Page 63 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

A growl builds in my chest, and I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. “Fuck!”

Sarina’s shoulders tremble. A small, almost inaudible, broken whimper floats through the air and into my ears. I take one large, hurried step towards her, then stop, indecision waging war in my mind.

She glances over her shoulder at me, her dark brown eyes an endless pit of despair.

“Sebastián.” She whispers my name like it’s her lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping her head above water.

I’m at her side in record time, and she links our fingers, pressing our palms together. She clings to me like her voice clings to my name, like I clung to our promises to get me through the lonely years without her.

Brenna backs away. “I’ll wait outside the room to give you some time.”

I give her a nod of acknowledgment while keeping all my attention on Sarina.

The click of the latch and the spinning of the bolt as Brenna leaves echo through the room. Sarina flinches at the combination of sounds, her grip on my hand tightening.

“Sarina…” I grab the outfit she picked off the rack in the closet. “I…” I stare at the garment, at the outrageous combination of chiffon and lace and ribbons and ruffles, and I can’t bring myself to finish my sentence.

There is no easy option here. Either I dress her myself, or I order her to do it.

If I do it for her, I’m no better than them—treating her like a toy, a doll.

If I order her to do it, she can dress herself, but at what cost?

My command is still a command. It still removes her independence, her self-sufficiency, and her autonomy.

My command still objectifies her. It’s a representation of the entertainment those other, false “Doms” would have expected if they’d won her auction instead of me.

There is no winning here.

“Just put it on me, Sebastián .” Her voice is choked and raspy. “I’m used to it.”

Ice-cold rage and agony rush through me at her words. They awaken dark imaginings in my mind, painting scenarios of all the possible, horrendous shit they put her through for her to brush this off with such nonchalance.

She faces me, unbuttons my suit jacket that hangs from her frail frame, and lets it slip from her arms. It falls to the floor in a heap, and she lifts her chin, holding my angry and pained gaze with her broken, tear-filled eyes.

My knuckles turn white as I clench the hanger tighter in my fist. “I don’t want to hurt you more, carino .”

“You can’t hurt me, mi vida . There is nothing left for you to hurt.”

My throat tightens, and my heart cracks down the center at the conviction and acceptance in her voice. It brings me to my knees. The urge to wrap her up and hide her away in a place where no one can touch her again overtakes me, mixing with the guilt settling in my gut.

I couldn’t protect her from this. But I’ll protect her from whatever else may come our way. Whatever else we may face together.

I just have to take her away from here first.

“ Te amo , Sarina.” I remove the stupid lingerie from the hanger. “I love you. I need you to know that.”

The hint of a smile dances across her face, tugging at her expression and brightening it for a moment. Warmth flickers in her eyes like sparks trying to light kindling, before they once more become dull and void of emotion.

“I know, Sebastián ,” she says. “I know.”

I force myself to move, helping her into the ruffled bra and underwear, and I hate every second of it.

Bile rises in my throat as I slide the cheeky panties up her legs and over her hips.

My blood boils as I hook the bra together between her shoulder blades, melting away the ice-cold rage.

Tears prick my eyes as I circle around her front again, bringing her hair over her shoulders to cover more of her chest from view.

The bra has no cups, just little ruffles covering her nipples, and I hope the weight of her long, thick hair will prevent them from flying up and exposing them as she walks.

My fists clench and unclench as I spin away from her and gather up her shoes.

In another life, I would have dressed her in an outfit like this and paraded her around my club without a second thought. Now, I want to tear my throat out for contributing to the degradation she’s endured in this horrid place.

I kneel beneath her, placing the shoes in front of her feet. Grabbing my suit jacket from the floor, I yank it back onto my body before I straighten and offer her my hand. She slips hers into it, applying just enough pressure to keep her balance as she steps into her shoes.

Once she’s dressed, we stare at ourselves in the full-length mirror.

With her in frilly lingerie and me in a full suit, with no trace of the cut she gave me with her shoe, we look every bit the part of a Dom and his sweet sub.

Her heart pounds as her chest heaves. Her nerves spike and trickle down the bond to me as I lead her to the door and use my key to open it again for Brenna.

“Are you ready?” Brenna steps inside.

Her eyes are on Sarina, but Sarina’s are glued to Brenna’s hand clutching two small vials filled with a dark red liquid.

Sarina shakes her head and backs up a step, angling towards me as she does. “No.” Her hair flies with the insistent movements of her head. “Please, Brenna,” she begs. “I can’t.”

“I’m not going to use it on you. No one ever will again.” Brenna holds the vials out to me. “I have to give them to Sebastian.”

Sarina’s panic ebbs as her unblinking eyes track as the glass containers change ownership from Brenna to me.

I frown as I bring them closer, still unsure what they are or what they represent. Then it hits me.

Sarina’s scent. The scent of her blood.

It’s Sarina’s blood in the vials.

My nostrils flare. “What the fuck is this for?”

“To control us. To train us. ”

I snap my focus to Sarina. She still stares at those seemingly innocuous vials I hold, her body leaning away from them like an abused animal leans away from a raised hand. My lycan roars, his dark powerful aura pulsing through the room.

“Blood magic?” My lycan’s growls give an edge to my voice as I whirl my head towards Brenna. “You use blood magic on them?”

“While they’re with us, yes.” Disdain tints Brenna’s voice. “Once they’re auctioned, we give their blood to their purchaser to signify the transfer of ownership and control.”

“That’s…” I curl my fist around the vials, unable to put into words the level of disgust and rage stirring within me at this revelation. I take several deep breaths, calming my lycan and refocusing on the present—on getting Sarina out of here and keeping my ruse believable.

“Thank you for not using this on her now,” I say to Brenna once I’ve regained my composure and my control over my lycan. “But she can’t walk out there without some sort of guide or lead. She can’t just hold my hand or walk behind me. They won’t buy that.”

Brenna nods. “There are usually chains in the closets. They will connect to her cuffs.”

She skirts around us and I follow her path with my eyes, my hand tightening around the vials.

“How will I get them off?”

“Amara will give you a key before you leave.”

I grit my teeth and shove the blood vials into my pocket so I can destroy them later. Then I face Sarina, pulling her closer to me with our connected hands.

“It’s not real, okay?” I lift her knuckles to my lips as I hear the chains rattling behind me. “It’s just pretend. Just until we get in the car. I promise.”

Sarina’s breathing comes faster, as Brenna approaches us with the chains, until she’s close to hyperventilating. Her hands tremble as she tightens her hold on me, and I hate myself for asking this of her almost as much as I hate these bastards for breaking her.

Brenna reaches for her, and Sarina jumps away from her.

“No!” She wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face in my chest. “I said ‘lemon’. It’s supposed to be over.”

Her words are muffled by my clothes, but that doesn’t disguise the shrillness in her voice. It doesn’t hide the sobs or the fearful, distraught shaking of her body .

“I said ‘lemon’,” she repeats. Her voice is softer this time but filled with the same torment and brokenness. “It’s supposed to be over . That’s what ‘lemon’ means.”

I drop my chin and run my hand down my face as I’m filled with even more self-loathing for what I’m asking—forcing—her to do.

I’m no better than the sick fucks who run this operation.

“I know, Baby Girl. I know.” I sigh and lower my nose to the top of her head, so my lips brush across her silky hair as I speak.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t have to.

I would much rather carry you out of here in my arms, with the blood of everyone who hurt you staining my hands, but I can’t.

Not yet. Not until we have a team and plan in place. ”

She tips her face up to me, and the barest flicker of her old fire ignites in her eyes at the promise of spilled blood. It’s gone before I can stoke it into something larger, but it gives me hope that with time, support, and love, she will find pieces of herself again.

“I promise I will take the chains off once we’re in the car,” I repeat. “I promise.”

“You promise?”

“ Te lo prometo .”

Her body trembles against mine, the pain and fear bone deep and unshakeable. But she backs away a step and holds her arms in front of her, crossing them at the wrists.

I reach for the chain, keeping my eyes on Sarina. Brenna passes gloves to me first, then gives me the chain once they’re slipped onto my hands.

“Remember, anything I say or do is just an act.” I loop the chain around Sarina’s wrists, and she doesn’t even flinch when the metal brushes her skin. “We’re just pretending.”

I search for clasps or loops on her cuffs to slide the links through, but the metal merges with the shackles, connecting to them with magic.

“We’ve pretended before,” Sarina murmurs as she watches me.