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F uck. What the hell did I do? I’ve never given a shit about the women I fuck. They’re nothing but a hole to fill. A tight cunt and a warm mouth. No fucking emotions, no attachments. I get off, and I move on—end of story.

When Rory clung to me, my anger faded. Holding her felt...fuck…it felt right—something foreign and unsettling. Hell, most of them cry during sex, but I never gave a fuck.

Yet, I couldn’t push Rory away. When she looked at me, eyes full of tears, pleading for me to stay, I was at a loss. In that moment, I felt something—an ache.

I fucking hated it.

She doesn’t deserve my sympathy. She doesn’t deserve anything from me.

But I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t let her go.

I’ve seen her defiant, confident, and seductive side in action, but the image of her crying and vulnerable, utterly shattered, is seared into my mind. That’s the real Rory—the one beneath the Siren. The person I’m supposed to hate, the one I’m meant to destroy, the one I branded.

I hate what I’m feeling. It’s as if a switch has been flipped: one moment, I’m consumed by rage, and the next, I’m holding her, offering comfort. She’s making me fucking soft.

This was a mistake.

She fucked another man, me, but she doesn’t know that. That it was my cum she swallowed. My cock she begged for. My mouth on her cunt. My fingers inside her.

She has no idea she fucked Axel Hawthorne, her worst nightmare . Her fucking husband.

I need to end this now.

Bradley’s groans from my trunk yank me from my thoughts. That motherfucker tried to rape her. No one touches what’s mine.

His fucking blood will stain the cement floor. He’ll beg for mercy. He’ll plead for death. He’ll die in agony. I haven’t had a decent torture session in a while, and this one will be special—for him.

I pull into the garage and open the trunk. As he groggily regains consciousness, I yank him out and slam him against the wall. His face is a mess—swollen eyes, busted lips, and a nose bleeding profusely.

“Hello, Bradley.”

“Axe?”

“That’s right.”

“Axe, listen, I can explain,” he stammers.

“No, you listen.” Grabbing his hair, I slam his head into the wall. “You tried to rape what is MINE!”

His face turns pales, and his lips tremble as fear takes hold of him. “Axe, please, I didn’t?—”

“What was it you said? Oh yes, ‘I’ll even make it feel good’.” I slam his head into the wall again, splattering blood across it. “I’ll show you how good it will feel.” Seizing him by the throat, I drag him through a secret door and down an underground passage into my private chamber—my little playground of torment.

I toss him into the room. He hits the ground with a thud, a cry of pain escaping his lips. I hurl him against the wall, the metal chains rattling.

“It’s playtime, Bradley, and you’re the fortunate one chosen for it.”

“You can’t do this! I’m a Sovereign! People will come looking for me.” His panicked eyes dart around the room in desperation.

“There will be nothing left of you to find,” I growl, ripping an axe from its hook and slamming it onto the table. The blade’s stained with old blood. His face pales; his screams intensify. I grab the chains and haul his arms above his head. The metal clatters as I lock the shackles, trapping his hands. Then, I yank his pants down and grab a spiked bat.

“Please, please, no,” he begs. “I’ll give you anything. Name your price.”

“Your life…but that’s not enough. You tried to rape my Bond. My property. You touched her. You hurt her. So, you’re going to pay.”

“I’ll do anything you want. Please, Axel, I’ll do anything.”

“Oh, you’ll do what I want.” I grin. “You are going to have the pleasure of experiencing the kind of pain you were going to inflict on her.” The anger, the adrenaline, and the thrill of the torture. This is the rush—the high.

“No, no, no…” His cries turn into screams as he thrashes wildly.

With a vicious swing, I bury the spikes in his thigh, blood spraying everywhere. His screams hit a higher pitch, but I don’t give him a chance to recover.

Before he can even suck in a breath, I bring the bat down across his jaw. The spikes tear through flesh and bone, shredding his cheek. Teeth and fragments of bone scatter across the floor.

“That’s for slapping her,” I growl.

The acrid stench of urine hits the air as he pisses himself—pathetic.

“I’ll be learning something new today.” I smirk. “I have no idea how much bat a man can take up the ass before hitting something vital.”

With that, I slam the bat into his balls. The sound of him puking drowns out his cries.

“You should appreciate this. You’re the one who gave me the idea.” Slamming the bat down on his thigh, I hear the bones crack, the impact vibrating up my arm. “You said you’d make it feel good. Unfortunately, I don’t keep any lube down here. So, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”

Sixteen inches until I finally hit something important.

I savored every second of his agony, watching him bleed, the bat lodged in his asshole—a grotesque masterpiece. But the satisfaction was fleeting. I had to leave.

Now, I’m driving, resuming the mission I postponed. Her text message arrived when I was at the Iron resupplying between missions. I was fucking furious. I told her what would happen if she fucked another man.

If I had ignored her message... Fuck . My grip on the steering wheel tightens. She would have been raped, and that motherfucker would have walked away.

A text notification pulls me from my thoughts.

Rory: I want the rest of my cars and stuff brought to the house.

She fucks a stranger this morning, and she has the nerve to text me with demands? The fucking balls on this woman.

Me: No

My jaw is clenched so tightly it’s a miracle I haven’t cracked my fucking teeth. Why the hell did I stay? I should have taken Bradley and left.

But seeing her there, tears streaming down her face, clinging to me, tore at something inside me. That shattered woman in my arms wasn’t the Rory Valentine I thought I knew.

She was honest, raw, and vulnerable—and that’s the version of her I want—the one she hides from me, from everyone.