Page 31 of Hunted by the Headless Horseman (Roars and Romances #5)

“Better a beast without a head than a demon without a soul.”

BELLE

Istir awake, battling a disorienting haze as reality slowly creeps back.

The last thing I remember was standing in the crowd, watching the firefighters work tirelessly to save Belladonna’s Bookshop from the flames.

Then, there was this sharp twinge in my neck before everything went black.

Now, as my eyes flutter open, the suffocating scent of wood and something far more sinister greets me.

The familiarity hits me like a punch to the gut.

This is the cabin—that cabin.

The horrible place where Thaddeus and I shared our twisted honeymoon before I’d finally escaped.

The blankets have been pulled back, showing crisp, white sheets.

A fire crackles in the hearth on the opposite side of the room.

Nine years later, but it’s the same chair where I once dared to read instead of servicing my husband like the demure bride I was meant to be.

Rage claws at my insides.

I’ll be damned if I’m ever demure again.

I can still smell him.

Blood, iron, and his raw masculine musk—overshadowed by a spicy cologne.

Panic surges through my veins at something harsh and thick biting my wrists.

I look up to find thick ropes tying me to the bed frame.

I glance down, blinking hard to clear the fog, my body tensing.

My pulse quickens, but I fight to steady myself.

I can’t afford to lose control.

The last thing I want is for my heart to give out, for me to pass out.

The door creaks open, and there he is—Thaddeus.

Horror ices my blood.

Despite his disheveled appearance, arrogance and pride practically drip off him from his high and mighty posture to his sick and twisted smile.

His shirt collar is open with a few undone buttons, exposing his sweat-slicked muscles beneath the crisp white fabric.

The blood from my stab wound has dried, but when he cracks his neck to one side, rolls his shoulders…and winces, a small sense of pride fills me.

His black breeches cling to his form, and I shiver at the memory of the strength of his thighs and how he’d rammed me night after night, forcing me into a stupor of pain and forced pleasure—

pleasure without emotion, without love, without the time and effort Jack puts into every single touch and kiss.

Thaddeus combs a hand through his polished black hair, tousled just enough to seem casual.

He looks like a man fresh from battle.

What was he doing all this time?

“Good to see you awake,”

he says, crooking his smile more as he side-eyes me. His tone is calm, too calm, as he approaches. His confidence reeks of victory.

I consider ignoring him, refusing to acknowledge him, but I’ve earned the right to rage at him. Long time coming. Lowering my brows, I narrow my eyes, sporting defiance in the wake of the cold dread spreading through me.

“Too much of a coward to take me yourself, Thaddeus? No, you sent your goons to do your dirty work. Pathetic. I must have stabbed you deeper than I thought. Pity no blade could find your nonexistent heart.”

Jack has nothing on Thaddeus in that department.

My ex-husband’s smile falters, but it quickly returns as he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the doorway. Acid scalds my throat at his eyes roaming across me. At least I’m still wearing my clothes, other than the ripped stockings.

Tilting his head, Thaddeus says, “I was occupied with other important business. Priorities, Belle. Burying your dear Jack, for one.”

All the blood leaves my face. My heart pounds in my chest as his words sink in. Burying Jack. How he found out doesn’t matter. Icy waves of terror rip through my veins.

“What… what did you do to him?”

My voice trembles. No matter how much I try to stay calm, the fear comes out.

“Where is he?”

Thaddeus’s smirk only widens as he steps closer, and my panic grows. I snap, thrashing against the bed, desperate to free myself.

“Where is he?!”

I cry, voice too weak to scream with my breathing turning shallow and ragged.

Before I can thrash any harder, Thaddeus climbs onto the bed, his weight pressing me down as he grabs my legs. Malicious triumph infects every part of him as he digs his fingers into my thighs through my dress, his hands strong enough to prevent any movements but not bruise me.

“Easy, little Belle. I won’t allow you to hurt yourself,”

he whispers, his tone eerily calm. His grip is firm, but there is an unsettling gentleness to his touch as he pins me. Cold. Calculated. Cunning. His eyes imprison me.

I buck but barely move an inch.

“Stop it! Let me go!”

My voice cracks as tears sting my eyes. My heart is seizing, ready to claw its way out of my chest. The thought of Jack—my Jack—buried, lost forever…I can’t bear it. And it’s my fault!

Thaddeus leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“You’ll forget all about Jackson Moore soon enough, especially when your belly is swelling with my child.”

His words drip with a cruel satisfaction, taking pleasure in twisting the knife.

My breath catches in my throat, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I turn my face away, tears now spilling freely down my cheeks. I can’t let him see my weakness. He will feed on it, and it will make him more monstrous—can’t let him win—but this is a nightmare. Nine years in the making. The idea of losing Jack, of being trapped here, tied to Thaddeus forever, will crush my soul.

Dark hunger invades Thaddeus’s eyes as he slowly pushes my legs up and apart—taking his place between them. I clench my eyes, my insides twisting as he gets between me, hovering above me. And when he thrusts his hips with a menacing grin, an uncontrollable cry leaves my throat—because his hardness sits against my center. Not grinding. Not yet. This is just him proving his power. And my PTSD is responding, giving him that power. I’m crumbling.

“Hmm…”

he hums, wiping a tear from my cheek. I recoil at his touch.

“You’ll come to accept it, Belle. The child you’ll carry, the life we’ll build together. Jackson Moore is gone, buried where he belongs. You and I—we will make a new start. A stronger one.”

His words seep into my mind like poison as I try to steady my breathing, imagining my beloved Heathcliff, wondering if I could become a ghost and find my way back to him. I’d follow him to whatever grave Thaddeus has hidden him—in a heartbeat.

Thaddeus rubs his lips along my cheek, kissing my tears. I swallow hard, trembling beneath him, but deep down, my heart refuses to give in. Jack will come. He always comes. Always here. I have to believe he’s alive, and he will escape.

Just like Offred: This is a story I’m telling. I need to believe it. I must believe it.

Prioritize your heart first.

I will, Jack, I promise in the depths of my mind. I’ll keep it strong until we are reunited.

Finding my grit, I clench my teeth, lurch, and spit at my former husband. His jaw hardens to stone as he flings away the drops.

“I swear on every feminine ancestor I’ve ever had, Thaddeus John Thorne, it will never be me. You will never have me. And I will never stop fighting you, never stop hating you. You’ll feel every ounce of my divine, feminine wrath.”

My voice steels with my rebellion, the fire inside me reigniting.

“I am not little Belle anymore. You’ll regret this.”

“Divine, feminine wrath? Oh, how poetic, adorable, and meaningless.”

He sneers, his fingers curling around my throat, not to choke, but to remind me of his dominance.

“Raw masculinity will always overthrow a woman’s futile wrath. Breaking you until you turn back into little Belle will be a pleasure, Belladonna Thorne.”

“Moore,” I hiss.

A shadow crosses his face. His eyes narrow, brows flattening as he continues, unhindered.

“You can fight, you can rage, but in the end, you’ll submit.”

He pushes harder against me, and I gasp at his dick throbbing against my pussy over the fabric. His voice lowers to a deep growl, “And when you do, it’ll be glorious.”

I don’t want to believe it, but when he grips my jaw and takes my mouth again, I feel the rumblings of it. He’s too strong for me to bite. Too strong for me to do anything but a vain struggle. His tongue stabs inside my mouth, but I keep mine flat and low, not giving him the satisfaction of so much as a flick.

I hate how he tastes. Seductive, alluring, and tempting. Just as the devil would.

The moment he pauses, I snarl against his lips, “Will you rape me now, or is breaking me your idea of foreplay since we both know it was never your strong suit?”

His grip borders on bruising.

“I am your husband. In the eyes of all my masculine ancestors and the maleness of God himself, it’s impossible for me to rape you, wife.”

“You were never my husband, Thaddeus.”

I bare my teeth and snap at him, refusing to be daunted by his gorgeous face with nothing but evil in his eyes.

“You were my captor. My molester. Violator. No better than a psychotic pervert.”

He raises his chin and chuckles darkly, sending a haunting chill through me.

“And what of you, my little Belle? What of your violations?”

Before I can respond, he shoves off me and advances to somewhere around the corner of the bedroom. The relief from his absence is short-lived when he approaches the bed again. Furious heat fills my cheeks when I see my diary clutched in his hand.

My heart ricochets as he casually tosses a few photos onto the bed beside me—intimate photos, raw and vulnerable, of me posed naked for Jack.

“You’ve been quite busy, haven’t you?”

he muses, flipping through the pages of the diary as if savoring every word.

“Adultery, Belle. With a headless corpse, no less. How fitting for my wanton whore of a wife.”

“I love him.”

“You love a beast,”

he mutters.

“Better a beast without a head than a demon without a soul,”

I throw back.

“Oh, and for the record, he is a master at giving head…unlike you.”

“Oh, my Belle…”

he purrs like a perfect predator before forcing my legs apart again, now shifting my dress up. Pieces of me break the higher he slides the fabric, continuing with a tenderness I’ve never felt from him.

“I truly do look forward to having you wrapped around my cock again.”

Chills skitter up my spine.

“Soon. Our ritual of my redeeming you will not happen here. But in the meantime…hmm, I have learned quite a few things over the past nine years. And you will soon know how I possess every part of you. Your body. Your mind. Your soul. And…your pleasure.”

There’s something darker in his eyes, a determination I’ve never seen, daring to prove how far he will go this time. And it will be worse. Worse than the past when he would simply shove his fingers inside me and force my orgasms without emotion.

This…this side of Thaddeus strikes every shade of fear inside me. Fire and ice war for territory. Then, he locks eyes with mine, the slightest upturn of the corners of his mouth horrifies me.

The second his fingers touch the lace of my underwear, I rear up.

“Get the fuck off me!”

I attack with everything I can, but it’s all futile. His knees are like boulders keeping my legs divided. His hands on my hips paralyze me. I’m lost to my powerlessness.

With a heart-leveling grin, Thaddeus rips away the lace covering me, shoves my knees to my armpits, and gazes at the view before him. His eyes are the same as they were on our honeymoon. Hunger but with a malevolent ownership.

Nothing like Jack. I never needed to see Jack’s eyes to know how he cherished me, worshipping every part of me. Even when hunting me, punishing me, possessing me, and owning me, I am his treasure, his equal, his wife.

To Thaddeus, I’m a prize, a fertile vessel, and submissive prey.

“This means nothing,”

I throw out, willing some measure of control in my inevitable defeat as he runs his nose between my pubic lips, inhaling my essence.

“It doesn’t make you a man. You’re nothing but a monster. Dead inside. And it doesn’t matter how many orgasms you give me, it will never be me.”

“I’m taking you to hell, little Belladonna.”

He chuckles, the soft rumbling sound pulsating through my center, forcing my inner muscles to clench. More tears stream from my eyes when he rubs my thighs and vows, “I’ll see you burn. Then, I’ll fuck you to redemption as I fill your womb with my blessed seed.”

He lubricates two fingers and slides them slowly into me. Too slow. Aching tenderness and finesse. I hate him more for this. Because he will make my body want it. My heart will never want him, never love him. He pumps those fingers in and out until my arousal slicks my pussy more than his spit.

I won’t imagine it’s Jack. Too impossible. Too much of a betrayal.

I wish I could be hollow. But I am with Thaddeus in all my hatred. I won’t let him consume my soul. With every fiber of my being, I vow never to revert to little Belle. I am Belladonna Moore.

I am Jackson Elias Moore.

Tunneling in on the words, I repeat them over and over in my head as Thaddeus seals his mouth to my center, kisses my lips, and licks me to oblivion until my screams shake the cabin and I’m as worn and weak as he wants.