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Chapter Fourteen

Ren

I ’ve never been so addicted to a feeling than when watching a grown ass man with muscles, scars, and trauma bend to the sound of a woman’s voice. Maybe this is why I’m so fascinated with my Thorn. I guess, in a way, we were both prisoners to a woman, though his might not have been as sick and twisted as mine. But it’s prison—what else would you call the look in his eyes, how immediately his defiance left the building the moment her voice sounded through the phone? No fight. No catatonic state. Only one thing. Protection.

Even in his circumstances, Byron fights to protect the one thing he holds dear. I still don’t get it. How can someone have so much effect on another? I cut down my sickness. Could he do the same? Would he be capable of turning off his light and freeing himself from the shackles that bind him to his prison? I doubt it, but I would love to test the theory. How far can I push him? To me, love is sickness, and I prefer the cure... and I’ll show him the recipe.

Gabriela moans, and the sound of skin slapping interrupts my thoughts. I see the anger he hides from me, but there’s no hiding from a mirror. I’m a reflection of all he could be if he would just step into the void, but it’s okay—I’m here to guide him. My greatest masterpiece.

Walking towards him, I circle him like prey, not that I view him that way. No, Byron isn’t prey... he’s a predator. He just needs a little push... the right determination.

With a smile, I crouch behind him, and using my free hand, I grab his neck and pull him towards me. My nose trails up his thick neck as I press the phone to his ear, letting him hear my control. My reach.

I let him understand the threats behind his sister’s moans. The last canvas was a decoy, a simple test of what I can do and will do. And Byron understands. His neck straightens, and I can feel the clench of his jaw, so I end the call.

“Do you understand?” I whisper against his skin.

He nods, but it’s forceful, full of anger, and I smile, pulling away and standing.

“You’re naked and bloody, so a shower and then food. Let’s go.”

Begrudgingly, he stands and follows my instructions like a good boy. He’s my puppet, and I pull the strings.

“Bathroom first,” I say, grabbing him and bringing him into the master room—my room. It’s not the luxuries I’m accustomed to, but it’s cozy, clean, and dare I say, homey. Byron steps into the bathroom and then into the shower. The water cascades down his body, crimson blending with the water rivulets falling from his inked skin.

My hands twitch, my dick aches, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I should be moving. I should be talking. But instead, I just stand there like a creep, watching as he washes his body, as if there’s some thrill in restraint. Maybe there is.

Byron’s voice catches me off guard, and I fucking hate it. “Was it Kevin who helped you that night?”

I watch as he turns around to face me, rinsing the soap from his body. His arms are above his head, his V-cut defined, and the snakes inked on his side stretch. Who would have thought my fascination would come in the body of a man?

“You ask a lot of dumb questions, but given your education, I should expect that. But to answer your question, yes.”

Byron turns off the water with a scowl on his face. I hand him a white towel, and he snatches it from my hand.

Feisty. Just how I like him.

It will make taming him so much tastier.

He doesn’t know it— yet, but we’re already past the point of choice.

Before we walk out the bathroom and into the bedroom he stops, the towel wrapped around his waist, and he looks at me over his shoulder. “Why?”

Why? The question really pulls the rug from under my feet, and given the look on his face, he must have noticed the small reaction he pulled from me. Fuck, even I felt that. Felt. I could laugh at the thought that I can feel anything but satisfaction and pleasure, but right now, something else stirs. Something I don’t fucking want.

“I like breaking and remaking things, Byron. You lack perception, and maybe this is why you’re here with me.” I pause and smile. “Again.” I finish with a wink before moving past him, but I feel the quickening in my heartbeats, and the way my stomach twists in a knot. I don’t fucking get it. Why?

Why?

Why?

What the fuck am I supposed to answer? Why I kill? Why I create? Why am I fascinated with a man even though I know I’m not gay? From the very start, I was forced to love soft curves, black long hair, red manicured hands. And he... he’s nothing like her. NOTHING. My hands involuntarily fist at my sides, nails digging into my palms so hard I might break skin, my vision focusing on the bed. The sheets are black, but I can still see the red... still see the stain.

“My sweet... sweet boy,” she purrs against my ear, my hands grip her waist, driving her into me all while I drive myself out to the abyss... the void... that consumes me whole.

From behind me, Byron coughs, and for once, I’m thankful his presence pulls me out of the void. The air is too tight in my lungs, my throat too dry, but I push through it, latching onto the anger instead. “Get dressed, the clothes are on the bed,” I say before storming out of the room, leaving him alone and heading towards the kitchen. There’s not many places he can go, and I’m in the mood for a hunt... to destroy... but first, my second surprise, another step toward dark. Then we can play. Then I can continue feeding my addiction.

After our little session, from the shock I’m assuming, or maybe it was the sex, Byron fell asleep on the floor. I close my eyes and picture him laying on the ground, blood trailing down from his forehead. My hand involuntarily moves to the sore spot on mine. Red puffy eyes from his tears, and I can still taste the saltiness from them. But that wasn’t enough, not for what he will need to do in the end.

He needs more conditioning.

I didn’t become Ren Sato in just one day—it took years to mold this monster. But I don’t have time. Kevin can only keep his sister busy for so long, soon she will begin looking for her brother, so time isn’t my ally here. If she finds him before I finish, then all of this—all the work I put into him—will be wasted.

I begin to plate our dinner with a smile as I take a step back after placing the hot plates on the small dining table. Two lit candles sit in the middle of the wooden table, with two plates on each end. I even have a joint rolled in the middle, sitting between the candles, and two beers. A little reward goes a long way when conditioning, and this is his.

It takes me a moment to gather myself, something I never needed to do until now. I don’t know why, but I breathe in deeply, then I open the door.

Byron stands with his back toward me, sporting a cashmere knit sweater and dark blue jeans and no shoes. He didn’t need those—I want it to hurt when the time comes.

“You look handsome, Thorn.” I say, coming up from behind him, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even breathe differently when my arms wrap around his waist. That... irritates me. Nothing, not even when I place a soft kiss on the crook of his neck, intoxicating myself with him.

“Dinner is ready, indulge me with your presence,” I say before pulling away, grabbing his arm, and walking him out of the room. Really, more like dragging him. He’s on autopilot, but his body, while compliant, still has that lingering defiance.

That won’t do. Not for what comes next.

I watch as he takes a seat, taking in his surroundings, and I take my seat in front of him. Twisting off the caps from the cheap beer, I hand him one. “You know, despite my success, I never had this.” I use a finger gesturing between us.

Byron raises an eyebrow as he reluctantly takes the beer and takes a swig, then another. “You never had a meal with someone?”

Good. He’s talking back. This might turn out better than expected.

“I mean, yes, but I always wore a mask for the world. It’s nice to be me,” I say as I take a swig from my beer. “It’s lonely being one way and pretending to be another. To hold an image in order to be digestible for others.” Placing my elbows on the table, I use them to lean in. “Aren’t you tired of pretending?”

Byron takes a long sip of the beer, then picks up his fork, playing with his food, or rather, inspecting it. “I don’t pretend.”

I follow his lead, grabbing my own fork and stabbing into the broccoli. “You do. I watched you always pretending to be one way.” Pointing my fork at him. “You went back there, to the studio. You wanted me to find you...” Leaning in closer. “To take you.” Bringing the fork to my mouth, I take the broccoli and chew it, slowly, before finishing.

“To fuck you. You want me, and that’s what you hate about yourself. You like every fucking twisted thing I did to you.”

Byron doesn’t react to my words as he begins to eat. “Maybe I did.” He pauses, and through his thick curly lashes, he looks up at me. “All that proves is that I’m sick and liked being fucked.”

His honesty humors me, and I smile, at first. But he doesn’t, and that pisses me off. My smile fades because I see that, like my mother, I will fail. I tell myself I won’t. That I’m in control. That he’s mine.

But I know the truth.

You can’t condition love.

And that’s the one truth I can admit.

Byron is proof of that—his love for his sister is unwavering, willing, and true.

Nothing will touch that.

But I will be the thing that haunts it. When he looks at her, when she looks at him, they will see me between them.