Page 26

T he morning sun blazes through my eyelids, making my head throb. My eyes burn, and my mouth feels like sandpaper. Last night’s events crash over me—his mouth, his hands, his cock.

I shudder, every muscle aching, my ass throbbing. The guy’s built like an Olympian and has stamina to match. He took what he wanted without a hint of remorse.

I can’t even blame the alcohol. By the time we got home, I was sober enough .

His hands, his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and his cock—it was good. Not just good, it was fucking mind-blowing.

I despise him.

I hate his smug, handsome face and that infuriating smile. His arrogance and that damn laugh of his.

Oh god, is this Stockholm Syndrome?

I bury my face in the pillow, trying to escape the shame and guilt gnawing at me. How the hell am I supposed to face him today after what happened? How can I look him in the eye without feeling his touch or hearing his voice in my ear?

His scent is still all over me and the sheets—sex and sin; I swear it must be the devil’s cologne.

I cast a wary glance around his sprawling room, relieved to find it empty. Shifting to the edge of the bed, I carefully sit up, gripping the sheets as I ease myself out. I take a deep breath and shuffle toward the door, grabbing my towel from where it had fallen after the shower.

I open the door—and freeze.

Oh, fuck!

He’s standing right outside, smirking. Dressed in black jeans and a dark gray t-shirt, his well-defined arms and broad chest filling out the fabric.

“Well, well, good morning, little siren.”

His intense gaze makes my cheeks burn. I try to sidestep him, but his arm shoots out, blocking my way.

“I’m taking you to rehearsal,” he says, his eyes drilling into mine with a force that makes me want to melt into the floor.

“Why? I can drive myself,” I counter.

He steps closer, pinning me against the wall. My fingers clutch the towel around my chest like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

“Because I said so.”

I swallow hard, my gaze dropping. He traces a bite mark at the base of my neck, and I can only imagine how battered I look.

I shove his hand away and duck under his arm, trying to escape the bedroom.

“Don’t touch me,” I mutter.

He grabs my arm, yanking me back with a grip that’s way too tight. “Do not walk away from me, Rory.”

“Fuck you.”

“You already did. Several times. ” His thumb traces another bite mark on my shoulder, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“God, what are you now, a vampire?”

His grin stretches, teeth gleaming. “I’m just a monster who likes to mark his things.”

His hand slips into the towel, his fingers tracing the dried cum on my stomach.

“You’re a sick bastard,” I snap, trying to ignore the way my skin prickles under his touch.

“And you loved every second of it.”

The truth stings. I did.

I wrench myself free, stepping back and putting some distance between us.

“Hurry up and get ready,” he commands. “I’ve got a busy day.”

Ignoring him, I rush to my room, slamming the door behind me. Every movement aches as I drag myself to the bathroom.

The hot water is a fleeting relief, soothing my sore body. I want to stop thinking about Axe, but his presence invades every corner of my mind. The constant push and pull exhausts me. I want out—back to my old life, back to normalcy. But that's a fantasy now.

Everything about him confuses me.

His cruelty, his arrogance, his dominance—how the hell can I be drawn to someone so twisted?

He’s a monster.

But when I was scared last night, he held me. And for a moment, he wasn’t the monster. His voice, soft like someone else entirely, messed with my head. I’ve always been triggered by loud noises, haunted by my mother’s screams from a home invasion.

Still, everything about him is built to destroy. His mind, his body, his strength—they’re weapons. And yet, I let him keep me close until the panic faded. Then I shoved him away, reminding myself that his brief tenderness doesn’t change the fact that he’s a monster.

I stay in the shower too long, hoping the steam will cleanse more than just his marks on me.

Wrapped in a towel, I dress in red dance shorts and a matching sports bra, adding a hoodie for the chilly drive to the Pavilion.

Drying my hair and covering the multitude of hickeys and bite marks he left is a chore. Fuck, he’s such a bastard. I layer on concealer, scrutinizing my reflection until I’m satisfied with the result. A dash of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss complete the look.

At the front door, Axe and Griffen are deep in conversation, their voices hushed. Thankfully, Rosa is nearby. She greets me with a warm smile and a smoothie. Before I can reply, she launches into a tirade about Griffen’s disasters from last night—apparently, he shattered some pricey items and had a threesome on the kitchen table.

“Good morning, doll.” Griffen grins, completely unfazed by Rosa’s irritation. His disheveled hair and ragged jeans a big difference from Axe’s crisp, meticulous look.

“You speak Italian?” Axe leans in, his gaze narrowing with curiosity.

Griffen laughs. “Same reaction I had. Our little Rory’s full of surprises.”

I roll my eyes, and Axe shoots Griffen a glare.

“I spent my childhood summers in Italy. My mom had a villa in Venice.”

“Your mother was Italian?” Axe’s question takes me by surprise.

“No,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “She just loved the language and culture.” The last thing I want to do is talk about my mother, especially with him.

Just then, Griffen’s phone rings, cutting our conversation short.

“I’m off on a mission,” he says, hanging up. “Need to grab my gear from the armory.”

“Rory, go wait in my Camaro,” Axe commands.

I make a point to glare at him before heading outside. My muscles ache, and the gray, chilly weather mirrors my mood. Axe’s garage is a showcase of luxury, filled with high-end sports cars, classic muscle cars, and a whole row of motorcycles. I can’t help but think about my own stuff, still at my townhome.

I settle into the classic Camaro, the leather seats cool and pristine. I catch a whiff of his scent and inhale deeply. Get a grip.

The driver’s door swings open, and he slides in with that annoyingly smooth swagger of his. He twists the key, and the engine roars to life with a growl that practically vibrates through the seats. Effortlessly, he backs out and shifts into drive, gunning it down the driveway.

The silence between us is thick and prickly. I can feel his gaze drilling into me, and it only makes my frustration worse. I’m pissed off—at him, at myself, at this whole fucked up situation he dragged me into.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.

He chuckles a sound that only fuels my irritation. “Where should I start?”

“Why are you so obsessed with me? I spoke to Jamie while you were gone. How fucking dare you threaten him!” I’m suddenly reminded of everything I need to yell at him for. “We’ve been friends for years. You had no right telling him to stay away from me.”

He glances at me, his expression neutral, and his eyes are emotionless. “You are mine, and if anyone touches what’s mine, I will kill them.”

“I’m not yours. And we hooked up before you and I were even married.” I cringe at the word married . It’s disgusting and makes my skin crawl.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, turning into the parking lot. “Jamie understands you belong to me, and if he touches you again, he’s dead.”

“This is bullshit. I’m not your property.”

He pulls into a spot and cuts the engine. Turning to me, he reaches for my chin and tilts my head.

“Little siren,” he murmurs, leaning in so close I can feel his breath, hot and too close for comfort.

My heart pounds, a mix of anger and something I refuse to name tightening in my gut.

His grip on my chin tightens, his eyes cold and unyielding. “You have no idea how wrong you are. Your body belongs to me. Every part of you is mine. No one touches what’s mine, and I’ll kill anyone who dares.” His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, his gaze fixated on my mouth. “I’ve got business to handle. I don’t have time for your fucking attitude. Go to practice and behave.”

The urge to slap that smug smirk off his face is almost irresistible. Who does he think he is, treating me like I’m some bratty child?

Without bothering to respond, I yank the car door open and storm out, desperate to lose myself in rehearsal. I toss my bag in the dressing room and join the other Sirens in the main studio, hoping the routine will be enough to smother the fire still blazing under my skin.

But as soon as I see Alicia chatting with Dom, my hope for a distraction crumbles. Of course, she’s here.

Her presence alone makes my skin crawl. I march past her, deliberately ignoring the way she parades around in those tight black pants and that sheer white top, her fake tits practically bursting out.

“Rory, sweetie,” she calls, rushing over to pull me into an unwanted hug.

“Hi, Alicia,” I reply, masking my disgust.

“Aww, how’s my favorite stepdaughter?” she purrs.

“I’m not your stepdaughter,” I snap.

“Don’t be like that, Rory. We’re family now—you, me, and your handsome new husband. Speaking of Axel, how are things? I heard about the bruises...and the branding. That must have hurt.”

Olivia must have spilled everything to Alicia.

“It did,” I manage, my throat tightening.

“I bet it did,” she says, voice dripping with false sympathy. “I know firsthand how cruel Axel can be.” Again, she hints at a history with Axe, clearly baiting me. I refuse to take the bait. She’s the last person I want to discuss anything with.

She’s a manipulative bitch who wants what everyone else has.

“Why are you here?” I ask abruptly, eager to end the conversation.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Bradley is missing,” she says casually. I keep my expression neutral, though a knot forms in my stomach. “The Sovereign Commanders have been working around the clock looking for him.” She doesn’t seem overly concerned. “He has a lot of enemies,” she adds. “Anyway, I told your father I would help around the Pavilion until they find a replacement or Bradley magically reappears. Isn’t that nice of me?”

“How generous,” I reply dryly. Relief washes over me; she’s here to impress my father and suck up to the Sovereign, not for any hidden agenda.

Rehearsal finally drags to an end, and I’m relieved to escape Axe’s shadow, if only for a while. My muscles ache, but they’re starting to loosen. The rumors about Bradley are as quiet as a well-kept secret, and I haven’t seen Alicia again—thankfully.

As the sun sets, reality hits hard. The thought of facing Axe again twists my stomach. I’m drained, and the idea of a car ride with him feels like a cruel joke. After a quick shower, I pull on my comfiest hoodie and throw my wet hair into a messy bun. I couldn’t care less about looking good right now; sleep’s all I want.

I walk into my dressing room to grab my last few things and nearly trip over Spencer.

“Spence?” I raise an eyebrow, confused. “What are you doing here?”

Without a word, he pulls me into a hug, his arms tightening around me, as if he’s trying to squeeze the pain out.

“Rory, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his voice cracking with emotion. “I never should’ve let him marry you.” His words are raw, filled with a pain I rarely hear from him.

“Spence...” I choke on his name, tears filling my eyes. Seeing my brother breaking like this is almost too much.

“He branded you,” he growls, voice barely contained. He grips my chin, tilting my head to show the hickeys and bite marks on my neck. I wince, humiliated that he’s seen them. “That fucking animal. Did he rape you?”

My eyes widen at his question. “What?”

“Did. He. Rape. You?”

I flinch, shaking my head hard.

“Jesus, Spencer, no,” I whisper, wiping at my tears before they can fall.

“So, all those marks and bruises are just...what? Consensual?” His skepticism is clear, along with his anger.

I would rather die than confess to Spencer, or anyone for that matter, that the best sex of my life was with Axe. The man who branded me and violated me. Second to a masked stranger who fucked me with a knife.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“We’re leaving,” he demands.

“I can’t. Axe is picking me up.”

“You’re not leaving with him. You’re coming with me. Now,” he snaps, no room for debate. My heart skips at the thought of defying Axe.

“No.”

“Rory, I’m not letting you go home with him,” he growls.

“I’m not going with you, Spence.”

“You can’t be around him; it’s too dangerous. I’m taking you to the vacation home in the Hamptons.” He grabs my arm, trying to lead me toward the door. I wrench my arm and yank free.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” I demand. “Axe has always been dangerous. Why do you suddenly care? What’s going on, Spence? And where is Dad?”

“He’s busy. Grab your shit. We’re leaving.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you asshole.” I stomp past him and plop onto the couch with a huff.

“You are coming with me. I’m not fucking around, Rory.”

I cross my arms and stare him down, refusing to budge.

“No. You’re going to tell me what the hell is going on. Then maybe I’ll consider going with you.”

He sighs, irritated. “Fine.” He pauses, picking his words carefully. “Axe took out a target in a powerful Italian mafia. They’re pissed and out for revenge. The last thing we need is for you to be caught in the middle of a war.”

“What?” I blink at him, confusion and a twist of panic tightening my chest. “Does Axe know that people are after him?”

“He’s always ready, but I don’t think he knows how bad it is.”

“Oh my god,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I have to warn him.” I grab my phone, but Spencer’s faster, snatching it from my hand.

“No. Calm down, Rory. He’ll be fine. He’s the fucking Reaper . The man’s practically immortal.”

“No. I have to warn him.” My voice wavers, desperation creeping in. “Please, Spence.” Even with everything I hate about Axe, I don’t want him dead.

“You’re not warning him.” His tone hardens. “And you’re not going near him.”

“Fuck off, Spencer. He’s my husband.”

No. No. No.

I can’t believe I just called Axe my husband.

“I’m sorry, Rory.” Before I can say anything, he grabs my arm and injects something. My vision blurs, and I go limp.

“It’s for your own good,” he murmurs as everything goes dark.