Page 5 of Bonds of Obsession

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus. I can’t let Ambrose break me. I can make it through this. How many times have I endured worse, somehow surviving when everyone else had already written me off as dead?

The memories of past fights and abuse replay through my mind, giving me something to hold on to. If I survived then, I can survive now.

I have to calm the fuck down though. My whole body is slick with sweat, and my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my temples. I close my eyes, trying to slow my breathing, trying to calm the frantic beating in my chest. I’m not sure it’s working, but I have to keep trying. I need to conserve my strength, to stay alert.

Because Quinn and my brothers are coming for me. They have to be. And when they do, I need to be ready.

My voice is hoarse from screaming, but I still manage to rasp out, “You’re sick, you know that? This ain’t even about Quinn anymore. You’re just getting off on this shit.”

Ambrose’s lips curl into a smile that sends a chill down my spine. It’s cruel, twisted—the kind of smile that belongs on a predator who has finally cornered its prey.

“Observant, aren’t you?” He chuckles, circling me like a shark. “You’re right. This isn’t about Quinn. Not completely.”

He pauses, running a finger along the electrodes. The casual gesture makes my stomach churn.

“You know, I learned a lot in prison. Survival skills, mostly. But the most valuable lesson?” His eyes lock with mine, cold and calculating. “How to inflict pain. How to break a man.”

I try to sneer, but it comes out as more of a grimace. “Congratulations. Do they hand out awards for that in the yard? Got a plaque somewhere?”

He ignores my sarcasm. “It’s an art form, really. And it came in quite handy with poor Uncle Casey.”

The mention of Quinn’s uncle makes me stop and pay attention. Even through the pain and the rage and the brain fog from being beaten and shot and electrocuted within an inch of my life, I know enough to shut the fuck up when I’m being told something important.

“Casey was… resistant at first,” Ambrose continues in that casual, maddening tone, as if we’re discussing the weather. “Impressively resistant. But everyone has a breaking point. I found his.”

He leans in close. “He told me everything about the Dark Lotus Syndicate. About the marker they gave Quinn’s father.”

I clench my jaw as the realization hits me like a freight train.

Casey. Quinn’s uncle. Dead in prison.

We knew Ambrose was his cellmate, but this… this is something else entirely.

One by one, the pieces fall into place. Ambrose didn’t just share a cell with Casey. He tortured him. Broke him. And then…

“You killed him.” It isn’t a question. It’s obvious now, and the words taste like ash in my mouth.

He’s still leaning in close enough that I have to fight the sudden urge to headbutt him. It wouldn’t do any good—I’m too weak to do much damage, but it would probably be satisfying enough to outweigh the inevitable torture that would follow.

Ambrose’s cruel smirk widens. “Figured it out, have you? Took you long enough.”

His confirmation makes me think of Quinn, of how much she loved her uncle. How she’ll react when she finds out the truth. My hands clench into fists, chains rattling as I strain against them.

“You sick fuck,” I spit, my rage on Quinn’s behalf momentarily overriding the pain I’m feeling from head to toe.

He laughs, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Now, now. No need for name-calling. Haven’t you learned by now what happens when you make me angry?”

Before I can say anything else, he adjusts the electrodes against my skin for another round of torture. I’ve had a second to brace for it this time though. I grit my teeth, biting back the scream that threatens to tear free. My body convulses, and all of my muscles seize as electricity courses through me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out again.

The pain is excruciating. It feels like my insides are on fire, like my bones are trying to tear themselves apart. But I hold on, focusing on Quinn, on Nico, on Killian.

On the need to survive this hell.

When it finally stops, I’m left gasping and heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. Sweat is dripping into my eyes, stinging and making my vision blur, but I force myself to look up at him.

I’m almost caught off guard when I see a hint of grudging respect as he stares back at me. “Not bad.” He tilts his headfrom side to side, like he’s appraising my performance. “Most men would’ve broken by now. I doubt Casey could’ve lasted this long.”

I manage a weak snort, tasting blood at the mention of Quinn’s uncle again. “I’m not most men.”

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