Sacred Betrayal: Immortal Brotherhood (Edge Book 3)

by Jamie Magee

  Tisk’s eyes went wide as he unhooked her top. What she had in the way of a chest was bare to him as his eyes looked over her, appraising what he saw. Cleary finding it less than ordinary.

  Carefully she stepped up to him, moved her hands up his chest. When she reach to pull his lips down to hers he moved his head back. “You’re not kissing me.”

  “Anywhere?” she said with a lifted brow as she pulled him toward the bed. He stopped at the end of it, felt the war inside of him. Knew what boundaries he wouldn’t cross.

  Tisk smiled almost sweetly, pulled the pillowed bench that was at the foot of the bed away from the bed, all the while holding his stare.

  She knelt on it, then reached for him to come closer. He didn’t move but he let her have his hand. Tisk placed it on her chest, sighed feeling the heat of it, the fire, sensing the beast inside of Talon all at once—The power he had, that raw aggression.

  She moved his hand across her chest, to the hard peaks of her nipples, watched for an expression but one never came. Leaving his hand in place, she went for his belt. She didn’t let her eyes leave his, didn’t understand why he was letting her go this far, but got wet just thinking about the dare, the rush of it, how no revenge would be as sweet as this.

  He let her unfasten his belt, unclasp the button on his jeans. She hesitated, ran her hand down the hard length of him that she could she see through his jeans. She licked her lips before she pulled him out and let her hand slide down the flaming hot firm flesh.

  Her eyes flipped up to his as she pulled him closer, as she lowered her head and let her tongue tease the tip of him. Talon was still stoic, refused to show any satisfaction. If it wasn’t for the erection that Tisk was letting her tongue glide down, she’d have no way of knowing what effect she was having on him.

  Even when she took as much of him in her mouth as she could he didn’t moan, didn’t rock forward, grip her hair. Nothing.

  Of all the times she’d imagined fucking him, this wasn’t it. Not even close.

  It was like he was waiting on something, calculating, a strategic move. Whatever it was it was throwing her for a loop.

  She became determined to get a reaction, using both her hands and her mouth, devouring him. Doing what had driven men wild, made them beg for more and scream her name in the past.

  When he pulled her up she grinned and licked her lips. She moved her body against his, rubbing her bare chest against his, wanting to pull his shirt up so she could feel the heat of his flesh, so she could run her nails down every ridged muscle of his stomach which led to the prize she had been playing with. He didn’t let her. Instead he turned her.

  She was still on her knees on the pillowed bench. Talon bent her forward so her ass was the air, so she had to brace herself on her elbows.

  She felt his hand at the back of her thighs moving up. She grinned, knowing what he as going to find when he moved her skirt—nothing. Nothing but heat, wet heat, wanting him.

  “You scream, or do you moan?” Talon asked in a dark voice, as those powerful hands moved up her legs and pushed her skirt up.

  “Depends,” she said on a breath, as she pushed back, taunting him.

  “On?” he asked, in that same tone as his fingers slipped inside.

  Tisk let out a moan. “How good it feels,” she said as she rocked into his hand, even reached for her own chest, played with herself as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

  That stoic expression was in place, the calculated look was there, him waiting, thinking, maybe hesitating. She didn’t know and didn’t care. She had already gotten further with him than she could have ever hoped. And didn’t regret a damn minute of it.

  Right then she felt him trust into her. It was sharp and unforgiving, reached a depth that took her off guard, even burned. There was pain. She screamed, a passionate one, and she wasn’t humoring him. He drew it out of her. It felt like her body was ripping in two, and it burned so bad, like pure fire was inside her.

  Another thrust and she nearly fell off the bench from the strength of it. “Holy fuck,” she said in a pant mixed with grunt.

  Another thrust, just as unforgiving, almost mean. Tisk was miserable, but the dare of this, the satisfaction of revenge was enough to make her endure, to dare death to take her. He was shredding her deep inside.

  He wasn’t touching her, Tisk knew that, knew he wasn’t here for her body. He was just there to get off and that was fine, because whether he meant to make her come or not, she was well on her way to the climb. She felt downright naughty, like she was tempting the devil. Hell, she knew she was. Wickedness always made her wet. The thought of it could make her cum—had before and would again.

  One more thrust and she screamed out again, a brutal scream that no doubt was heard all through the house.

  That was when the door opened. When Tisk looked up to see Reveca standing there.

  Tisk rock back into Talon, pushing him deeper, making herself moan and hiss. Her eyes were glassed over with the pleasure of the pain.

  “Just living up to my name, Vec,” Tisk said as she rocked back once more. “Slut,” she said with another moan. Clearly throwing the last time Reveca had humiliated her in Reveca’s face.

  Reveca’s cold stare met Talon’s. She was still raging from her fight with King with all that she knew now. She was coming to tell him all about it, and this is what she finds.

  Him balls deep in the biggest slut to ever walk this planet. A pissed, brutal look on his face. One that told her he wanted her to see this. He made sure she saw it.

  Reveca had had Talon every way a woman could have a man. She knew what his desire looked like, what his want looked like, his hunger. She knew if he was this far into this little ride and was even halfway enjoying himself, he’d be owning that body he was in, demanding that it fell apart around him. She didn’t see any of that. Didn’t mean that made this okay. Fuck no it didn’t. Far from it.

  Reveca crossed her arms. “Go ahead. Finish.”

  “You want to watch,” Tisk said, rocking back again, squinting, sweating, more than likely wanting it over, too. She had her revenge in hand.

  Reveca wasn’t going to answer her. She was just a pawn, a piece in this twisted game of life they were playing.

  Talon’s next thrust was harder than all the others. Then he did it once more and that’s when Tisk wailed and collapsed, biting her lip. He stayed inside for a second then pulled out and zipped up. He kept his furious stare right on Reveca.

  Tisk laughed, a lazy satisfied laugh as she reached her hand between her legs. “You’re such a big boy,” she said as she licked her lips.

  Right then she was elevated. Panic came to her eyes, some kind of common sense told her she had pissed off the wrong witch.

  The door, which led to the porch opened wide. Tisk’s body soared out of it, through the night—her manic scream could be heard in every direction. Reveca’s energy took Tisk all the way to the river then dropped her from fifteen feet in the air.

  The bench was next. It turned into flames right beside Talon, hot enough so that he bothered to take a step back before Reveca lifted it with her energy and let it follow the same path Tisk did.

  “One more murder to Reveca Beauregard’s rap sheet,” Talon said with a dark glare.

  She knew Tisk wasn’t dead. The girl was already crawling out of the river and up onto muddy bank. She should be, would be, but like Reveca always plots her revenge, it was well served.

  “Only one,” Reveca said with a lethal glare aimed at him. She didn’t get his motives right then. Didn’t get why he would act out right now of all times.

  “You want to take me down, babe. Go for it. I hear there is a ticking clock above my head anyway,” Talon said with nothing but cold, hurt anger in his tone.

  Reveca smirked, shook her head, let her glare remain icy.

  Fucking Saige and her Rapture, pulling the strings behind the curtain. Saige knew Reveca was too loyal, not only to Talon but also her boys. She knew sh
e wouldn’t let herself fall into the rush of King all over again. So this was her move. Piss off Talon, watch the empire that Reveca built with him crumble.

  Saige had another thing coming. Reveca trusted Windsome far more than Saige. King would be back with his people in a few days’ time. End of story.

  Of course before she handled that, she was going to have to deal with Talon. This was a first for him. Cheating—actually fucking another girl. It’d be the last, too. She’d make goddamned sure of that.

  Episode Ten

  Chapter One

  Immortals have lived through it all, and felt it all not once, but countless times over. Therefore, their reactions to climactic events are never really predictable. At least, they are not what you’d think they would be.

  It always depends on how long whatever infraction has been simmering in the background, waiting for them to notice, take action. Or rather, how long they’ve been avoiding a tragic ending—one they felt coming, but chose to ignore.

  However, immortals that have lived side by side for ages can gauge each other’s reactions before they ever have one. They can call it play by play in their mind and rarely be wrong about the predicted course or outcome.

  Reveca knew Talon’s grand plan after the unforgivable sin he’d just committed. His sharp words that alluded to why he did such a thing, would be to leave.

  He’d get on his bike and ride. If they were not in the middle of the hell they were in with the modern lawmen his ride could, or more than likely would, last for months. He’d drive non-stop, traversing the roads. Then maybe he’d call late one night. The words would be cold between them at first, but she’d tell him to come home before it was over.

  They’d have a knockdown-drag out fight. It would end with them breathless, exhausted from the long line of erotic orgasms they’d punished each other with. They’d drift into a Zen zone then he’d make love to her, hold her tenderly, stare into her eyes. Then it would be over. They would put whatever started the fight in the cleanse pile and move onward.

  This wasn’t any other fight, though. This wasn’t some tiff where they had spent too much time together or their petty jealous notions had gotten the best of them.

  He had found the biggest skank on the planet and sunk deep into her. It didn’t matter that he clearly didn’t enjoy it, or the look on his face told her it was more the act of a martyr. He still did it. He still crossed an absolute line they had both agreed on.

  The very idea of him touching her again—running his hands across her body, owning it—was sickening to Reveca. Still, she wasn’t going to let him run, drop this bomb and ride.

  Not long after Tisk landed in the river Talon stripped and went into the shower. Reveca couldn’t really blame him for doing so. He surely wanted to wash as much of her skankass off of him as he could. He stayed in there for a while.

  And while he was in there, Reveca cleansed her room. Sage burned to cleanse the bad energy. The sheets and blankets on her bed, even though as far as she knew were never touched by Tisk, soared to the back of the property, to the cleanse piles, along with the rugs on the floor.

  When he did come out and dress in a pair of jeans, that hung just so around his hips, he figured out he was trapped.

  Reveca had sealed the room with her energy. No matter how mad he got, if he let his beast out, or the Phoenix, everything in him, it wouldn’t matter—there was no way in hell he was getting through.

  The irony of it was she was able to hold the barrier in place without even a hint of effort because King was near. And more than likely somewhere down the line his presence had stirred this long overdue fight between them.

  Reveca had her grimoire out. She was sitting on the floor, studying the lore that was her hell now. Her goal was to see what Windsome clearly knew that she didn’t.

  Talon sat on the bed, leaned against the headboard and smoked. He gazed at her as she immersed herself into the part of their life he would never understand.

  This was the silent treatment.

  And the treatment lasted until dawn. It was a dark dawn. One that told you the day would never see the sun because the rain was too constant. In the distance every once in a while, you’d hear a rumble of thunder, a hint of the dull day gaining action.

  It was reflective of Reveca’s mood but she didn’t cause the rain, not as far as she knew at least.

  Talon’s freedom expanded to the porch outside their room, and he took it, clearly seeking an escape because just then he felt like a caged animal.

  He was miserable, just the way she wanted him to feel. Served him right.

  For hours he kept his arms widely braced on the rail, his head down. Reveca found herself staring at his back more than once. All his ink, those marks, which represented a path they had both shared.

  Once he grew tired of standing he sat in the rocking chair and began smoking again, slowly pulling in the toxic rush, watching it leave his body, staring at the rings of smoke that came from the cigarette. How it would loop up like a ghost, seductively move through the air then vanish. Its mark, the scent, the damage was still in place…but it was gone.

  It was symbolic to him.

  Symbolic because it was a vice he didn’t need but had owned him more than once. It may have calmed him, been at his side through victories, through the long nights where he had to plot where he would send his armies. It may have been something he latched onto, felt was a part of him, but all in all it was something that was an addiction. One that would always own him in some way, but one he knew he could put down if he had to. If he needed to.

  That was him and Reveca in a nut shell.

  Him smoking constantly, the way he studied the process, was yet another sign to Reveca that the hard limit he crossed was not done irrationally. He didn’t slip—it wasn’t an accident. When he’d crossed lines in the past, when they fought, an angry smirk would be on his face. He’d be mad that he was caught and now had to deal with it.

  When he meant to do something, something he didn’t want to do—when he knew he was sending his men into danger, when he had to make hard decisions—he’d smoke. He’d think. He’d let every avenue run through his mind once more, then over and over again until he knew it was the only choice he could make. He’d smoke until he realized he was going to have to trust his gut. Hail Mary or not, it was the only way to go right then.

  Reveca’s issue was she didn’t understand the battle plan he was laying out. She knew every move they had plotted together, knew how they planned to deal with these murders, those who crossed them. She knew what their plan was for the script business, how they planned to conquer this drug Black. She knew they both agreed they had to find a way to end Zale. She knew all of that, but his thoughts, as deep as they were, his actions, as cold as they were, clearly told her there was something else going on.

  She had watched him stare death in the eye too many times as a mortal, watched as he knew those under his watch as an immortal were facing the same. She knew the look and that look was on his face. His expression was destroying them because for some reason they stopped sharing it all, stopped sharing the things they thought would hurt the other. That would rip their Club apart.

  Every time they parted in the past that’s what happened. That’s when the boys forgot who they were, when they all slipped into the dark side. When they were tempted to follow the actions of the Rogues and not control the new urges within them but embrace them, use them as supremacy over others. When they were tempted to harm the weak instead of standing before them as almighty dark guardians.

  Reveca was their foundation. She was their balance. Their example. The way she lived, the respect and gratitude she had for an unseen power, is what they all sought to have. Reveca had found a way to have the best of both worlds, the mortal and the immortal. She allowed aggression to rise but used it to improve what was before her, not destroy it. She thought her actions out, and in most situations, had an open mind and was willing to entertain a new viewpoint, even
if it was radical.

  Talon and Reveca refusing to take breaks, move apart again, avoiding this fight was for the boys, the Club. It was Reveca and Talon knowing they had to shelve their disagreements and present a unified team before all of their people.

  It’s what the boys needed now. It’s what they all needed. But Talon had stripped it from them all. There was no doubt that Tisk climbed out of the river and told each of them what happened.

  The dense feeling around the Boneyard said as much. Right now Reveca doubted any of them were saying much, all wondering when ‘mom and dad’ were going to come out of their room. All reflecting on how their past fights had landed them each in a new world, where some stayed behind with Reveca and others hit the road with Talon.

  The day had aged. It was late afternoon. Reveca had read more lore in a day than she had in decades. There was so much darkness. She knew why she had pushed this knowledge to the back of her mind long ago.

  Most people, if they know they’re going to go through hell, shut down, decide not to live, just exist. Reveca wasn’t most people though. As far as she was concerned she had already met her darkest day, and wondering if the universe at large would face another wasn’t something she wanted to squander her days on. She convinced herself it was fiction.

  Irony—life has so much of it.

  People thought her life, the life with her MC, was on the dark side and that she walked with evil at times. They were wrong, couldn’t be more wrong in fact. The people she spent her days with had life, lived in the moment. This lore, it spoke of hungry darkness that lived for victory. A victory it would fight to claim no matter the cost. No matter how long it took. Souls with nothing to lose, with nothing but their greed at their side—those are the ones who are evil. They are darkness.

  Talon stood slowly. Now he was framed in the doorway, still shirtless, showing all the marks of those paths they had taken together across his skin, still smoking.

  “I have work to do,” he said in gruff voice.