Page 5

Chapter 4

Merci

My head pounds like a jackhammer, each heartbeat sending a fresh wave of pain through my skull, my throat dry and scratchy. I try to open my eyes, but they fall shut from the heaviness. My body’s sluggish like I’m trying to swim through molasses.

I take a deep breath, trying to stop my chattering teeth, and chase away the nausea settling in as consciousness slowly returns. What the hell happened?

The last thing I remember is. . .

Oh, fuck.

Zach.

Those steel-gray eyes staring at me through that devil mask right after he made me—

No.

My eyes snap open, but the darkness is disorienting. I try to move, but my arms are bound behind my back. The bite of metal around my neck makes my pulse skyrocket, and there’s the clink of a chain when I shift .

The cold air bites my exposed skin. The rough concrete beneath me is equally frigid, as it would be during winters up north.

Not Miami.

Definitely not fucking Miami.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I pull my knees under me, then push up to take in my surroundings.

I'm in some kind of expansive warehouse with exposed beams and high ceilings. It’s bare, lit by industrial lights. There are a few windows, and outside the sky is overcast with dark gray clouds.

At least it's not a small, dark space. I gag, bile crawling up my throat at the thought of being trapped again in that fucking freezer.

Stop, Merci.

Focus on the present shit show.

Like the fact my asshole stepbrother drugged me, then tied me up in the equivalent of a giant meat locker. I shift again, following the clink of metal. Great, the chain attached to the metal collar around my neck is bolted to the floor and short enough that I can’t even stand.

"Motherfucker."

The door to the warehouse creaks open, and Zach walks in wearing dark jeans and a black Henley. There’s something terrifying about that calm facade he’s wearing again. It’s too cold. Like he’s walking down the street.

"Look who decided to finally wake up."

I bare my teeth in what might pass for a smile. "Go fuck yourself with a cactus."

Zach doesn’t respond. He just stands there, staring at me with that hollow, empty gaze that makes my skin crawl.

Behind him, the dickhead with the crystalline nun mask enters, his too-cool-for-this-shit aura wrapped around him like a second skin.

"Aw, need help snuffing me out this time?" I jut my chin toward his friend. "Is that why you brought back up?"

He just stares at me, face blank. Like he’s not even human.

It’s unnerving.

“Cat got your tongue? Or are you just practicing your impression of a brick wall?"

Nun Mask chuckles. “Wow, you didn’t tell me how mouthy he is.”

“And you make me wish I had more middle fingers, so I could show you just how much I don’t give a shit about your intimidation tactics.”

Zach steps closer, squatting down, his steel-gray eyes locking onto mine. They’re dead. Empty. Just like they were that day he attacked me at school, his hands around my throat until school safety pulled him off.

But he still gives no response, and it pisses me off just like at the club when I couldn't get a reaction while grinding on him.

My stomach churns at the thought, and I squeeze my eyes shut. He . . . he jerked me off. Made me come.

"Finally realizing you're going to die, brother ?" Zach's voice is flat, mechanical.

“We’re stepbrothers you psychotic piece of shit.” I grit my teeth, narrowing my eyes as I stare right at him. “And I’m grossed out that you got me off. Like, seriously? That's some Game of Thrones-level shit."

His jaw ticks.

If I’m going to die, might as well throw whatever I can at him. "Let me guess, you're just mad because you popped a boner for a guy, huh? How's that fragile masculinity holding up?"

Zach’s eyes darken, and for a split second, I think I might have gotten under his skin. But then his lips curve into something resembling a smile. "I don’t discriminate. I'll fuck any hole."

Not to be outdone, I flash him a wicked grin, even as my stomach does a weird flip. "Any hole? Damn, you must be a real sight to see railing exhaust pipes. Do you slap the trunk while whispering, 'Who's been a naughty Nissan?' "

His eyes narrow slightly—the first real reaction I've gotten—-while his friend barks out a laugh, and for some reason that pisses me off more.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been tied up like a fucking animal, or maybe it’s because this is the first time I’m learning anything about Zach since we first met. And not just some random fucking detail but something as important as his sexuality.

From day one, he made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me, treating me like an unwanted pest in his space. So, getting to know him was out of the question.

Zach leans closer, and I flinch when he raises his hand. Fuck. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing fear, but apparently, my daddy trauma runs deep.

He stills for a brief second, his eyes contracting to slits, then his thumb brushes over my bottom lip, the touch surprisingly gentle, sending tiny bolts of electricity straight to my dick. "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble."

Narrowing my eyes, I bite down hard on his thumb. I don't let go, just stare at him as I snarl, pissed off my fucking dick liked the way he ran his thumb across my lip. Somehow, it didn’t get the memo that the psychopath has me tied up . . . and not in a fun way.

Zach’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch .

Doesn’t react.

So, I sink my teeth in deeper, blood coating my tongue when they break skin. Suddenly, my face explodes with pain as someone hits me. The force is strong enough that my head jerks sideways, and I release Zach's thumb, blood still in my mouth. It’s metallic, sharp, and I spit it out, the crimson splattering on the concrete beside me.

I turn back, knowing it was his friend who slapped me, but that’s not what causes me to growl at the attention-seeking fuck.

Nope.

I want to gnaw his hand off at the wrist for the way he's tenderly checking Zach’s thumb.

God, what the actual fuck is wrong with me?

Zach yanks on the chain attached to my collar, and I can't help the whimper that escapes. His eyes drop to my crotch, where my dick is embarrassingly hard against the tight fabric of my leggings.

Fuck my life right now.

"Didn't get enough at the club?"

"Oh, please." I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the heat pooling in my gut. "Your hand job was mediocre at best. I've had better from truck stop glory holes."

“Is that why you were panting and fucking into my fist like a desperate whore? ”

The guy in the nun mask snorts. "Maybe you two should just fuck and get it out of your system."

A muscle near Zach’s eye twitches, the tension in the air thickening, and I can't help but push harder.

"What's wrong? Worried you won't measure up? I mean, that Jacob's Ladder is impressive and all, but—"

His hand shoots out, wrapping around my throat above the collar. "If you don't shut that mouth, I'll do it for you."

I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, throwing him a wink.

An evil smirk spreads across his face as he leans close, his breath hot against my ear. "Why would I bother with you when Raiyne can suck it so much better?"

My eyes go wide. "How—"

"Looks like we have a mutual friend." His voice is cold, clinical. "Though, I'm not sure you were ever his friend."

The words sting more than I want to admit. Raiyne. The one person who’s the closest thing I’ve had to a friend ever . . . he sold me out.

Zach pats my cheek. “Don’t worry about it too much, Merci. By the end of the week, you’ll be gone.”

He stands, they both turn, then walk away, leaving me here.

I spent five years running, reinventing myself, and building a life where I was free. On the silks, I could fly. I could be anything, anyone .

Now I'm right back where I started—trapped, helpless, at someone else's mercy.

And I don’t even want to know why my dick gets hard every time Zach puts his hands on me. That's a whole other level of fucked up that I'm not ready to deal with.

I close my eyes, trying to center myself the way I do before a performance. I've got less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to escape before they come back. Because I might feel guilty about what happened, but I'm not ready to die for it.

Not by a long shot.