Page 40 of True Bastard
Morpheus roared, “That motherfucker owes me a life!”
We all knew that the only reason Massacre was still breathing was because he rescued Heretic’s daughter, Savoy Noel, who was held captive by Boris Petrovitch, the former head of the West Coast Bratva. The torture she suffered still raged deep within her today.
However, Massacre was another story. The fucker still owed the club. More importantly, he owed Morpheus a debt, and I knew the bastard wouldn’t stop until he extracted it painfully.
“You want Massacre, then reach out to Yuri Nikitin. Give him Massacre’s location,” I absently said. “Last I checked, he was hiding behind Skinner’s skirts.”
Morpheus grinned, then turned to Garotte. “Reach out to your brother. His debt is clear only if Nikitin takes the bait.”
Garotte nodded and left church.
“Playing with fire, Morpheus.” Cerberus shook his head, grinning.
Morpheus shrugged unrepentantly. “Don’t give a fuck. I’m gonna kill two birds with one stone. Either Yuri kills that fucking bastard, or he kills Yuri. Either way, I get to kill the survivor.”
“If it’s Yuri, I get to kill him,” Heretic said firmly, and Morpheus simply nodded.
Sitting at one of the tables, I nursed a bottle of whiskey as my brothers geared up for another night of sex, debauchery, and mayhem. It was nothing new.
The same thing, just a different day.
Rinse and repeat.
The club whores were making their rounds, as brothers chose which pussy would satisfy their need tonight, when Silkie walked over to me, licking her lips as if I were a banquet she was about to feast on. Sliding up next to me, her hand slithered around my back, and she leaned down, whispering in my ear, “Wanna go fuck, Firestride?”
Ignoring her, I grabbed my bottle of whiskey and downed a large gulp, watching impassively as Morpheus took a seat at my table, Lollie already on her knees eager to please him.
“You should let Silkie fuck your brains out.”
Placing the bottle back on the table, I asked, “And why should I do that?”
“To get the bitch out of your system.”
“Cerberus already tried that once. It didn’t work,” I clipped as I looked about the room. The idea of seeking solace in Silkie’s practiced embrace, in the hollow comfort of club whores, felt like a deeper betrayal than anything I’d already done. It was a capitulation, a surrender to the very emptiness that Kyllian had somehow managed to fill.
Morpheus chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that did little to soothe the turmoil within me. “Cerberus tried to make you forget her, brother. He tried to drown her memory in whiskey and cheap thrills. But you’re not built for forgetting, are you? You’re built for the fight, for the burn.” He gestured to the bottle in my hand, then to the surrounding brothers, a sea of hardened faces lost in their own debauchery. “They have pussy. They have booze. They have the Brotherhood. But you, Firestride, you have a golden pussy.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “Choose.”
“What fucking more do you want from me?!” I roared, my words ripped from my throat with a raw, primal fury. The whiskey burned a path down my throat, offering no solace, only a deeper plunge into the abyss. “I did choose! I chose my brothers; I chose the Brotherhood!”
Morpheus shook his head and sighed as his hand went to the back of Lollie’s head, holding her down as she gagged on his cock. “You chose wrong, brother.”
Getting to my feet, a surge of something dark and hot—a furious rage I barely recognized—propelled me forward. I grabbed Silkie’s hand, the desperation in her eyes a mirror tothe turmoil raging within me. I shoved her against the table, the wood groaning under the force, and snarled, the sound ripping from my throat, foreign and ugly. “Fuck you, Morpheus.”
My own beliefs, the ones I’d clung to like a life raft in a storm, felt distant, drowned out by the rising tide of anger and a desperate need to reclaim control. It was wrong; I knew it was wrong—this violent surge, this disregard for her will. But Morpheus’ mocking grin, his smug assurance of my helplessness, had ignited a fire I couldn’t extinguish. I had to prove him wrong, even if it meant becoming something I despised.
Kicking her feet apart, the movement felt coarse, a violation even as it was happening. I flipped up her short skirt, the fabric a flimsy barrier against the storm I was unleashing. My belt unbuckled with a sharp snap, a sound that echoed the breaking of something inside me. As I removed my dick, the act felt detached, like watching someone else’s struggle. Stroking it a few times, a wave of nausea washed over me.
This wasn’t desire, not truly.
It was a twisted assertion, a desperate attempt to wield power when I felt utterly powerless.
I didn’t give her any warning; my decision was a split-second, terrible choice. The plunge deep into her used cunt was a gut-wrenching act, a descent into something I knew I would regret. Reaching for her neck, I pumped my cock deep, my fingers tightening, digging into her skin with a ferocity that shocked me. My glare was fixed on Morpheus, who shook his head, his grin widening, a testament to my failure. This wasn’t victory; it was a descent, a betrayal of myself, and the sickening realization of that truth bloomed in the wreckage of my resolve.
“Is this what you want?” I snarled, my voice raw and guttural, each word ripped from the depths of my tormented soul as I hammered my dick deeper into her used cunt. My fingerstightened around her throat—a primal assertion of dominance, a desperate attempt to prove my loyalty, my adherence to the Brotherhood’s brutal creed.
Morpheus, his eyes fixed on mine, a grim satisfaction playing on his lips, merely shook his head. His silence was a judgment, a confirmation that no matter what I did, no matter how I twisted myself into knots to appease him, I had already chosen wrong.
The guttural roar that ripped from my chest was not a sound of pleasure, but of utter, soul-crushing defeat. Silkie’s practiced movements, her simulated moans, did nothing to quell the tempest in my gut. Each thrust of my cock into her willing, yet ultimately hollow embrace was a stab in my own back. I was a Bastard, yes, but this... this was a betrayal of myself, a desecration of the very thing Kyllian had ignited within me.
