Page 14 of True Bastard
Rough, hearty laughter boomed from behind me as the biker smiled down at me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood as I slowly turned around to find several hulking, dangerous men all leering at me, then my eyes landed on the one laughing.
Holy Mother of God!
His laughter didn’t just rip; it splintered through the suffocating press of bodies, a visceral, guttural sound that clawed at the very air. A wave of fear, not just thick but choking, like the metallic tang of old blood and the cloying sweetness of decay, tore through the throng. The mountain of a man didn’t just stand; he unfurled, a primal force emerging from the earth itself, and the air didn’t just crackle, it screamed with the nascent thrum of impending catastrophe. If the brute behind me had left me trembling in my boots, this titan could devour my very essence, leaving nothing but an echo. He dominated. A colossal obsidian monument hewn by a forgotten, wrathful deity, casting a shadow that consumed all lesser beings. Seven and a half feet? More like an affront to gravity, a testament to raw, brutal power sculpted from sinew and pure, unadulterated rage. His hair, a midnight cascade, tumbled down his back, a silken shroud framing a visage that could shatter worlds. His eyes weren’t mere windows; they were abyssal depths, glacial pools reflecting the unforgiving, razor-sharp light of a moon bled dry. He wasn’t simply death and destruction; hewas the apocalypse incarnate, the storm that preceded utter annihilation, the raw, unbridled fury that left a landscape scorched with the residue of pure dread. This wasn’t a man. He was the whisper of damnation, the palpable presence of the inferno itself.
Backing up, I didn’t even flinch when I bumped into the biker behind me, nor when I slowly maneuvered myself behind him, and then heard him chuckle.
“You were right, brother. Kitten’s got claws,” the mountain rumbled and then let out another booming laugh, the sound echoing the unspoken threat. He was a force of nature, a walking embodiment of raw power.
The biker, for all his intensity, seemed to have a certain respect for the hulking man, a deference that spoke volumes about the hierarchy within their savage world as he remained unmoved by the mountain man’s approach. I stood behind the brute, a fragile pawn caught in a game far beyond my comprehension, the stench of oil and leather clinging to me like a second skin. My earlier defiance felt like a flicker against the inferno of their presence, a spark quickly being extinguished.
“So, what’s the plan, Firestride?” the mountain boomed, his gaze now fixed on me, a possessive glint in his eyes. “You gonna break her in, or just use her for target practice?”
I stuck my head around the brute to see his lips curved into a smirk, a dangerous curve that promised nothing good, and my eyes narrowed as I found some semblance of my fleeting courage return and pushed myself between the two men.
Glaring up at the brute, I snapped, “Excuse me! You’re delusional if you think I will just roll over while you break me in. What the hell does that even mean? You’ve dragged me around God’s green earth, to where, I have no fucking clue, and you expect me to be your... your what? A one-night stand? Your personal fuck buddy? I’m not some damn prize to be won ortraded.” My voice trembled, but my anger was a potent antidote to the terror coursing through my veins. I refused to let either of them see how badly they’d shaken me. “Jessup is your problem. You deal with him and leave me the fuck alone.”
The brute chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that promised nothing good. “Oh, I’ll deal with Jessup in my own time. But you, my little vicious kitten, you’re a loose end that needs tying up and you know I’m all about tying things up.” He reached out, his large hand hovering near my face, not to strike, but to trace the faint bruise blooming on my cheekbone. His touch was unnervingly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence of his words, and it sent a fresh wave of unease through me as I slapped his hand away. “Consider yourself declawed, Kitten, and welcome to the Brotherhood of Bastards.”
The brute didn’t give me a chance to respond before he dragged me from the room and up a long flight of stairs. Nothing I did removed the iron clamp of his hand around my wrist. The air grew colder as we ascended, the rough-hewn wood of the stairs groaning under our weight. Each step was a further descent into the unknown, a deeper plunge into the heart of this Brotherhood he represented. The grip on my wrist remained, an unwavering anchor to his world, a constant, terrifying reminder of my lack of control. When he finally stopped, it was in front of a heavy, dark oak door. Without a word, he shoved it open, releasing me into a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of sandalwood musk and a hint of mint.
“Welcome to your new accommodations, Kitten,” the brute rumbled, his voice a low growl that vibrated in my chest. He gestured vaguely around the room, his expression unreadable. It was luxurious in a dark, opulent way, a stark contrast to the grime and desperation of my life. A king-sized bed with black satin sheets dominated the room, its darkness inviting and foreboding at the same time. A plush black bearskin ruglay sprawled across beautifully hewn hardwood floors, and the air hung heavy with an intoxicating and distinctly masculine perfume.
It was a gilded cage, more opulent than the last, but a cage, nonetheless.
I looked at him, my gaze sweeping over his towering frame, ignoring the stunning perfection of his face. There was a predatory grace to him, a coiled power that was both terrifying and strangely captivating. He, like his counterpart downstairs, was the epitome of the danger I’d been trying to outrun, and now, he was my jailer.
“Accommodations?” I scoffed, the word tasting foul like rotted meat. “You call this accommodations? You dragged me here against my will, and you expect me to thank you?” My voice, though shaky, held a sliver of the defiance I clung to so fiercely.
He stepped closer, his massive frame eclipsing the dim light, as a slow, unnerving smile spread across his lips. “I expect you to behave, Kitten. If you don’t, then I will instruct you on how to behave.” His eyes held a glint of something that wasn’t quite amusement, but a grim satisfaction. He knew he held all the cards, and I was just a piece on his board. He reached out, his large hand hovering near my face, as he gently traced the faint bruise on my cheekbone. The gesture was so out of place with his brutal demeanor, it sent a fresh wave of unease through me. “And while you’re here,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “you’re mine to play with.”
His thumb, rough and calloused, brushed against my tender skin, a starkly inappropriate gentleness that sent a tremor through me. It was a calculated move, I knew, meant to disarm and to lull me into a false sense of security. But my instincts were honed by years of survival, and they screamed danger. This wasn’t just a place of confinement; it was a declaration ofownership, a chilling pronouncement that my life was no longer my own.
I met his gaze, forcing my voice to remain steady, though the tremor in my limbs betrayed my terror. “Play with me?” I echoed, my voice holding a hint of defiance laced with raw fear. “You think I’m some toy you can pick up and discard when you’re done? You think I’m going to just roll over and let you control me?” My words felt hollow even to me, a pathetic attempt at a shield against the overwhelming reality of my situation. The opulent room, the black satin sheets, the scent of sandalwood—it was all a gilded façade, masking the brutal truth of my captivity.
He merely smirked, a dangerous, unsettling curve of his lips as he took a step closer. His immense presence filled the space between us as he leaned down and whispered seductively in my ear, “I don’t discard toys, Kitten. I cherish them, and the only thing I control is what happens in this room. Would you like to test my control, Kitten?”
He watched me, his eyes tracking the minute shifts in my expression, a predator observing its cornered prey. His smirk widened, a flash of white against his tanned skin, and he finally withdrew his hand, a low rumble of amusement vibrating in his chest. “You’ve got spirit, Kitten,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “I like that.” He turned, a massive shadow against the dim light, and walked toward the door. “Don’t get any ideas about escaping. This place is built to keep you in, and me out. And believe me, you don’t want me out there looking for you.”
He left me standing there, the silence of the opulent room pressing in on me. It was a luxurious prison, designed to keep me and to break me. The black satin sheets of the bed beckoned, a dark temptation I knew I couldn’t afford to indulge. My mind replayed his words, the chilling possessiveness in his tone.Cherish them. He saw me as a possession, another objectto be claimed and controlled. And in this gilded cage, with the knowledge of what I’d already endured, the thought of him seeking to “cherish” me was more terrifying than any outright threat.
I took a tentative step, the plush rug muffling my footfalls. My gaze fell upon a heavy, ornate jewelry box on the dresser. It was locked, of course. Everything in this place seemed to be, including me. But there had to be a way out. There had to be a way to fight back, to reclaim some semblance of control. The brute had underestimated me. He thought he’d declawed me, but he hadn’t accounted for the fire that still burned within. And that fire, I knew, was far from extinguished.
Chapter Nine
Firestride
“Bitch has fire in her veins, brother,” Morpheus stated as I walked into his office to find him and Cerberus lounging about. “You’d better be careful before you get singed.” His words, meant as a casual observation, snagged on something raw within me. Careful? Singed? He didn’t know the half of it. He didn’t know the gnawing unease that settled in my gut every time I looked at her—a disconcerting mix of grudging respect and a forbidden flicker of something dangerously close to... admiration? But I’d be damned if I let anyone, especially Morpheus, see that.
“I can handle her,” I grumbled. My lie tasted foreign to my tongue. I took a seat, pushing down the insistent voice that whispered about the consequences of underestimating her, of the potential for unintended entanglement. Getting right down to business was the only way to keep my head above the churning water of my own thoughts. “Found the kid with Kaycee’s parents. Apparently, Kaycee asked them to watch the brat for the night. Wanted a night alone with her old man. I gave them some money and told them to take the kid on an extended vacation. They know to wait for my call before they return.” It was a neat solution, a temporary Band-Aid, but what choice did I have? The child’s safety, for now, was paramount.
“Well, that’s one fucking problem fixed.” Cerberus sighed, leaning back in a chair, his palpable relief jarring with theknot tightening in my own chest. He saw only the victory, the neat resolution. He didn’t see the messy, compromised steps I’d taken, the moral compromises I’d swallowed to get there. “Any leads on the sick fucker?”
“No, and the RCPD has nothing either. Whoever it was left no trace.” The void of information was a familiar enemy, but this time it felt different. This time, the lack of a clear target meant the darkness inside me, the primal urge to lash out and punish, had nowhere to go, festering and turning inward.
“And what about Jessup?” Morpheus asked, his gaze sharp, cutting through my defenses. “Don’t want word getting around that the Brotherhood has gone easy on debts owed. Will make us look weak.” His words were a stark reminder of the code, the unbending rules that defined our existence. But Jessup... Jessup was a different kind of beast. But Morpheus was right. Jessup owed a debt, a significant one, and the Brotherhood’s reputation, Morpheus’ precious reputation, demanded I collect.
Smirking, I rubbed my chin and said, “Right now, my only lead on that fucker is currently upstairs trying to find a way out of my room.”
