Page 30

I ’m in day four of this drunken Hamptons haze.

Alcohol’s my only escape, and right now, I’m drowning in it.

Staring at another unanswered text, I sigh, tossing my phone onto the bed. I’ve been texting the masked man since that first night, begging for something, anything—but he’s ghosting me. He gave me a taste of what I’d been craving, then disappeared, leaving me desperate.

I feel like a junkie chasing a high, craving the escape he gave me, even if it was only for a moment.

I know where I went wrong. I overshared, got too real. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wasn’t interested in my baggage—just my body. And honestly? I can’t blame him. We were both using each other.

I head for the shower, hoping the water can wash some of this away. The ocean waves and seagulls drift through the open window, the sun is bright, and the breeze is cool. A perfect summer day.

But it doesn’t matter. My heart feels too heavy, the pain too sharp.

Under the hot spray, I try to let the water do its job—wash him off me, rinse him out of my head. It’s probably for the best that he’s ghosted me, but damn it stings.

It’s not just the sex. It’s him. His presence, his touch, the way he made me feel like I was more than a shattered mess. I don’t even know his name, but somehow, he felt real.

I need to stop fixating. It’s pointless. If Axe knew, he’d kill him. And if he knew how much I liked it, he’d kill me too—or worse.

I slip into a sundress, combing through my wet hair as if brushing away the thoughts. Spencer’s been keeping me alive—making sure I eat, drink water, and don’t completely lose it. He’s still an ass for kidnapping me and locking me in this gilded cage, but at least he’s trying to keep me sane.

The sound of shattering glass and shouting yanks me from my daze. Heart pounding, I race down the stairs.

“Spencer!” I scream, but my voice is swallowed by the chaos. I dart through the house, fear clawing at me, and skid to a halt in the kitchen.

Axe stands there, Spencer pinned against the wall, his arm wrenched behind his back.

“You’re going to pay for that, motherfucker,” Axe growls, his grip tightening.

“Axel…” My voice shakes. His cold eyes snap to me.

“We’re leaving.” His voice is a low growl that sends chills through me.

“No!” Spencer roars, struggling against his hold.

“Now, Rory!”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Spencer snarls, fighting to break free.

“You’re in no position to negotiate.” Axe sneers, his voice dripping with venom.

Spencer’s face is turning a scary shade of red, his eyes bulging.

“I’ll kill you!” my brother’s voice is strangled, desperate.

“And I will fucking enjoy watching the life drain from your eyes,” Axe growls.

“Stop! Please, stop. I’ll go. Just let him go.” I edge closer, trembling.

His grip loosens, and Spencer gasps for air, eyes blazing with fury.

“I’ll go,” I repeat, and Axe shoves Spencer to the floor, eyes locked on me.

“Rory, don’t go,” Spencer chokes out.

“It’ll be okay, Spencer. Just don’t fight him,” I say, trying to sound calm despite my shaking.

“You’re a dead man,” Spencer spits, venom in his voice.

Axe ignores him, his focus solely on me. My heart races, terror gripping me.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

I nod, too frightened to speak. He grabs my wrist tightly, dragging me out of the house. I stumble behind him, barely keeping up.

“She’s not safe with you! I will fucking kill you, Axel!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Axe barks at Spencer, not even glancing back. My mind whirls in fear and shock as we trudge down the long driveway.

“Axe, please,” I beg, trembling as we approach his car. He loosens his grip, but I’m frozen.

“Get in the car,” he snaps.

Thoughts of escape race in my mind.

Is this when it all goes wrong? Will he finally kill me?

“Are you going to hurt me?”

He sighs. “Rory, just get in the car.”

Every instinct screams to flee, but my feet are glued to the spot, terror anchoring me.

“Please,” I sob, tears streaming. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Stop,” he interrupts, frustration lacing his tone. “Just get in the car.”

As I reluctantly start moving, he grabs me and pulls me into a fierce kiss. My body stiffens, but I can’t help kissing him back.

His hands roam over me, and despite every warning bell in my head, I feel like giving in. Why am I letting this happen?

He breaks the kiss. “I’m not going to hurt you, Rory.”

“You’re lying,” I whisper, voice trembling. “You’re going to?—”

He silences me with another kiss. This time, I don’t resist. I know deep down this is wrong. He’s a psychopath, an abusive bastard. I should pull away, but the more he kisses me, the more I crave him.

I’m torn between my instincts and the overwhelming intensity of his kiss.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Rory,” he repeats, panting.

“Axe,” I whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

His eyes soften. “Let’s go home.”

I let him guide me into the car. It feels surreal, like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

The past few days have been a fucking mess. Between Rory’s abduction and the Dolore threat, sleep’s been a luxury I can’t afford. I’m running on fumes, and exhaustion is starting to bite. At least the Sovereign’s been forced to negotiate.

Isaac called an emergency meeting with the East Sovereign Commanders—and me. Griffen insisted on coming, which turned out to be a good move. When Conrad showed up, the rage was instantaneous. I went straight for him. Took four Sovereigns and Griff to pull me off.

The meeting was a damn powder keg. Accusations, threats—it was chaos. But the bottom line was clear. The Sovereign won’t touch Conrad’s dealings with the Dolore. His Bond’s personal, not their problem. So, Conrad and I are on our own for protection from the Dolore. I’m not worried about myself, but Conrad should be.

The East Coast Sovereign is split down the middle. Some want Conrad to pay for offering Death Bonds on suicide missions. Others just want things to stay the same, ignoring his fuck-ups. It’s a shit show.

But Rory is mine. Isaac made it clear that no one can touch her. She’s a Bond payment and must be returned. That’s final.

Conrad refused to explain why he issued Marco Deluca’s Bond, but he had to know the fallout. The fact he didn’t inform the Sovereign puts him in a vulnerable spot. I need to dig into his actions. I knew taking the Bond was risky, but he’s hiding something big.

You don’t fuck with the Dolore without a damn good reason. It’s reckless, dangerous. Whatever his reason is, I need to uncover it.

After the meeting, I went back to the Hamptons to retrieve Rory. I wouldn’t let another night pass without her. Spencer was instructed to release her without a fight, but I knew he’d resist. He’s a stubborn bastard, so I decided to pay him a surprise visit.

The second I stepped into that house, my anger flared. Seeing him triggered something primal in me. I was a wild animal, the need for blood taking over. All I could think about was how he kept Rory from me.

The crunch of his nose beneath my knuckles, his pain...it felt good—really fucking good. Then she appeared.

Her screams cut through the haze of my rage. Seeing her terrified, begging me not to hurt him, made me realize I had a choice. I could choose violence, embrace the monster I am, or I could choose something else—her.

She looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes, and all I could think about was how much I wanted her.

Her drunken confessions about her past gnawed at me. I shouldn’t give a damn. She’s a pawn, nothing more. So why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about it? My father beat the shit out of me at the slightest hint of weakness. Any emotion other than rage or anger, wasn’t just forbidden—they were punishable.

I don’t form attachments. I don’t show mercy. I can’t. It’s not who I am.

But now...now, I’m feeling something . And that’s a problem.

It’s dangerous.

If I can feel, then I’m vulnerable.

If I’m vulnerable, I’m weak.

And if I’m weak, I’m dead.

She messaged the masked man repeatedly. I never responded, but I read every single one. She was desperate, pleading for him to come back, begging to be fucked, to forget.

I watched her every night—every time she touched herself, every time she came. I watched her drink until she was numb and cry herself to sleep.

I was there. Always there. But she never knew.

The car hums, the only sound filling the air as we drive. Her head rests against the window, lost in the silence between us. I can’t admit it—can’t bring myself to confess that I’m the masked man she’s been begging for, the man she craves.

She hates me, but she doesn’t hate him . And I’m not ready to lose that yet.

So, I’ll keep up the act. I’ll pretend for now. I need her to need him . I want her to need me.

I’ve seen something in her now, something deeper, a vulnerability I can’t shake. I want that too. I want all of her—her hate, her desire, her pain, her pleasure, her darkness.

I’ve seen the part of her she hides—the broken, lonely, desperate part. I’ve seen it, and I won’t let go. She is mine. All of her.