Chapter One
Greyson
My skin itches with discomfort. My dreams are plagued with nightmares. My body and mind alike are stuck in a constant state of restlessness that nearly drives me insane.
The first months after Scarlett’s escape were the worst. Not just because of the way she poisoned me, but because I got a hard lesson from this life drilled deeply into my mind.
Even though I only had my Flower with me for a little while, she burrowed her way beneath my skin and carved a place out for herself in my heart and in my soul.
She became as integral to me as the blood in my veins, as every one of my vital organs…
And then she poisoned me and ran.
My sweet, innocent little Flower put a deadly toxin in my tea and watched me drink it.
I’m filled with equal parts admiration and fury.
She tried to kill me, yes, but then she saved me.
Poisoning me was no easy task; in hindsight, I can see her calculation—feeding me tea for a couple of nights to get me comfortable with the ritual.
Getting me to take her to medical so she could find an antidote to the poison.
I admire her spine, her grit, and her determination, even as I want to punish her for leaving me. From even wanting to leave me.
I’ll never break her spirit—not if I can avoid it. But when I get my hands on her—and I will get my hands on her—I’ll break any will she has to escape. I’ll tie her to me so completely, wholly, and irrevocably, she won’t even be able to imagine living without me.
I will tear down her resistance systematically, with whatever methods might be necessary. I will tie every piece of her soul to whatever is left of mine… as soon as I find her.
Everything is different now. My outlook on the world, even my setting in headquarters…
my old apartment felt so damn wrong without Scarlett there that I ended up moving to a different one entirely.
One with more rooms, and more spaces to alter to my needs.
To prepare for her arrival, when she arrives.
It has to be when not if. I couldn’t tolerate never seeing her again.
With each day that passes without her, I slowly slip away into the grips of madness.
I grieved for my brother’s death—I still do—and now I grieve for Scarlett’s loss and fucking ache for her return. I need her like I need air in my lungs.
“You’re distracted,” Cain says, startling me. I turn to stare at him, only then recalling where I am—the dining hall. I slipped away into the recesses of my mind, again.
While the compound as a whole has been renovated, turning into a verifiable fortress, the dining hall in the headquarters building has largely remained the same—save for the upgrades to the Ruler’s Throne that Cain made.
It’s now decorated with skulls dipped in gold, creating a macabre, threatening display of Cain’s absolute power and authority.
“What does it matter?” I question. “I get my shit done.” In the last nine months, I’ve assembled subunits within the Nighthawks—teams of three or four men who can work together for complex ops—trained them, and tested them in the field.
As Cain’s appointed second-in-command, I’ve gone above and beyond to run a tight ship.
I handle more work for him than I need to, simply because free time makes me itch—and always pulls me under a tide of memories too painful to explore.
“Which is the only reason I haven’t disciplined you,” Cain replies harshly. “You’re out of your fucking mind, Greyson. You need to let it go, let the Sharpe girl go, even if only for a little while. It’s fucking with you.”
“I couldn’t let her go even if I wanted to,” I admit quietly. “Maybe you’ll understand that one day.”
“I understand it perfectly well. I have an obsession of my own. What I fail to understand is the way you’re letting that girl ruin your life.”
A grim smile spreads over my lips. “My life was ruined long before Scarlett showed up, Cain. She was the one who fixed it.”
Late that night, after I’ve managed to get through all of my administrative bullshit work for the day, I head over to Max’s room.
Maximus is the third in command of the Nighthawks, possibly the only decent human being here, and has been my only system of support for the last year.
He’s also the best sniper we have—possibly best in the world—and an absolute fiend in the field.
It’s become something of a ritual for me to hang out with Max, at least a couple times a week.
Business has picked up massively since Cain killed the old leader of the Nighthawks, Boyce, and picked up the mantle himself.
It keeps me busy, but it also leaves me feeling empty.
Work doesn’t excite me like it used to. Not even killing is enough to truly get my blood pumping.
Max lets me in after I knock just once, and I join him on his couch.
His dog, a well-trained German Shepherd, lazes on a dog bed in the corner of the room, quietly snoring.
Max is watching a sports match on TV with a few beers in front of him, but I ignore the liquor.
My mind’s already clouded with memories; there’s no sense obstructing my thoughts more with alcohol.
“Good news,” Max says. “I spoke with Tobias earlier. We’re close to finding her. He’s hot on her trail. She’s done a good job of hiding, but I don’t think anyone can truly hide from that kid.”
Tobias, or Toby, is one of our newer recruits—sent to us straight from Eric, the weapons distributor we signed a contract with a few months ago.
Toby’s loyalty has been thoroughly tested, and I have no doubt his allegiance lies solely with the Nighthawks.
More specifically, with me. He’s one of the members of my unit, though he rarely ventures out into the field; instead, he prefers to stay behind and run tech/interference for me.
The kid’s a genius with computers, and an expert tracker.
If anyone will be able to find Scarlett, who looks like she fell off the face of the earth, it’d be him.
Something pulses in my chest at the thought of Scarlett being close—a stirring of excitement or anticipation. It feels so distant, I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“How close?” I demand.
“He has her location narrowed down to a small city on the other side of the country. The facial-recognition program he finished developing and started running a week ago picked her up at a grocery store, and then again in a parking lot. There’s a local college she might be studying at—he’s running checks.
We should know where she is within the next 24 hours, maybe even sooner. ”
I flex and unflex my hands, staring down at them. If Max’s words are to be believed, soon, I’ll have Scarlett in my hands again. And I won’t be letting her out of my sight any time soon. She’ll be chained to my side 24/7, until she learns how to behave.
“Have you decided what to do with her once we’ve gotten her in custody?” Max asks. “Formed a plan?”
“Oh, I have plans,” I say darkly. “Plans that ensure she never even contemplates trying to escape again.” I don’t care if she hates me for the rest of our lives, as long as she’s mine.
If she’s a good girl, her life will be pleasant and fulfilling.
If she’s a bad one… well. That won’t be very fun for her, though it’ll be endless fun for me.
Max arches an eyebrow at me. “You want to break her?”
“I want to crush any thoughts of leaving me out of her pretty little head. And that’s exactly what I’ll do.
” She’ll come to understand very quickly that I’m not the same man she ran from.
I’m not the grief-stricken, rageful, unbalanced Greyson anymore.
There won’t be any back and forth or bullshit; there’ll be rules, consequences, and potentially, rewards.
“Okay. As your friend, I’m going to make a few things clear to you.
I have years of experience in BDSM and in the art of torturing people.
I’ve even done undercover ops with sex trafficking rings.
Those guys are the sort to use and abuse women until they break and turn into empty-headed dolls.
No thoughts, no feelings, nothing but warm holes to fuck and sell.
” The way Max grimaces tells me all I need to know about his opinion regarding cruelly breaking a woman—an opinion I share.
I don’t want to break Scarlett that way.
I don’t want to change who she fundamentally is—I only want to make every piece of her mine.
I want her mind, her soul… and deep inside me lies a craving for her heart.
I’ve come to accept that I’ll probably never have her love, so I’ll settle for having the rest of her.
“I don’t want a doll,” I grunt.
Max nods. “Then what you want is a submissive.”
I feel my upper lip curl. “How is that any better?”
“True submissives want to give over control. They want to be dominated and taken. They want to be owned, all the time. Then, there are dynamics where submission is a ritual—I had a play partner like that once, who was also a good friend. I trained her very carefully, and we had a system. She was herself until the moment she was ready to play. Then, she’d retrieve the collar I made her, kneel in front of me, and present it.
The moment I put the collar on her, she was no longer the strong, independent woman who was dominant in the real world; she was my sub.
If I told her to eat out of a dog bowl, she’d have done so happily because it would’ve pleased me.
It took a lot of conditioning to get her in that mindset, but we got there, and it was…
” he shakes his head, a dazed look briefly flashing in his eyes.
“Extremely rewarding, to say the least.”
I don’t want Scarlett eating from a dog bowl, but I do want her eating out of my hands. All of her agency will be mine from the moment I capture her, and she’ll learn to accept it. Crave it, even.