Page 29 of True Bastard
I pushed off the door, a grim smile twisting my lips. Morpheus’ words, “The Brotherhood’s never had an old lady,” echoed in my mind, a stark reminder of the shift she represented. This wasn’t just about Jessup anymore, or about collecting a debt. It was about something far more complicated, something that threatened to unravel the very fabric of my life. I was caught between the unbreakable code of the Brotherhood and the undeniable pull of the woman who held my attention, my focus, my very damn soul. And the path ahead was as uncertain and dangerous as the storm brewing within me.
Narrowing my eyes, I flipped my brothers the one-finger bird and entered into the fray... and prayed that God would have mercy on my soul because tonight, I was playing for Kyllian. And I would not lose.
The second I stepped back into the room, all hell broke loose.
“You think I’m going to stay here, letting you play your sick twisted games with me?” Kyllian’s voice, though trembling, was laced with a fury that belied her frail appearance. She held a heavy tome, its spine cracked and worn, as a makeshift weapon to use against me. “You lied to me. You promised me... I can’t remember what it was, but it was something. And all I got was this gilded cage and your pathetic brothers leering at me like I’m some kind of fucking prize.”
Her accusation hung in the air, a challenge that I absorbed with grim satisfaction. I had pushed her, pushed her harder than anyone, and now she was fighting back with the only weapons she had left: her words, her defiance, and her unyielding spirit.
“And you think after acting like this, I will let you out of here anytime soon?” My voice was a low growl, laced with dangerous amusement. I took a step closer, my predatory gaze sweeping over her, lingering on the fading bruised skin that was a testament to Jessup’s brutality. “You’re mine, Kitten. Mycollateral. Until Jessup pays his debt, you’re not going anywhere. And after that... well, we’ll see.”
I reached out, my large hand hovering near her face, not to strike, but to trace the faint bruise fading on her cheekbone. My touch, a stark contradiction to my words, sent a tremor through her, a chilling mix of fear and something that felt terrifyingly like attraction. It was a calculated move, I knew, meant to disarm, to lull her into a false sense of security. But Kyllian’s instincts, honed by years of survival, screamed danger.
“Mine?” Kyllian scoffed, her voice laced with a bitter sarcasm as she swatted my hand away, her eyes blazing with a defiant fire. “You think you own me? You think because you kidnapped me, because you’ve locked me away, that I’m yours to play with?” She stood taller, her trembling form radiating a fierce, desperate courage. “You’re wrong. I’m not your collateral. I’m not your plaything. And I will never be yours.”
Her words, though a whisper against the storm of her power, were a declaration of war, a promise that even in her gilded cage, her spirit would not be easily broken.
The laughter that erupted from me wasn’t one of amusement, but a harsh, guttural sound that reverberated through the room. I stepped closer, my massive frame eclipsing the dim light—a dark, formidable force. “You’ve got fire, Kitten,” I rumbled, my voice a dangerous purr as I recalled the words I said to her the night we met. “I like that. But fire without a place to burn is just wasted energy. And you, my little defiant kitten, are a whole lot of wasted energy right now. You’ll learn to earn your keep. You’ll learn your place. Or you’ll wish for death.” I reached out again, my hand closing around her neck, my grip like iron. “And if you think you can escape me, or if you think I’ll let you go without looking for you, you’re more foolish than you look.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kyllian
“Get your fucking hands off me,” I snarled as his hand tightened, and he walked me back toward the wall. Leaning close, his hand squeezed around my throat, and I whimpered as I felt him lick my ear.
“Your debt is due, Kitten. Time to collect.”
Every word delivered was a command that he expected to be obeyed.
I wasn’t stupid.
I knew what he wanted. I fucking knew after day three that Jessup was long gone, and when my Devil in leather returned, he would want something as payment.
That something was me.
I pressed my palms against his chest, desperation and rage warring inside me. “You won’t break me,” I spat, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My heart thudded wildly, but I held his gaze, refusing to show him fear. The darkness pressed in, thick and suffocating, but in that moment, I clung to the last shred of hope that he might underestimate me—that I might still find a way out.
His grip tightened, his thumb slowly tracing the bruised skin beneath my eye, a stark contrast to the brutal pressure on my throat. “You may think that,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me, a physical manifestation of his power,“but you’re wrong. You’re already broken, Kitten. I saw it the moment I laid eyes on you.”
His words were a cruel balm, each syllable a jab at the last vestiges of my pride.
He saw my fear, my desperation, and he reveled in it, like a predator enjoying the slow demise of its prey.
“You want to break me?” I managed to choke out my words before they caught in my throat. “You think this is how you collect a debt? By raping me?” My voice trembled, a pathetic echo of the defiance I’d once possessed. But even as the words left my lips, I knew the truth: he didn’t want to collect a debt; he wanted to claim a possession.
And I, with my broken spirit and my bruised body, was all he had left.
“Can’t rape the willing,” he snarled as his mouth furiously claimed mine. His lips moved against mine, a desperate, brutal claiming that left me breathless and trembling. His hands roamed over my body, no longer seeking to terrify but to possess.
I was no longer fighting, no longer resisting. The will to battle had been eroded by days of captivity, by the constant gnawing fear, by the sheer overwhelming power he exuded. I surrendered to him, not out of desire, but out of utter exhaustion. My body, a vessel of pain and humiliation, responded to his touch with sickening obedience, a betrayal of the spirit that had once burned so fiercely.
The world outside the confines of his room ceased to exist. There was only the rough texture of his leather, the scent of sandalwood and mint that clung to him, and the crushing weight of his body against mine. Each gasp, each whimper that escaped my lips, was a confession of my defeat, a testament to the breaking of my will. He had taken everything, not just my freedom, but the very essence of who I was, leaving behinda hollow shell, a compliant pawn in his twisted game. The whispers of my former defiance were silenced, drowned out by the roaring storm of his dominance.
The thud of my surrender was not a gentle collapse, but a violent explosion. He didn’t just shove me; he hurled me, a ragdoll flung with brutal force across the expanse of his room, the momentum only ceasing as I slammed into the unforgiving edge of his bed. The impact stole my breath, a sharp, agonizing expulsion that left my lungs screaming for air as his weight descended, crushing the remaining life from me. His grip was vise-like, fingers digging into my wrists, twisting them behind my back with a sickening crack that echoed in my ears. He held me pinned, a singular hand pressing down on my spine as he lifted his torso, the sheer mass of him a suffocating burden.
Then, a savage rip. The fabric of the sweats he’d so carelessly gifted me tore, not in a gentle descent, but in a violent deterioration, pooling around my ankles like discarded skin. He dragged me back, an irresistible force, pulling me against him until the raw, over-sensitized planes of my body met the unyielding hardness of his groin. The steel-hard reality of his erection pressed into me, a stark, brutal pronouncement as he pushed down, forcing my torso into the yielding give of the mattress. The sharp snap of his belt buckle was a punctuation mark, a prelude to the rustle of denim as his pants parted. My deepest dread bloomed as his cock sprang free, a raw, throbbing demand resting against the delicate crease of my backside.
My struggle was desperate, wild, limbs flailing against his unrelenting hold. A tempest of thoughts, jagged and sharp, clawed at my consciousness as he loomed over me. His hand, a dark shadow, descended, sliding beneath my face, a suffocating blanket that smothered my mouth and nostrils, stealing the air I so desperately craved.
