Page 112 of Bonds of Pain
MAYA
I’ve been a ball of nervous energy since returning to the apartment. The photoshoot and visit with Logan’s family left me with conflicting emotions I can’t begin to untangle. These glimpses of normalcy make it harder to hold on to my righteous anger. I need to stay focused on why I’m here, on my goal of making them pay for what they’ve done.
Claiming a need to change before dinner, I escaped to Logan’s bedroom, desperate for a moment alone to collect my thoughts. I can hear the men in the main room, their voices rising and falling as they celebrate Logan’s victory at the games. The clink of glasses and bursts of laughter filter through the door—they’re clearly settling in for a night of drinking.
Good. Let them drink and carouse. Let them forget about me for a while.
I pace the length of the bedroom, my fingers drumming restlessly against my thighs. Seeing Logan with his family today revealed a side of him I’d never imagined—attentive to hissisters, playful with his nieces and nephews. It humanized him in a way that makes my plans more complicated.
And I can’t afford complications. Not when I’ve come so far, not when I finally have opportunities to act.
I open the bedside drawer, hoping the sound of drawers opening and closing will give the impression I’m busy changing clothes. My fingers brush against something smooth and cool—a small bag of pink powder.
Blush.
I freeze, staring at it. The drug that tore down my inhibitions, that made me act on desires I barely acknowledged. The drug that led to my encounter with Cillian, then the three of us together, and finally my shameful public display with Ares during Logan’s fight.
An idea forms, dangerous and seductive.
Logan keeps the blush hidden in his nightstand. Not locked away, but private. For personal use. He wants control so desperately, yet voluntarily takes something that strips it away. The irony isn’t lost on me.
What if I could use this against him? What if I could make them all vulnerable at once?
My fingers close around the bag, weighing it thoughtfully. If I could get them all to take it—perhaps mixed into their drinks as they celebrate—they might reveal secrets they’d otherwise keep hidden. The blush might loosen tongues enough for me to learn more about Ander’s death, about the king’s plans, about any leverage I could use.
And in their drugged state, they would be less guarded, less able to maintain their careful control. I could plant seeds of discord between them, whisper doubts that would take root and grow.
Or I could do something with even more devastating—and immediate—impact.
It’s risky. Incredibly risky. If they realized what I’d done, there would be consequences. And there’s no guarantee I could remain clear-headed enough to take advantage if I had to pretend to drink with them.
But the potential reward is finally showing Logan exactly what it means to be at someone else’s mercy.
I slip the bag of blush into my pocket just as a burst of raucous laughter erupts from the main room. The sound of their camaraderie, their brotherhood, only strengthens my resolve. They’ve taken everything from me—my freedom, my choice, my body. All while maintaining their tight-knit pack.
Perhaps it’s time I took something from them in return. Their trust in each other.
I rub the silky powder between my fingers through the bag, feeling the power it represents. A weapon hidden in plain sight, one they themselves brought into our shared space.
The men continue drinking and laughing in the next room, completely unaware of the chaos I’m preparing to unleash.
I take a deep breath and step confidently into the main room. The men are gathered around the low table, glasses in hand, celebrating Logan’s victory. Their conversation halts as I enter, four pairs of eyes turning toward me.
“Need something?” Logan asks, golden eyes shining with a slight glaze of the early stage of drunkenness.
“Actually,” I say, forcing a sweet smile, “I thought I’d offer to refresh your drinks.”
Ares raises an eyebrow. “You’re volunteering to play servant?”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “I could use a drink myself after today. Thought I’d be... helpful.”
“Well, that’s new,” Logan says, but he hands me his empty glass, nonetheless.
The others follow suit, even Cillian, though his ice-blue eyes study me with suspicion. Only Poe hesitates, his dark gaze searching mine for a moment before relinquishing his tumbler.
“What’s your poison tonight, gentlemen?” I ask, gathering the glasses.
“Melillan whiskey for me and Ares,” Logan says. “Cillian and Poe drink that imported stuff that tastes like lighter fluid.”
