Page 12 of The Boy I Loved (Eternal Hell #1)

We invited her out under the guise of getting some drinks from the bar and then getting a hotel to fuck her.

She was all too eager for it, meaning we barely had to work for it at all.

She’d even suggested taking us all once she was drunk enough.

Personally, I had no interest in sticking my dick in her.

My mind was on Hazel the entire time, which just pissed me off more.

Silence stretched around us as we drifted onto the highway.

There were a few cars out, but not many.

We were headed somewhere else—to another state.

As soon as we took the exit to drift off onto the intersection, she’d realize we weren’t going to any bar.

Frankly, I was surprised she hadn’t already spoken up again.

Either she was just that cock hungry, or she was very na?ve.

Just as Hazel said: Nothing bad ever happens in Greenbriar.

I wanted to laugh in her fucking face at the stupidity of that statement.

Evil lurked everywhere. Even in small no-named towns, following around small, no-named girls.

We lived in the shadows, watching, observing, plotting, and calculating.

My favorites were the timid ones with a feisty streak, just like Hazel.

Though, in this industry, they were hard to come by.

You either got a yippy bitch who wouldn’t shut the fuck up, a compliant one who did everything she was asked to as a means of survival, or you got a bitch so timid that she broke in under twenty-four hours.

Where was the fun in any of that? I always crammed my cock down the yippy bitches’ throats—it was the only time they didn’t speak, didn’t run their mouth .

I wasn’t lying to Hazel when I said there had been others after her.

Just not in the way she thought. I also hadn’t been lying when I told her it was complicated.

My body had become a weapon. A weapon to use against women.

Over time, something like that changed a person—it ate you from the inside out until you were nothing more than a black hole.

I thought my heart was gone, that it couldn’t possibly feel anymore, but one look at Hazel had it doing all sorts of foreign shit.

Things I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

That was why I called her. Against my better judgment, I called her.

I made her bare herself to me. Stroked myself to the sweet noises she made, to the expert fingers plunging in and out of that tight pussy— my pussy.

To her shallow breathing, her whimpers, her moans, and finally, her convulsions that told me it was over.

And then I told her I loved her. Three words that had been stuck in my throat since the moment I realized I meant them, that those feelings were there.

I didn’t give her the chance to say it back, knowing I couldn’t stomach hearing it.

It would unravel me, and ruin everything my uncle had worked to shape me into over the last year.

Women are a weakness men like us cannot afford. They only want one thing. Security. That may come in the form of babies, an expensive house, jewelry, or even arm candy. Their one use is always the same. To fuck. Might as well profit off it.

That might as well have been his slogan with how frequently he drilled it into us.

For a moment, I even started to believe it.

But then I remembered Alice. My sweet, innocent sister.

If a man degraded her the way we degraded women, I’d kill him.

Slowly. Alice wasn’t like that, which meant Clay was wrong.

Stacy’s voice cut through my thoughts, a hint of unease threading through her tone. “Guys?” she asked skeptically. “Seriously, where are we going?”

None of us said anything, we didn’t need to.

There was no point in pretending anymore.

It wasn’t like she could get past Vincent and Mason, and even if she could, she’d die jumping out of the car—assuming she made it that far.

Clay wouldn’t send us out on missions if women were able to get the drop on us.

He’d think of us as weak and make us do grunt work instead.

“Mason?” she tried again, a weariness to her tone that wasn’t there before. When he didn’t answer her, frantic breathing filled the air. “Dom?”

“Relax,” Mason urged, patting her thigh with his hand. His charming demeanor was gone, replaced with something cold and malicious. He had a talent—the ability to shut it off just as fast as he could turn it on.

Stacy released a nervous laugh, torn between freaking out and wondering if this was all some kind of joke.

Unfortunately for her, this was no joke.

“Guys?” she tried again. “O-on second thought, I’m not feeling so well.

” She placed a hand to her stomach, shifting between the two guys uncomfortably. “I might have food poisoning.”

A for effort. But we’ve heard it all before. There was nothing she could say to get out of this.

“That’s unfortunate,” Mason said dryly. “So … no backdoor action, then?”

Nicholas’ lips twitched as he veered onto the exit.

He was a man of few words, but that didn’t make him any less cold-hearted.

He was more of a voyeur. He got off on watching, but when he did participate …

it was like watching a monster come to life.

Something in him snapped every single time.

The light would fade from his eyes, replaced with something much darker and sinister, and then he’d lose it.

Almost like he wasn’t in control of his own body.

Sometimes he’d accidentally kill the girls while fucking them, which was also another reason he was the designated driver most of the time.

Clay liked to use him on the tougher girls, though .

Another nervous giggle fluttered past Stacy’s lips. She knew there was something wrong now, just not to what extent.

“A-are we going to New Mexico?” Her throat bobbed on a tight swallow, her gaze flinging to one of the overhead signs we’d just swept beneath.

“Sure are.” Mason gave her one of his boyish grins. “Just relax and enjoy the ride. It’s the perfect place for a girl like you.”

Stacy went rigid, her wide eyes flying left and right, plotting out an escape plan—one that would be futile at best. We were prepared for anything.

Always. There hasn’t been a single woman who’s been able to get the jump on us.

Well…except for that one time. It was our third mission, and we were sent out to follow this girl around—Imogen.

She was a pretty little thing, someone you wouldn’t expect to have a backbone made of steel.

She had medium-length blonde hair, tan skin, and was about five feet six in height.

Like clockwork, we followed her for about two weeks.

Her routine was always the same. In the morning, she’d leave her house and meet up with her friends for coffee and grab a croissant.

Afterwards, she’d hit the gym and then shower before heading off to lunch.

She took night classes at cosmetology school and went back home.

On the weekends, the only thing that changed with her routine was that she’d throw clubbing or partying into the mix.

She was the daughter of one of Clay’s old colleagues.

Apparently, he shorted him on money once and was going into debt. So, Clay decided to take his daughter.

What we didn’t know about Imogen was that she wasn’t simply going to the gym to work out.

She was enrolled in their Muay Thai program.

Mason initially tried to lure her in with his charm, but she was a lot more observant than that.

She wasn’t the type of girl to fall at a guy’s feet due to a few pretty words.

She was smart, careful, and alert. We had no choice but to grab her off the side of the road.

It was one hell of a battle, too. She carried a knife in her sock— another thing we missed.

The little bitch drove it right into Vincent’s side.

He still carried that scar, and he was lucky it hadn’t cut through anything vital.

Mason punched her in the face, and she went right the fuck out.

She didn’t last long within the ring. She became a liability.

The end game had been to sell her. But she was a yippy bitch, strong as nails.

Nicholas ended up developing a sweet spot for her.

To this day, he wouldn’t admit it to us, because if he did, and Clay got wind of it …

well, that wouldn’t go over well. Imogen managed to piss him the hell off.

She manipulated him, played off his feelings for her, used him, and when he finally realized it, she didn’t stand a chance.

He fucked her so hard and so gruesomely, hand around her dainty little neck until it snapped beneath the pressure.

He didn’t even seem to register what he’d done.

Just kept pounding into her again and again and again, even when she made no sound, even after the life flickered out of her eyes.

It wasn’t until he finished that a deep, rumbling sob climbed its way from his throat.

She was dead.

Since then, he’d been more careful. He’d only fuck the women if Clay ordered it. The wound was still fresh, so we never spoke of her.

“Can you guys just take me home?” Stacy pleaded, eyes glistening with unshed tears. The farther we got away from Greenbriar, the more on edge she became. “Please?”

Vincent groaned, snaking an arm around her shoulders. “You’re so hot when you beg.”

She flinched instinctively, just now coming to the conclusion that she was in a car with a bunch of monsters. “People will come looking for me,” she warned with a hitch to her tone. “We can pay you.”

“Yeah?” Mason asked, a small, amused smile gracing his lips. “That so? ”

She nodded frantically. “My dad is loaded. He’ll give you all the money you want. Just please let me go.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes. We’ve had women try this tactic, too, and we were expecting it from her. It didn’t make it any less monotonous, though.

“Sorry, Stace,” I drawled, settling back in my seat. I’ve been quiet since we picked her up, but she was getting on my nerves. “This isn’t just about the money. It’s about loyalty.”

Her face paled. “Loyalty?” she repeated. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

I blew out an annoyed breath. The questions were always the same. “To our headquarters.” I shot her a grin over my shoulder. It wasn’t a charming one like she’d get from Mason. No. It was dead, sinister, and laced with bloodlust.

Finally , she jumped into action. She attempted to dive across the seat—well, over Mason to be more exact—as if he were the safer option. He grunted in surprise, winding his arms around her waist.

“Not so fast,” he taunted, wrestling her back into the seat.

Stacy snapped her arm out, her hand slapping against the side of his face.

His entire body went rigid, his eyes darkening.

Well. She just fucked up. A snarl was curling around his lips, but before he could retaliate, Vincent was jamming the syringe into the side of her neck.

Her body tensed instantly, a pained sound climbing up her throat.

It didn’t take long for her to go slack, her body toppling into Mason’s lap.

He ran his hands through her dark hair, his body still tense from being assaulted. The irony wasn’t lost on me. This was part of the job, but he did have his own vendetta against the female race, and one of them just hit him.

“Better,” he surmised, his eyes still hard as stone. “Much, much better.”