Page 133 of That Sik Luv

It’s out.

Briony finally closes the distance between us, and I gaze up at her admirably beneath my bruised and beaten face. In a room full of the worst men, I’ve somehow summoned the only God left to save me. My beautiful dirtied doll. My savage saving grace. My sweet, destructive Briony.

I’d worried the sight of me would have her buckling in sadness, in misery, for a man who’s shared his life’s traumatic story. But she’s grown a backbone in our time together. I see it in the way those blue eyes light with flames of sweet, ruthless revenge. Her grief has shifted into endless rage, and the confidence she exudes has my cock threatening to swell beneath the pools of blood they have subjected me to, despite the circumstances.

She bends forward, popping her ass out to the men nearby, her tongue dipping out from between her lips. She laps up the blood on my neck, and I fight back my groan by grinding my back teeth together. Her sweet lips find my ear, licking the shell before whispering, “You’re a goddamn genius.”

She finally understands my sacrifice, my need to surrender. My reasons for willingly putting myself through the torment and pain.

“Nah,” I whisper back, keeping my gaze down. “I just get hard for a dramatic ending.”

She smirks before she turns her back to me, straddling me by tossing a leg over the chair. Pressing her back against my bare and bloodied chest, she avoids my lap by squatting above my thighs.

“You brought me all my favorites,” she whispers back at me, her hand reaching to cup the back of my neck as her body rolls in those intoxicating waves. “Deliciously sick revenge.”

“Fish in a bucket, baby.” I hiss in pain as she rubs against the raw flesh from the oil burns. “You ready to hunt?”

“I didn’t come here to hunt.” She stands again, turning to face me. Her leg kicks up and rests on my shoulder, dangling seductively as she grips the hair at the top of my head. Tipping my neck to the side, I wince in delightful pain as she whispers, “I came here to torture.”

“Alright, alright,” Alastor interrupts in his boisterous tone, cutting through the music and standing from the couch. He pulls Saint up by the elbow, forcing him to stand. “Can’t let his brother have all the fun now. Let this young man have his turn.”

Briony prances her way towards the table of tools the men set up to torture me with. Alastor pushes Saint in her direction.

“Go ahead son, make your father proud.”

Saint shifts on his feet, seemingly nervous as he pulls at the collar of his now wrinkled uniform shirt. His eyes peer at me again as he passes by, finding my glare beneath the blood-drenched hair. Briony places her palms on the table, arching her ass out to him, offering herself to him for a second time tonight.

If I leave this room alive, I’ll be cleaning her of his presence for weeks.

He bends over her backside, planting his palms on the table, surrounding her while his father shakes his head at his phone from across the room, running a hand through his hair. Briony rolls her hips into Saint’s groin, teasing him with her ass as the rest of the group watches with excitement, hooting and hollering for young Saint to dip his dick in the sea of filthy fornication.

“No, no, no!” Callum yells abruptly from the dark corner, heated eyes on his phone as he turns to leave the room.

It all happens so quickly.

Briony slides her hands up the table, gripping what looks like scissors and a scalpel blade from the spread of tools used to torment me.

Saint screams out in agonizing pain as Briony pierces both of his hands to the table with the objects, effectively pinning him to the wood beneath him.

Callum jumps, backing away from the door, pulling a gun from behind his back as Nox bursts through the entrance to the room with a gun pointed right back at him.

Briony dips out from beneath Saint’s stance, grabbing another blade from inside her high-heeled boot, sending it directly into the skull of one of Cal’s bodyguards approaching her from behind. He shuffles on his feet before falling back onto the concrete beneath him like a collapsing wall as she quickly and effortlessly props one knee up and grabs another knife from under her skirt.

With the precision of a skilled assassin, she sends the knife into the chest of the other bodyguard. Her training shines through her fluid movements. He cries out, gripping the blade that’s stuck directly in the center of his chest. Pulling it out, he tosses it to the floor with an echoed clang, stalking forward on heavy feet, his deadly gaze set on her as he pulls a gun from his side. She stands straight before him, her chin lifted, staring at him defiantly. He raises the gun at her, and she closes her eyes.

I pull violently against my cuffs, needing to be freed before he can hurt her, no matter if that means ripping my arms off at the shoulders. But before I get ahead of myself, the guard takes two more steps, stumbling slightly before a shot from across the room earns him a bullet to the back of his head. The man’s blood splatters across Briony’s face and neck as she flinches. Callum looks entirely stunned while Nox’s barrel remains set on him, both of them with arms outstretched, guns ready to fire.

Bishop Caldwell gasps in horror when Baret steps out from behind the stage area, his own smoking weapon aimed directly at him and his attempt to escape. His decrepit old hands shake before him as he surrenders on his knees like the fucking coward he is.

Alastor grabs a gun from within his suit jacket and rushes towards me, placing it against my temple.

“Now, now, now...” he says calmly, looking around the room. “Let’s just all take a nice deep breath before someone important gets hurt, huh?”

His eyes focus on Briony as he forces the barrel against my temple, making his insinuations known. I’m his leverage.

She stands there breathless, maddening rage emitting from her striking blue eyes.

“You rat fuck, you,” Callum says to Nox, their guns still aimed at one another. “And you! You stupid stray bitch!”

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