Chapter 19 Dominic
DOMINIC
Iguide Cora through the ornate corridor toward the dining room, her small hand in mine. Behind us, Ryder and Liam follow closely—too closely for what would have been my comfort three days ago.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Last week, I would’ve sooner burned down my penthouse than invite three people to live in it. My space is sacred. Private. Mine. I’ve ended relationships over someone leaving a toothbrush in my bathroom. Yet here I am, mentally rearranging furniture to accommodate three new residents.
“You okay there, Vega?” Liam’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, though nothing feels fine anymore.
This was supposed to be simple. Hunt the Mayor’s daughter. Break her. Make her father watch her humiliation at the feast. Revenge served ice cold for what he did to my waterfront project.
Now? I’m leading Cora into a room where her father will enter soon enough, completely unaware he’s about to see exactly what his daughter has been doing for the past forty-eight hours. The thought twists my stomach in a way that revenge fantasies never have before.
I glance back at her. She’s wearing the black dress attendants provided after the bath, her hair arranged to hide the marks on her neck—marks I put there. She looks beautiful, vulnerable. Trusting.
Mierda.
She doesn’t know her father attends every Hollow’s Hunt feast. Doesn’t know we planned this final humiliation specifically for him.
“Wait.” I stop walking, turning to face the three of them. “There’s something you should—”
I catch Ryder’s eye, see him shake his head. He thinks she should find out during. Maximum impact. That was the plan, after all.
But now I know about the bruises—know he’s hit her. Used his power to control and hurt her. The same man who self-righteously blocked my development project has been abusing his own daughter.
I’m not a good man. Never claimed to be. But seeing her father’s face when he realizes what we’ve done to his daughter suddenly doesn’t feel like victory.
It feels like using her all over again.
“What is it?” Cora asks, her eyes searching mine.
The words catch in my throat. I want to tell her that her father will be there, that this was all planned, that the final act of our revenge isn’t just the Hunt but his witnessing what we’ve done to her. That we intended to break her in front of him.
But we’re too deep in this now. The revenge isn’t just mine anymore; it belongs to Ryder and Liam, too. We’ve crossed too many lines together. Would telling her now make anything better, or would it just be cruel in a different way?
I feel Liam shift behind me, sensing Ryder’s tension. We’re all caught in this moment of indecision.
What would she do if she knew? Run? Scream? Hate us all over again after everything that’s happened? The fragile trust we’ve built would shatter instantly. And for what? To ease my conscience?
“Dominic?” Her voice is soft.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Let’s get to the feast.”
My hand moves to the small of her back, guiding her forward again. The weight of the secret sits heavy between my shoulder blades.
Cora’s expression brightens. “Good. I’m starving.” She smiles, and it hits me hard in the chest. There’s trust there, something I’ve done nothing to deserve.
I lead her toward the double doors at the end of the hallway, where the feast waits. My jaw clenches as we approach.
Dios mío, what have I done?
I guide our group through the double doors into a cavernous dining hall. The feast room of Purgatory exists in permanent twilight—dark enough to hide sins, light enough to witness them.
A massive glass table dominates the center, completely transparent with no tablecloth to hide what happens beneath. I’ve attended enough feasts to know that’s deliberate.
“Stand here,” I mutter to Cora, positioning her between my chair and Liam’s. She hesitates, looking around nervously at the ornate chairs lining both sides of the glass expanse.
“Why can’t I sit?” she whispers.
Ryder takes his assigned seat on Liam’s other side, perfectly relaxed as if we’re at a business dinner rather than the culmination of a three-day hunt.
“Protocol,” I explain, my voice low. “Prey stands until Xavier arrives.”
I scan the room as the other hunters and their prey are already in their designated positions.
The seats aren’t randomly assigned—they’re strategic.
Our place is midway down one side, offering a perfect view to the people who will occupy the seats directly opposite.
Where Mayor Pike will sit, he’ll be forced to watch his daughter throughout the feast.
My stomach churns.
The doors to the feast room swing open as Xavier enters. Silence falls immediately, every eye fixed on him as he takes his place at the head of the table. He’s wearing an expression I’ve never seen on him before—something almost possessive as he looks at Mira Sullivan.
“Let the feast begin,” Xavier announces, his voice resonating through the chamber.
Without hesitation, he sits in his ornate chair and pulls Mira onto his lap, facing the table. In one fluid motion, he positions her and enters her. Her gasp echoes in the momentary silence before conversation resumes as if nothing unusual is happening.
This is the ritual of the feast—the final display of dominance.
I glance at Cora, whose eyes have widened at the spectacle.
I keep my voice neutral. “This is what happens at the feast.”
Around us, other hunters follow Xavier’s lead, pulling their prey onto their laps. Some women moan, others bite their lips to stay quiet.
My hands find Cora’s waist. “It’s time,” I murmur, guiding her backward as I sit in my chair. I position her over me, her back to my chest, and lower her slowly onto my cock. Her body tenses then yields, taking me inch by inch until she’s fully seated.
“Good girl,” I whisper against her ear, feeling her shiver.
Liam leans over from his seat, his hand sliding up Cora’s thigh to where we’re joined. His fingers find her clit, circling it slowly while his other hand moves to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her dress.
From the other side, Ryder reaches for her other breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes locked on her face.
Cora’s breathing quickens as she’s stimulated from all sides, her body responding despite the public setting. I hold her hips firmly, controlling her movements as she begins to rock against me.
I grip Cora’s hips tighter, fighting to maintain control as her body grips mine. The room around us blurs, conversations fading to white noise. All I can focus on is the sensation of her—tight, wet, perfect—moving against me.
“Mierda,” I mutter against her neck, my teeth grazing her skin.
I’ve had countless women. Beautiful women. Powerful women. Women who would do anything to please me. But this is different. My thoughts scatter like broken glass every time she moves.
One of her hands reaches back to grip my thigh, her nails digging into my flesh. The pain only heightens everything else, drawing a growl from my throat.
“Look at her,” Liam murmurs, his fingers still between her legs. “She’s fucking magnificent.”
I can barely nod. Can’t form words. Her body trembles against mine, taking me deeper with each subtle movement. I should be thinking about the plan, about Pike entering any minute. Instead, all I can think about is her.
It’s the vulnerability. Must be. The way she trusted us in the Red Room. The way she showed us her bruises. The way she looked at me when I took off my mask—like she was seeing something worth looking at. Something beyond the monster I know myself to be.
“Mine,” I whisper without thinking, my lips at her ear. Then I catch myself. “Ours.”
Ryder meets my eyes over her shoulder, something unspoken passing between us. He knows this isn’t just a game anymore.
She’s trembling now, close to the edge. I’ve never felt this desperate need to please someone else, to feel her come apart around me. Her vulnerability has somehow exposed my own, cracked open something I’ve kept buried beneath concrete and steel.
The moment I see Pike enter the dining hall, my entire body goes rigid. Cora is still wrapped around me, her back pressed against my chest, completely unaware that the architect of her misery has just walked through those doors.
Mierda.
I should have told her. Should have warned her that her father would be here. But I’ve waited so long for the perfect revenge that I convinced myself the cruelty was justified.
Now, watching understanding dawn on her face as she spots him, I realize I’ve made a catastrophic mistake.
“CORA!” Pike’s roar splits the air like thunder, his face contorting with rage as he lunges forward. “Get your filthy hands off my daughter! LET HER GO!”
The entire dining hall goes silent. Every eye swivels toward us—toward Cora, spread open and vulnerable, impaled on my cock while Liam and Ryder’s hands grip her thighs, keeping her exposed.
I feel her entire body stiffen atop me. Her breath catches. When I glance down at her face, I see the exact moment shame crashes over her like a tidal wave.
“Daddy, I—” Her voice fractures, and something inside my chest splinters alongside it. That word should be reserved for me and me alone. The moment he harmed her, he should have lost the right to hear it from her lips. “Please, I can explain—”
Her instinct is to cover herself, to close her legs and escape. I can feel her trying to lift herself off me, muscles trembling with the effort. Every rational part of my brain screams at me to release her, to let her go, to undo this moment.
But I don’t.
Instead, my hands tighten around her waist, keeping her exactly where she is. I feel Liam and Ryder understand the silent command, their grips on her thighs intensifying, pulling her even wider open, exposing her completely.
The cruelty of it hits me even as I’m executing it. I’m holding her down while her father watches, while the entire room bears witness to her humiliation. Everything about this moment screams of revenge that has nothing to do with justice and everything to do with power.
And I can’t stop myself, because if I stopped and let her go, Pike would perceive it as weakness.
Cora’s eyes fill with tears—real tears, not the ones that come from pleasure but from genuine distress and shame. She whimpers, a small broken sound that cuts deeper than any blade.
“Let me go,” she whispers. “Please, just let me—”
My grip only tightens. Dark amusement flickers through my chest at the sheer control I maintain over her, even as something deeper—something I don’t want to examine—recoils in horror at what I’m doing.
Xavier’s voice cuts through the chaos like a scalpel, cold and authoritative.
“Mayor Pike. Sit down and shut up before I have you removed from my establishment permanently.”
Pike’s face reaches new shades of purple, spittle flying from his lips. “That is my DAUGHTER! You can’t—”
“Your daughter,” Xavier interrupts, his hand possessive on Mira’s thigh, “chose to sign the contract. She chose to participate in the Hunt. The rules were made very clear to every participant.”
I watch Pike’s fury war with the realization that he has no ground to stand on. His daughter signed away her rights. She agreed to this. The knowledge should satisfy me, as this is exactly what we planned. But instead, I feel sick.
Cora has gone completely still, her fight drained away, replaced by a defeated resignation that’s somehow worse than her struggling. Her eyes are fixed on the table, refusing to look at her father, unable to bear the weight of his judgment.
I’m the one forcing her to endure it.
I’ve hurt people before—business rivals, criminals, men who deserved worse than what I gave them. But this isn’t justice. This isn’t even revenge anymore. This is just cruelty, dressed up in the language of the Hunt.
And I’m the one inflicting it on a woman who’s already been beaten down by the man currently staring at her with such impotent rage.
Pike finally takes the chair directly across from us—the positioning is deliberately cruel, forcing him to stare directly at his daughter as she sits impaled on my cock, as Liam and Ryder continue their unrelenting exploration of her body.
Their hands roam across her thighs, her stomach, tracing the curves I’ve already claimed a hundred times over.
I watch Cora’s face cycle through emotions—shame, humiliation, defeat. She makes herself smaller, shoulders hunching forward as if she could somehow disappear entirely. Every few seconds, her gaze darts to her father’s face before skittering away in mortification.
She trusted me. In the Red Room, in the baths, in those vulnerable moments when she thought we were building something real—she trusted that I wouldn’t deliberately hurt her like this. And I’ve just shattered that trust in front of her entire world.
My jaw clenches as I maintain my position, aware that backing down now would make everything worse.
The Hunt has rules, and the final phase is the feast. To deviate now would signal weakness, and weakness is a luxury none of us can afford in this room full of powerful people watching to see who fractures first.
So, I stay inside her. Keep my hands on her waist. Let the dark amusement play across my features even though my chest feels like it’s collapsing inward.
This is the price of revenge. This is what happens when you mistake cruelty for justice.
And the worst part? I’m not sure I can undo the damage, no matter how badly I want to.