Page 23 of Ruthless (The Ferrymen #1)

My body betrayed me with another violent shiver, and Prometheus tsked softly, as if genuinely concerned. He reached into the water without hesitation, testing the temperature.

"Cold," he observed, standing to adjust the faucet. "You'll make yourself worse sitting in this."

Hot water began filling the tub again, steam rising.

Prometheus returned to his position, watching the color return to my skin with the warm water.

The intimacy of it all was suffocating. I sat naked and vulnerable while he took care of me, just as when I was a child, beaten and bloody from training with Hector.

And later, when I was no longer a child but still under his control, his "care" had taken other dimensions that left me both devoted and disgusted.

"Why now?" he asked, voice soft with what sounded like genuine curiosity.

"After all these years, all the contracts, what makes this one different?

" His hand rested on my thigh beneath the water, close enough to my groin to be a reminder of power and ownership, but not quite crossing the final line.

My reflexes betrayed me again. At his touch on my thigh, my legs instinctively moved farther apart, a response programmed through years of training to grant whatever access he desired.

The moment I realized what I'd done, nausea crashed over me in a sickening wave.

I managed to shift my leg slightly, creating the barest hint of resistance against his hand.

I stared at the rising water, unable to meet his eyes. When I tried speaking, my mouth had gone so dry my tongue stuck to the roof. I had to swallow twice before forming words. "You know why. "

"The therapist? He's just a man. Replaceable.

Forgettable." Prometheus's hand returned to my hair, stroking it back from my face with the gentle possessiveness that always left me confused about where I stood.

"Is it a physical connection you're seeking?

I can arrange that. Men who understand what you need without all the.

.. complications. Or you could return to me.

We were good together once, weren't we?"

Cold sweat erupted across my skin despite the warm water, my muscles spasming in waves of revulsion that started at my neck and rippled down to my toes, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

I could feel phantom hands on my skin, the memory of it so real I had to look down to prove he wasn't touching me there.

"It's not just physical," I said, the words scraping from my throat. Vincent had shown me something different, something genuine. The way he looked at me like I was a person, not a weapon or toy. I was terrified by how much I wanted that. How much I needed it.

"Then what? Help me understand, son."

The endearment hit hard. He so rarely used it, saved for moments of manipulation when he knew I was the weakest. And for those six nights when he'd crossed lines that never should have been crossed. And god help me, even now, even knowing what he was doing, some broken part of me responded.

A rush of warmth flooded my face along with a dizzying mix revulsion of yearning, hatred and need, all tangled in my body's responses.

"He sees me," I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them. "He's seen the truth of what I am and hasn't run away."

Prometheus's expression hardened for a fraction of a second before melting into something almost pitying. He cupped my face in his palm, thumb stroking my cheek with false tenderness.

"They always run, Luka. As soon as they truly see what you are, they all run.

Your therapist will be no different. He's just waiting for his chance.

" His fingers tightened slightly on my face.

"No one understands you like I do. I've known you since the beginning, shaped you, watched you grow.

I'm the only one who's seen everything you've done and stayed. Only I can truly love what you are."

My eyes fluttered closed, the instantaneous surrender terrifying me. That single gesture revealed how deeply he still controlled me. Despite everything, part of me still craved his approval, his touch, his guidance.

The worst part was, part of me believed him. Part of me still yearned for his approval, still found comfort in his touch, even as another part recoiled. The cognitive dissonance was dizzying, especially through the fever haze.

"You've created quite the situation," he said, reaching for my wrist to check my pulse.

"Killing Hector was... unexpected. I'm not angry, Luka.

Just disappointed. You must have realized that I placed the contract on your precious therapist myself.

That I specifically chose you to complete it.

Such a simple loyalty test. And yet..." He sighed, the sound almost regretful.

"You couldn't even manage that, could you? Instead, you killed Hector."

My shoulders curled inward automatically. "He was going to take my contract."

" Your contract?" His thumb stroked the inside of my wrist in small circles, his smile sharpening.

"Such possessiveness. I taught you better than that.

" His eyes hardened, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"There will be consequences, of course. There always are.

But I'm nothing if not fair." His fingers tightened briefly around my wrist. "I wanted to see you before. .. decisions were made. "

His hand moved from my wrist to my face, fingers tracing my jaw before settling at the back of my neck. "You've always had trouble sharing your toys, haven't you? Even as a child."

My throat closed entirely at his touch. I wanted to pull away, but years of conditioning held me still.

"Vincent isn't a toy," I managed. "He's not a threat either. He doesn't know anything."

Prometheus laughed softly, the sound almost fond. "My sweet Luka. Always so quick to protect. But that's not your decision to make, is it? You are a tool. My tool. And tools don't decide how they're used."

My body went limp as though he'd pressed a hidden button that shut down all resistance.

My muscles released their tension, my shoulders dropped, my head tilted back slightly, offering my throat in the most primal submission display.

A guttural sound emerged from my exposed throat, halfway between a whimper and a moan.

"My boy," he sighed, the endearment landing like a blow. "After everything I've given you. Everything I've done for you."

Vincent's voice cut through the haze, startling us both. "You're wrong." I hadn't heard him return, hadn't noticed the door opening. "He's not a tool. He's a person. With agency and choices."

The sound of Vincent's voice sent a jolt through my system like an electric current. My spine straightened, muscles tensing. It was like being pulled from drowning, that first desperate gasp after too long underwater. Color returned to my vision, the submission fog clearing.

"Take your hand off him." Vincent's voice came out low and dangerous, nothing like his usual therapeutic calm.

The barely leashed violence in his tone made something primal in me respond.

Through my fever haze, panic spiked in my chest. No, no, no.

Vincent couldn't challenge him. Didn't he understand?

Prometheus never responded well to defiance.

Things always got worse when people tried to protect me.

But underneath the panic, something else stirred. No one had ever stood up to Prometheus for me. No one had ever thought I was worth protecting.

Prometheus didn't turn, didn't acknowledge Vincent's presence.

But his grip tightened, and his posture stiffened.

for the first time since he'd entered the room, my body and mind aligned in perfect clarity.

I wasn't alone with him anymore. I wasn't a helpless child, a broken teenager, a controlled asset.

Someone else saw me. Someone else was here. And in that moment, both my body and mind knew the same truth: Prometheus didn't own me anymore.

"Dr. Matthews," he said, voice deceptively pleasant, "I believe I requested privacy for this conversation."

"And I believe I've heard enough," Vincent replied. "He needs medical attention, not whatever psychological game you're playing."

I could barely focus on their exchange, vision swimming at the edges.

The water was suddenly too hot, too close.

Prometheus's words burrowed like parasites, reactivating old pathways of shame and submission I'd thought were severed.

I was slipping into that familiar dissociative state where I could float outside my body and watch what was happening from a safe distance.

Prometheus finally turned to face Vincent, expression one of mild amusement. He reached past me to turn off the hot water.

"So fierce for a healer. So protective for someone who wields a pen.

" His eyes flicked back to me, half-submerged.

"Enjoy your time with him, doctor. Explore this.

.. connection you think you have. Take your fill of him.

" He turned his attention fully to Vincent while his hand caressed my cheek possessively, voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

"God knows, he's exquisite when he's in your bed, isn't he? "

The words slammed into Vincent, his body jerking backward as if Prometheus had punched him in the sternum. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists. "Get. Out. Now."

Something dark and violent rippled just beneath Vincent's professional surface, and for the first time, I saw what he might be capable of if pushed. It should have frightened me. Instead, it was hot as fuck.

"As you wish. But understand this," Prometheus continued, rising to his full height and straightening his already perfect cuffs, seemingly unbothered by Vincent's fury.

"The contract on your life is public now.

You can never leave the Acropolis alive.

Your only safety is here, in these walls, for as long as they'll have you.

Which means your only hope for survival is Luka's continued protection. "

He moved toward the door. At the threshold, he paused, looking back with something like genuine affection, the most terrifying expression of all.

"You have some time to play, Luka. Explore this.

.. distraction. Get it out of your system.

But remember who you are, what you were made for.

" His eyes shifted to Vincent. "And when he inevitably sees the real you and rejects what he finds—when disgust and fear finally override his professional compassion—I'll be waiting.

I'll always be waiting for you to come home. "

The door closed with a soft click, but his presence lingered like a toxic cloud. The bathroom reeked of his cologne mixed with my fever sweat, every surface contaminated by his touch, every molecule of air poisoned by his words.

For a moment, neither Vincent nor I moved. The only sound was water lapping gently against porcelain and my ragged breathing. Then Vincent was in motion, dropping to his knees beside the tub, hands immediately going to check my temperature.

His movements were different now—sharp, efficient, almost violent.

The earlier gentleness had been replaced by something harder.

Anger radiated from him in waves, turning the air electric.

When he grabbed a fresh washcloth and began bathing my face, his touch was still careful, but his whole body vibrated with barely contained rage.

He'd seen me submit. Seen me go weak and pliant under Prometheus's touch. Of course he was disgusted. Who wouldn't be revolted by watching a grown man turn into a trembling child at his abuser's hands?

"Luka? Can you hear me?" His voice seemed very far away. I tried responding, but words wouldn't form. The dissociation was complete. I was now floating somewhere near the ceiling, watching a stranger who looked like me in the bathtub while Vincent frantically tried to lower my fever.

I saw his mounting concern as I failed to respond, saw him drain the too-hot water and replace it with cooler water. The dissociation pulled me deeper, Prometheus's parting promise echoing like a death sentence: I'll always be waiting for you to come home.

"Luka, stay with me," Vincent was saying, voice urgent as he bathed my face with cool water. "Focus on my voice. You're safe now. He's gone."

But I knew better. Prometheus was never truly gone. He lived in my head, my nightmares, every calculated move and survival instinct. In the muscle memory that made me yield to his touch, even when every conscious part of me wanted to recoil.

"He's right," I mumbled. "Everyone leaves when they see the truth. Assets don't get happy endings. "

Vincent's movements paused briefly before resuming with greater gentleness. "That's not true, Luka. I'm still here, aren't I? Even knowing what I know."

"You don't know everything," I whispered, a tear escaping to mix with the bathwater. "The things I've done. The things I've let be done to me."

"You don't have to tell me everything," he said, voice steady and sure. "But nothing you say will make me abandon you right now. I promise."

Promises. Another thing I'd learned early not to trust. Yet something in his voice anchored me, began slowly pulling me back into my body. The water was no longer burning, the cool cloth on my forehead beginning to cut through the fever's grip.

"Did you mean it?" I asked, voice sounding strange and distant. "What you said to him?"

"Every word," Vincent replied without hesitation.

I nodded as darkness crept at the edges of my vision. My last strength was failing, the combined effects of fever, infection, and emotional exhaustion dragging me toward unconsciousness.

"Don't leave me," I managed, hating the vulnerability in my voice but too exhausted to mask it. "Please."

"I won't." Vincent's hand found mine beneath the water, squeezed gently. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

As I slipped into darkness, I thought I felt him brush a gentle kiss against my forehead.