JAX
“What are we thinking?” Madoc mused as he stalked like a feline around the bed. “Kill him here or in one of his little torture rooms?”
Kane whimpered and twitched against Callum’s hold. He still had some fight in him, and it excited me. I was one sick puppy.
Distantly, I knew that I was losing touch with reality, becoming mindless with rage and violence.
Seeing Olivia on that bed, her face pale and withdrawn, looking far too fucking vulnerable, made me see red.
I was still seeing red; the blood on Kane’s face, on my knuckles, on the tip of Madoc’s (Olivia’s) blade.
Even the sheets on the bed were silky crimson, a bed of blood.
Pressing the heel of my hand hard into my forehead, I steered myself back to sanity. “You find anything else?” I asked.
“Found the stash.” Madoc revealed two glass vials from his pocket. He dropped them on the bed beside Kane, who flinched away from them like live grenades. My eyes met Madoc’s, our thoughts syncing in the way they sometimes did.
His answering smile was slow and deadly. “I’ll find a syringe.”
With him gone, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and gave Callum a quick once-over.
My stoic giant was unflappable as always, his hands steady where they locked around Kane’s naked body.
Like all of us, Callum had his own demons, but he managed to keep his shit together.
I knew when we returned home, he’d lock himself away in his library to escape his rancid memories.
I tried it once—desperate times and all—but my head was too loud, and only keeping my hands busy kept the bad thoughts away.
Kane withered on the bed, then went very still when I loomed over him. “How many girls, Kane?”
His lip trembled. “I—I don’t—I didn’t want—”
I backhanded him, his jaw clicking shut in the most satisfying way. The sound of his pathetic pleading was grating on my nerves. “Answer the question, moron.”
“I-I didn’t k-keep count. I’m not like that.”
My anger spiked. “You’re just the victim here, right? You had no choice but to lure in those girls.”
“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Too little too late.”
Footsteps crept up behind me, then the faintest brush of fingers across my lower back. Madoc knew I hated being snuck up on, and he was the master of it. I appreciated his warning, even though I still stiffened at the contact.
“Found one.” Madoc held up a clearly used syringe. The tip was rusted, all nasty and shit. Perfect. “It was under one of the beds. Should we have a go?”
Kane balked in distress. “Oh god, please, man, no.”
“Hush.” Madoc picked up a vial and filled the syringe. He handled the drug expertly, as if he’d done it a thousand times. It shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. I definitely shouldn’t be popping another boner over it.
You’re so fucked up, cap.
I wrenched my eyes to the far wall, trying to redirect the blood flow to my brain and not my traitorous dick. It was clearly just punishing me for earlier. I told myself it was a bad case of blue balls and that was why I was reacting to everything. Fuck, a light breeze would probably set me off.
Just as I was getting myself under control, Madoc went and kneeled on the bed, wrenching Kane onto his back. In quick, precise movements, he used his knees to trap Kane’s arm and jammed the tip of the dirty syringe into the crook of his elbow.
Kane released a harsh, throaty cry that echoed throughout the chamber.
Madoc wasn’t gentle, and soon blood began spurting from the injection site.
I grabbed Madoc and pulled him back, ignoring his pissy look.
I didn’t want that dirty blood anywhere near him—well, more than it already was.
Madoc sidestepped me but kept close, the three of us watching as the man started to convulse on the bed.
A fresh stream of urine arched into the air.
It was as undignified and humiliating as he deserved.
Madoc hummed in amusement. “Like a human fountain.”
Callum and I shared a bemused look, and that set us off.
We laughed until our sides hurt, until Callum was rubbing his chest and I was leaning on him like I was drunk.
Madoc’s mouth twitched upwards, hysterics by his standard.
Our twisted amusement soothed some of the pressure in my chest. It reminded me that we were together for a reason.
Dr. Z, as much as I despised him and his creepy recruiters, had known what he was doing when he hunted us down.
My madness was his madness was his madness. We were broken, twisted beyond repair.
Ryle’s voice in my ear sobered me up: “What are you lunatics laughing at?”
Right. Back to business.
Our dear friend Kane had slipped into a foggy delirium, his eyelids heavy and mouth slack. The only sign of awareness was the quick snap of his eyes when Callum moved to check his pulse.
“Strong but thready.” Callum sneered down at Kane’s pale face. “I’d say he’s still too alert, lads. Probably feels everything.”
Most date rape drugs worked like that. Madoc hummed and crawled onto the bed like a lover, causing me to feel a certain type of way.
Then Madoc tortured us both by softly brushing aside Kane’s sticky hair from his forehead, and I hadn’t known he was capable of such gentleness, such reverence, until he purred softly: “You are completely helpless now. You can’t run.
You can’t fight back. I’m going to cut off your toes, starting with little piggie, and there’s nothing you can do about it. ”
As delightful as that sounded, we were running out of time. With a quick jerk of my wrist and a pointed cough, Madoc looked thoroughly disappointed as he took out his knife. “Or I’ll just slit your throat, I guess.”
Killing him was quick but messy, a theatrical performance that painted the room a deeper crimson.
I ignored the way my cock stiffened and my gut pulsed, and I avoided Madoc’s heated gaze as we sealed the bloody tomb.
If all things went according to plan, it would be a long time before anyone found him.
And if someone knew where to find him, they had a vested interest in hiding him and his sordid operation.
We entered the main surveillance room. It was darker than the rest of the tunnels, so I had to blink to find sense in the morbid silhouettes of Nate, Ryle, Zola, and Olivia against the glare of screens.
None of them were moving, too focused on whatever was playing.
I stole Madoc’s move and gently brushed my fingers across Olivia’s lower back.
She flinched but didn’t turn. A quick glance at her face revealed the shiny tracks of fresh tears.
“Which one?” I tried to keep my voice soft, but I couldn't. I sounded like I’d been gargling bleach.
Olivia swallowed thickly and pointed at the bottom left screen. “That one.”
The picture quality was startlingly clear as two bodies thrashed on the single cot.
Watching it made me yearn to resurrect Kane and follow through with Madoc’s sinister plans, and then some.
It called to the sickness in me, the dull throb between arousal and rage, the hunger for vengeance.
Sick fucks like Kane didn’t deserve quick deaths.
I suspected my proximity was unwelcome, so I stepped back. To my surprise, Olivia stepped with me, like we were inexplicably tethered. I gave her ponytail a soft tug, and her shoulders loosened just slightly.
“Have we seen enough?” Zola’s voice was bright and sparkly in the dim room. She was a ruthless compartmentalizer, no doubt due to her many years working on the dark web. I doubted this ranked in her top five worst videos she’d seen.
Olivia stiffened against me. I knew Zola’s nonchalance angered her. I waited for the eruption, but then she took a deep breath and said: “Yes. It is enough.”
Her voice was steady. Her posture was perfect. But she was barely holding it together.
Something would break in her, and soon.
“I’ll make a copy,” Zola said, fingers clacking efficiently across the keys. “Then I’ll wipe the last few hours.”
“Any cameras in the main bedroom?” Callum asked. His eyes slid to mine, then dropped to Olivia with a knowing look. I didn’t like that look—it made me bristle, made me defensive—but I didn’t know why. Guilt and something sharper feuded within me. Nosy prick.
“Nope,” Zola said, after a quick perusal of the options. “And none in the mansion itself. Good for us, bad for him.”
“Not even in the first-floor hallway?” Nate asked, looking far too smug.
Zola smirked up at him, quick and gone. “Not a chance, babe. You know where I sit with sex tapes. They always get leaked.”
“So? We’re hot as shit. Bet we’d trend on the porn sites.”
“You’re an idiot.”
I tugged Olivia out of the room.
“Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.”
She came with me without complaint, a temporary submission. By the time we reached the basement, some color had returned to her face. She was still clutching the guestbook like a lifeline. She couldn’t look at me until we were back on the balcony.
“I get why people need fresh air now,” she said in a small but clear voice. I offered her a cigarette, but she shook her head.
The sun was three fingers from the horizon, the sky streaked with violet amber. Thick rain clouds still hovered, the smell of rain teasing in the gentle salt-tinged breeze.
“I don’t—” Olivia started, then stopped, frowning at the cruel paradise around us. “I don’t know what to do with these feelings. I’m so angry, I might explode.”
“So explode.”
“I can’t,” she said. “Bad things happen when I do.” Stormy eyes lifted, seeking mine. “How do I stop feeling like this?”
I took a careful inhale, sucking in the poison that fueled me. That was the problem. It never stopped. “No idea.”
She nodded, accepting that, looking defeated as she watched the smoke dance around her. “Have you figured out what you want yet?”
I choked a little on my next puff. My mind went there, but I reeled it back. Not the time, dickhead. “Not yet.”
Her smile was bleak. Strained. She was trying. Trying not to break. My chest cracked a little more. I looked at my bloodied knuckles next to her delicate ones, two worlds set on the same collision course. “I’m not good at this part.”
“Which part?”
I curled my fingers up awkwardly. “Talking. Feelings. Giving reassurance.” A whole parade of angry ex-girlfriends flashed through my head.
Olivia smiled indulgently. “You’re not as bad as you think you are. At least you try. That’s something.”
I scoffed. “You need to raise your standards, princess.”
“Probably,” she conceded. She sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I don’t know what I need right now. Probably therapy. Lots of it. Maybe I’ll try that one with the goats.”
I slid her a baffled look. She laughed weakly at my expression. “It’s a real thing, I swear.”
“If you say so.” I waited a beat. “Do you eat the goats?”
She laughed again, all tinkly and cute. “No. You don’t…never mind.” She sniffled, but she wasn’t crying. It felt like victory. “I know you’re distracting me.”
“I’ve never had goat before.”
“Stop it,” she snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t be laughing. Not after what I just saw.”
“No judgment here.”
She looked at me consideringly. Her eyes were soft. Too soft. It made me squirm. “You can’t judge me,” she said. “You’re way more screwed up than me.”
Facts.
I flinched in surprise when her fingers brushed lightly over my bruised knuckles. “I like this,” she confessed like a dirty secret. “It makes me think you were right before.”
“About what?”
“The Stepford wife thing. Wanting what I shouldn’t want.”
A dangerous hope ignited in my chest. “Careful.”
“You’re so bad for me,” she said. “You’re arrogant and dangerous. I wouldn’t be enough for you. I’m too vanilla.”
My hands tightened on the railing. I gave her a hard look. “Tell me where Meathead lives.”
She flinched back, startled. “What? Why?”
“He clearly did a number on you.” My voice dipped dangerously. “Nobody should make you feel like you’re not enough.”
Her eyes widened to saucers. “Oh my god.” She slapped her hands over her face. “Damn you for saying that. Do you want me to cry? I hate you.”
“Good.”
With that, I dragged her against me. The dam broke, and she wept into my chest, her delicate fists twisting into the fabric of my shirt. My instincts screamed at me to run—for once, I ignored them, stroking her side until her sobs softened.
She pulled back after a few minutes. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red and splotchy. Her ponytail was off-center, golden strands stuck damp to her face.
My heart fucking skipped.
She sniffled and ducked her head in embarrassment. “I think my brain is broken,” she admitted. “I just want to forget for a second about all of this—about Molly and that video and the—the dead guy. You killed him, right?”
I nodded.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “You should kiss me now.”
My brain short-circuited, so I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly. “What?”
She looked up sharply. “Kiss me,” she repeated.
I hesitated. Just for a second. She held my gaze defiantly, daring me to deny her. My bossy cheerleader.
“Fuck it.” I stamped my cigarette out on the balcony railing and cupped her face. “Crazy looks good on you, princess.”
She licked her lips. “Prove it.”
I crushed my mouth to hers.