Chapter 15
Arcane
His words echo in the recesses of my mind, haunting me with their taunts. He might as well have dragged a knife through my heart, tearing through flesh and bone to reach it, before carving it out and tossing it over the edge of the cliffs outside. Acid rises in my throat, leaving a sour burn.
He stands there menacingly with his shoulders relaxed and arms slumped to the sides—casual. How isn’t he more unnerved by this?
He’s lying.
He cocks an eyebrow while waiting for my reaction, but I avoid his gaze, swiping mine over the cottage to find something I can use against him. He probably thinks I pose no threat to him, might believe his words got to me, making me reconsider my actions. Well, like I said, he doesn’t fucking know me.
“I don’t know who you are.” My words are nearly drowned by the waves outside.
If I repeat those words enough times, they will ring true, and I will no longer feel as if I’m suffocating. Scanning the room, I see a gun—my gun—on top of the drawer closest to me.
His eyes land on it, his stance rigid as he looks at me with a narrowed gaze, waiting for the moment I will strike and he will chase.
Seconds pass as I remain unmoving, finally coming to a decision. Without another moment to spare, I beeline for the gun, grabbing it before turning the handle, slipping out to the windy world outside—away from the memories dredging up within.
I keep running, the storm intensifying. To my horror, I realize I’m farther away than I’ve ever been before, not recognizing my surroundings, especially not the small cottage behind me. But it’s undeniably the cliffs I’ve been to for years, grieving the person I lost and who I used to be.
Glancing back, I see him advancing with angered, resolute strides. Every muscle screams as I push my legs to their limits. Surrounding us, only barren lands stretch for miles, with nowhere to hide in sight. Relentless waves crash against the cliffside, allowing rain to spray over me, and harsh winds impede my process.
The tumultuous cacophony of the wind and waves wreaks inside my eardrums, masking any sound of Viper’s pursuit behind me. A glimmer of hope ignites as the scattered trees gradually thicken the deeper into the woods I come. Slowing my pace, I risk a glance over my shoulder.
He’s gone.
I stagger toward a sturdy tree, seeking refuge as I lean against its trunk. Adrenaline and fear shoot through my body, a lethal concoction threatening to rob me of precious oxygen and plunge me into a dizzying feeling of faintness. Casting another apprehensive glance over my shoulder, I find no sign of him amidst the storm.
Didn’t he chase me at all? I’m certain I heard someone trailing behind me, but the tempestuous weather made it hard to be sure.
Scrambling to reach the phone he miraculously left in my leather jacket pocket, I clutch the gun in my other hand, desperation urging me forward. I fumble to unlock my phone before I locate Alec’s saved contact, knowing he’ll always have my back as my best friend.
Before I can dial, it clutters to the ground, and an ominous presence stands before me. A mask covers his face, commanding my attention with a chilling touch. A suffocating lump lodges in my throat like an immovable stone. I’m all alone, with no one for miles to save me.
“There’s nowhere you can hide from me, devangel. I will find you. Every. Goddamn. Time,” he growls, squeezing my already aching throat.
Wide-eyed, I stare at him, terror slithering through me like a fiery torrent.
Eventually, fear gives way to anger, radiating through me in waves. Summoning every ounce of strength, I use the self-defense techniques taught by the Valentis to kick at his leg, causing him to groan and step back. The brief reprieve allows me to push him away, raising the gun to his forehead. Despite my best efforts, I can’t hide the tremors racking my body, or how I’m crumbling apart on the inside.
Oh God.
I feel sick. The sickening wave of truth threatens to overwhelm me as if I might spill the contents of my stomach.
The realization hits me like a sledgehammer—he can’t be here, it can’t be true. He’s supposed to be dead. He died five fucking years ago, leaving me to fend for myself. Oh fucking God.
He glares as I aim the gun, adjusting my stance for stability. The wind whips around us, even amidst the dense trees. I can’t afford to waver for one second, or it will shatter my resolve. His demeanor is infuriatingly cocky, and even if his face remains hidden behind the mask, the familiarity of his arrogance makes memories come rushing back. I’m seconds away from pulling the trigger, but despite my determination, my hands tremble too much, making it impossible for me to get a good aim. I’m going to fucking puke.
His betrayal pushes down on me as if a monster has come to drag me to the depths of hell. I’m forced to keep steady, even as the coldness of the wind makes me shiver.
“Put down the gun,” he calmly says, yet there’s nothing in his voice to indicate that he’s the least bit threatened about this.
But of course, he’s the notorious biker, the current leader of the García cartel, who’s ruthless. He isn’t the same as then, but he’s still a liar who went on his merry little way and left me to die at the hands of our foster parents when they couldn’t stand me anymore.
I don’t drop the gun, causing his gorgeous brown eyes to narrow into two slits.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I whisper, desperately trying to keep my voice steady, but it’s all too fucking much.
How many times have I stood by these cliffs, screaming out my agony, crying and raging from betrayal and longing?
“You lied to me,” I say, rage making my voice tremble. “You said you’d never hurt me.”
A laugh tears from my throat, realizing how pathetic I was growing up—putting my entire heart in his hands to hold and protect.
Anger seeps through his soul, staining his skin with an ominous hue, like ink spilled upon a pristine canvas. This is it, I think. This is the true him, the one who wouldn’t allow anyone to threaten him or his position. The foster brother who’d laugh as I hurt myself, yet made me feel safe during thunderstorms. Each breath he takes seems to smolder with wrath. His eyes hold a lethal glint as he stares at my gun expectantly, wanting me to drop it.
The distant roar of waves echoes from behind, blending with the haunting whistles of wind through the trees. Something appears to consume his mind until his gaze flickers on the fallen phone, its screen dimming until going dark. It was enough for him to see the person I’d attempted to call. A ferocious tide crashes against the shores of his composure.
“Do you have any idea who they are? They’re monsters!” he shouts, voice raw with emotions.
His words don’t make sense because he’s the one working with my found family. Anger consumes me as I shout at him, thrusting the gun’s barrel into his chest. “They’re not monsters, you are! You abandoned me. You. Left. Me.”
I’m torn apart just by the sight of Kaiden—Viper—making me want to forget this ever happened.
This can’t be real. Soon, I’ll wake up, safe in my bed, and this erotic nightmare will be over.
But as I open my eyes again, he’s still there, a painful reminder of all I’ve lost.
I step back, still aiming the gun at him. “You’re supposed to be fucking dead!”
He flinches, and something unknown passes his face while he waits for my next move. With resolve, I erase all emotions from my expression, focusing solely on the target before me.
This is the only way because I’m still not certain that this isn’t a dream. Taking a deep breath, I focus, my finger on the trigger. I have to rid myself of the devil who’s haunted me for five agonizing years. There’s no way out other than death.
My finger pushes against the trigger, but I fail to comprehend his swiftness as his body abruptly presses me against a tree, expelling the air from my lungs. The shot goes off, reverberating through the trees as it hits a trunk farther away, missing my intended target.
The power in his muscles is evident as he rips off his mask. He’s fucking stunning in a way that steals my breath away yet fills me with regret for laying my eyes on him. Beautiful in a way that conjures memories of our past together, remembering all our shared moments.
He’s fuming, quickly disarming me before pressing the gun against me. “You’re mine,” he snarls.
Stunned, I watch as he lowers his hand to my shorts, dragging them down my knees. “Not a day has passed where I haven’t yearned to be with you. To possess you. I never let you go, not for a moment in all these years.” His words are dangerously low.
As if oblivious to my disdain, he shoves my panties aside, slipping a finger inside me. I scream out in a tumult of surprise, pleasure, and hatred.
“I love the way you scream,” he taunts, adding another finger.
“I should kill you,” I grit out, but he only chuckles, his hair in disarray.
“Too bad I have the gun, then. Lucky for me.” His lips stretch into a cruel smirk, dragging the weapon toward my mouth. With the barrel pressed against my lips, his next words freeze me in place.
“Suck on the gun like the good girl I know you are.”
I’m about to protest, but he inserts the muzzle into my mouth, fear rendering me motionless.
I don’t recognize this man anymore.
His other hand finds my clit, rubbing it as he demands I hollow my cheeks around the weapon, pushing it deeper until it hits the back of my throat. Despite my revulsion, an undeniable arousal takes hold. I reluctantly suck on the gun—he leaves me no choice—and watch his cock press against his pants. The outline of it makes me salivate.
He pulls out the gun, touching my clit with it. Every instinct screams at me to stop him, terrified as I am. But deep down, I know I don’t want him to stop. If this is a fucked-up dream where I can have him again in any way, I want to savor the moment because this fantasy will vanish when I wake up.
The metal pushes against me, making panic take over, yet I can’t resist when he guides it past my folds, easing it inside me with a brutality that’s both painful and pleasant.
“So fucking beautiful. You’ve always been,” he coos, freeing his cock with his other hand.
My eyes bulge at the sight of his hardness, heightened by the piercings that weren’t there before.
As if sensing my question, he chuckles. “Got it a year ago, knowing I’d make you mine again.”
“I’m not yours,” I retort, but my words are silenced when he buries the barrel inside me, making me suck in a sharp breath. I hate myself for enjoying this.
“We know that’s a lie, little sister. Spread your legs,” he commands. “I want to see how your gun slips inside you. Show your brother how much he owns his sister.”
I shouldn’t feel as turned on as I do when I hear him calling us sister and brother, but I am. It’s embarrassing at the same time as it’s arousing.
I gasp when he rotates the gun, causing pleasure unlike anything else. While he strokes his cock, I’m immobilized, too scared and aroused to respond in any way except to enjoy the sensations he compels me to experience.
I shouldn’t allow this. But then he hits a deep spot inside me, and I cry out from the sharp pleasure, black spots dancing in my vision. His mouth latches onto my neck, sucking, biting, marking me for all to see, as if he never left.
“Please stop,” I beg him, but I don’t want him to.
“Please don’t stop? Okay, angel,” he smirks against my mouth, forcing his tongue inside as he continues to fuck me with the gun.
My legs tremble, my body leaning against the tree trunk to keep balance. I curse myself for how quickly this escalated, but as he kisses me in a bruising hold, I’m taken back to the life I once had, the woman I used to be.
He stimulates my clit with one hand while the other holds the gun inside me. The awful realization that the gun is loaded hits me, knowing he could kill me if he pulled the trigger. Yet, I know he wouldn’t.
Tears well in my eyes. I fucking missed him, and I despise that so much it feels as if I might die, but it’s the truth. He angles the gun, bringing me to the edge, prompting a loud moan from me. He groans as he leaves my clit and strokes his cock, muscles tensing.
“Scream louder for me as you come,” he urges, and I comply.
My back arches against the tree, my body strung tight with desperation as he works the gun faster, prolonging the orgasm until I’m begging him to stop. I feel myself squirting, leaving me breathless when he withdraws it from me. Sweat coats his forehead as he works himself to orgasm, releasing all over my stomach. He brings the gun to his lips, licking it clean, and my heart constricts.
He’s so different now, yet still the same Kaiden I knew, and it overwhelms me. My hand traces his cheek, its contours beautifully sharp.
He stiffens at first, the underlying rage gradually subsiding until he relaxes in my hold. I study his eyes, and by the way he responds to my touch, it’s as if he hasn’t been touched in five years. My heart aches when he lets out a satisfied hum.
“I thought you were dead,” I whisper, and he rests his forehead against mine, inhaling deeply as if reveling in my presence.
“I know,” he sighs.
Emotions flood over me—heartbreak, pain, anger, the yearning for death. And then I surrender to the tears, allowing myself to feel something in the presence of another, as I let him hold me while I cry.