhinged, he looks beautiful. Like a God. It takes my breath away, watching him be who I know he can be. Dark. Dangerous. Terrifying.
“Isn’t it obvious,” he drawls, head tilting to the side. “I’m sending a message.”
Before I can blink, he cocks his fist back and slams in into the side of the man’s face, his head twisting with a horrifying crack. Blood sprays off Ash’s hand, his knuckles swollen and ravaged. Hands that have touched me so intimately, now boasting split knuckles and the dark stain of life.
The man groans, barely conscious. And the spell breaks. Finally, I come to my senses, taking a step back, before turning to flee. I don’t get far, though, running into the thick wall of muscle that is Griff.
He stands in front of the door. In front of my exit. Gigantic arms folded over his chest as he stares down at me, golden eyes looking bored. I spin, gasping breaths down, as Ash throws his head back in a humourless laugh, before focusing his narrowed eyes on me.
I feel fear like I’ve never known it, staring at the man before me. Covered in another man’s blood. The wild, feral side of him is completely unleashed and on show. He looks like a thing of nightmares. He looks barely human.
On high heels, I take a shaky step forward. A step towards him. And his eyes flick down, watching the step, before raising back up to my eyes.
“I didn’t think you’d come, Maddison,” Ash mutters, his voice causing the barely conscious man in front of him to whimper in terror.
The cold look in his eyes and the use of my name makes me sway, nausea building in my throat.
My head shakes side to side, lost for words, taking in the scene before me. My head turns to Leon who is leaning against a table, and I see pity looking back.
I scan the other faces watching me, waiting to see how I’ll react, then back to Ash’s face. The man who seems to be dying right in front of me groans again, and my eyes get stuck on his vest.
For a moment, I want to smile. For a moment, I want to beg Ash to finish him right here and now. Because he might be the very reason Thomas is dead. He might be the one who snuck into the Devils territory and killed my friend.
When those thoughts sink in, terror follows. I can’t think like that. That is not how the world works. Not my world, anyway.
“Didn’t really think I had a choice,” I murmur, lifting my chin in the face of danger, although all I feel is horror.
This gets another smile from Ash, his dimple popping out in full force as his perfectly white teeth gleam in the darkness.
“You learn quickly, Angel.” He takes a step forward, boots stepping into the sticky puddle. “Get him out of here.”
Two Devils step forward without a word, each grabbing one of the Wraith’s arms, cutting him loose. He lets out a sound that makes my stomach twist, but they drag him past me like he’s nothing more than dead weight. The door closes again, sealing me in here with Ash and the suffocating scent.
“That,” he says, voice low, “was a message to anyone who thinks they can touch what’s mine.”
I freeze, as my skin prickles. “What’s yours?”
A dangerous question. A very, very dangerous question.
His eyes lock on to mine, and the heaviness of them pins me in place, despite how frantically my body tells me to run. To run as far and fast as I can and never look back.
“My club,” he murmurs through gritted teeth. “My men. My Angel.”
A gasp hitches in my throat at his words. The fear causes my skin to raise and a tremble begins in my hands. But as per usual, the fear causes a spark of excitement.
And that’s the scariest part of it all.
That I’m standing in room that smells like murder, and my pussy is aching to be filled by the man covered in blood in front of me.
I know it’s sick…I’m sick.
“This…” I pant, trying to find the will to do what any other normal person would do. “I can’t be a part of this…this world…I can’t…I’m just…” My breath comes out in fast, panicked heaves of my chest as I fumble for the right words, if there even are any right words for this scenario.
Ash’s eyes darken as his top lip curls with anger. “You’re just what? Just not brave enough? Not strong enough? What are you trying to say, Maddison,” he growls.
The distance between us feels like a stretching canyon, not a few metres of bloodied wood.
“I’m scared!” I whimper.
“Good. You should be,” Ash growls back. “Be scared...but just know, It’s too late. You are already a part of this world. You have been the minute you walked into the club, with your little heels and innocent eyes.”
A lone tear trails down my cheek as his words set in. Words I already know are true, deep down.
I can’t speak. My mouth is dry, my chest tight, and yet every nerve in my body hums. I feel myself inching closer to him, drawn in by his presence, his smell, the danger he radiates.
“Show me you’re mine…Prove to me that your fear only makes you mine. Get on your fucking knees,” Ash grinds out.
My nails dig into the skin of my fingers, my eyes dropping to the pool of blood on the ground before me.
“I said on your fucking knees.” His voice turns into something dangerous.
Two hands press onto my shoulders, gripping tight as they push me down.
I turn back and see Griff behind me. He stares cold and unforgiving as my knees hit the warm life source of the man who just got dragged out.
Pain flares in my knees and my stomach roils.
The blood is still warm. It soaks into my skirt, thick and heavy, the smell clogging all of my senses.
“Now crawl,” he adds. “Crawl to your leader.”
My head shakes, eyes falling to blood in front of me. In it, I see my reflection staring back at me.
What am I doing? Why am I here? Why does every muscle in my body beg me to crawl to the predator in front of me.
When I finally look up, Ash is standing tall and foreboding, watching and waiting. Like he already knows that I’m going to do what he has asked. Dark hair matted with blood sticks to his forehead; blood splattered onto his face.
The neon light behind him illuminates him in a shroud of red. The Devil he is, on full display.
“I can’t,” I whisper on a sigh. Because I know what happens when I do, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to come back from it.
“You can and you will,” he grits out. “It's about fucking time you proved you were all in. I am your leader. I am the president of the Devils. When you're in this club, you'll do what I fucking say.”
His voice is lethal, and the darkness in his eyes has my hands falling forward into the sticky mess.
A tear finally escapes past my lashes, as I place one hand in front of the other.
My hips sway, as I slowly make my way to him, blood soaking my skin and clothes in a way that I know will stain forever.
Each hand forward feels monumental. Each knee sliding through the thick substance feels deadly.
I crawl to him. To this killer. The leader.
Stopping only when I see his dark boots in my vision.
Yet, I don’t look up. I remain on my hands and knees; head hung between my shoulders as I fall apart on the ground before him.
“Look at me,” he murmurs softly, but I can’t.
I’m too weak. Too scared. Too lost.
A rough hand fists my hair, pulling me back until I’m on my knees, a pained cry falling past my lips. The man who I assume is Griff grips me painfully, forcing my neck to twist up so that my eyes are on the wild man in front of me.
In a haze of anger, I fight his grip, but it’s impossible, his fingers tightening in my strands until pain blooms over my scalp.
Tears stream down my face as I glare at Ash, finally a feeling other than fear blossoming in my chest. Anger has me gritting my teeth, hands fisting at my sides.
Ash drops a bloody hand down; a stained finger softly slides down the side of my face. “There she is,” he murmurs quietly.