Page 14 of The Bonds We Break
Maybe I can reframe what is happening to me in my head. Not in the way women who are abused are able to compartmentalize the abuse because they “know” how much their partner loves them. But truly lean into my sexual urges and own it so the next however-long-this-is doesn’t feel like it’s being done to me.
The experience would make incredible research. I’m fascinated by what makes men tick. What makes some think women are property and what makes some of them worship their partners and treat them as equals. What makes some descend into violence and uncontrolled rage like my father did, and what enables some to become Navy SEALs who keep their cool in the most extreme moments.
What would the cost of this experiment be to me?
It’s just my body, and I’m so disassociated from it already that the worst I’ll get is more crap sex. But if I frame this right, if I look at this as something I’ve wanted to explore sexually and research mentally, there’s every chance I’ll come out of this situation better than I entered it.
And I can’t imagine anything angering King more than me growing, regardless of where he plants me.
I take a breath, pull my shoulders back, and decide.
I’d do this for my brother. But I’ll win the battle between me and King for myself.
6
KING
I’ve ditched my belt, boots, and socks, and am lying on the bed, one arm behind my head, as I wait to see just how far Rae will go to save her brother. Until Saint gets back from his vacation, I’ve got nothing but time to break her.
When she walks in, her spine is straight. The room is dark, but there’s enough moonlight to cast shadows on her body.
I wonder what it will take to make her crumble. To make her curl up in a ball and cry. To beg me to let her out of this arrangement, to let her brother out of this fucked-up scenario I’ve created.
Just thinking about Saint makes me fucking angry all over again.
If it weren’t a massive contradiction, I’d file a report with the ATF, one they could shove up their ass, one they wouldn’t be able to swallow. I’d document all the times Saint showed up for the club. The times he killed. The time he did drugs. All the illegal shit he’s done. I’ve researched how far ATF agents are allowed to go. And Saint crossed so many lines toward the end, I understand how he forgot which side he was on.
But I haven’t forgotten the fucking arrogance that allowed him to think we’d forgive him and let him rejoin our club.
Clutch thinks it’s a good idea. Thinks Saint can give us more intel on how the ATF works. My gut tells me he’s already passed useful intel to Cillian O’Ceallaigh, head of the Irish crime family. And that pisses me off even more. Why give intel to the club’s former nemesis and not us?
I try to shake the burn of anger I always feel when I think of Saint and instead focus on Rae. “Strip,” I command.
Her chin is raised defiantly. “It’s freezing in here.”
“Strip.”
“It might make you less of an asshole if you took care of some basic comforts first. Would it kill you to get a fire going?”
“Strip.”
She doesn’t move or say anything more; she simply glares at me.
“Let me make this easy for you, Rae. You’re insurance. But even insurance doesn’t prevent bad things from happening.”
She shakes her head and runs her tongue over her top teeth. “Let me make this easy for you,Uther. I consent.”
I’m confused for a moment, and then I realize. She’s taking away my power. “You don’t get to decide—”
“I don’t get to decide what?” Her hands go to her hoodie, and she yanks it over her head. Long dark hair swishes down her back like a waterfall, and my dick twitches at the idea of wrapping it around my fist while I fuck her. Beneath it, she’s wearing a butter-soft T-shirt that drapes over fine-looking tits. “I don’t get to decide who I do and don’t have sex with? How utterly misogynistic of you. And to be honest, really predictable.”
She reaches for the hem of the T-shirt, then tugs, and it ends up on the floor with the hoodie. Her bra is gray cotton. Lace gives me the itch ... literally and figuratively. I hate it. Her eyes meet mine as her words reverberate through me.
Really predictable.
None of how this is going how I want it to. I should have the upper hand here.
“I see you wore cotton. So youcanfollow my instructions,” I say.
