Chapter Twenty
Kyllian
This couldn’t be happening.
Not after everything I’d been through.
Everything I’d survived.
Dear God, please tell me I didn’t walk back into the very hell I’ve been running from.
I stared at Firestride, my mind reeling with his revelation.
The tangled bloodlines—Satan’s Angels, Death Dogs—were more than old club stories; they were nightmares, pulsing in the person before me.
All the years I’d spent running from my past now seemed to close in, bringing old ghosts to life that I thought were dead and buried.
Was this fate, or just a cruel twist of coincidence, that our paths had converged here, both of us with secrets that could burn the world down?
“Just to be clear, your mother Helen is Skinner’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“And Skinner is your uncle?” I stated, my words tasting like bile in my mouth.
The weight of his confession, the sheer enormity of his lineage, pressed down on me, suffocating me with the ghosts of my own past. My own father, a man who had inflicted so much pain, was a monster, and now, I found myself entangled with a man whose family tree was a twisted tapestry of violence and club affiliations.
It was a nightmarish echo, a dark reflection of my own fractured history.
He nodded, his gaze unwavering, a silent confirmation of the abyss I had just stumbled into.
“He’s my uncle,” he confirmed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated with an unreadable emotion.
“My mother always said that men like him, men like my father, were the Devil incarnate. They were born to destroy, not to love. She was right, of course. But she could never bring herself to abandon her own flesh and blood.”
The sheer weight of his words settled over me, a suffocating shroud.
I was trapped, not just by his brothers and their unwavering loyalty, but by the history that now bound us together.
The secrets he carried, the pain he’d endured, were now intertwined with my own, a toxic cocktail that promised a future far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined.
The gilded cage, once a symbol of my captivity, now felt like a fragile sanctuary, the walls of which were rapidly being breached by the ghosts of our shared past.
Shaking my head, I muttered, “I need to leave. I can’t stay here, and don’t you dare mention Jessup, debts, or collateral.
I had nothing to do with Jessup or his affiliation with the Death Dogs.
As soon as I learned he was a brother, I distanced myself from him.
If I had had the money, I would have divorced him right then and there.
That son of a bitch has been a thorn in my ass from the moment I met him.
I want nothing to do with this shit. I’m done. ”
“You think you can just walk away?” His voice was a low growl, laced with a dangerous amusement that sent a shiver down my spine.
He stepped closer, his imposing frame filling the room, a dark shadow against the dim light.
“After everything that’s happened? After all the secrets you’ve just uncovered?
” His eyes, dark and intense, bored into mine, searching for any flicker of doubt, any sign of weakness.
“You’re entangled now, Kyllian. Whether you like it or not. ”
“I’m not entangled with anyone,” I spat back, my voice trembling despite my efforts to keep it steady.
“Jessup is your problem, not mine. I want nothing to do with the Death Dogs, or the Satan’s Angels, or whatever twisted mess your family tree represents.
I just want to be free.” I hugged myself, the phantom ache in my ribs a dull throb, a constant reminder of the violence that had brought me here.
I met his gaze, a flicker of defiance hardening my own.
“You came looking for Jessup. Then go find him and forget you ever saw me.”
He laughed, a harsh, guttural sound that reverberated through the room.
“Forget you? You think I can just forget the woman who knows my real name? The woman who’s now tied to a legacy that could burn this whole damn club down?
” He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, the faint scent of leather and something more primal clinging to him.
“You’re not collateral anymore, Kyllian.
You’re mine, and I don’t let anything that belongs to me walk away. ”
“I don’t belong to anyone. Not you. Not Jessup. No one.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Kitten. You belong to me,” he asserted, before he grabbed me and roughly kissed me, sealing my fate.
My world exploded in a volley of pain and desire.
He pulled back, his breath hot against my lips, a possessive glint in his eyes that was both terrifying and undeniably compelling.
My body, a traitorous instrument of desire and terror, responded with a shudder that was both a cry of surrender and a silent scream of defiance.
His kiss, brutal and raw, had shattered the last remnants of my resistance, leaving me breathless and trembling, a willing participant in a game I had sworn I would never play.
He had claimed me, not as collateral, not as a possession, but as something more, something dangerous that resonated with the darkness that had begun to bloom within me.
My mind raced, a chaotic scramble of fear and a nascent, desperate hope.
He was the son of Kalden Baudelaire, the founding President of the Brotherhood, and a nephew to Skinner, President of the Death Dogs.
This tangled web of violence and legacy was a nightmare I thought I’d outrun, but here I was, entangled with him, with his secrets, with his dangerous inheritance.
He claimed I belonged to him, and in that moment, with his arms tight around me, the scent of sandalwood and mint overwhelming my senses, I felt a chilling certainty that he was right.
My past had caught up to me, not as a ghost, but as a living, breathing, dangerous man who held my future, my very existence, in his calloused hands.
“You’re mine now, Kyllian,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my very being.
His words—a brutal brand on my soul—sealed my fate.
My body, a traitorous instrument, responded to his touch, a desperate dance of pain and a forbidden, sickening flicker of desire.
He was the darkness I’d fought so hard to escape, now embodied in the man who held me captive, whose kiss had stolen my breath and branded my soul.
The gilded cage had become a true prison, and he, the jailer, the owner, my everything.
He lifted me effortlessly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his kiss deepened, a raw, determined claiming.
My back hit the wall with a jarring thud, the world dissolving into a dizzying vortex of sensation.
His hands fumbled with the zipper of his pants, the sound a chilling prelude to the inevitable.
The scent of sandalwood and mint, once a foreign perfume, now choked me, a suffocating reminder of his ownership.
I was his, and in that moment, clinging to him, lost in the storm of his desire, I knew I would never be free again.
The instant he shoved his cock deep, he shattered my defenses, and a terrifying finality seized me.
This was the point of no return, a brand seared onto my soul, ensuring I would never escape his shadow.
His presence—a wildfire consuming my very being—found an unwilling accomplice in my body.
Each ruthless thrust sparked, igniting a conflagration of sensations I couldn’t control, a desperate surrender to the storm he’d unleashed.
He was relentless as he took what my body gave him.
Rough and dangerous, my body welcomed his, even wept for more as he carried me over to his bed and laid me down, spreading my legs wider so he could ram himself in deeper.
“FUCK!” The roar ripped from his throat, a primal sound that vibrated through my bones.
His hands, calloused and strong, dug into my hips, forcing my legs apart with brutal, unyielding pressure.
Then, the impact. A violent thud, a searing collision as the crown of his cock smashed against the delicate, sensitive core of my being.
He didn’t just enter me; he invaded, a relentless, punishing rhythm that tore into me.
In, out, a vicious piston, each thrust a raw, tearing sensation.
His fingers snaked beneath my ass, gripping painfully as he lifted me higher, forcing his cock deeper still, a violation that stretched me to my absolute limit.
A choked cry tore from my lips, a ragged sound caught between an unbearable agony and a desperate, terrifying pleasure when he released my ass and threw my left leg over his shoulder, pushing in deep and hard and fast, shocking me, paining me, pleasuring me.
I cried out again and again as my pussy tightened around his cock.
“Mine!” he roared with a deep hard thrust, then stilled as I felt his cock pulse deep within me.
He collapsed onto me, his body a heavy, shuddering weight, his breath hot and ragged against my ear.
The rough stubble on his jaw scraped my skin as he ground against me, his grip on my hips tight, possessive.
I lay beneath him, pinned and violated, the taste of blood and his raw desire mingling on my tongue.
The sanctuary of my mind had been breached, and the remnants of my spirit lay shattered, scattered like dust in the wake of his storm.
I was his. He had claimed me, branded me, and the terrifying truth was, I was no longer sure I wanted to escape.