25. CHAPTER 25
MOON
“Yes, I’ll be fine here,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. My thighs still throbbed with every small shift.
“It’s better if you go alone. Two of us would be far too obvious.” I let a trace of irritation slip into my voice. “Besides, I need to lie down. My body is still… feeling the last few days.”
Cillian studied me, then stepped in close. His hand cupped the side of my neck, thumb brushing my jaw with that possessive gentleness that always twisted something dangerous in my stomach.
“Okay,” he murmured. He kissed my cheek. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
I watched him swing onto the motorcycle and disappear down the drive, the engine roaring into the trees. The silence that followed should have been a relief. It wasn’t.
I closed the door and collapsed onto the bed in Cillian’s oversized sweater. My body ached all over… thighs sore, ass tender, bruises pulsing everywhere he’d touched me. And yet I could get used to mornings like this. I could stop fighting him.
My phone buzzed.
Vivi:
Status. Now.
Whitlock:
hyung. be honest. is the Irish bastard holding the phone or are you actually texting me willingly?
Still fine. We’re somewhere safe.
Whitlock:
somewhere safe lol bold of you. also Declan is alive before you start spiraling. ugly but alive.
What did you do?
Vivi:
Sawyer?
Whitlock:
he’s alive what more do you need?? i handled it. you’re welcome.
Vivi:
Stay hidden, Hyun. I mean it. The Favor board is moving fast and Vesper is getting bold. People are starting to ask dangerous questions about your disappearance. I’m handling what I can.
Whitlock:
translation: vivi’s been doing that terrifyingly calm murder thing where people start confessing unprompted. it’s lowkey iconic. come back in one piece princess or at least mostly intact. aster has standards.
Vivi:
Sawyer.
Vivi:
And yes. Come back to us whole. We miss you.
Whitlock:
i don’t miss you. i’m just bored without my favorite control freak. hurry up and get your fill of Irish dick so you can come home already
Vivi:
SAWYER.
Whitlock:
what?? i’m being supportive.
I will.
I set the phone down and tried to sleep. I failed. Every time I closed my eyes my body betrayed me, the deep, throbbing ache between my legs, the bruises on my hips, the ghost of his hands still gripping me.
Pathetic.
I got up, stripped the sheets with sharp, angry movements, and shoved them into the washing machine. Then I washed the clothes I’d been wearing. Anything to keep my hands busy.
As the machine hummed, the thought slid in anyway. I could leave while he’s gone. Disgust hit me so hard I almost laughed. I don’t want to leave.
Wait… is this Stockholm syndrome?
My gaze dropped to the ring on my finger. Cillian’s ring.
Do you ever want to get married, Hyun?
I let myself imagine it for exactly two seconds. Then I slammed the door on it. Stop. This wasn’t happening.
The washing machine kept humming. Rain tapped against the windows.
Then I heard it. Tires on gravel. My head snapped toward the sound. Not Cillian. Those were car engines.
I went still, listening. At least two vehicles. Maybe three.
Moving without lights, I slipped to the window and peered through the gap in the curtains.
Two black SUVs. Acid surged hot up my throat. I grabbed my phone, fingers shaking.
Someone’s here. Two SUVs.
I snatched the knife from the counter and bolted for the back door. Cillian’s sweater caught on the handle. My body screamed. Socks slid across the freezing floor. I stumbled.
I made it three steps into the cold winter air.
Rough hands seized me from behind.
I twisted hard, swinging the knife wildly. A brutal grip caught my wrist and slammed it against the cabin wall. The knife clattered to the wet ground.
I tried to shout. A hand crushed over my mouth. Another wrenched my arms behind my back. Zip ties bit viciously into my wrists. A boot kicked the back of my knee. I dropped hard onto the cold, wet grass.
They dragged me back inside just as the front door splintered open with a violent kick. Three more men stepped in. Rain dripped from their dark coats. Guns already drawn. They moved like they’d done this before.
The one in front had cold blue eyes and silver threading through dark hair. Broad-shouldered. Built like someone who ended things permanently. Ronan Carrick.
He didn’t need to introduce himself. The resemblance to Declan was there, but harder, older, and meaner.
“Well,” Ronan said softly, “if it isn’t the pretty little Aster whore who’s got Cillian Ashbourne acting like a lovesick dog.”
I couldn’t move. My pulse hammered so hard it throbbed in my teeth.
One of the men shoved a heavy hand between my shoulder blades while another kicked the back of my knee.
My leg buckled. I dropped hard onto the wooden floor, shoved down until I was kneeling in the center of the room like a fucking prize.
Ronan crouched in front of me, studying my face. “Cillian’s been a very naughty boy,” he murmured, Irish accent thick. “Making Declan look weak. Making the entire Carrick family look like fools. And all for what? A rival court boy he’s been parading around like he owns him.”
He reached out and tugged at the collar of the sweater I was wearing. Cillian’s sweater. “Wearing his clothes now?” His smile was cruel. “How fucking domestic.”
One of the men laughed behind me.
Ronan’s fingers tightened on the collar, twisting the fabric. “Strip him.”
They ripped Cillian’s sweater off me first. Then my boxers. Cold air hit every inch of bare skin. I was left completely naked except for the black socks still clinging to my feet.
Every bruise. Every bite mark. Every fingerprint Cillian had left on my hips, thighs, neck and ass was exposed.
Ronan’s eyes dragged slowly over my body, taking in every mark. “Look at that,” he said softly, almost amused. “The boy really did a number on you.”
Humiliation burned through me so violently everything in me tightened. Don’t give them anything. But my body was already shaking as I knelt in the middle of the room. I lifted my chin anyway. “If you’re going to kill me, do it. I don’t have time for cheap theater.”
What if the message never sent. What if he never saw it. What if he wasn’t coming.
Ronan laughed. “Kill you?” He shook his head, cold smile spreading. “No, pretty boy. We’re going to wait for Cillian to come home. Then we’re going to show him exactly what happens when you forget who you answer to.”
He gripped my jaw hard, fingers digging in until I winced, forcing my head up.
“And while we wait…” His thumb pressed into my cheek. “We’re going to make sure you understand how little protection your precious Ashbourne heir can actually give you.”
They kept me on my knees the entire time. Zip ties cutting deep into my wrists. One of Ronan’s men kept pressing the cold barrel of a gun against the back of my neck, just enough pressure to remind me how easy it would be.
Ronan sat in the chair like a king, legs spread, watching me with lazy contempt. “Tell me,” he said conversationally, “does Cillian fuck you like he owns you? Or do you get on your knees and beg for it like a good little Aster bitch?”
Silence choked me, jaw locked, staring at the floorboards. He leaned forward and slapped me. Hard. The crack echoed through the cabin. My cheek burned instantly.
“Answer when I speak to you.”
Blood filled my mouth. I forced the words out through gritted teeth. My jaw locked. “He fucks me like he owns me.”
Ronan laughed. “Of course he does. Ashbourne boys always did have expensive taste in toys.”
Twenty minutes in, they brought out the phones.
They took photos. Multiple angles. Close-ups of every bruise on my thighs, hips, neck and ass. One of them yanked my head back by the hair while another snapped a picture of my face.
“These will look lovely in the group chat,” Ronan murmured. “Declan will enjoy them. So will your father.”
Every few minutes one of them would circle me.
“Look at that, he really went to town on you, didn’t he? Like a dog marking his territory.”
“Bet he thought these bruises would protect you.”
The humiliation was worse than the cold biting my bare skin. They didn’t touch me that way. They didn’t need to. The point was to make me feel small. Exposed and worthless.
Ronan eventually crouched in front of me again, gun resting casually on his thigh.
“When he gets here,” he said softly, “you’re going to watch what we do to him.
And you’re going to understand that no matter how hard your precious prince tries to play big bad man…
he’s still just a boy.” He pushed the hair out of my eyes. “And boys get punished.”
I stared at the floor. Hurry, Cillian. Please. Don’t leave me kneeling here like this.