31. Drystan
Chapter Thirty-One
DRYSTAN
Icross the gates, the storm raging around me as rain pours down in relentless sheets.
Briar is still sleeping on the feed. I walk inside the mansion, water dripping from my clothes onto the stone floors, my hair plastered wet against my forehead and falling into my eyes.
I head to the living room, trying to control my breathing.
The entire ride here I rehearsed how I would tell her what happened to Lucille, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.
No word from the twins yet. She is probably still in surgery.
I walk into the living room and she is not on the couch anymore.
Where the hell did she go?
“Briar?” I call out, but only silence answers, heavy and wrong in the quiet of the mansion. A chill runs down my spine. I open my phone again and check the feed, and my heart stops. She is lying on the couch…
No. No!
I turn and see white paint scrawled over the painting of us on the wall: “She’s mine.”
No. Briar…
I run to the office, insert the code with shaking fingers, and step inside. I check my computer and see someone overrode the feed. They recorded her sleeping and looped it. It has been playing for God knows how long. I was too busy watching Lucille—Oh fuck, that is why they attacked Lucille!
I turn to a second wall with one single monitor that connects to four other cameras on a closed feed. Not connected to anything else. It was a security measure I learned in prison.
I fast-forward until I see a black truck drive up to the gate. They stop and a man with a balaclava steps out, placing a decoder on the gate lock. Five minutes and he is in. I did not get any warning on my phone. The fuckers overrode everything.
They pick the lock from the kitchen side and walk right in while she is still fast asleep. I watch as the two men stand next to her.
“We meet again—” one whispers. Briar stirs, trying to get up, fighting, but they use a syringe and she is out in under a minute.
Her body lies there, not moving. The taller man walks to the painting and takes a paint can from his black coat, shakes it with a metallic rattle, and sprays the words across the canvas in crude white strokes.
He turns, crosses his arms, and stands there watching as the other one pulls Briar’s leggings down her legs.
“Nooo!” I scream and punch the table so hard my knuckles split open, blood smearing across the wood.
He pulls his zipper down and I can see his hard cock already glistening.
“I missed you,” he grunts, the words low and guttural as he leans over her.
His gloved hand moves first to her face, fingers tracing her cheek almost tenderly before he bends down and presses his mouth to hers in a slow, mocking kiss.
His other hand slides down her body, cupping one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt, squeezing hard enough that her flesh yields under his grip.
He opens her legs wider and presses a finger to her entrance. “Still so tight.” He lines himself up and I watch as he slides inside her unconscious body, inch by inch, his hips pushing forward until he is fully buried.
Tears of rage burn down my face, hot and blinding.
“Briar—”
I watch as he pumps in and out of her, increasing the speed and force, his hips slamming against her with wet, obscene sounds that come through the speakers.
The slapping of skin on skin fills the office, mixing with his low, animal grunts and moans of her name—“Briar… fuck, Briar”—each thrust punctuated by the wet sound of her body being used. Bile rises sharp in my throat.
“What have I done—I was not here to protect you again.” The words tear from my lips as I stare at the screen, my fists clenched so tight the blood from my knuckles drips steadily onto the desk.
My chest heaves, the air in the room too thick, too heavy, the quiet mansion pressing in around me while the storm outside rages on.
I cannot look away. I cannot stop it. The helplessness claws at my ribs, tearing me open from the inside as the only thing I have ever loved is violated right in front of me.
My body shakes with the force of the rage and panic flooding every vein, the beast inside me roaring uselessly against the glass of the screen.
I am here and she is there, and for the first time in years I feel truly powerless.
He groans louder and I watch him come inside her. His breath comes in ragged gasps as the other one laughs. “Fuck, you are such a good girl.” He jokes.
The fucker stands up, picks a tissue from his pocket and cleans himself. The other one comes forward, pulls her leggings back up and picks her up.
“We are going to have so much fun.” The one that assaulted her chuckles as the other carries her limp body.
They walk out through the kitchen door into the waiting truck and drive off into the night.
I stand there as the truck disappears into the darkness. I cannot move. I cannot think.
No. Briar. My Briar.
My phone rings and I pick it up without realizing I am doing it.
“She is out of surgery. Doctors say she was placed in a coma to help with the swelling in the brain—” Easton informs me. “Drystan?”
I do not reply. I cannot.
“Drystan! The fuck is going on?” His voice grows more urgent.
“He raped her,” I whisper.
“No. We stopped it before—” Easton’s tone shifts.
“Briar. He raped her again. They took her. I lost her.” My voice breaks. “It was a setup, Lucille—”
“Fuck.” I hear Enzo’s voice in the background.
“We are on our way,” Easton says and ends the call.
I place my hands on the desk and lean forward, trying to control myself, but the pain is too much.
A raw scream tears from my throat as I slam my fist into the monitor.
The screen shatters with a sharp crack, glass cutting into my knuckles as sparks fly and the image of the empty apartment dies in a burst of static.
I grab the computer next, ripping it from the desk and hurling it against the stone wall.
It explodes on impact, pieces of plastic and metal scattering across the floor.
The chair follows, flying across the room and smashing into the wall with a loud crash, wood splintering against ancient stone.
The office falls into chaos around me, but it is not enough.
The rage keeps building, until I cannot see anything but her unconscious body on that couch, taken from me again while I was too far away to stop it.
My hands shake as blood drips from my knuckles onto the desk, the pain barely registering through the storm inside my chest. I failed her.
Again. The only thing I have ever loved, ripped away while I sat here watching like a useless shadow.
The beast inside me howls, demanding blood, demanding revenge, demanding her back in my arms where she belongs.
The quiet of the mansion presses in, broken only by my ragged breathing and the distant rumble of thunder outside. I stand there amid the destruction, chest heaving, and know that nothing will be the same until I have her back.
I look at the destruction around me and let out a long, ragged breath.
I grab the spare computer from the duffel bag and walk out of the office, my hands dripping blood onto the stone floors as I move through the silent halls.
I cannot bring myself to step into the living room, not where he touched her, not where they took her from me…