Page 19

I stare at the text I sent to the masked man.

Me: Starlight Pavilion, Dressing room 1B

There is no time, no date, just the location of where to find me—the real me, not Jade. I sent it two hours ago, and there’s no reply—not that I expected one.

Fuck Axel.

Fuck the Sovereign.

It’s been six days since he branded me. Rosa’s taken care of me—cleaning the wound, bringing me food, trying to make me eat—but my appetite’s been nonexistent. I was a wreck—sobbing, overwhelmed, consumed by fear, the pain of the brand throbbing through me.

But today? Today, I’m just pissed. Any twisted, unwanted attraction I once had for Axe is gone, replaced by raw, undiluted hatred.

The memory of the branding might as well be burned into me too—his hand holding the iron, the searing heat sinking into my skin. The smell of burning flesh. The sizzling sound. The agonizing pain. All of it lingers like a scar in my mind.

I don’t know why I texted the masked man. Was it revenge? A need for control?

Maybe both. But it doesn’t matter.

One thing’s clear—I’m done. I need a release. I need to be fucked—hard, fast—until I can’t think. I want to forget it all, drown it in pleasure or pain or whatever it takes to make me feel something, anything.

Sending that text was impulsive. The anger, fear, and frustration boiled over until I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I crave intensity—whether it’s pain or pleasure. I need to feel alive.

But I don’t want just anyone from the Sovereign. I don’t want some stranger. I want him—the one who’s haunted me. The one who’s made me feel things I shouldn’t.

Axe made it clear what would happen if I screwed anyone else. But I don’t care anymore. This fucked-up marriage is his vendetta against my father. Revenge. He enjoys hurting me. Even if I was perfect, he’d still find a way to cause pain. That’s who he is—cold, heartless, cruel. He’ll probably kill me eventually.

And if death is coming anyway, I might as well take what I can from this miserable life. I’d rather die than keep living like this.

I trace the branding on my skin. The letter H inside a ring, burned into me.

His mark. Permanent.

Forever reminding me of who owns me.

Fuck that.

I’ll fight until the bitter end. And if the masked man can offer me even the smallest escape—then I’ll take it.

Fuck the consequences.

Fuck the pain.

Fuck Axel Hawthorne.

I dress for rehearsal, slipping into loose sweats and a tank top. This day will be grueling. My muscles are still sore and weak, and I can’t stand anything touching the brand; even the slightest pressure sends sharp, stabbing pain through me.

Rehearsals typically mix new routines with old ones, and Bradley is relentless. I’ve been gone all week, and I don’t know how he’s going to react to the brand—he hates marks and tattoos.

Grabbing my dance bag, I head downstairs, my stomach growling in protest. I spot my car keys on the kitchen counter.

“Axe will be gone for a while on missions,” Griffen says from his chair. “How’s?—”

“Go fuck yourself,” I snap, snatching my keys and storming out.

I’ve lost my appetite. I never want to talk to him again. He was a coward. A spineless piece of shit. And he had the nerve to apologize while holding me down.

“Rory,” he calls after me, but I quicken my pace. “Wait. Please.” His steps echo behind me, drawing closer. I increase my speed, practically running for the garage. But a limp slows my movements.

“Leave me alone.” I don’t want him anywhere near me.

“Stop and listen to me,” he insists, spinning me around with a tight grip on my arm.

“Let me go,” I snap, struggling, but he only tightens his grip.

“Not until you talk to me,” he demands, pulling me closer. I push against his chest, my arms trapped between us.

“You’re hurting me.” I wriggle free as he finally lets go. Stepping back, I rub my wrist, glaring at him. I notice bruises, cuts on his face, and bandaged knuckles.

“Rory, please, just listen,” he pleads, taking a step toward me, causing me to flinch. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry!? Really? I don’t care if you’re sorry. I hope you choke and die. Stay the hell away from me.” His expression falters.

“Don’t be like this,” he begs, snatching my keys from my hand and forcing me to stop. Anger constricts my chest, tears welling up as I clench my fists.

“He branded me!” I scream, my voice raw and frantic. “And you helped him! You held me down while he did it! You’re a coward.” I shake uncontrollably. “You could’ve stopped him, but you didn’t. How could you, Griffen?”

“I know,” he murmurs, barely audible. “I couldn’t?—”

“You didn’t even try,” I cut him off. “I don’t care about your fucking guilty conscience.” I yank up my shirt, exposing all the bruises on my torso, the dark purple and green marks standing out against my pale skin.

His jaw clenches, and he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“These are from you,” I cry. “You are just as much a monster as he is!”

“Rory, I’m?—”

“Don’t you ever fucking talk to me again!” I yank my keys from his hand.

I storm to my car, slamming the door behind me and hitting the gas pedal. The tires screech against the asphalt as I peel out of the driveway, and the engine roars in response. As the tears blur my vision, I swipe at them with a trembling hand, trying to steady my breathing.

I knew Axe was capable of such cruelty, but Griffen? That almost hurt more than the brand. He had me fooled. I thought he was different, maybe even a friend. But he’s just another monster, another Hawthorne.

Finally free, I breathe deeply, savoring the crisp, fresh air. The wind tousles my hair as the sun warms my face. The city hums with life—cars honking, people chatting, music playing. It’s a welcome change from the stifling silence of the house.

I miss all my belongings, the small, seemingly insignificant items that made my house feel like a home: pictures of friends, books, and furniture. I long for my bed, all the random junk scattered throughout my house, the memories, the comfort, and the familiarity. I want all my cars back—the Audi R8, the BMW 7 series, everything I’ve worked so hard to own.

I want my life.

In the dressing room, I change into a sports bra and tank top. The bruises on my body stand out starkly, each movement sending sharp pangs through me.

When I sit, pain radiates from the brand. I can’t wear leggings—the raw, tender brand is too painful.

“Fuck.” I exhale sharply, fighting the sting of tears. My stomach churns, and I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

I take in the dark bruises on my knees and legs, from falling on the hardwood, and the marks on my thighs, hips, and wrists from Griffen’s grip. I tug on my dance shorts and stand. There’s no way to hide the brand, and any attempt to cover it hurts.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I step into the rehearsal studio. The room falls silent as everyone’s eyes fix on me, their faces filled with concern.

“Oh my god, Rory.” Lana rushes over. “What happened?” She pulls me into a hug, and tears well up in my eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble, gently pulling away. Taking a deep breath, I try to compose myself. Dom walks in, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in the sight of me.

“What the hell, Rory?”

“Drop it, Dom. I’m fine.” I head to the barre, focusing on stretching and ignoring the stares and whispers. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and my eyes sting with unshed tears.

Olivia’s presence in the corner catches my eye, fueling my irritation. I hadn’t checked the roster after the auditions, but clearly, she made the cut. Her amused gaze tells me she’ll report my bruises to Alicia, and soon, my father will question me—questions I don’t want to answer, questions too humiliating to face.

Rehearsal starts, and Bradley storms in, his gaze zeroing in on my bruises. He exhales sharply, clearly displeased. He stands directly in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Nice of you to finally join us again. We’ll talk in your dressing room after rehearsal.”

I nod, unable to speak.

He moves to the stereo, his voice booming. “Alright, let’s warm up.”

For the next two hours, we drill new routines relentlessly. I push through the pain, muscles aching and limbs heavy. The rehearsal is exhausting, but I lose myself in the rhythm. By the end, sweat drips down my face, and every muscle screams.

As everyone exits the studio, I make my way to my dressing room. Pushing open the door, I collapse onto the leather couch, wincing from the pain. I have a few moments before Bradley arrives, and I need them.

I close my eyes, focus on my breathing, and try to find some relief. Exhaustion quickly takes over, pulling me into a restless sleep.

I’m jolted awake by a hand tracing the brand on my ass. Startled, I yelp and scramble back. Bradley stands there, his expression dark and unsettling.

“What the hell?!”

“That’s a pretty mark,” he remarks casually, and I have to suppress the rising bile in my throat.

“Bradley, don’t touch me.”

“Now, Rory, is that any way to talk to your boss?” His tone is condescending as he steps closer, and I instinctively shrink away, his closeness unnerving.

I know what he wants. He’s never made a secret of it.

“This isn’t going to happen,” I tell him, standing my ground. “Get out of my dressing room. Now.”

“Oh, but it is.” He licks his lips, smirking.

I shake my head, pressing myself deeper into the corner of the couch. He advances, closing the distance between us. “Get away from me, Bradley. Now!” I yell, trying to keep the fear from my voice.

Before I can react, he grabs me forcefully, pulling me toward him. I struggle to push him away, but his strength overpowers me. His hands close around my neck, cutting off my air, and I gasp, clawing at his arms in a frantic attempt to break free. He drags me across the room to the vanity, pinning me on my stomach. His weight presses against me, his hard cock poking me, his grip on my neck painful.

“Bradley,” I croak, barely able to get the words out.

“Shhh,” he shushes. Reaching into his pocket, he produces zip ties and binds my hands to the vanity post. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you, Rory.” His hand runs along my side, and I thrash.

“Let me go!”

He laughs, his breath hot against my neck.

“You and I are going to have lots of fun.” He yanks my shorts and underwear down. “That’s a lovely sight.” He gropes my ass as his fingers trace the brand. “Such a good little whore. Axel marked his territory. Did you enjoy that?”

“You fucking piece of shit!” I scream, bucking and twisting wildly.

His hand lands a hard blow across my face. My head snaps to the side, and the force knocks the wind out of me.

“You have two options. You can be good and cooperate, or keep fighting and get hurt. Either way, you’re going to scream for me, and I’m going to enjoy this pretty pussy. The harder you fight, the worse it will be.”

He pushes his knee between my legs, forcing them apart.

Panic rips through me, and I fight, trying desperately to push him away.

His fingers trace along the curve of my ass. “I’ve never been able to fuck you before. Your father was always protecting you. Now, you have this.” He runs his finger over the raw branding. “So, if you want to still be a Siren when we’re done, then you will behave.”

“Axe will kill you,” I manage to choke out, and Bradley laughs.

“Oh, sweetheart, he can’t kill me. I’m a Sovereign.” Roughly grabbing my hips, he lifts me, pulling me to the edge of the vanity. He leans over and whispers, “I’ll even make it feel good.”

Movement catches my eye in the mirror. Someone is standing there. The dark silhouette swiftly steps forward, seizing Bradley by the throat and cutting off his air.

The masked man tightens his hold, pressing hard. The room fills with the sound of Bradley choking, and soon, his eyes roll back, his body going limp. The masked man drops him to the floor, where he lies motionless.

He violently kicks Bradley, each blow landing with sickening force against his ribs. Blood splatters on the floor, and the sound of crunching bones fills the air. I’m frozen, unable to look away.

The masked man stands over Bradley, his body heaving and blood pooling around him. Then he turns toward me, his eyes dark and fists clenched, the sound of his knuckles cracking filling the air. My gaze trails up his muscular body, taking in his all-black clothing and the skull mask.

He looks like an angel of death. My angel.

Exhaling harshly, he approaches me. I shut my eyes tightly, tears streaming down my cheeks as my heart races and my breathing grows louder in my ears.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and shaky.

He stops behind me, his presence heavy, and the fear within me intensifies. He reaches out, and with a gentle touch, he runs his fingers along the tender brand. I gasp, a sharp pain shooting through me.

My mind reels, the fear and adrenaline making it difficult to focus. Then he grips my thighs and pulls me to the edge of the vanity, pressing his body against mine. Fighting against the restraints, I let out a whimper, my voice weak and shaky.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please.” I’m not sure if I’m begging him to stop or to fuck me, but either way, it’s terrifying. He looks at me through the mirror, the mask obscuring his features, but I can see his eyes.

Dark and dangerous, they pierce my soul. Offering no response, he firmly grips my hips, holding me in place. Fear and desire flood my senses, the combination leaving me breathless. His hands trail along my body, teasing my skin.

Spreading my legs, he kneels behind me. After adjusting his mask, he traces his tongue along my sensitive skin. His hot breath warms my thigh. My breath hitches as he licks the brand, and a moan escapes my lips. His mouth travels lower, and he nips at the tender flesh, causing me to gasp.

He continues his path, licking, sucking, and biting, his mouth devouring me. I writhe, struggling against the zip ties, the feeling almost overwhelming. His tongue delves inside me, and I cry out, arching my back and pushing against his mouth. His tongue is savoring me like I’m the best tasting thing he’s ever had. My mind spins, and I can’t control the sounds escaping my mouth.

He’s merciless, his tongue probing and exploring, his fingers gripping my thighs. The pressure peaks, the orgasm threatening to crash over me. I grind against his face, desperate for release.

His tongue slides deeper, and I writhe in pleasure, the pain forgotten. His hand reaches between my legs, and his fingers slide over my clit, circling and rubbing.

My wrists burn, the zip ties cutting into my skin. He continues his delicious assault, his tongue and fingers relentless, bringing me to the brink of ecstasy. I can’t hold back. My body shakes as the orgasm tears through me. He’s relentless, his fingers and tongue never stopping until my body sags against the vanity. I lay there, panting, trying to catch my breath.

Slowly, he stands and looks at me through the mirror, his dark eyes burning into me. Reaching for his belt, I hear the sound of the zipper. I freeze.

I want him. I need him.

He firmly grabs my hip with one hand and wraps the other around my neck. Pulling me toward him, he forces me to arch my back, exposing my ass. I whimper, and he slams into me, burying himself deep.