Bought (Unchained Vice Book 3)

by Nicolette Hugo

  “Your second mistake was not coming clean.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Joel was panting, face pulled tight in agony.

  “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I took you to Vegas. I’m sorry it wasn’t you who won the seven million. I’m sorry you’re going to go crazy chasing it, but none of that comes near to being how sorry I am right now for ever trusting you.”

  “Please, Killian … please …” Babbling incoherently, Joel writhed on the ground.

  Killian tucked the gun into his trousers by the small of his back, the barrel still warm, like his anger. The betrayal festered, its bitter taste on his tongue.

  Reaching into Joel’s pocket, he pulled out the man’s phone.

  Eli answered straight away. “Where?”

  “Can you trace the location of this phone?” They were on his property, but he didn’t think Joel was going to be standing up to flag them down. The sun was setting, and in the knee-high scrub of the bush, Joel would be easy to miss.

  “Yes. Am I sending a cleaner?”

  “No. He’s alive.” Cut loose, the gambling would kill him.

  It was after eleven p.m. when Killian finally let himself into the main house. He’d driven to the pub in the next town, sat in a dark corner for three hours, and nursed one beer. It was a long time to be in his head. It had not been a good place.

  He showered downstairs, but there was a stink to betrayal that was hard to wash off. Now barefoot and in black sweat pants, he padded up the stairs to Scarlet’s room. He needed a distraction. He wanted out of his head, out of his body. Jesus, he just wanted something that would hurt from beauty instead of pain.

  A deep, dull ache echoed through his body, the warm shower having thawed out the numb. Watching Scar and Jerricho might soothe him, but he knew there’d be no release, no real escape. You had to void pain with pain.

  ***

  When Killian opened the bedroom door, Jerricho felt the man’s energy was different. Instinctively, he was up, moving toward Killian who stood halfway to the bed, unaware that his mask had even slipped.

  “Killian?” Jerricho was close enough to reach out and touch him.

  So close Jerricho could see violence and suffering in Killian’s troubled gray eyes, an intimate honesty.

  The man looked like he didn’t know whether to stay or go. He looked torn and raw.

  He looked lost.

  “What happened?”

  Killian’s spine straightened as he shook his head. On the surface, he was back to strength, but Jerricho wasn’t looking at the surface; he was still looking into the man’s eyes—eyes that were begging to find peace.

  The gaze of those eyes flicked past Jerricho’s shoulder to Scarlet sleeping.

  “She’s good?” The words were hushed. There was no trace of vulnerability now, but the intimacy remained.

  He gave Killian a single nod.

  “You—”

  Jerricho put his finger against Killian’s lips. He didn’t know what the man was going to say or ask. It didn’t matter; Killian radiated need and it was compelling.

  The man’s lips hardened under his touch. Killian didn’t like being told what to do.

  Inside, Jerricho smiled; the defiance made Killian’s need sweeter.

  He slowly dragged his finger across the full lips. A sensual lingering.

  The backhand was quick and unexpected. Jerricho had hit Killian so fully, he split the man’s top lip. Killian’s head snapped back the same time Jerricho’s stomach muscles braced, remembering the force of the man’s fist.

  Killian could take him.

  And Killian could win.

  Fuck if that didn’t hit the accelerator to his pulse hard.

  Jerricho smiled a hard, cold smile as his body lit up inside.

  It was sex, watching Killian slowly raise his hand and wipe his mouth, his finger coming away bloody. The man stared at the blood and Jerricho braced again.

  The moment of truth.

  Maybe he’d misunderstood the self-harm with the lighter. Maybe he’d read Killian’s need wrong.

  But maybe he’d been right, and maybe Killian would acquiesce …

  Killian ran his tongue along the injured lip. True to form, he didn’t flinch, just gave a small acknowledging grunt.

  Jerricho’s stomach should’ve relaxed, but the tip of Killian’s tongue worrying the raw lip turned the tension tighter. A hungry want pulsed in Jerrciho’s cock.

  Killian looked him in the eye. “I’m not submissive.” But there was dark need.

  And there was defiance.

  “I know.” The tips of Jerricho’s fingers glanced the red mark left on the man’s skin. “But I want you to hurt … we both want you to hurt.”

  He pushed his thumb past Killian’s lips, deliberately pressing against the fresh wound as he sank into the heat of Killian’s mouth and stroked across his tongue.

  A distraction.

  He hooked his leg behind Killian’s ankle and pulled his leg out from under him. Killian dropped as Jerricho fell on top of him.

  Jerricho grabbed Killian’s wrist and twisted his arm behind his back as he used his own weight to pin the man to the floor.

  Killian was all instinct and violent struggle.

  Maybe it was because Jerricho had caught the man by surprise, or maybe it was because Killian wanted this, that Jerricho kept the upper hand.

  Killian bucked under Jerricho to try and throw him off, but Jerricho jerked the twisted elbow higher, making the man grunt. It didn’t matter how strong Killian was, he could break the man’s arm if he pulled it high enough.

  Hot lust shot through Jerricho’s groin.

  His cock rubbed against the man’s squirming legs. Slowly and cruelly, he pulled on the arm as he crushed Killian’s wrist. Muscles and tendons would be screaming, the tension so tight, struggle inflicted more pain than relief.

  Jerricho leaned forward and inhaled Killian’s pain.

  This was when he was the most dangerous, more sadist than man.

  He rested his forehead against the back of Killian’s head. Closing his eyes, he fought to keep control. He tried to take a deep breath, but it was just ragged panting—ragged from lust, just as Killian’s breath was ragged from pain.

  He waited agonizing seconds for control before he whispered, “You know what makes my cock so hard?” He ground his groin against the man’s ass. “The fact that you’re not really fighting me. You’re fighting yourself.” He nuzzled against the thick crown of hair. “You want me to fuck you. You’re just not sure how we fit. You bottom, but you don’t give up power.”

  Killian made a noise. It could have been a fuck you, but pain translated it into something different.

  “You know what I want?” Jerricho’s whisper was silky in its vice. “I want you to struggle.”

  He slowly removed the pressure of his knee from Killian’s back. Caging Killian with his body, he wriggled his free hand under the man’s hips, forcing them to slightly lift.

  Blindly, he slid his hand into the sweatpants and over Killian’s semi-erect cock.

  He squeezed the warm, velvet flesh, smiling as it swelled in his hand.

  Killian was oh so still, his struggle no longer on the outside. Humiliation, desire, pain—all the buttons had been pushed.

  Jerricho squeezed the cock again as he let go of the twisted arm, letting it fall to Killian’s side. This was how he would control the man now. Molding himself to Killian’s body, Jerricho rolled them onto their sides into an intimate embrace.

  Spooning, Jerricho held Killian against his chest, his free hand stroking the man’s cock until it was fully erect. Exquisitely soft and hard under his fingertips, Jerricho varied his strokes as his thumb ran over the head, catching and spreading precum to slick the thick shaft.

  Killian trembled against him as if his touch was charged. As if each touch was an exquisite agony.

  The shivers rippled against Jerricho’s body. He groaned into Killian’s ear as he ground harder against
him. Jerricho wanted to fuck. The animal in him wanted to rip down Killian’s pants and claim him.

  But more than that, he wanted this.

  The contradiction of Killian’s hips jerking away before being unable to resist; they pushed back into his firm grip. The sound of Killian’s stuttered breath as it turned into a pleasure-filled hiss.

  Jerricho licked Killian’s nape then blew across the wet, salty skin. Hunger building as he watched the man tried to shake the erotic shiver off.

  Such sweet reluctant surrender.

  Jerricho pumped Killian’s cock, harder, faster, mercilessly driving him to the brink. A choked cry signaled the man was right on the edge, right where Jerricho wanted him.

  Feeling over thinking.

  And because he was a bastard, because he was feeding off this and he wanted the man undone, Jerricho curled his fingers into a tight warm sleeve around just the head of Killian’s cock, forcing Killian to actively fuck his hand if he wanted to come.

  A final humiliation.

  A final surrender as Killian’s hips violently thrust with a will of their own, driven only by need.

  Jerricho could feel the tension in Killian’s body grow tighter, the man stiffening against him, rigid tension pulling both of their nerves tight. It tugged deep in Jerricho’s core and on the discomfort of his own engorged cock.

  They were both animals of lust and need.

  No longer teasing, his hand met Killian thrust for thrust, hand pumping until, with one final violent thrust, Killian stilled, and with a strained gasp, he spilled over into Jerricho’s hand.

  Jerricho cradled Killian against him, cock pulsing and body twitching. Jerricho’s own cock was still hard but it didn’t matter, the power rush fed his own euphoria.

  They stayed like that, heartbeats slowing before they shoved each other and roughly rolled away.

  Twenty-Eight

  The moment was surreal.

  Romeo Reyes stood in the center of the room like some kind of mirage.

  Killian was almost too scared to touch the man in case he disappeared.

  Almost too scared …

  But fear had never stopped him.

  The uppercut to the gut winded Romeo and he crashed to the ground.

  The force of impact traveled up Killian’s arm. Knuckles screaming from the collision of bone on bone, he stared at the body on the ground.

  A man. Romeo was just a man.

  For so long, he’d seemed bigger than that, the impact on Killian’s life bordering on all powerful. After his father, it had been an imbalance of power he’d sworn never again to allow.

  Romeo writhed on the floor, wheezing as the agony and air leaked out of him.

  Killian spat on the ground, shook his arms, and rolled his neck.

  Loose.

  He felt loose and good, a dangerous combination. Addictive. Consuming.

  It was at moments like this that he understood his childhood. He understood the nature of the beast. How once you had the prey between your jaws, it became impossible to stop until you ripped it apart. A bloodlust born in a primordial state.

  Except he was a hundred percent lucid, a hundred percent clear on what he was doing, a hundred percent intent on making Romeo suffer.

  And for that, he would need to fight the rush and take things slow.

  He circled the man writhing on the ground. “Get up.”

  The snapped words elicited the opposite response. Romeo froze. He glared up at Killian with a combination of hate and defiance.

  Killian sank to his knees, yanked the man’s head back by the short hair, and stared down into the dark well of those defiant eyes. There was fight, and behind that fight, there was hope.

  You could break a man’s bones and never break him; killing hope was how to break a man’s soul. For ten months, Romeo had been threatening to break Killian’s soul.

  Killian was going to break both.

  “Get up.” The snarl was vicious enough to make the Romeo blink.

  “Please.” Romeo wet his lips. “I can name names … who ordered the kidnapping … who came up with the idea. I can—” Killian could almost see him changing gears, changing tack. Defiance was pride and instinct. Negotiation was strategy.

  “I’m going to give you to the count of three to get your ass up off that floor, and then I am going to start motivating you with my boots.” He kept his voice conversational as he let Romeo’s wild eyes take in the sight of steel-cap toes.

  Awkwardly, hands tied behind his back, Romeo pulled himself up to his feet by the count of two.

  The next uppercut caught the man with just as much surprise as the first. It cracked against Romeo’s jaw and snapped his head back.

  Bare-knuckled, landing the punch had hurt. Killian didn’t mind the pain; he’d learned to feed off it.

  Romeo staggered back. Hands bound, he was already off-balance, and he fell to the floor. Hard. The man winced as his shoulder took the brunt, skull cracking against the floor. That would hurt.

  The time it took to make a man’s mask of composure slip seemed directionally proportionate to his character. The pain, the frustration of being unable to hit back, the fear of what was happening, it was all moving Romeo into the animal state beyond clear thinking—the state of prey.

  “Get up. Please.” Confuse the prey by talking to it like a man.

  Romeo shook his head, the crack of the concrete probably still ringing. He wriggled but didn’t stand.

  Killian’s boot connected with his shin. The howl was back to animal.

  “Get the fuck up.” Gritted words because he’d already asked nicely once.

  It was enlightening how quickly someone could scramble to his feet when motivated.

  “What do you want? I’ll give you what you want.” Romeo whined as he stood on unsteady feet, shifting his weight because of the pain in his leg.

  Killian backhanded him with enough force to throw Romeo off-balance again. This time, the crack against the concrete was to the back of the head, a patch of blood showing as the man rolled onto his side groaning.

  Romeo’s legs flailed about as he instinctively tried to regain his footing. All it took was the slow, sure tap of Killian’s steel-tipped steps on the floorboards. He didn’t even have to count.

  Romeo got to his knees when Killian’s foot came up between his legs and kicked him in the balls. For a moment, sound was sucked out of the room. Romeo’s lips were moving but nothing came forth. Hands behind his back, he couldn’t clutch to protect himself as he crumpled back onto the floor, body heaving as he dry retched.

  This wasn’t about an even fight. Romeo’s hands were out of commission, so he could take the beating, but the blows to his head each time he hit the floor would end this sooner than Killian wanted. It was pull his punches or put Romeo on a chair. But first …

  The crunch of the left ribs cracking was as sweet as the smell of the genuine fear tainting Romeo’s sweat.

  Killian bent down again, pulling the man’s hair to look into Romeo’s eyes. “You still with me?”

  Eyes blinked furiously as Romeo’s breath hitched.

  “Good.” Killian smiled before he stood up.

  Romeo panicked, legs flaying wildly as he began to hyperventilate, nostrils flaring and chest heaving on short, frantic breaths. Deep breathing had to hurt; Killian knew his boot had connected with ribs, but the reaction was panic squeezing around Romeo’s throat.

  “Get up.” No threat. No force. The man had been conditioned to respond to those words for now, survival instead of thinking.

  The door opened. David had come back with Black.

  Killian pulled out a chair in front of the small table that sat in the room.

  “Cut the rope.” The words were directed at David, but his eyes were on Black. He was sure he’d seen something on the man’s face, but it was already gone. Shock? Black wasn’t naïve. Disgust? He knew who Romeo was … knew what he’d done to Scarlet.

  Hands free, Romeo began to drag h
imself to the chair and Killian’s attention was drawn back to his prey.

  “Wait.” Killian came round the table to stop David before he stepped back and held out his hand for the man’s knife.

  On his knees, Romeo placed one hand on the worn wooden table in front of him, using the leverage to pull his hurting body to his feet.

  The knife went cleanly in between Romeo’s bones as it pinned his hand flat to the table. The man threw his head back and bellowed out to unforgiving ears.

  Romeo wobbled on his feet, his sweaty hand slipping as it tried to grab the hilt of the knife and pull.

  Killian leaned forward and hit him back with his head. Blood burst from Romeo’s nose as he fell back into the chair. Much better than the floor, although he didn’t think the man felt any better.

  “What do you want? Tell me what you want? Anything!”

  “You want to know what I want?” Killian bent down while reaching for the knife in the holder strapped to his calf.

  Romeo was sobbing as he tried to stem the nosebleed that dribbled out between shaking fingers and into his mouth. Eyes widening as he saw the fresh blade. His arm tugged at the hand still pegged to the table. Killian knew every instinct in the man was telling him to get away.

  Those instincts were right.

  Killian looked him in the eyes. “I want you to suffer. For two hundred and seventy-five days.” Because that’s how long it took to find him. Because justice was about him knowing what it had been like to live in futile agony for every single fucking minute of every single day. Because a quick death was too good for him.

  Horror stretched Romeo’s eyes wide as if they could scream.

  “You know what else I want?”

  The man was shaking his head. Denial of what was happening or answering the question, it didn’t matter.

  “I want your finger.” Killian slammed down the blade cutting into Romeo’s small finger. A push of his weight behind the blade and the finger severed from the man’s hand.