by Ella Miles
No, you don’t.
I push the words in my head out, so confused by all the voices in my head.
“More,” I say without him asking.
The knife slides into my soaked pants, soaked from both the rain and my excitement. The knife struggles against the thickness of the material and, at one point, jabs into my thigh.
“Fuck,” I cry at the pain, my eyes starting to jolt open. Quickly his lips are on me, and I fall back down, my body relaxing a little as his lips push against mine. His tongue inserts into my mouth, begging for forgiveness for hurting me.
I forgive you, my tongue says back. My mouth opens wider, inviting more of him in. I can’t get enough of Zeke. His mouth takes away my pain, but then I shiver. I’m still soaked from the rain, and although the kisses are nice, they aren’t enough to heat my body.
“You’re so scared,” he says.
“What?” I say, my voice catching, my confusion and embarrassment at being scared instead of flawlessly beautiful for Zeke.
“Don’t. Don’t try to hide. I love the scars. I love how much pain you can endure.”
I bite my lip. “Punish me.” I want to feel more pain.
“I’m going to cover every one of your scars with a mark of my own, so when you look at them, you think of me,” he says.
“Perfect,” I say back, loving the idea of it.
“This mark over your neck is now mine,” he says.
I feel the sharp point of the knife. I jolt at the pain, my eyes watering, my stomach heaving trying to get him to stop.
“Fuck, Zeke,” I say at the pain.
He kisses me, and I forget the pain.
“This breast is mine,” he says, and I feel the scrape over the upper curve of my breast, where a bullet grazed me.
I bite my lip to keep my scream in. I want him to cover my scars with his own, but fuck does this hurt.
“Tell me you want me to mark you.”
“I want you to mark me.”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“Fuck me, Zeke.”
He growls like I said something wrong, but I can’t think what it would be.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he tries again.
Maybe he didn’t hear me the first time?
“I want you to fuck me, Zeke.”
He growls, and then I feel his thick cock pushing at my entrance.
Something’s wrong.
I got you, it’s me. I’m going to fuck you. Think of me.
Zeke, my anchor, my love.
I don’t have to open my eyes to know it’s him as he pushes inside me in one hard stroke. My body stretches, letting him in, adjusting to him. I wait for him to thicken, for him to consume all of my body, but it never comes.
This isn’t Z—
I love you, stay with me.
And then he’s thrusting. He’s pushing over and over. Drilling inside me with so much force that I hear the bed cracking. That’s my Zeke. That’s my dangerous strong man who loves me so much that he breaks the bed.
I pull against the handcuffs, trying to grab onto Zeke, to feel his hair, his muscles, but I can’t break free.
“Zeke, I want to feel you,” I say.
“Shut up, bitch.”
“What?” I snap, not believing he said that. I must have heard wrong.
His lips hover over mine again. “I want to hear you scream.”
“Zeke,” I howl as he hits me deep.
“No, not my name, just scream,” he says, and then he’s digging his fingers into one of my fresh wounds.
I scream. I scream like I’ve never screamed before. I like when Zeke punishes me, when he pushes my limits, but this is different. This isn’t punishment; this is sin.
“Zeke,” I moan, trying to get him to stop. Suddenly, I feel the knife against my nipple. He slices, and I cry out again, the pain making me shake, and vomit rising in my throat.
“You like that, Siren?” he says.
No, I don’t like it.
He thrusts again.
Hold onto me, listen to me. I got you. I’m not hurting you. I love you. I would never hurt you.
My eyes fly open, and I see him.
The man I’ve thought of as he.
He isn’t Zeke.
He is Julian. And he’s over me.
No, come back to me. Don’t let him win. Let me protect you.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as I let my head and heart go back to Zeke. I let him protect me. I think of Zeke while Julian thrusts into me. As he cuts me with a knife, butchering my body like an animal.
I don’t cry anymore. I don’t moan. I give Julian nothing.
I give Zeke everything.
Zeke anchors me; he keeps me safe. My thoughts stay mine. My body remains mine. Everything is still mine.
I know that Julian pumped me full of drugs. I know that he tricked me into thinking he was Zeke so it would either ruin my images of Zeke or I would do what he wanted. Even with the handcuffs, Julian didn’t believe that I wouldn’t fight him. That he wouldn’t feel in control of me.
Julian isn’t in control of me. I’m not his; I’m Zeke’s—always.
I feel Julian finishing inside me.
“Scream,” he says, needing my pain to finish.
“No,” I say, not giving Julian anything.
I feel the knife at my clit.
Fuck, no.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
No, he wants me to be his. Julian wants me to give him my pleasure, and he won’t be able to if he cuts off my clit.
I scream.
And Julian comes.
I finish in control by screaming the name that will drive Julian insane.
“Zeke!”
6
Zeke
Blood drips down my forehead, oozing over my bulging eyes. It seeps into my nose until I’m breathing more blood than oxygen. I taste the rusty sting on my tongue.
My face is bloodied, bruised, and swollen. I can’t feel. I can’t see. I can’t breathe. Blood mutes all of my senses.
I hang from my wrists, where metal cuffs encase them. I’m slumped forward, and the skin around my wrist is cut deep from my own weight. I’m sure the men have more than doubled the scars on my body. My shallow breaths indicate cracked and broken ribs.
From the way the room spins, it’s clear I’ve lost a pint or more of blood.
My legs shake, barely holding me up, putting more weight on my wrists.
I stare down at my feet and see a mix of colors. Red, purple, blue mar my body. Bruises, gashes, welts.
I’ve gone to the dark place in my heart that knows I deserve this after I’ve done this to countless other men. To withstand torture, some men push everything out and go to a zen-like place. Others think of the one special person they love to help them get through it.
Some panic and scream, making a big fuss. Others grit and bear it.
I’m different than most. I feel every strike, punch, cut, slice, whip, kick. I feel it and let it become part of me. I let it feed my monster. It hardens me. It ensures I can do my job of protecting everyone. I’ve never lived for myself. I’ve never chosen me over someone else. I’ve never chosen love over ensuring my friends are safe.
The pain should be fueling me to fight back, to seek vengeance, and kill them all for what they’ve done to me. I should be plotting their deaths so they can never hurt any of my friends.
But I don’t give a damn about protecting my friends in this moment. I don’t care about protecting Enzo, or Langston, or Liesel, or even Kai. I don’t think about honoring Lucy.
All I think about is saving Siren. I promised her. I love her. She’s my everything. All I care about is Siren.
So while the pain is feeding the darkest part of my soul, it’s also tunneling through toward Siren. Toward finding her, saving her, and loving her.
I can feel it in my bones. Someday I’m going to have to choose—her above everything else. That terrifies me. Not bec
ause I don’t want to put her first, but because it will mean changing who I am at the most fundamental level. I’ll no longer be the enforcer, the protector, the brute strength who is always saving everyone else.
I’ll be the man in love. The man selfishly protecting his love.
I’ll have to start over. Find a new job. Find a new identity. That transition scares me more than any of the four pairs of eyes staring back at me.
I don’t see the people in front of me. The blood and haze of the shock to my body prevents me from actually seeing them, but I feel every single person.
All four people in this room took part in my torment and agony.
The three men took their swings at me, using their preferred methods to pull screams and cries out of me reflexively. Each used a different technique to mark my body.
As I guessed, the large man built most like me did the most damage and took the most pleasure in hurting me.
Palmer was quiet the whole time. She didn’t speak. I didn’t let myself look at her. I needed to stay strong and focused. I needed her to know I won’t engage with her until it’s just her and me again alone. The men will see through my plan and stop me. I need her alone.
Now that the beatings have stopped, I pull my head up. It takes all the muscles in my neck and back to lift my head the few inches up so I can glance at Palmer. My head has never felt heavier, and I’m only guessing where she is when I force my head up.
Now is the time. Now is the turning point.
I can’t see what my body looks like, but I know I’m not a pretty sight. I’m sure I’ve never looked worse. If Palmer is going to let her own pain in, it will be now. It will be seeing me so physically damaged, but not giving a damn because there is a woman I love who I have to get to. I have to save Siren.
So I lift my thousand-pound head and find Palmer in the corner, smoking her damn cigarette like she’s sitting on the sideline of a fair boxing match.
“Do you believe me now?” I croak out, trying to tell her I won’t ever yield. I won’t ever give up. She can destroy my body, rip me apart until I’m lying in pieces, but her anger will still be here. I won’t let her feel like she’s broken me, because I don’t give a damn about my body. All I care about is getting Siren back.
Palmer has had her fun. Enough is enough.
I try to speak again, but all I end up doing is gargling blood.
“Should we kill him?” one of the men asks Palmer.
There is a momentary pause, and I think she’s going to say yes. Maybe watching me deal with the pain hasn’t been near as fun as she thought it would be, and she has no use for me anymore.
“No,” she says, shocking the entire room.
I breathe calmly for the first time in hours. Not because I fear death, but I fear dying without ensuring Siren lives a long and happy life.
“Leave,” Palmer says suddenly.
My eyes glaze, looking at her through the blood, wishing I could see what is going on in her head.
“But—” one of the men starts.
“Leave!” Palmer’s voice shrieks through the room.
The three men stumble and run up the stairs, leaving Palmer and me alone—just like I want.
Now’s my chance, but how can I convince her when I can’t even speak?
My head falls, most likely looking like defeat from Palmer’s perspective.
“You don’t think you can be broken, do you?”
I moan, but can’t speak as my head rolls side to side. I don’t have the strength to lift it again.
Palmer walks to my ankles, and I hear the clink of the key going into the lock. She removes the cuffs from my ankles, but I don’t move. I’m barely standing on my feet, still putting most of my weight onto my wrists to hold me up.
She stands and undoes one of my wrists, letting me hang by one wrist. I know what’s about to happen, and I can’t stop it.
She walks to my other side and unlocks the other cuff holding me up.
I fall.
Hard onto the floor.
My body crumples into a broken ball on the floor.
Palmer takes her time. She stands over me, watching me, considering what she wants to do.
She gives me enough time to speak. “Do it for Lucy.” Let me go for Lucy.
Her eyes gloss over, and I know I lost Palmer again. “Not until I break you.”
She leans over me, grabbing one of the knives the men used, and she goes to work on my bloodied jeans. The knife scrapes into my legs as she rips my jeans from my body. It takes her a while, but eventually, she removes all the clothes from my body until I’m naked on the floor.
I can’t fight her.
I can’t stop her.
I can’t even lift a finger.
She can do whatever she wants with me.
“Lucy loved you,” she says.
I moan.
“I’ve been with men and women. I’m bisexual, just like Lucy. It’s time to see what Lucy saw in you. It’s time to take the one thing from you that might break you,” Palmer says.
It’s then I realize what’s happening. She’s going to use my body. Use me to cover up her pain. Try to force pain into me. Try to take away my control and make me feel like I’m hurting Siren by not stopping Palmer from using my body.
I open my eyes wide and look into Palmer’s eyes. The lengths she will go to to prevent herself from feeling her own pain of losing Lucy are immense. Palmer has found my weakness. She knows how to break me.
And there is nothing I can do to stop her.
7
Palmer
“Lucy, is that you?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat at the sight of her. She’s here.
Some-fucking-how, she’s here.
“Yes,” her sultry voice says. It’s not angelic. It’s not perfect. It’s gritty and heart-wrenching. That’s how I know this is real. She’s not an angel. This is fucking real.
I feel the wetness in my eyes, sensing the waterfall about to start flowing down my face any second now. These are the last few moments I’m going to have clear vision.
“I thought you were dead,” I say, hiccuping on the last word from a lack of oxygen. This is it—the last moment I see Lucy clearly.
She’s standing in front of me in dark jeans, a ripped red shirt, and Converse sneakers. Her hair is parted to the extreme on one side, and her lips are painted red.
Lucy looks fierce, like she came here to demand I go into battle with her. I will. I’ll do anything for her. I’m just so relieved that she’s here. But is she still mine?
Lucy runs to me, and our arms fling around each other in a death grip. The fountain of tears streaming down my face doesn’t let me see her, but I can still feel her. The curve of her ass against my hand, her soft breasts pushed against mine, our foreheads pressed together.
“Kiss me,” I say, not able to even see her bright lips through my tears and joy at her being alive.
Her hands grab my cheeks, and then we are kissing, suffocating, and exhaling. Neither of us can breathe through the kisses, tears, and general lack of oxygen. We can live off each other’s kisses, though, forever. Neither of us stop. Neither of us step back to let the other come up for air. We need each other more than we need to live.
I push Lucy back, and she falls to a heap on the floor.
We both laugh at how uncoordinated she is. I straddle her with my legs, pinning her to the floor. Lucy is small, about half my size. I love that I can dominate her. She may be the fierce one, the leader of our two-person team in public, but in the bedroom, I rule.
Lucy’s lazy, sexy eyes seem to agree with me.
I wipe my tears on my shirt, hoping I’ll stop crying now that she’s here and she’s still mine.
“You smell like smoke,” Lucy says with a frown as she grabs the neck of my shirt and yanks me toward her.
I kiss her again. “Do you care?”
“Yes, because I want you around for a long fucking time.”
“Why?”
/>
“Because you are mine.”
“Are you sure? Are you sure your heart doesn’t still belong to Zeke?” I feel the ache in my chest. This is what I was most afraid of, getting her back only to realize she’s still in love with him, not me.
“I love you, Palmer. I used to love Zeke, but that was before I met you. He was my darkness; you are my light. You are the reason I’m alive. You are the reason I live.”
“Dammit, stop making me cry. I want to see you when I fuck you,” I say through more fucking tears.
Lucy laughs and then palms my breast beneath my shirt. I arch my back at the warm feelings zipping through my body at her touch. “Feel me first; you can look at me the second time. Just feel me.”
I moan as she palms my other breast in her small, delicate hands. This time her thumb brushes over my hardened nipple. I’m gone—my eyes are never opening again. I just want to feel everything.
“Fuck me, Palmer. Take control. Punish me like you’re pissed I left you. Fuck me like you won’t ever let me leave again.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I growl, then I grab her shirt and rip it off over her head as my mouth comes down on her smooth stomach. I start off soft and light, knowing it will drive her wild and prep her for the harsh, teeth bearing kisses I’m about to give her body.
Lucy doesn’t move beneath me, probably from the shock of seeing me again. It doesn’t matter if she moves, just that she’s here. I can do all the work.
My mouth moves its way up her body, tasting every inch, each kiss becoming rougher than the previous. I nip at her nipples, sink my claws into her neck, and kiss her ears. I love every second that I get to worship her skin again.
Lucy moans when I yank on her hair. It’s low and deep and unlike her normal sounds. It just drives me to work harder, because I love the guttural sounds she’s making.
“I love it when you growl like that for me. I’m going to make you scream like you’ve never screamed before,” I whisper into her ear before biting down hard on her lobe.
She squeals.
I come alive again for the first time in months.
I grab the hem of my shirt and yank it off. I grab her hands and place them on my bare breasts. Her hands somehow seem bigger than they were a minute before, but I ignore the weirdness.
