Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Sasha
My little bird is so pretty when she sleeps.
Her face is completely relaxed, the line between her eyebrows drawn, like her dreams are haunting her. It's a shame the real monster is standing in the shadows right in front of her.
I chuckle quietly as a little snore escapes her full lips, her mouth opening gently.
Lennon Gilmore wasn’t what I expected her to be.
I’d be lying if I said she didn’t surprise me.
Not many players are interested or game enough to go up against Holden and me.
Many have tried, though almost all have failed.
But not her. She kept pace with us. Proved to us in only moments that she wasn’t just an Omega.
Wasn’t just a nepo baby inheriting a multimillion-dollar team.
Lennon proved to us, with sheer skill, that she has what it takes to take over the team from her father and our previous fill-in coach, who seems to be enjoying his long service leave on whatever Mediterranean island he has chosen to spend the season on.
I hate it. I hate that she was able to prove her worth to the team in that way.
I had thought about trying to rally some of the players I’m closer to in the hopes that they would get on the ‘make Lennon’s life hell’ train.
But that idea has been completely flushed down the drain now that all of the unmated Alphas are so far up her ass they can’t even see anymore.
Sitting down on the ledge of her nest, I contemplate my next moves. She has me so caught up. Warring with myself over and over about how I should fucking break her.
She has me seeing sense for the first time in far too long.
She is dangerous. A problem that I have been letting affect not only me but Holden and Dominic as well.
I see the way they look at her. The longing is so damn present on their faces when they don’t think anyone is watching.
I know that look because it is the same fucking one on my face.
I try to hide it beneath a permanent scowl.
Behind the real me, I have been projecting the moment I heard her name.
I need to see her break before I give in to my baser instincts.
I need to watch as she bleeds for me. Watch as I take my vengeance on her flesh in the name of her father and his crimes against my own father and myself.
Because no matter how I feel, even as her scent is wrapped around me, the moonlit roses, jasmine, sweet honey, and rain cloaking me in their embrace, I still know this can end in nothing but bloodshed.
I know one thing for certain out of all of this, she’s going to be so fucking beautiful when she breaks.
I can already see the image.
The way her eyes will dim, the pretty green irises collapsing as she realizes it has been the three of us tormenting her the entire time.
The way she will fall to her knees before me, begging for mercy as I use her body over and over again.
As I make the little Omega take years of trauma, each moment of my childhood cuts into her flesh in a way that will have me permanently embedded into her skin for the rest of her life.
I grunt, my cock throbbing beneath my jeans as the picture of her before me, and all the things I’ve imagined I’d do to her plays over and over in my mind. Unable to hold myself off anymore, feeling desperate for release, I pull my cock out, gripping my length tightly.
Turning to look at my little bird, I begin fucking my fist. Having the image that has been plaguing me these past few days so clearly before me is a heady feeling.
I rise to my feet, coming to stand closer to her head.
My eyes catch on her lips in the moonlight filtering through the window, my hips thrusting desperately as the soft surface does something to me.
I want to know how they feel wrapped around my knot.
How she will feel when she gags around me, her throat constricting as I force my way deeper and deeper until I take her breath forever.
“Fuck it,” I whisper, unable to hold myself back any longer.
I place a single knee on the edge of her nest, right next to her head.
Using the wall for support, I slowly feed my cock into her mouth.
Her wet heat greets me, a moan tearing from my lips as she opens up for me.
I begin to slowly thrust, my swollen tip breaching her lips at first, before I slowly feed her inch after painful inch.
I wait for her to wake. For her eyes to open and for her to bite me. But she doesn’t. She remains asleep, her mouth taking me so perfectly, her subconscious welcoming me in even as she slumbers so peacefully.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I click open the camera app, refusing to let my memory be the only thing that captures this moment.
I want to remember it even after I have broken her down.
The flash illuminates her face, the sight of her taking me so clearly undoes me.
With my last ebbs of thought that aren’t consumed with pleasure, I flick to video and begin recording.
Gripping my knot in my fist, I grunt as the first waves of pleasure roll over me.
Rope after rope of cum covers her face. Like the perfect canvas she is, I paint her in my essence, groaning as the picture before me heightens the pleasure coursing through my body.
I slip my phone back into my jeans, knowing that video will be on replay for the foreseeable future. I don’t know how long I stand there admiring the mess I made of her delicate face. It feels impossible to look away. Especially when she looks the way she does.
Used.
Fuckable.
Mine.
My cock still hasn’t softened, my body begging me to pull back the blankets.
To slip between her perfect thighs, and to feel the way other parts of her would constrict around me while she’s lost to her dreams. I think I would need something a bit heavier to ensure she stays asleep, though.
Tonight was a risk. One that I shouldn’t have taken.
But fuck if it wasn’t worth the prospect of being caught with my pants down… literally.
Collecting the slowly drying cum off Lennon’s face, I push as much of the thick liquid into her mouth, wanting the first thing she tastes when she wakes up to be me.
I wish I could see her reaction to the strange substance on her tongue when she finally does wake.
But I know I have spent far too much time here tonight.
The sun is already on the horizon. She will be waking up within the next hour at least to be at the rink early enough for the captain’s skate.
Giving her one last look, I head back out the way I came, the lock to her front door clicking into place quietly. The early morning air greets me like a fucking slap, cold enough to bite but enough to chase away the intoxicating scent of her that still clings to my skin.
The city sleeps around me, unaware of the monster stalking its streets, unaware that something rotten has been allowed to fester in the dark.
Lennon has no idea that death is imminent.
No idea that I stood one foot planted firmly in her presence, and the other in whatever sick fantasy my mind conjured around her.
I used to think that vengeance would feel different.
Bigger. Warmer. Like setting fire to a church and watching the stained glass melt around me.
I thought I’d feel righteous. Victorious.
Like my mother’s ghost would finally stop looking so sad when I closed my eyes.
Instead, I just feel empty.
Empty, but haunted.
Because every step I take towards ruining Patrick’s daughter feels suspiciously like stepping closer to my own death.
And maybe that’s the cruelest joke of all.
Because I’ve spent years digging her father’s grave in my mind, only to realize somewhere along the way that I crawled into it myself.
Perhaps that’s why cemeteries never frightened me as a kid.
Death is honest. Dead men tell no lies. They simply rot quietly beneath the earth while the living pretend they’re doing something different.
We’re all decaying. Some of us are just prettier about it.
And Lennon? She’s too pretty and innocent to smell the rot beneath my skin.
But she will.
Soon enough, she’ll realize that the defensemen she’s tried so desperately to understand were never something she could crack open.
I’m not a tragedy. Not a misunderstood hero.
Not some broken little boy begging for someone to stitch him back together anymore.
I am the scar left behind after the wound has long since stopped bleeding.
And scars don’t heal. They just fade enough for people to forget what put them there.
She’ll realize that every glance she earns from me, every word she mistakes for softness, was born from the same hands that learned how to survive with blood beneath their nails.
Then she’ll join the long list of names who thought they could fix me.
Make me better. Get me to fall in love with them.
And like all the others, she’ll learn what happens when you cross the path of a man who stopped believing in happy endings long before she learned how to spell the fucking word.
Because I don’t want peace where she’s concerned.
I don’t want healing. I want revenge. I want the ghosts that haunt me to finally shut the fuck up.
I want the little boy who hid in closets while his father beat his mother bloody to know it wasn’t all for nothing.
I want the teenager who cut his mother down from the ceiling to know there was justice waiting on the other side of grief.
And before I face my own death, I want someone to know that someone paid the price for what Patrick fucking Gilmore did to destroy my family. Even if I become the last corpse in the story to make sure of it.