Chapter 28
NIKOLAI
Iwake at five-thirty to Jenna’s steady breathing against my chest, her body pliant in sleep. The morning air carries the scent of pine through the compound’s windows—crisp, clean, nothing like the stale, recycled air of Chicago.
Moving carefully, I extract myself from beneath her, noting how her body is instinctively drawn to the warmth mine left behind, curling up there with an almost imperceptible whimper. Even unconscious, her body seeks mine.
The bedroom door locks automatically behind me as I head to the surveillance room.
My cock is already stirring as I pull up yesterday’s footage from the hunting blind, fast-forwarding to the moment I caught her against the oak tree.
The camera angle captures everything—her face when I pinned her, the exact second her defiance cracked, the way she arched into me when I tore away her clothes.
I free myself from my boxers, stroking slowly as I watch. The way she begged for my cum. How her body shook when she came on my cock while I promised to breed her.
My phone buzzes. The caller ID shows Ezra, but when I answer, multiple voices spill through the speaker.
“Morning, sunshine,” Darius chirps. “How’s life in the wilderness with your pet?”
“She’s responding perfectly.” I don’t bother pausing the video or tucking myself away. They can hear what they hear. “Ran for ninety minutes before I caught her. Fought me the whole way down, came four times while I fucked her against a tree.”
Darius’s laugh crackles through: “You’re completely insane, you know that?”
“Probably.” My grip tightens as I watch Jenna’s face contort in pleasure on screen. Sanity seems irrelevant when I have her alone in thousands of acres where no one can hear her scream my name.
“Jesus, Nik,” Marcus cuts in. “Are you jerking off right now?”
“What gave it away?”
“The heavy breathing and wet sounds, for starters,” he shoots back.
Theon’s voice carries amusement. “Man’s got priorities. Can’t blame him.”
“Focus, children,” Ezra interjects. “I’m calling with updates. The Hendricks execution went flawlessly. Raphael made it look like a heart attack during her morning jog. No heat, no investigation.”
I pause the video, my hand still. Dr. Sarah Hendricks—another architect of our hell, another name crossed off my list. I should feel satisfaction, that familiar cold pleasure of vengeance served. Instead, all I feel is mild annoyance at the interruption.
“Good. What else?” I ask.
“Dominic traced the funneling of the funds we’ve been tracking. They lead to a shell company in the Caymans where it appears they are resurrecting the program,” Ezra continues. “Three-point-seven million transferred in the last month. Someone’s definitely rebuilding.”
“Lucien’s sources confirmed movement in Prague, Oklahoma,” Damon adds. “New facility, new staff. They’re being more careful this time, but it’s definitely them.”
The information should demand my immediate attention. Should have me driving back to Chicago to coordinate our response. Instead, I resume stroking myself while watching Jenna’s unconscious form on the live feed from the bedroom.
“Handle it without me.”
“Handle it without—Nik, this is Project Architect we’re talking about.” Ezra’s voice sharpens. “They’re rebuilding. This is what we’ve been waiting for.”
“You’re all perfectly capable of burning down whatever they’re constructing. I’m busy.”
“Busy conditioning your little vigilante,” Raphael observes. “How’s that progressing?”
“Today I’m giving her weapons. Knives, basic survival gear. Let her think she has a real chance of evading me.”
“And when you catch her?” Theon asks with obvious interest.
Heat spreads through my gut as I outline my plans. “There’s a room in the west wing I’ve prepared. Padded floor, restraint points, mirrors on every wall so she can watch herself being taken. After tonight’s hunt, I’m keeping her there for seventy-two hours straight.”
“Seventy-two hours?” Marcus whistles. “That’s… ambitious.”
“By the time I’m done with her, she’ll be addicted to being filled with my cock. Won’t be able to sleep without me inside her.”
“You realize you’re describing Stockholm Syndrome with extra steps,” Dominic points out.
“I’m describing conditioning. She already responds to being claimed—I’m just making that response stronger.”
“What about pregnancy?” Darius asks. “All this breeding talk actually going somewhere?”
The question makes my cock twitch, and like that, I’m coming on my fist, grunting as I do. The vision of Jenna’s belly swollen with my child, her body marked permanently as mine, floods my mind with dark satisfaction.
“Jesus, sounds like Nik just shot his load,” Darius teases.
“She’s not on birth control. Every time I fill her, there’s a chance,” I admit.
“And if she gets pregnant?”
“Then she’s mine forever.” The certainty in my voice surprises me. “No running. No escaping. Just mine.”
Silence stretches across the line before Lucien speaks, his voice carrying that familiar detached curiosity.
“You’ve thought this through. The logistics of keeping someone long-term. Where will she live? With us?”
“The compound’s isolated. Secure. I can provide everything she needs.”
“Including medical care for pregnancy and childbirth?” Ezra asks. “Pediatric care for a child?”
“I’ll bring in specialists. Money talks.”
“What if she resists?” Theon asks. “So you just plan to keep her prisoner essentially. What kind of life do you really think that will be for her? For a child?”
I watch Jenna stir on the live feed, her hand reaching across the bed for my absent warmth.
“Look at her.” I snap a photo and send it. “She’s already half-gone. Yesterday, she admitted she missed me during those three months. She stayed in Chicago because part of her wanted to be caught.”
“The question is which part wins,” Raphael muses. “The survivor who learned to kill, or the broken girl who craves domination.”
“I’ll make sure the right part wins.”
“Well, shit,” Marcus laughs. “Nik’s officially gone caveman.”
“She’ll bend before she breaks,” I conclude.
“Famous last words,” Ezra murmurs as I end the call, the line going dead.
I pocket my phone and turn to the sight of Jenna sitting up in bed, her hair tousled, skin flushed from sleep. She looks toward the door, already planning her next move.
Let her plan. Today she gets weapons. Today she gets hope.
And tonight, when I drag her to the breeding room after claiming her in the wilderness again, she’ll understand that hope was just another tool I gave her to make the breaking sweeter.
I clean up, heading to the equipment room. Tactical knives. Fire starter. Water purification tablets. Enough gear to make her feel dangerous.
The psychological impact of having weapons and still being hunted down and fucked will shatter her last defense. The part of her that believes she can fight her way free.
By this afternoon, she’ll know better—she’ll be begging me to take her back to that mirrored room where she can watch herself submit.
I gather the gear, heading toward her door, already hard again at the thought of tonight’s hunt.
Three more weeks to make her understand she was always meant to be mine.
Three more weeks to make her crave me more than anything else.
I unlock her door and step inside, watching her eyes track immediately to the weapons in my hands.
“Ready to play a new game, baby?”
The mixture of fear and anticipation that flashes across her face tells me everything I need to know.
She’s already more mine than she realizes.