Page 123 of Bonds of Pain
“Are you going to torture the information out of me?” I ask, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. There’s almost relief in finally confronting what I’ve done. “All you have to do is ask.”
Logan’s golden eyes meet mine, his expression unnervingly calm. “I already know what you did and why.”
My heart pounds wildly against my ribs. If he already knows, then why the restraints? Why the knife?
“Just get on with it, then,” I say, a note of defiance creeping into my voice. “Whatever punishment you’ve planned, just do it.”
The corner of Logan’s mouth twitches upward, almost a smile but not quite. “This isn’t punishment, Maya,” he says, twirling the knife between his fingers. “I’m simply going to teach you who you belong to, once and for all.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
CILLIAN
Ifreeze as Logan suddenly thrusts the knife into my hands. The weight of it feels wrong, unbalanced, like my body can’t reconcile holding a weapon while standing beside a bound Omega—our Omega.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask, my voice coming out steadier than I expected given the thundering of my heart.
Logan’s eyes glitter with a cold fury I haven’t seen since the night he killed Ander. “Obviously the bond and the title aren’t enough. Maya needs a more intense reminder of exactly who she belongs to.” He gestures toward her pale form strapped to the table. “You’re going to carve the Corellian sigil into her chest.”
My grip on the knife falters. “You can’t be serious.”
Behind me, I hear Ares’s sharp intake of breath. Even Poe shifts uncomfortably, the leather of his jacket creaking as he moves.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” Logan says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that signals he’sbeyond reason. “Our clever little Omega thought she could destroy…destroyus…by sending that video to the press.”
“This isn’t the answer,” Ares says, stepping forward. His massive frame seems to fill the small basement room as he moves closer to the table where Maya lies immobilized. “Logan, think about what you’re doing.”
Logan whirls on him, teeth bared in a snarl. “Oh? And what would you have done if I believed you were responsible for that video? If I thought you were the one who betrayed me?”
Ares goes very still, the color draining from his face. “You would have killed me.”
“Without hesitation,” Logan confirms. “Because none of us is allowed to put this pack at risk, not even me. Consider that the next time you decide to defend her for doing something this stupid. This is the only way she’ll learn.” He turns back to me, gesturing impatiently at the knife in my hand. “Get on with it.”
I look down at Maya, who glares back with eyes devoid of the fear I’d expect. The bond between us pulses with emotions too complex to untangle—fear, yes, but also determination, rage, and something that feels almost like... relief?
Then I realize. She doesn’t expect to come back from this moment. This will be the thing that severs her from us completely.
But how do I explain that without giving away the truth of our bond?
“I need to know,” Poe says suddenly, his quiet voice cutting through the tension. He steps closer to the table, his dark eyes fixed on Maya’s face. “I need to know if what happened to me was intentional.”
Maya’s eyes flick to him briefly before returning to mine.
“Just do whatever you need to do,” she says, her voice hollow. “I don’t care anymore.”
Poe’s face hardens at her non-answer. Without another word, he turns and stalks out of the basement, the door slamming behind him with enough force to send dust motes dancing in the dim light.
I turn the knife over in my hands, feeling the weight of it, the potential for violence it represents. “Why does it have to be me?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Logan steps closer, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, “Because I told you to.”
The implication is clear. If I refuse, he’ll use an Alpha command—something he’s done rarely since claiming me, but always with devastating effect. And what would he command me to do then? Something worse, something that would hurt Maya even more deeply than a physical wound?
Through our bond, I feel Maya’s quiet acceptance. She expects pain; she’s braced for it. But beneath that surface calm roils a tempest of emotion—not just fear, but a bone-deep exhaustion. She’s tired of fighting, tired of the constant struggle against forces larger than herself.
I understand that feeling all too well.
I could try to reason with him, appeal to whatever humanity remains beneath his rage. Or I could comply, marking Maya permanently as his property—our property—in the most barbaric way possible.
