Page 21

Chapter 20

Seanna

The moment consciousness slams back into me, rage ignites, hot and furious. I jerk violently, snarling in frustration as thick, unforgiving chains bite painfully into my wrists and ankles, anchored securely to the heavy wrought-iron bed frame beneath me. The bed itself is lavish yet oppressive—black silk sheets cool against my skin, plush velvet pillows in dark jewel tones—emeralds, rubies and sapphires—offering deceptive comfort. The luxury mocks me cruelly as I'm bound like some captured animal.

I force myself to breathe, my eyes scanning my surroundings meticulously. The room is windowless, cloaked entirely in deep shades of burgundy and charcoal—almost exactly matching my preferred style. Against one wall, a large dresser carved from rich mahogany stands imposingly, polished to a dark, reflective sheen, its surface bare except for a single, dim lamp casting faint, eerie illumination across the room. A tall, intricately designed wardrobe looms menacingly nearby, solid and dark like a sentinel guarding its secrets. Even the plush, black leather armchair tucked into the far corner adds to the room’s oppressive elegance.

Clever assholes. Clearly, they've paid attention. That realization fuels my anger even more.

My gaze finally locks onto the shadowed figure slouched casually in the armchair. He blends seamlessly with his surroundings, nearly invisible save for the subtle reflective gleam of his glasses over his tactical mask. For a moment, he's so still I think he might be asleep. But then his head tilts slightly, assessing me silently like a coiled snake ready to strike.

"And which asshole are you?" I spit venomously, tugging uselessly against the restraints again, aching to get my hands around his throat.

He chuckles softly, a distorted, darkly amused sound that sends unwelcome, traitorous shivers crawling down my spine. I hate him instantly, hate the way his presence pulls at something twisted and primal inside me, blurring the line between pure hatred and an unsettling spark of lust.

"Ruin," he confirms, voice distorted by his mask yet resonating deep and disturbingly intimate.

"How are your ribs? Hope I cracked a few," I snarl back sharply, clinging fiercely to my defiance.

He leans forward slightly, moving with deliberate, predatory calm. "I'll live," he murmurs smoothly, utterly unbothered. "Though I'd gladly accept as many strikes as necessary if it means keeping you safe."

"Safe?" I scoff incredulously, rage flashing brighter in my eyes. "You ruined everything. You ruined my investigation. I didn't ask for your protection. Didn't want it. So don't pretend you're doing me any fucking favors."

He shifts again. "We warned you, Seanna. You refused to listen and wouldn't stop pushing toward Reyes, despite the warnings. This outcome is your own doing."

I sneer openly, lifting my chin defiantly. "Oh, please. You think chaining me up in some gothic horror fantasy is going to intimidate me into submission? You’re even more pathetic than I thought. Speaking of—are you ever gonna show your fucking face, or are you too chickenshit to let me see exactly who I’m dealing with?"

"We have our reasons," he replies evenly, maddeningly unfazed by my aggression.

"Coward," I hiss, twisting violently again, feeling the unforgiving bite of the restraints against skin. "Only cowards hide behind masks."

"Careful, little storm," he warns softly, danger curling in the deceptive gentleness of his tone. "Push me too far and you might not like the consequences."

"Trust me," I snarl, lips curling into a savage smirk, "whatever you have planned pales in comparison to what I'll do once I get free."

He rises slowly from the chair, shadows clinging possessively as he approaches the bed with confident steps. My pulse races wildly, adrenaline and rage blending dangerously with an inexplicable thrill.

"Promises, promises," he murmurs darkly, voice caressing my nerves like rough silk. "I can't wait to see you try."

I glare, fire blazing in my eyes. "Bring it on, asshole. You'll regret ever messing with me."

"No," he whispers, leaning close enough that his breath brushes against my skin through his mask, sending traitorous tingles down my spine. "You're exactly where you belong, Seanna. With us. Forever."

He lifts a gloved hand, knuckles tracing a gentle, possessive line along my jaw. My muscles tense instantly, instinctively flinching away from the unexpected intimacy. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, coaxing out an involuntary, furious snarl.

"I've wanted to taste these lips for so fucking long," he breathes huskily, the dark hunger in his voice unmistakable.

I lunge fiercely, teeth snapping, only for him to catch my jaw in a firm hold, his gloved fingers pressing into my skin almost hard enough to bruise. "There's my girl," he murmurs reverently. "Fierce, fiery—utterly captivating when you're like this."

His possessive hold, the way he speaks, it does something inside of me. And, though I will refuse it all the way to my grave, part of me doesn’t want him to stop. Shameful heat blooms beneath my skin, and I curse inwardly as my body betrays me, responding to his dominance. Fury wars violently with the impulse to lean into the touch.

"You're going to be a good girl for us," he continues. "Eventually, perhaps, you'll earn some freedom—but first, you'll have to prove you deserve it. That you can behave ."

My rage flares anew, but he merely brushes a final, possessive finger down my cheek.

"Rule will be back soon with food," he says casually, turning to stride toward the door as if we just had a pleasant chat.

I yank against the chains again, cursing him silently as he vanishes through the door, leaving me alone with my seething fury and conflicted emotions.

This isn't over. Not even close.

I don't know how much time passes. It could've been minutes, hours, or even days before the door opens again.

Rule enters quietly, still fully outfitted in his tactical gear, his face obscured by the same dark mask and reflective glasses. But the tray of food in his hands tells me who it is. He moves deliberately, setting the tray down on the bedside table before sitting next to me on the bed, the dark uniform adding an imposing presence despite his calm demeanor. I tense, glaring at him fiercely, ready to tear a chunk out of him.

"Don't bite," he warns gently, amusement in his voice.

I'm tempted, but my stomach growls embarrassingly loud at the scent of the food he brought, betraying my need. Rule lifts a taco—Mexican fish tacos, exactly the kind I love but haven't had in ages. Proof they've watched me far longer than I suspected.

He carefully brings the food to my mouth, feeding me slowly. Begrudgingly, I play along, recalling Ruin's mention of freedom if I behave. I'll fucking behave until I earn enough slack to stab them.

"When I first saw you," Rule says softly, "I knew you were special. Your darkness doesn't scare us, Seanna. It's what makes you perfect for us."

"Save the poetry," I snap, glaring up at him.

He nods indulgently, undeterred. "We had to stop you because Reyes was onto you. He'd begun sniffing you out. We couldn't risk losing you to that psycho."

As he feeds me the last bite of the first taco, his gloved fingers brush softly across my lips. The contact triggers a vivid memory from the night before—those same fingers, slick with my own arousal, shoved possessively into my mouth. My cheeks flush hotly, and I quickly look away, embarrassed by my body's treacherous reaction. Rule chuckles knowingly, lifting those same gloved fingers. He tilts his head down before slowly sliding the fabric aside just enough to lick off the taco remnants without me seeing any details of his face. Heat spikes through me, shame and unwanted desire warring fiercely.

"Careful, sweetheart," he whispers, and I can hear the desire even in his modulated voice. "You keep thinking like that, and I won't be able to behave myself."

A brief, dangerous moment flashes through me, and I seriously wonder if I've lost the fucking plot entirely. For just a heartbeat, I don't want him to behave. The realization hits hard, twisting my stomach with shameful desire. He must see the turmoil flickering across my face because he hums.

"Interesting," he murmurs quietly, his tone richly amused and undeniably provocative.

I narrow my eyes, regaining some of my fierce composure. "Don't flatter yourself," I hiss, attempting to mask my internal chaos.

Rule chuckles, low and soft, as he picks up another taco, slowly feeding it to me with care. "You can fight this all you want, Seanna," he says gently, almost soothingly. "But we both know the truth. You're drawn to this—drawn to us—because deep down, your darkness matches ours."

"You're delusional," I mutter bitterly, glaring despite my racing heart.

"Maybe," he concedes easily, his voice still calm and even. "But tell me, how long have you struggled to find someone who truly sees you? Who isn't afraid of the storm inside you? We don't want to tame it—we want to dance in it with you."

I remain stubbornly silent, hating how his words resonate within me. His gloved fingers linger lightly against my lips again as he feeds me the final bite, sending another treacherous jolt of heat through me.

"Think about it," he continues. "We knew exactly how special you were from the first moment we laid eyes on you. We knew we had to protect you—from yourself, from Reyes, from everyone else who would try to dull your edges."

"And chaining me to a bed was your brilliant solution?" I snap, clinging desperately to my anger.

"For now," he says calmly, unwavering. "Until you can see the bigger picture. Until you realize you're safer here than you've ever been out there."

He picks up the empty tray and slowly rises to his feet, towering over me in his intimidating tactical gear. "Rest now, Seanna. You'll need your strength."

"Go to hell," I spit defiantly.

"Sleep tight, little storm," he murmurs, completely unfazed as he strides confidently to the door, closing it firmly behind him and leaving me alone once again with my conflicted thoughts and seething fury.

Silence settles around me again, thick and suffocating. I stare up at the ceiling, the dim lighting painting faint shadows that shift like ghosts along the walls. My body still buzzes from the heat Rule stirred in me—an unwelcome reminder of how easily they can manipulate my responses, how deep they've already gotten under my skin.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be stronger than this. Sharper. Colder. I’ve survived things that would break most people, clawed my way up in a world that doesn’t have patience for weakness. And yet here I am, chained to a bed, humiliated by my own traitorous body, and struggling not to replay the way his fingers brushed my lips—or how I didn’t pull away fast enough.

The worst part is that they know. They fucking know. Every little flinch, every flush of heat, every second my silence lingers too long—they see it all. They feed off it.

I want to scream. I want to break something. I want my gun, my freedom, my goddamn control back. But most of all, I want revenge. And not the kind that’s clean or noble. I want it bloody and brutal. I want them to regret ever thinking they could cage me like some pet.

But I have to be smart. I have to wait. Play their game. Pretend.

Let them think I’m unraveling.

Let them believe they’re winning.

Because the moment they slip, the moment one of them underestimates just how far I’m willing to go—I’ll make them bleed.

And I’ll smile while I do it.