Page 50 of G.O.D.S Omnibus

I watch, my vision practically tinged with red, as Summer lands the final blow. Whatever she just said to Jolie made her want to give up the fight. We have always had a friendship with Team Rampage, but after tonight, I will make Summer watch while I kill each and every one of her guys—slowly and painfully. It won’t be pretty, but seeing Jolie crumpled on the ground does things to me. Things that any normal person would find mortifying. How is it possible to be turned-on by her broken body, but also want to murder every fucker in this room staring at her right now?

Boston gives me a nod, and I jump the ropes like a savage animal. I need to be closer to my girl. Summer’s guys quickly remove her from the ring before I can get close, but their time will come. They know this is bad. They knew the second they were told she had to fight our girl.

“I’m here, baby,” I whisper, bending down, trying to assess what damage has been done to her.

She rolls over onto her back and starts laughing, then winces, clutching at her already bruising ribs. Is it possible to fall in love with someone you were already programmed to love?

“Get me out of here,” she begs, gasping at the twinges of pain lancing her body.

“Your wish is my command, baby.”

I scoop her up, trying not to hurt her too much. Even though her cries of pain turn me on, she never consented to this. She did this to please Boston.

Me and pain are on a first name basis. After Zircon was killed, or when I thought she was killed, I found an outlet. Trying to find a physical pain that could drown out anything I felt on the inside. Nothing worked since I don’t feel pain.

I stride past Boston and look him in the eyes. The impassive glare he gives me pisses me off.

“This is all your fucking fault. If she has any serious injuries, I’m holding you responsible.”

“Don’t act like your dick isn’t hard right now. Go get her cleaned up before we have a problem,” he snarls.

“We already have a problem,” I snap, shoulder barging him on my way past.

Getting Jolie into my car is no easy feat. Her body is stiff, and the adrenaline is wearing off. She curls into herself as we drive, and I don’t stop until I’m pulling into my driveway.

Her eyes remain closed as I walk around the car and gently remove her. She groans, and it takes every ounce of strength I possess to not throw her against the hood of my car and fuck her to the sound of her tears.

We walk past my brother, and he silently shoots me a look, one that saysI hope you didn’t hurt her.I give him one back that saysjust because I show my weird on the outside doesn’tmean I don’t see yours.My brother, Creed, is like the guy from that show calledYou. The “stalk them and be their friend before kidnapping them” type. At least anything I do to women is consensual. He holds eye contact for a second, struggling with something, but I don’t have the time to deal with him now.

I walk away, taking her to my room, and her eyes open as much as they can with the swelling.

“Can you hold me?” she asks.

“I can’t, Jolie. Right now, I’m using all my self-control to not throw you around and fuck you like a rag doll.”

“Then do it,” she pants.

“It will hurt,” I say, surprising myself.

I never care if it hurts them after they consent. I love to see them panic, that fear washing across their face when it goes further than they imagined. But with Jolie, I find myself caring, wanting to kiss away her pain.

“Pain isn’t always the enemy, Laughn.”

I freeze—our trainers at the facility would always say that to us. Pain isn’t the enemy; being inside your head is the enemy. She looks at me with her big ocean-coloured eyes, ones that held so much life when we were pre-teens and are now full of hurt. A tear rolls down her face. I lean down, licking it from her skin, and she shivers at the contact.

Her tears push me over the edge, my self-control worn too thin. I throw her onto my bed and her body flops onto the mattress with a groan of pain slipping from her plush lips, making me wish they were wrapped around my hard cock. She eyes me like I’m the damn prey and that confuses me. They usually look at me in fear, wondering if they made the right choice coming home with me.

She watches me intently as I remove my shirt. Following suit, she grits her teeth and removes her blood-stained sports bra, her breasts bouncing free from the material as she takes in myink. It covers me completely, leaving no free patches of skin. The upside to being able to do anything we want.

I got my first tattoo at thirteen, we all got one at the same time. We always called her our wildflower, and when she died, we all had a forget-me-not tattooed over our hearts. A symbol of true love and that we would never forget her. Which was a crock of shit because as soon as we had a taste of freedom, we did whatever it took to forget the pain, which meant burying everything about her.

My room is naturally dark, but the lights from the snake enclosures illuminate the space enough that she stills sees everything. I drop my pants and watch for her reaction. Her head tilts, fascinated. Jolie goes to move closer but hesitates. I give her an encouraging nod, and she crawls down the bed, her eyes glued to my cock. She gets close and sits on the edge of the bed. I watch her now with awe. Reaching out, she runs a fingertip lightly down my shaft, over the ball bearings that were surgically added, making it ribbed for her pleasure. A smile pulls at her lips as she traces along the spider web tattoo, and she even dips her head to check out my nuts—those I haven’t tattooed.

She leans forward and runs her tongue over the tip of my cock, and my eyes roll back into my head. I swear this is like an out-of-body experience. Ever since I started fucking, it’s been hard and fast; I need them to be restrained, bloody, and in pain. But as Jolie’s lips wrap around my hardened shaft, I gulp. This is the moment I know it’s her, and my heart can’t take it. Running my fingers into her hair, I grasp it at the roots and lift her to her feet. I look down at her eyes watering, but she doesn’t speak. She just looks into my black contacts, and I know she can see me.

I need to not think. My gaze roams over her body, the dried blood still on her face and arms from my fight, and I remember her jumping into my arms and the way she kissed me.

That memory has me turning her and laying her flat, face down on my bed, her cries of pain urging me on. She doesn’t question what I’m doing, and that level of trust is terrifying. No one trusts me, not fully anyway, not even the guys. They know how much of a loose cannon I am. I grab a noose from under my bed, curious just how far I can push her.

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