Page 15 of Ruthless Kings of Havoc

To hear those words—his very oath to hold him accountable—is enough to ruin me. To submit to these drowning emotions and let myself go.

I cry away the tears and internal torment until I’m so exhausted, I can barely make a noise.

Zander holds me the entire time, even as I drift in and out multiple times.

I’m sure Ares and Warren came by, but I could only hear quiet muffles of voices before drifting off again. I don’t know where we are or if any of us have the time to be spending like this after the showdown that happened, but Zander doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t order me to do anything.

All he does is comfort and praise me.

It’s appreciated when I feel so broken.

It takes time before I’m able to stay up for longer than thirty minutes at a time. Even then, no words are exchanged. Zander just observes me, even if it means watching me stare into space or admire the meals I receive to help me recover.

I can’t tell how much time has passed, if it’s only been a few hours or maybe a few days.

Zander and the others may not be rushing me to get my shit in gear, but I’m not a fool to think we’re privileged all this time to become a strong unit to face our obvious enemy.

I have to face the music.

I’ve tried to speak a few times, but it sounds scratchy and has a bit of a stutter when I try to pronounce certain words. I overheard one of the private nurses explain to Zander that it was one of the few side effects of whatever drug I was given to help me recover.

It sounds like illegal shit, which I’m not surprised by. It was clear that Zander didn’t like that at all and ordered for a remedy to be located and given to me to ensure my speech returns to its perfection.

There’s something hot about hearing your man order people who don’t work for him to do whatever he commands for your sake.

It’s really hot.

I could also be really horny, but that doesn’t sound practical after the psychotic madness I’ve gone through. Do you ever hear a woman getting sick, having a seizure, almost being killed byher bully ex-Ruthless King, having more seizures, and needing days to recover, still having a very active sex drive?

Nope. It’s utter madness.

Yet here I am, wondering how I could potentially get back to riding Zander’s pierced cock like a mad pony.

I’ve lost my fucking mind. I must have.

Can my legs even function to that extent?

I’ve been avoiding the thought. Just like everything else pending in my life, I haven’t been neglecting my need to move. Whether my body is in pain or not, I’ve pushed myself to get up and use the washroom when I can, and it’s clear that I can walk, despite the obvious weakness in my body.

I’m not paralyzed.

Whether the confirmation of my deepest fear not being my reality, matched with the memory of Domino standing in wait for my doom, I pull myself out of my zoned-out state to look for Zander.

He’s on my left like he always has been since I first woke up, but I pout in confusion because he’s not just “Zander.”

Masked Lover?

There’s that black glowing mask with the neon green and purple Xs as eyes and the eerie smirk that’s stitched with lines across its illuminating expression. The sun on the verge of setting adds to the overall aesthetic—the shadows that enter the room and glide along the walls are only accented by the last rays of glowing sunshine.

It’s hauntingly resonating.

He notices not only my intrigue but surprise, especially when I can’t help reaching out and gently touching his mask. I can’t read his eyes, which makes things tricky, but I wonder if he can understand what I need.

If he can decipher how I desperately need a distraction that only he can offer, without judgment or future provocation.

“Does my Sweet Dynamite want to go for a ride?”

I dare to think what he can offer me, yet the mere chance of getting out of this room of tall walls and quiet beeps makes my heart skip a few beats.

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