by Zoey Marcel
“Jesus, calm down, cowboy. We’re just having a conversation.”
Stetson shook his head and grabbed a jar of something red and began seasoning the sauce with it for about two minutes. “No. You’re wrong. You have to be.”
“Uh, you’re making lasagna, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m no chef, but I’m pretty sure lasagna ain’t supposed to have eight tablespoons of chili powder in it.”
Stetson glanced down and tipped the jar back over. “Crap. I guess we’re having Mexican lasagna.”
Sawyer smirked. “You sound as bad as me in the kitchen.”
Stetson raided the liquor cabinet and poured himself a shot of whiskey and downed it.
“Yeah, that will help your skills.” Sawyer shook his head when he saw his brother drink another shot followed by another. “It ain’t nothing to get drunk over. We’ll just order takeout or something.”
“Fine.” Stetson leaned into the palms that braced him against the counter.
Sawyer had never seen him like this. “Why are you so distressed about me seeing a doppelganger of Vinny? I would think you’d be happy. He always liked you best. Sometimes I think he loved you like a son.”
Stetson’s eyes squeezed shut and he threw the shot glass against the wall. “He did not love me like a son, you son of a bitch!”
Sawyer put his hands up with a drawn-out whistle and stepped back. “The hell’s your problem?”
“If you ever see him again, you get as fucking far away from him as possible.”
Sawyer watched his oldest brother in complete shock. His suspicions were slowly becoming understanding. “The night Swifty’s burned down seven years ago. Wanna tell me about it?”
“Get out.” Stetson’s hostile glare flashed with fury and his fists balled by his sides. He clenched them so tightly the veins in his arms surfaced, showcasing his strength.
“What happened, Stet? Who really started that fire?” Sawyer accused.
Stetson’s eyes flared with warning and glossy mist blanketed the rage in them. He lunged at Sawyer and shoved him hard out of the kitchen. “I said, get out!”
Sawyer backed off and walked away, but he caught a glimpse of Stetson in the kitchen with his forearms resting on the counter and his face buried in them. His body shook violently, whether with anger or the effects of crying Sawyer was unaware, but he desperately wanted to get to the bottom of it.
He had a strong feeling Jade could help them reach Stetson. They just needed to prepare her for him first, and then she could begin to peel the layers of the crabby, complicated onion.
Chapter Eighteen
She walked through the graveyard, singing an eerie chant that would have given any listener the creeps. The fresh grave came into view, and she grinned to herself at the hell he would put that poor scientist through. The horrifying, decadent nightmare that would transform into paradise once the frail depths of the human mind were unlocked and the will broken into submission.
She raised her hands and channeled her divine power to lift him from the ground. It beat digging him up by a long shot. Digging was beneath her glorious nature. The strapping man floated in the air and came to rest on his feet. She chanted and used her power to reactivate the cyborg, Brutus.
* * * *
Brutus’s eyes fluttered open and he found himself in a graveyard. Why? Where was his dulcet vision of all things enchanting? He saw a little blonde girl of about eight years of age standing before him. “Identify yourself, little child.”
She smirked. “Oh, believe me, I’m much older than I look. Ivy’s not here.”
Where was she? “Is she hurt?”
The little girl grinned. “No. Aren’t you going to ask how you came to be buried in a graveyard, Brutus?”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name?”
“I know everything.”
“I reject your claim.”
She laughed. “Have it your way then. Ivy betrayed you, Brutus. While you were sleeping she shut down your systems and she and that wolf soldier, Bane, buried you in this cemetery so you wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Brutus stood in complete shock. He couldn’t process the child’s words. They were unthinkable. “My goddess betrayed me?”
The little girl snorted at this. “She’s hardly a goddess. Believe me. I know. And yes, she did betray you.”
A strange, sinking feeling took over him, and according to his calculations it was depression. The way his core hurt told him it was heartache, though he wasn’t sure if Ivy gave him one or not.
She left him, killed him while he slept. She kissed his mouth, brought him to ejaculation, and cried out in orgasmic pleasure while he touched her. She’d lain in his arms and gazed up at the stars in peaceful contentment. Then when he closed his eyes, satisfied that all of what the humans referred to as dreams of his had come true, she’d terminated his existence and left him.
Would she transfer her pleasure over to this wolf soldier, Bane? Brutus felt his muscles tense and a surge in his system. He would kill anyone who touched her, man or woman, whether to harm or satisfy her.
“Anyway, I’ll let you chew on that little nugget.” The little girl turned to leave. “I have some heads to go fuck with.”
“What is your identifying title?” he inquired in accordance with something called manners that Ivy had attempted to instill in him.
The little girl turned back with a smile she probably intended to be intimidating, but fear was not a weakness he suffered from. “Well, my body’s former owner was named Penny before Lucius killed her, but I don’t suppose that’s what you’re asking, is it?”
“I despise riddles, infuriating child.”
She smirked. “I’m not a child. I’m a goddess trapped inside this dead little girl’s body. Have fun taming your scientist.”
Brutus watched Penny walk away and drew into his thoughts. Ivy Covington had betrayed him and someday she would pay, but not with her life, never with her life. She would pay with her body and soul. He would own them both and possess her completely. He would get her back, but first he needed a cleverly devised plan. A way of capturing her and ensuring she never got away again and no one could ever find her to take her away from him.
The wheels in his head started turning and he felt his lips purse in anger as his body stiffened with a motivating surge of vengeance. He needed to take her somewhere secluded and confine her, break her spirit and will. He needed to dominate and control her until she refused to believe anything other than what he told her, whether he chose to uplift her or bring her down.
He would get Ivy back and remind her why they were perfect for each other. He would make her his lover and get her to feel the sort of things for him that he felt for her. He would punish and satisfy her and make her see how much he worshiped her.
Whether she realized it or not Ivy had a target on her pretty head. He smiled to himself when he recalled the chip he’d planted under her skin one night while she slept. He’d drugged her drink so she wouldn’t awaken during the procedure. He would use the technology to find her.
He could have easily found her when they’d been apart before, but the realization that he could imitate Wesley’s voice had been too tempting to resist. Brutus had craved to know the sound of her pleasured cries and whimpers when he spoke her to orgasm.
No matter how far Ivy ran she’d never be able to escape him. He’d keep coming for her and he’d never stop. No matter which path she chose to take in life, in two years’ time she would find out that all her roads led back to him.
One day she would realize that the mutual feelings she fled from were there to stay. But first he must prepare a place for her and when the time was right he would make her his slave. She thought this was over? Oh, no. This was far from over.
THE END
WWW.ZOEYMARCELBOOKS.BLOGSPOT.COM
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Zoey Marcel has wanted to be a writer since she was eight. She lives wi
th her husband, baby, and their quirky pug in the Pacific Northwest.
Her stories range from naughty and touching to dark and erotic. She likes variety in her characters, from the sweet beta or the aggressive alpha all the way to the tortured hero or antihero who walks on the dark side.
When she’s not writing, Zoey likes to work out, keep house, and go places with her husband. Then, of course, there is playtime with the hyperactive little dog.
For all titles by Zoey Marcel, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/zoey-marcel
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
