twenty
-Brynn-
My legs still tremble as we exit the room. My body is humming with the aftershock of pleasure and I can still feel him there with every step I take.
Ares knows it, resting his hand on the small of my back as he walks beside me, his composure already perfect again.
I can see the smile lifting the corners of his lips, knowing I enjoyed it much more than I ever suspected I would.
Truth is, I never thought ruin would feel this way, this good—this fulfilling.
But now, we’re back to business. It’s been more than an hour since the secretary asked us to wait for Ashford.
I feel ready for a hunt. Senses blurred, but also sharpened with a new kind of thrill—the hope that maybe I could get answers, and that I’ll find whoever killed Elias.
“You’re limping,” Ares murmurs, and I know he’s not talking about my leg.
“Fuck you,” I breathe back, adjusting my stride, trying to hide the evidence of what just happened.
His lips are still raised in that infuriating smile. “Again? So soon?” he looks at me, and I want to punch him right in that smug face.
I don’t dignify that with a response, pretending to focus on our surroundings as we head back to the main floor of the club.
Scenes of pleasure and pain are all around us.
Different people, some behind closed doors, others inviting voyeurs in various states of ecstasy and surrender.
A few cracks of leather against skin make the heat between my thighs ignite again.
The moans echoing through the hallway make me blush, remembering it was just a few minutes ago that I couldn’t even remember my own name.
I try to think only about the mission, remembering exits, security positions, and any other potential threat, just as Ares trained me to. But I can’t say it’s completely working.
We approach a section of the club separated by black satin curtains, the same ones that lead to the lobby, where we ask the assistant if Mr. Ashford is ready to see us.
By the look on her face, I’d say no, but judging by Ares’, he won’t accept that answer.
I can see her flustered reaction as she makes a call, then breathes with relief and leads us through another corridor of private rooms, even more luxurious than the rest of this place.
At the end of the corridor, there’s a black door, framed by large gold vases from which lavish exotic plants form an archway.
“Mr. Ashford will be with you in a minute,” she lets us know, then walks back to where we came.
Even before she reaches the end of the corridor, the door in front of us opens, and a tall, dark-haired man emerges who can only be John Ashford. The same Valiant who tapped out in front of me less than a month ago.
Except he’s tanned now, which tells me he probably just returned from some fancy vacation in a warmer climate.
“Ares,” he says, extending his hand with a confident smile, trying to maintain eye contact with Ares so he can establish some kind of dominance over him. Which only makes me laugh.
“I apologize for the delay. But time goes by differently in this kind of establishment,” Ashford continues, “And this must be…” his gaze slides over me, assessing me from head to toe. For him, it’s the first time he sees me because he definitely doesn’t recognize me from Kharon.
“Brynn,” I say, letting my own smile show too many teeth.
“A pleasure,” Ashford nods, his eyes already returning to Ares, like he knows he needs to keep an eye on him. “Please come in. We have matters to discuss in private.”
But as Ashford gestures toward an open door right next to the room he just exited, movement catches my eye.
I take another look, and there’s another entrance to his suite or whatever that is. A secondary door on the opposite wall that just opened. Through it, a massive man, whose neck is as thick as my thigh, is guiding—no, let me correct that—forcing a young woman into the room.
My blood freezes. The woman isn’t even in her twenties, and her wrists are bound tightly with rope.
But that’s not what shocks me. Her eyes are wide with terror, and blood is smeared on her thighs, barely concealed by the tiny nightgown she’s wearing.
I bet there’s blood on that too, but it’s black and I can’t see clearly from where I’m standing.
A gag in her mouth muffles what I’m certain would otherwise be screams. This isn’t one of the submission games we’ve witnessed before as we ventured through the club. This is fucking abuse and captivity.
The door begins to close behind them, and despite all the logic and reasons that have brought me here, I brush against Ares’ wrist, signaling him to look at what I’m seeing.
He catches my signal instantly, and his eyes follow mine, darkening as he catches a glimpse of the scene that’s about to unfold behind closed doors.
I drop the act and establish our priorities, even though they might hurt our plan.
He understands that. His semi-polite mask drops away, and darkness sweeps across his features, warning everyone of the danger.
His pupils dilate until his eyes are fully black, and the vein at his temples begins to pulse visibly beneath his skin as he grabs Ashford by the collar and yanks him off his feet.
He moves so fast that Ashford doesn’t have a chance to react. His eyes bulge in shock as Ares drags him backward into the private room he just stepped out of.
“What the fuck?” Ashford gasps, but his voice doesn’t come out right because it’s strangled by the grip on his collar.
Ares kicks the main door shut behind us, then reaches back without looking to flip the deadbolt. The sound is just like a jury verdict, separating us from the outside world.
Inside, the massive man has frozen in place as the bound girl struggles in his grip. But I can see her strength is fading.
By the looks of it, and the blood smeared across her skin, this isn’t the first fight she's had today.
The man’s free hand moves toward what I assume is a concealed weapon, but Ares’ voice cuts through the room.
“Touch that gun, and I’ll feed it to you piece by piece,” he says, his voice dropping to that slightly inhuman register as he pulls out his own gun.
I instantly back him up. Now two weapons are pointing at the man.
Everyone in the room goes still. Ashford dangles from Ares’ fist, as the other man hovers near his jacket.
The only sound now is the whimpering of the bound girl. Her eyes are darting between all of us, unsure if we represent her rescue or just a different kind of danger. I don’t blame her. I bet she’s been through hell.
That makes me meet her gaze, and I blink slowly, then nod. For some reason, I need to give her the safety I’ve never had.
I move toward the girl while keeping an eye on the two men, gun in hand and ready to fire.
“Your gun, now,” I order, and notice Ares is ready to end him at the slightest inclination of him not surrendering.
The man reaches into his jacket, one hand raised for us to hold our ground, and the other takes out the gun gently. He knows he’s outnumbered, and judging by his posture, he also knows there’s no chance he would take Ares out in combat, even if by some miracle he would escape our weapons.
As soon as I get his gun, my attention goes to the girl's wrists. They’re tied in some kind of bondage—against her will, obviously. Looking at the marks the restraints have left on her wrists, I remember the leather straps Ezekiel used to tie me to the chair, every fucking day.
There’s a part of her gaze I recognize as well—not the scared one, but the part where she’s already given up.
My chest feels tight, and it feels like I’m not getting enough air to fucking breathe.
“Little curse,” Ares calls to me, making sure I’m okay, immediately sensing I’m losing my grip on reality.
I blink hard, forcing the damn memory to the back of my mind. I wish I could force it all the way to a place where it will eventually be forgotten, but it never leaves.
Still, this isn’t the asylum. I’m not the one tied down.
I’m the one holding the power. The one in control.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to the girl, but more to myself as I reach for the first knot. “I’m going to get you out of this.”
Behind me, Ares slams Ashford against the wall with enough force to knock down a few paintings.
“Don’t even think of trying something,” I warn the other man without even looking at him. I don’t need to. The gun in my hand is enough to convince him he should listen to my words.
With the knot closest to her hand out of the way, I pull out the knife I keep close to my thigh to cut her free. She jolts at first, seeing the weapon, but then relaxes, waiting for me to release her.
Another flash of memory hits: Ezekiel’s hot breath on my face, as he was pulling the restraints tighter until they were cutting into my wrists as I struggled. All that talk about me being the one insane in that equation.
I clench my teeth again and try to focus and remain in the present. The woman’s skin is raw beneath the rope, bleeding in thick lines of crimson. She’s trembling, her eyes darting between the three men in the room, uncertain of who she should be more afraid of.
I reach up and gently remove her gag, letting it hang around her neck as she starts rubbing her hands to get blood flow moving back through them. Her palms having turned purple.
“You’re safe,” I promise, even though I know I might seem ridiculous with the two men she obviously fears still in the room.
“No, I’m not,” she whispers, her eyes moving toward Ashford. “He’s going to kill me,” she draws in a large breath. “He said he would if I ever tried to leave.”
“He’s not going to get close to you ever again,” I promise, feeling the rage settling in my gut. Not the hot, impulsive anger that makes people stupid. The dangerous one that makes people kill with torture.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, taking her a little further away from her guard.
“A week, I think. Maybe longer,” she says, and I can tell she’s looking through me. “I lost track after the first few days. They drugged me at first, and then…” she shivers, clutching the flimsy nightgown closer to her body. “There were others before me. I heard them talking.”
I take a blanket that’s just lying tossed on a chair and wrap it around her shoulders. I know the expression in her eyes all too well.
“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to assess who she fears most. The guard, or Ashford.
“Roxanne. With an E at the end.” The irrelevant detail, the kind you cling to when everything else is falling apart, makes my chest ache.
“Roxanne-with-an-e, can you tell me what happened?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle while watching Ares tighten his grip around Ashford’s throat.
The man’s face is turning a pretty shade of purple, and I have to clear my own throat to get Ares’ attention so he won’t kill him before we’re done with him.
“I was at a club downtown,” Roxanne explains, her voice steadying slightly as she pulls the blanket tighter around her.
“My friends left earlier. I was about to go, but someone must’ve slipped something in my drink.
I woke up here, and he—” she nods toward the other man, not Ashford, to my surprise.
“He said he’d keep an eye on me, and that I should do whatever he asks. ”
“How many other others?” I ask, my voice low over the sound of Ares demanding answers from Ashford.
“Tell me who else is involved?” Ares growls, his hand tightening around Ashford’s throat.
I just hope he doesn’t kill him. “Who gave the orders to infiltrate my game? Who uses this kind of information?” Ares presses, making Ashford’s eyes widen.
But his lips remain sealed. I’ve seen that look before on Whitlock.
He’s terrified of Ares, of what he may do to him.
But he’s terrified of someone else, even worse.
“I don’t know how many others,” Roxanne answers me, drawing my attention back to her.
“But I wasn’t the first. They have a system.
The girls who behave eventually work in the main club or with what they call celebrity clients.
The ones who don’t…” she trails off, and I don’t need her to finish that sentence.
“Well, you’ll be an exception. The one that got away. I’ll let you leave after we’re done with them.”
“Thank you,” she says, then her eyes harden as she looks at Ashford struggling in Ares’ grip.
“He… he’s done some of the things to me…
” she breathes, and I wait for her to calm down.
“He called me here now. To do it again. It gets worse every time…” her gaze flicks between the two men—Ashford and the larger guy.
“You know what would be justice?” she smiles, and I can see a hint of insanity blooming on her face.
“Make that one—” she nods toward the larger man, "—fuck him for a change. Let him see how it feels."
I blink in surprise, not expecting such venom from someone who looks so fragile. But I recognize the sentiment. When you've been powerless for so long, you start fantasizing about turning the tables until your perception of reality becomes something twisted.
And who am I to stand in her way? She’s definitely endured more twisted shit than this. And in the end, her idea might serve us perfectly.
Ares, with his inhuman hearing, catches her words despite being focused on getting information out of Ashford.
Dark laughter rises from his chest as he turns to look at the other guy, who visibly pales.
I’m pretty sure Ashford would pale as well, but he’s turning blue right now, so it’s hard to tell.
“You heard the lady,” Ares smiles, gesturing toward the other guy as his voice drops to that edge that warns of danger.
Then he shoves Ashford toward the center of the room. “Last chance to tell me the name.”
Ashford looks back at Ares with even more shock, as if he never considered this was a possibility, but his lips remain sealed.
“Your choice. Enjoy,” Ares smiles again, even more cruelly, before he gives the command that leaves both men trembling. “Clothes off, both of you.”
The other guy’s eyes widen in panic. “John—”
“Do it,” Ares commands, visibly losing his patience. “Or I’ll strip the flesh from your bones instead,” he says, taking out his knife, his eyes running up and down its blade, preparing to act.
His threat hangs in the air, without either of the men budging. Before either of them can move, I step toward them. “I’ve got this,” I say, meeting Ares’ gaze.
His eyebrows rise slightly, but then he sees something in my expression that makes him step back, giving me the floor. I need to do this for me, and for this girl who’s watching me.
I approach the men, and I know this isn’t just about information anymore.
It’s about justice, something I understand all too well.
Something I never really got. Ezekiel might have died that day at Kharon, but I wasn’t the one who did it.
I couldn’t even summon the courage to mention his name again in front of Ares and ask him how the bastard had spent his last moments.