Page 46 of Ruthless

"You've created quite the situation," he said, reaching for my wrist to check my pulse. "Killing Hector was... unexpected. I'm not angry, Luka. Just disappointed. You must have realized that I placed the contract on your precious therapist myself. That I specifically chose you to complete it. Such a simple loyalty test. And yet..." He sighed, the sound almost regretful. "You couldn't even manage that, could you? Instead, you killed Hector."

My shoulders curled inward automatically. "He was going to take my contract."

"Yourcontract?" His thumb stroked the inside of my wrist in small circles, his smile sharpening. "Such possessiveness. I taught you better than that." His eyes hardened, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "There will be consequences, of course. There always are. But I'm nothing if not fair." His fingers tightened briefly around my wrist. "I wanted to see you before... decisions were made."

His hand moved from my wrist to my face, fingers tracing my jaw before settling at the back of my neck. "You've always had trouble sharing your toys, haven't you? Even as a child."

My throat closed entirely at his touch. I wanted to pull away, but years of conditioning held me still.

"Vincent isn't a toy," I managed. "He's not a threat either. He doesn't know anything."

Prometheus laughed softly, the sound almost fond. "My sweet Luka. Always so quick to protect. But that's not your decision to make, is it? You are a tool.Mytool. And tools don't decide how they're used."

My body went limp as though he'd pressed a hidden button that shut down all resistance. My muscles released their tension, my shoulders dropped, my head tilted back slightly, offering my throat in the most primal submission display. A guttural sound emerged from my exposed throat, halfway between a whimper and a moan.

"My boy," he sighed, the endearment landing like a blow. "After everything I've given you. Everything I've done for you."

Vincent's voice cut through the haze, startling us both. "You're wrong." I hadn't heard him return, hadn't noticed the door opening. "He's not a tool. He's a person. With agency and choices."

The sound of Vincent's voice sent a jolt through my system like an electric current. My spine straightened, muscles tensing. It was like being pulled from drowning, that first desperate gasp after too long underwater. Color returned to my vision, the submission fog clearing.

"Take your hand off him." Vincent's voice came out low and dangerous, nothing like his usual therapeutic calm. The barely leashed violence in his tone made something primal in me respond. Through my fever haze, panic spiked in my chest. No, no, no. Vincent couldn't challenge him. Didn't he understand? Prometheus never respondedwell to defiance. Things always got worse when people tried to protect me.

But underneath the panic, something else stirred. No one had ever stood up to Prometheus for me. No one had ever thought I was worth protecting.

Prometheus didn't turn, didn't acknowledge Vincent's presence. But his grip tightened, and his posture stiffened. for the first time since he'd entered the room, my body and mind aligned in perfect clarity. I wasn't alone with him anymore. I wasn't a helpless child, a broken teenager, a controlled asset.

Someone else saw me. Someone else was here. And in that moment, both my body and mind knew the same truth: Prometheus didn't own me anymore.

"Dr. Matthews," he said, voice deceptively pleasant, "I believe I requested privacy for this conversation."

"And I believe I've heard enough," Vincent replied. "He needs medical attention, not whatever psychological game you're playing."

I could barely focus on their exchange, vision swimming at the edges. The water was suddenly too hot, too close. Prometheus's words burrowed like parasites, reactivating old pathways of shame and submission I'd thought were severed. I was slipping into that familiar dissociative state where I could float outside my body and watch what was happening from a safe distance.

Prometheus finally turned to face Vincent, expression one of mild amusement. He reached past me to turn off the hot water.

"So fierce for a healer. So protective for someone who wields a pen." His eyes flicked back to me, half-submerged. "Enjoy your time with him, doctor. Explore this... connection you think you have. Take your fill of him." He turned his attention fully to Vincent while his handcaressed my cheek possessively, voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "God knows, he's exquisite when he's in your bed, isn't he?"

The words slammed into Vincent, his body jerking backward as if Prometheus had punched him in the sternum. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists. "Get. Out. Now."

Something dark and violent rippled just beneath Vincent's professional surface, and for the first time, I saw what he might be capable of if pushed. It should have frightened me. Instead, it was hot as fuck.

"As you wish. But understand this," Prometheus continued, rising to his full height and straightening his already perfect cuffs, seemingly unbothered by Vincent's fury. "The contract on your life is public now. You can never leave the Acropolis alive. Your only safety is here, in these walls, for as long as they'll have you. Which means your only hope for survival is Luka's continued protection."

He moved toward the door. At the threshold, he paused, looking back with something like genuine affection, the most terrifying expression of all.

"You have some time to play, Luka. Explore this... distraction. Get it out of your system. But remember who you are, what you were made for." His eyes shifted to Vincent. "And when he inevitably sees the real you and rejects what he finds—when disgust and fear finally override his professional compassion—I'll be waiting. I'll always be waiting for you to come home."

The door closed with a soft click, but his presence lingered like a toxic cloud. The bathroom reeked of his cologne mixed with my fever sweat, every surface contaminated by his touch, every molecule of air poisoned by his words.

For a moment, neither Vincent nor I moved. The only sound was water lapping gently against porcelain and my ragged breathing. ThenVincent was in motion, dropping to his knees beside the tub, hands immediately going to check my temperature.

His movements were different now—sharp, efficient, almost violent. The earlier gentleness had been replaced by something harder. Anger radiated from him in waves, turning the air electric. When he grabbed a fresh washcloth and began bathing my face, his touch was still careful, but his whole body vibrated with barely contained rage.

He'd seen me submit. Seen me go weak and pliant under Prometheus's touch. Of course he was disgusted. Who wouldn't be revolted by watching a grown man turn into a trembling child at his abuser's hands?

"Luka? Can you hear me?" His voice seemed very far away. I tried responding, but words wouldn't form. The dissociation was complete. I was now floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching a stranger who looked like me in the bathtub while Vincent frantically tried to lower my fever.

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