Page 9 of The Devil's Mercy

Calix forced himself to shake his head, though he wasn’t sure who he was fooling. The precome dribbling down his shaft to paint his thighs certainly gave him away. But he held tight to his dignity, especially since it was already thin and the only thing he had left.

“Only a lunatic would give in to someone like you,” he snarled, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to break skin. Of course, that was a mistake, because the second the pain zipped through him, another wave of pleasure quickly followed.

What was wrong with him? Why was he always like this?

He’d gotten over his embarrassment about enjoying pain in the bedroom. It wasn’t like both of them hadn’t already seen him come apart on Aodhan’s cock while he bled for him. It wastoo late to regret or turn back the clock, so acceptance was the only option anyway.

But there was a difference in liking pain and being okay withthis.

“Just kill me,” Calix growled. “Do it and get it over with.”

Titus’s disappointment was instant and so potent that Cal almost backpedaled and apologized. He didn’t speak to him again; instead, he turned his head away in a clear dismissal that shouldn’t have bothered Cal, but did.

Growing up, whenever Sister Grace had punished him, he’d believed her when she’d said it was because she loved him. He’d believed her when she’d said she knew what was best, even when he begged her to stop and actually meant it. Even when he didn’t want it. Now that he was an adult, he obviously knew better. He understood that people who beat children never did it out of caring or love.

Just like people who kidnapped others or shot someone in the head without flinching.

Calix knew what they’d already done to him was inexcusable and unforgivable. Heinous.

He knew there were millions of others who’d grown up in similar circumstances to his that didn’t turn out the way he had. That didn’t lean into their past as a crutch or make excuses or try to pretend to be something they weren’t.

But it was easier when you were normal, wasn’t it? Easier when you could be angry over things that deserved your anger. Horrified by the things that were arguably horrific.

He knew there was something seriously wrong with him. Something disgusting and twisted and abnormal. Because sure, liking blood play and rough sex and BDSM and being tied up weren’t bad.

When it was between two—or more—consenting adults.

This wasn’t play. It wasn’t an agreed-upon scene. Nothing about this was legal, and no part of him should be straining against his bonds to try and get a little closer.

And yet he was.

When Titus started to strip out of his clothes, exposing honey-toned skin and a well-defined muscular physique, Cal couldn’t look away.

He tried, internally begging himself not to give in to this. Not to let on just how messed up he truly was, but it was like his eyes had a mind of their own. Like his entire body belonged to somebody else.

Someone who was a slave to lust and, clearly, prone to self-loathing.

But…It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be. No one was looking for him. No one cared.

No one wanted him. Even as highly ranked as he was, his commanding officer hadn’t tried to stop him from quitting once. The most he did was order him to complete one last case and that was it. So…even if all Aodhan and Titus wanted was to humiliate and torture him, wasn’t that still something?

Wasn’t that still better?

At least this time, he was attracted to his assailants.

“Good Light,” the words slipped out of him, quiet enough he didn’t think anyone else heard. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t honestly be that easy, could he?

The whole point of quitting his job was to escape, not only his shitty life, but himself.

He wanted away from everyone in this room, including Calix-pathetic-Valimir.

Something moved on Titus’s back suddenly, catching Cal’s attention and momentarily putting an end to his inner turmoil and contradicting notions.

“What…is…that?” He watched, completely engrossed, as a tattoo seemingly slithered into existence.

It was a snake with pearlescent scales that shimmered pink from certain angles when the light hit it. Though it was very clearly a tattoo, it moved as though real, sliding around from Titus’s left side, trailing up his back and down over his right shoulder.

“Ready to take all of me, little killer?” For the first time, Titus’s tone of voice altered, an edge to it, like he was close to losing that coiled control of his.

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