Page 21 of Breaker

“God,” he grates. “I love you like this. Shamelessly desperate.” His masked mouth skims over mine, and I feel his breath. Smell him. Spice and longing.”You turn into such a sweet, good girl when you want my cock buried in you.”

Rage heats my cheeks. I buck against him but regret it as it drives him harder into me.

“You’ll only have me again if I’m kicking and screaming,” I snarl.

“Promises, promises,” he growls and leans down to whisper, “Even if I never sink between your thighs again, this pretty cunt belongs to us. You belong to us. Your mind, your body, your fucking soul. Every single breath you inhale belongs tome.”

He sits up and scoots off the bed. I grind my teeth, biting back any retort because I know it’s pointless. When he adjusts himself and fishes the keys from my pocket, all the heat that had been building turns cold, and unease ripples in my belly.

“Reaper.”

He ignores me and walks to the door.

“Reaper. You can’t keep me tied up here,” I scream.

He pauses in the door. “No? You tried to run. You know what happens when you try to run, Kitten.”

Shit. I clamp my mouth shut, because yes. I do.

Chapter 7

Breaker

15 Years Ago, September, Age 13

Tiny pinpricks of lightfilter through the black fabric covering my eyes. Shadowy outlines of objects moving past, blocking the light briefly, then light flares brightly again making me wince.

I blink, trying to focus, confusion making my head swim. My head feels fuzzy, and it feels and tastes like someone stuck a sock in my mouth it’s so dry. I lick my lips. My arm hurts. I’m lying on my side, my head tilted at a weird angle, causing pain to pinch in my neck. I try to move but I realize my hands are tied behind my back with something coarse.

Rope.

Fuck. I have to pee.

Metal creaks. Something squeaks. Whatever I’m lying on lurches. My body jolts, rises slightly. Then I’m floating in an abyss of darkness for a millisecond before hitting down with a painful smack.

A groan and a loud thud to my left.

I recognize the throaty moan.

Viper.

There’s another squeal then the sound of metal grating metal.

We’re in a truck.

The fabric over my head sticks to my face as I inhale through my nose, breathing in deeply, smelling damp earth and exhaust and ammonia.

“We’re in a truck bed,” I say.

“No shit.” Striker’s raspy voice comes from behind me.

Something hard hits the top of my head.

“Sorry,” Viper grates. “I hope that wasn’t your nuts.”

“Where are we?” I ask, wishing I could rub my forehead to clear the fog. The need to drink something, feel cool wetness on my tongue is all I can think about for a moment.

“No fucking clue,” Viper says with a slight creak in his voice. Like he was yelling or a hasn’t used his voice in a long time. Or he’s as thirty as I am. “Last thing I remember was Maxy coming in my room and telling me to shut the fuck up.”

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