CHAPTER 22 - Bryan Trevor
Nobody said it was easy
But nobody ever said it would be this hard
Oh, take me back to the start
The Scientist – Coldplay
I lean back against the bedroom wall and wrap my hand around my cock, closing my eyes, letting the taste of her lips and the heat of her body fill me.
Every memory is a poison I keep injecting.
Every flash is a torture I condemn myself to endure.
It pulses in my hand as I start stroking myself with precise movements. I let the memories of sinking into her hot pussy mix with that addictive, hellish kiss we shared just moments ago.
A grunt of pleasure escapes my lips as I tighten my grip and stroke the full length. My cock had been begging for relief from the instant my lips collided with Noah’s by the lake—tasting her again awakened a fucked-up craving that had been dormant.
When her small, eager hands slipped under my shirt and started sliding over my abdomen, I wanted to rip off our clothes and fuck her until nothing remained but my name echoing from her throat like a prayer.
But I knew I needed to control myself because she’s not ready, and I got confirmation when I pulled away and saw the shadow of pain settle in her eyes.
On top of everything, with the hunger I’m feeling, I’d probably break her in half.
Years of accumulated lust.
Years of touching her only in my thoughts.
Worshipping her body through memories.
Dreaming of her moans.
Yearning to taste her.
Even though I know there’s a monster inside me ready to wake up and devour her completely, to mark every inch of the body he’s been obsessed with for years, I can’t.
Not now.
Not until I purge every painful memory she still carries.
I need to be slow, gentle, and patient even when everything in me wants the opposite.
Noah has seen the ugliest side of sex.
And before I can even think about consuming her the way I dream of, I need to show her it’s still possible to reclaim what we experienced that night we made love.
That night that’s been engraved in me like a tattoo that never healed.
When we melted into pleasure, we stayed wrapped around each other for hours, and before we left, our bodies merged again—almost as if they sensed we wouldn’t get another chance like that.
With these memories driving me, I pick up the pace around my dick.
My hand works relentlessly, and it doesn’t take long before I spill all my cum onto the cold floor while calling out her name.
I stop, trying to catch my breath, but despite the relief, emptiness still fills me because touching myself is never enough.
It never will be!
I’ll only be complete when she’s pinned beneath me again, moaning my damn name.
I clean up the mess I made, take a quick shower, and leave the room, finding Luke focused on the screens.
“Any news?” I ask, and he beckons me over with a raised finger. “What’s this?”
“The research on why Gavin goes to that mansion every month,” he responds, and I scan the information.
“You’re telling me this mansion only has visitors once a month?” I ask, pulling up the chair beside him. “That the sheriff and his family don’t live there?”
“Exactly.” My brother zooms in on the document. “According to the security guard I talked to while pretending I was interested in buying property in the area, the sheriff only uses the place to host his closest associates.”
“I want the list of everyone who attends these meetings.” My blood boils.
“It’s right beside you,” Luke responds, and I quickly grab the paper, scanning the names.
Nine men, all powerful, and I recognize some of the names immediately.
Gavin Black.
Businessman who owns a renowned pharmaceutical distribution company.
Elias Thorne.
Retired sheriff, still with considerable political clout.
Richard Holloway.
State judge.
Samuel Whitford.
Owner of a chain of private hospitals.
Harold Crane.
Construction magnate.
Sebastian Langston.
Banker who handles high society’s finances.
Thomas Duvall.
Influential pastor on social media.
Jonathan Pierce.
Renowned criminal defense attorney.
Peter Grayson.
Journalist and owner of local media outlets.
“What are nine men this powerful doing together in a mansion?” I drum my fingers on the table. “What did you find on Tilden’s phone?” I ask, turning my attention back to him.
I hadn’t seen Luke since dawn.
So he probably got home after I went to my room to decompress, after dropping Noah off at the mansion.
“I found some images.” He pulls out a paper and hands it to me.
“Some are similar to the ones Noah drew, a few even identical, but there are new symbols too.” I examine the figures.
“There was a message from Gavin inviting him to spend the weekend—said he'd teach him some things now that he's turned eighteen.” He looks back at the screen and opens the audio files.
“While we were out, this conversation happened at the breakfast table early this morning.”
The deep, authoritative voice comes through the speakers when my brother presses play, and I automatically clench my hands into fists.
Gavin talks about Tilden returning to begin some kind of initiation. Then he mentions he'll be traveling for a few days to settle details and that Sarah needs to stay on top of organizing everything that's expected.
“What are you thinking?” Luke asks, as if he can see the gears in my head turning at full speed.
“It's a cult,” I say, standing up, hatred tearing through my body. “This bastard is part of some kind of elite cult, and something tells me it's not one with good intentions.”
“I considered that too.” He spins in his chair as I punch the fucking wall. “I remember Atlas mentioned once that there were religious cults that served as fronts for sick shit,” he says, referring to one of our trusted hackers.
The guy's seen a lot working in this field.
The pain radiating through my bones is nothing compared to the hatred consuming me as I start piecing things together.
“We need to find out what they do, how they started, what they worship, and what sick doctrine they follow!” I hiss, remembering Gavin's predatory gaze on Sadie.
“Back when I met Noah, she let slip that her parents would choose who she'd marry.
Then came that cursed night. Then Gavin tries to kill me and never reports his brother's death. Noah never married—she was institutionalized as soon as I disappeared. Sarah got pregnant out of nowhere. Gavin has a basement covered in religious symbols and looks at Sadie with desire.”
“Son of a bitch!” Luke explodes, kicking the chair. “Is he thinking about touching her?”
“He had a hard-on while watching her sleep!” Disgust mixes with raw hatred.
Luke can barely breathe, revulsion written all over his face.
“We need to uncover every detail of this shit and destroy these bastards, Bryan!”
“For Tilden to get into this, he had to turn eighteen,” I begin, pacing back and forth. “That damned night was on Noah's eighteenth birthday exactly, but the way Gavin was staring at Sadie—that's not a man who's going to wait years to do something. No way!”
Think, damn it, find every crack in this shit!
“But that night it wasn't him, it was his brother.” I nod, trying to make sense of all this crap. “Bryan…” He pauses, and I know I'll hate what comes next before he even says the words. “Who's to say Gavin didn't touch Noah as a child, just like he wants to touch Sadie?”
The mere possibility makes my blood boil.
A seething hatred takes over every muscle in my body.
The thirst for revenge burns me from the inside out.
The desire to see blood spilled is overwhelming.
I want the slowest, cruelest torture.
I want every cell in that bastard's body to beg for death.
I need him to experience the worst kind of pain.
There are no limits.
No compassion.
That night, Gavin awakened the monster hidden inside me, and he'll bitterly regret it.
I push through the bar doors and am immediately hit by the smell of cheap booze, cigarettes, and sweat. Despite the place being sketchy as hell and blasting horrible music, it's relatively packed.
I'm sure it's simply because this is the only place to get drunk on a Sunday night.
My eyes sweep the place, and I soon spot Luke sitting at the bar, but I don't linger on him longer than necessary for a nod—because further back, I see who I came to meet.
Will MacLary.
He's not alone, just as I expected—after all, the old man is pushing seventy.
I did a thorough background check on his only son, Dominic, and found nothing that would stop me from talking to Will with Dominic present.
I make my way through the room, dodging people and avoiding eye contact so I don't give anyone an opening to get in my way.
I spent the entire day holed up in the house, my mind seething, trying to find every angle on this damned cult.
I also reached out to contacts to dig up whatever information they could find.
Hatred still bubbles inside me as strongly as before, so any idiot who gets in my way is getting death as a gift.
The bar is hot and stuffy, and I feel myself sweating under the black overcoat, but I don't take it off—the tattoos covering my body tend to draw attention, especially from women.
Will is the first to notice me approaching, and he points in my direction, alerting Dominic to my presence.
He doesn't know me, but judging by the people around me, it's not hard to tell I'm an outsider.
The moment I reach the table, I pull out the only empty chair, positioning myself across from them, and sit down.
“Good evening,” I say firmly.
“Good evening,” they both reply.
“What’s this experimental treatment you mentioned to my father?” Dominic fires off, not wasting time on small talk.
I open my overcoat—I’ll roast in this hellhole otherwise—revealing some of my tattoos, and Will’s eyes immediately lock onto the designs wrapping around my neck.
“You don’t look like a doctor,” he says suspiciously, and I notice his leg bouncing nervously.
“My name is Frederico,” I lie, leaning forward. “And I’m not a doctor, but I can take your wife to the capital and guarantee her the best cancer treatment available.”