Page 19

Chapter Nineteen

Laughn

I watch, my vision practically tinged with red, as Summer lands the final blow. Whatever she just said to Jolie made her want to give up the fight. We have always had a friendship with Team Rampage, but after tonight, I will make Summer watch while I kill each and every one of her guys—slowly and painfully. It won’t be pretty, but seeing Jolie crumpled on the ground does things to me. Things that any normal person would find mortifying. How is it possible to be turned-on by her broken body, but also want to murder every fucker in this room staring at her right now?

Boston gives me a nod, and I jump the ropes like a savage animal. I need to be closer to my girl. Summer’s guys quickly remove her from the ring before I can get close, but their time will come. They know this is bad. They knew the second they were told she had to fight our girl.

“I’m here, baby,” I whisper, bending down, trying to assess what damage has been done to her.

She rolls over onto her back and starts laughing, then winces, clutching at her already bruising ribs. Is it possible to fall in love with someone you were already programmed to love?

“Get me out of here,” she begs, gasping at the twinges of pain lancing her body.

“Your wish is my command, baby.”

I scoop her up, trying not to hurt her too much. Even though her cries of pain turn me on, she never consented to this. She did this to please Boston.

Me and pain are on a first name basis. After Zircon was killed, or when I thought she was killed, I found an outlet. Trying to find a physical pain that could drown out anything I felt on the inside. Nothing worked since I don’t feel pain.

I stride past Boston and look him in the eyes. The impassive glare he gives me pisses me off.

“This is all your fucking fault. If she has any serious injuries, I’m holding you responsible.”

“Don’t act like your dick isn’t hard right now. Go get her cleaned up before we have a problem,” he snarls.

“We already have a problem,” I snap, shoulder barging him on my way past.

Getting Jolie into my car is no easy feat. Her body is stiff, and the adrenaline is wearing off. She curls into herself as we drive, and I don’t stop until I’m pulling into my driveway.

Her eyes remain closed as I walk around the car and gently remove her. She groans, and it takes every ounce of strength I possess to not throw her against the hood of my car and fuck her to the sound of her tears.

We walk past my brother, and he silently shoots me a look, one that says I hope you didn’t hurt her. I give him one back that says just because I show my weird on the outside doesn’t mean I don’t see yours. My brother, Creed, is like the guy from that show called You . The “stalk them and be their friend before kidnapping them” type. At least anything I do to women is consensual. He holds eye contact for a second, struggling with something, but I don’t have the time to deal with him now.

I walk away, taking her to my room, and her eyes open as much as they can with the swelling.

“Can you hold me?” she asks.

“I can’t, Jolie. Right now, I’m using all my self-control to not throw you around and fuck you like a rag doll.”

“Then do it,” she pants.

“It will hurt,” I say, surprising myself.

I never care if it hurts them after they consent. I love to see them panic, that fear washing across their face when it goes further than they imagined. But with Jolie, I find myself caring, wanting to kiss away her pain.

“Pain isn’t always the enemy, Laughn.”

I freeze—our trainers at the facility would always say that to us. Pain isn’t the enemy; being inside your head is the enemy. She looks at me with her big ocean-coloured eyes, ones that held so much life when we were pre-teens and are now full of hurt. A tear rolls down her face. I lean down, licking it from her skin, and she shivers at the contact.

Her tears push me over the edge, my self-control worn too thin. I throw her onto my bed and her body flops onto the mattress with a groan of pain slipping from her plush lips, making me wish they were wrapped around my hard cock. She eyes me like I’m the damn prey and that confuses me. They usually look at me in fear, wondering if they made the right choice coming home with me.

She watches me intently as I remove my shirt. Following suit, she grits her teeth and removes her blood-stained sports bra, her breasts bouncing free from the material as she takes in my ink. It covers me completely, leaving no free patches of skin. The upside to being able to do anything we want.

I got my first tattoo at thirteen, we all got one at the same time. We always called her our wildflower, and when she died, we all had a forget-me-not tattooed over our hearts. A symbol of true love and that we would never forget her. Which was a crock of shit because as soon as we had a taste of freedom, we did whatever it took to forget the pain, which meant burying everything about her.

My room is naturally dark, but the lights from the snake enclosures illuminate the space enough that she stills sees everything. I drop my pants and watch for her reaction. Her head tilts, fascinated. Jolie goes to move closer but hesitates. I give her an encouraging nod, and she crawls down the bed, her eyes glued to my cock. She gets close and sits on the edge of the bed. I watch her now with awe. Reaching out, she runs a fingertip lightly down my shaft, over the ball bearings that were surgically added, making it ribbed for her pleasure. A smile pulls at her lips as she traces along the spider web tattoo, and she even dips her head to check out my nuts—those I haven’t tattooed.

She leans forward and runs her tongue over the tip of my cock, and my eyes roll back into my head. I swear this is like an out-of-body experience. Ever since I started fucking, it’s been hard and fast; I need them to be restrained, bloody, and in pain. But as Jolie’s lips wrap around my hardened shaft, I gulp. This is the moment I know it’s her, and my heart can’t take it. Running my fingers into her hair, I grasp it at the roots and lift her to her feet. I look down at her eyes watering, but she doesn’t speak. She just looks into my black contacts, and I know she can see me.

I need to not think. My gaze roams over her body, the dried blood still on her face and arms from my fight, and I remember her jumping into my arms and the way she kissed me.

That memory has me turning her and laying her flat, face down on my bed, her cries of pain urging me on. She doesn’t question what I’m doing, and that level of trust is terrifying. No one trusts me, not fully anyway, not even the guys. They know how much of a loose cannon I am. I grab a noose from under my bed, curious just how far I can push her.

Leaning over, I peel her Nike Pros and underwear off, before turning my attention back to her perfectly shaped ass. I bend down and take a bite, causing her to moan as small red droplets rise to the surface where a few of my teeth have broken the skin. Running my tongue over the blood, she squirms with pleasure as I move my tongue from her crack, over the dimples in her back and up her spine. Making a mental note to ask her how she got the tattoo, ink is perceived as poison and only someone who knows who she is and has the right equipment could give her a lasting tattoo. I’m also curious what her tattoo means—it’s the length of her back, straight over her vertebrae—I continue up to her right ear, memorising every damn freckle as I go and leaving behind a road map of teeth marks and kisses, just as I promised.

“Say Beetlejuice if you want me to stop,” I growl, inserting a finger into her from behind. Her juices coat my finger—a test to see if she is as turned-on as she sounds, small whimpers and moans can be faked. “I need to hear you say you know the safe word.”

“I know the safe word, Laughn. Just fuck me already,” she snaps.

That’s my spitfire. I grab the rope from beside me and loop it around her neck, slipping the knot down until it’s tight. I wrap the end around my hand and yank her neck back. She screams, teeth bared. Her ribs are an angry red and bruises have already begun to form.

The sights and sounds of her pain have me surging forward as her ass rises. I run my cock up and down her slit, teasing her entrance, and her agonised groans morph into those of excitement. Thrusting inside her, I give her a moment to adjust to my size and the added ball bearings. They change the dynamic, especially when they’re on both sides, as they target the G-spot from any angle.

Biting a chunk from my hand, blood wells and trickles in rivulets over Jolie’s back as I roll my hips, using my free hand to claim what’s mine and smear my blood over her body. I feel like a virgin again, about to blow my nut in two seconds flat. The image of her body curved and bruised just for me, covered in my blood—she couldn’t be more perfect. With each forceful thrust, I send her body into overload, while the screams of pleasure and pain are music to my ears.

The faster I pound into her, the tighter the rope becomes. Jolie screams my name over and over. Every time she gets close to an orgasm, I slow my rhythm, then build her back up again. However, I knew this would not last long. The smell of blood in the air has my mouth salivating and the darkness setting in. Round one needs to be over so I can get a sense of whether she will run or want to go another round.

“Fuck me harder,” she gasps out.

I drop the rope, unloop it from her neck, and take hold of her hips. Jolie winces at the contact, so I squeeze, pulling her back onto my dick hard and fast. Sliding one hand up her back and wrapping around her throat, the pressure of my body weight pushes her into the mattress. Jolie tilts her head backwards, allowing me better access to her neck. As I stroke where the rope has left a mark, I smile, even though it’s barely visible beneath the blood. I didn’t plan to mark her so others can see, but I’m learning when it comes to Jolie, none of us have any self-control.

The sticky wetness between us helps me slide forward in slow, long thrusts, drawing out my need to come.

“Oh god. Don’t stop!” she screams over and over before her cunt pulsates around me.

I pull out, shooting my cum all over her back, then watch with satisfaction as it mixes with my blood, marking her completely as mine.

Jolie drops to the bed and rolls over. She smiles at me and pats the bed next to her. I lay down, ripping the bed sheet to wrap around my hand to stop the bleeding. She rolls into my body, and I pull her closer.

“I need some painkillers and then we can do that again. No holding back this time,” she says with a yawn. I might let her sleep first if she is lucky.

“Would you like to wash the blood off first?” Most girls think they are down, but see the aftermath and run for the hills with their tails between their legs.

“It’s fine. I like the thought of your blood being on me. Does that make me weird?” she asks, running her fingers down my stomach, then through the small patch of hair under my navel.

“No, that makes you perfect.” I want to say perfect for me, but I need to pull my shit together. I’m turning into a pussy.

“Change of plans. Fuck again, then painkillers, and then sleep,” I declare, rolling her onto her back and hovering over her. She laughs and lunges for my lip, her teeth breaking the skin. I’m so fucked, so fucking fucked. It’s like she was sculpted just for me—every curve, every freckle, every desire.

Now that I have her here, would it be so bad if I locked her up and never let her go?

I know the others all love her as much as I do, but for this blip in time, I want to be selfish and enjoy what she is offering me. All good things end, and when she finds out we have Trace and who she really is, she is going to hate us for not telling her. Everything will come crashing down around us and she will be gone once again. But this time, I will make sure she takes me out before she leaves—life without her isn’t one I want to experience again. I don’t care if that makes me the biggest pussy in the world, but I will burn everything to the ground to keep her close... or go down in flames trying.