Page 103 of When Sinners Dare

Eventually my hand goes to the back of her neck to force her forwards. That earns me a whimper, before she tries spinning into me with her teeth bared. My hand tightens on automatic, and she damn near drops to the floor because of the pressure. So I drag until she’s on her feet again and then use my strength over her to keep following – still focused on him, still trying to forget what I’m doing.

By the time he’s opened another door and we’re folding into that room, she’s spat at me, kicked me, tried biting again, and probably thrown all kinds of insults at me in Spanish. I let go at the final rally of language and slam the door behind me, shoulders square across it in case either of them try running. He lets go of his too, and backs up to a wall, as If I’m gonna have to deal with both of them.

“Furnace is ready,” he says, pointing at the corner of the room.

I look over towards it and find everything there that I remember from Dante. Same box. Same small stool at the end of a metal table. Same few tubs of cream and a pack of bandages. Same smell of burning and ash, too.

A breath pulls into me, and I take a step towards it all. Second I do, one of the women starts moving for the door. I backstep and look at him. “I’ll need you to hold one.”

He lights a cigarette up. “No. Learn." I frown and look at both women between us, wondering how the fuck I do this and keep two of them in this room at the same time. “You’re big enough, Kai. Use what God gave you.”

A long, slow swallow rattles through me because that just told me everything he expects from me. I’ve never hit a woman in my life – pretend cattle or not.

Still, I reach for one and glare at the other. “Stay,” I try.

Trouble is, the moment I get the branding iron in my grip, she bolts again.

The door gets wrenched open, and the only thing I’ve got is letting go of the one I’ve got and grabbing the hair of the one I haven’t. She screams and falls backwards into me, spinning to try clawing my eyes out. “FUCK!” spits out of me. “Goddammit!”

I grab her wrists and shove her hard, sending her crashing at the back wall. Branding iron still in my hand, I spin on the other one who’s started screaming and back the door closed again. “Shut the hell up,” snarls out of me.

The one on the wall starts up with the wailing then, too, and then they’re both running around to try getting past me. I hook a foot under the table and pull at it, shoving it sideways until it’s up against the door and blocking it. One tries running at Abel. That earns her nothing but a sharp slap to the face, so she’s on the floor and whimpering. And then the other one’s screaming again and running at me with her teeth bared. It’s fucking crazy in here. Too much noise and too many goddamned limbs primed for attack.

I grab hold of her before she reaches me, spinning her until she’s up against my chest. Every single tooth she’s got sinks into my arm, and she rips at my skin. “JESUS!" Everything about me tightens on her until she’s near crushed, and I’m questioning my sanity. My arm braces stronger on her mouth, and I let those teeth sink all the way in to wind me up as much as it can. "Shut the fuck up, bitch. I'm done playing now.” Seems like that’s the answer because she goes quiet in my hold and shakes. “You gonna get up on the table, or are we gonna keep arguing?”

I move her sideways, loosening my hold to see if she’ll comply. She doesn’t.

She tries running again instantly.

Done with all the shit and time wasting, I use brute force and manhandle her until she’s exactly where I want her. I don’t even care what the brand looks like; I just need to get this first one done. She battles, spits again and screams, and the only way I’ve got of dealing with it is ignoring every noise she makes. Maybe my head goes to that place when I’m fighting, or maybe I’m just too pissed at being spat on. I don’t know, but she’s crushed tighter until I’ve got the searing hot metal on her foot, and she’s screaming for a worthy reason this time.

Watching my own knuckles whiten, as I keep her foot still, brings me right back into the moment. In fact, it takes me further back than that. I can see Dante’s hands here – feel the same head space he must have been in all the damn time. It’s not even angry like I thought it'd feel. I'm not pissed or disgusted. I'm indifferent. Drifting. It should be a war between right and wrong, and maybe if she talked with me – pleaded – I might have been swayed this first time. But she didn’t. She fought.

A half-snort rumbles out of me as I pull the iron away and look at the singed, red-as-hell C carved into the base of her foot. Finest way to rev a man up is fighting with him, and the finest way to lose that fight is to push him past caring.

I let go completely and look at her, damn glad I can't speak Spanish. Maybe if I could, I'd have heard pleas and begging in the air. Might have changed this whole damn scenario.

She’s crying now and trying to pull her leg away from me.

Fragile and delicate instead of the bitch from hell she was.

A low sigh ebbs through me. “Stay still. This will help with the pain.” I look at Abel as I reach for the cream and pads and start strapping them in place. He knew I needed this. He put pressure on me, knowing all too well that we all break when challenged with crap like women in feral mode.

He nods at me and moves for the other woman in the room, less than no fucks given about either of their welfare. Just fit enough to fuck, that’s all, and obedient enough to do what they’re told without argument. I don't even know if he would have cared if I killed them this time round. This was a lesson for me. A fucking schooling in what needs doing and how to do it.

“Get down now,” I mutter, holding my hand up for her to help, then cursing myself for offering. “Go wait in the corner.”

She does. No fight. No spitting. No fucking biting.

The next one goes easier. Maybe that’s me, or maybe she’s just more fucking compliant having watched the first. Abel takes them both out, giving me a few minutes of peace to take in the room, the heat, the smell of burning flesh and the size of the space with no one in it. This is life now. It’ll all look the same. Every place I go, every woman I brand, every fucking day. The stench of this is embedded in me from this moment onwards.

I strip my top off at the thought and run it over the back of my neck, pushing the sweat off me, as I put the iron back. It clatters into the furnace, echoing its hard edges round the room. That dead part of me better catch up real damn fast. I'm gonna need it with me every second.

The door opens a few minutes later, and I look up to find Shaw in the frame.

He glowers, like he's remembering that shove I sent his way. He's right to keep thinking on it. I meant every word I said. There's nothing soft about me while I'm with them. “You ready for the next?”

I nod. “Yeah. Keep them coming. All of them.” Maybe enough of them and I’ll numb all the way out. “And Shaw, I could use a drink.” He nods and walks out. No argument there either. Good, ‘cause I’ve got a feeling this angst either needs to vent or learn to calm the fuck down. I’d rather not beat on him to vent something that’s not his fault. I'd rather not hurt cattle unless I need to either.