Page 27 of Mystic's Sunrise

“No,” I choked out. “Don’t—”

Drago grabbed my chin, tilting my face toward his, forcing me to look at him instead of her. “You need to understand something,” he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheek as if he were comforting me. “I don’t hurt you because I love you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t teach you a lesson.”

Lucy cried out as Fang struck her.

I flinched, my body jerking toward her, but Drago held me still, his fingers tightening just enough to warn me.

“Shh,” he soothed. “Watch, baby.”

I couldn’t look away. He wouldn’t let me.

Lucy gasped in pain, but she didn’t break. She fought him back. Even as Fang hit her again, even as blood dripped from her mouth, she still didn’t give him what he wanted. She didn’t scream.

I did.

He continued to hold my face, forcing me to watch as Lucy fell unconscious, and Fang violated her in such an awful way. Drago pressed his lips to my forehead, whispering against my skin. “Secrets don’t belong between us. Do you understand now?”

I wanted to scream at him how much I hated him. I wanted to spit in his face. But I knew what he could do—what he would do—if I pushed too hard. So I did the only thing I could.

I nodded, and prayed Lucy would forgive me. A sob crawled up my throat, but it never made it past my lips. My fingers dug into the blanket, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

He’s not here. He’s not here. He’s not here.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to open my eyes, to remind myself of where I was. This room. The scent of flowers and something woodsy. The safety of this clubhouse.

Not Dragon Fire. Not Drago.

I wasn’t his prisoner anymore.

I wasn’t anyone’s prisoner anymore.

But the past still had its claws in me, and I didn’t know how to make it let go.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE SMELL HITSyou first, sweat, sex, smoke,and blood. Not fresh blood, but dried and faint, caught beneath someone’s nails or crusted into a scab beneath a ring. The whole room reeked of violence. This was the kind of place where monsters grinned wide and no one dared tell them to stop.

A bitch screamed near the back—not in fear, but high on whatever she’d snorted, grinding on a brother’s lap while he played with her tits. One of my brothers knocked a guy to the floor over a bet gone sideways, boot to his ribs before anyone could ask a single question. Not that anyone did. Why wouldthey? This was Dragon Fire. Not a family. A fucking kingdom. And I sat at the top.

But tonight, it all tasted like ash.

I didn’t touch the bottle beside me. Didn’t even glance at the sweet butt kneeling at my feet, eager and waiting for a nod she’d never get. I let her stay there, not for her sake, but because it reminded the others that I still owned the room, even if my head was somewhere else entirely.

Because my head? It was with her. Zeynep.

She was gone, but not lost. I knew exactly where she was. I knew who helped her—Lucy, that little mouthy bitch who had no idea the hell she’d invited by turning Zeynep against me. I should’ve snuffed her out the second I caught wind of the whispers, but I didn’t. I let Zeynep keep her. Let her talk, let her laugh, let her pretend she had a life outside of me. I even thought the warning I gave Zeynep about Lucy would be enough. Another mistake. A soft one. It won’t happen again.

I pulled from my cigarette, smoke curling as slow and steady as the fury sitting deep in my gut. She’s tucked away now, somewhere quiet. Hiding. Healing. Thinking. And the worst part, she thinks she’s free. That’s the real fucking joke.

I wonder if she thinks about my hands, my voice, the way I made her feel when I was inside her. And then, the wondering turns to rage, because what if someone else is whispering to her now? What if some bastard is brushing her hair back, touching her face, trying to convince her he deserves her?

She doesn’t belong to anyone but me. She never did, even before she knew it. And if some soft-hearted fucker thinks he can erase what’s already written into her bones, I’ll make sure he understands—painfully, permanently—that her story starts and ends with me. I’ll bury him in pieces and make her watch.

Zeynep’s not like any bitch I’ve ever known. She burned the day I found her—quiet fire, not the kind that dances, but the kindthat smolders and scars. She had soft smiles and sad eyes, and she was mine the second I laid eyes on her. I didn’t just keep her, I protected her, loved her, gave her everything. And now she runs? Like I didn’t bleed for her? Like I didn’t almost die trying to make her life better?

She was waiting for someone to take care of her. And I did. I still do. Every scar she bears is a mark of survival, and every one of them binds her to me.

Fucking Lucy!

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