It was one thing to be naked and marked and thoroughly fucked in front of Nano. He’d done this to me. He’d earned the right to see me like this, broken and submissive and his.
But this woman... this woman was a stranger.
And she saw everything.
The bruises on my thighs. The bite marks on my breasts. The rope burns on my wrists. The way my hair was tangled and wild, the way my lips were swollen, the way I clutched the sheet like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
She could see it all. Could see exactly what had been done to me. What I’d let be done to me.
What I’d begged for.
“Hi,” she said, and her voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. Like walking into a room and finding a naked, traumatized woman was just another Tuesday. “I’m Kyllian.”
I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed up, my tongue thick and useless in my mouth. All I could do was stare at her, my heart still racing, my hands still shaking.
She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her with a soft click.
No. No, don’t close the door. Don’t trap me in here.
But she wasn’t threatening. Wasn’t advancing on me like the brothers did, all predatory intent and barely restrained violence. She just stood there, her back against the door, her hands in her jacket pockets, watching me with those intelligent green eyes.
“You’re Alex,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
I managed a nod. Barely.
“I’m Firestride’s old lady,” she continued, and something in her tone suggested I should know what that meant. Should understand the significance of it.
I didn’t. Not really. I knew what an old lady was in theory. The committed partner of a club member, someone who wore their man’s property patch and was supposed to be off-limits to everyone else. But I didn’t know what it meant here, in the Brotherhood, where the rules seemed to be written in blood and broken just as easily.
“I heard there was a situation,” Kyllian said, her eyes never leaving my face. “Morpheus called me. Said I should come check on you.”
Check on me?
The words didn’t make sense. Why would Morpheus want someone to check on me? Why would he care?
Unless he’s decided I’m more trouble than I’m worth. Unless he’s sent her to evaluate whether I should live or die.
The panic surged again, and I must have made some sound, a whimper, maybe, or a gasp, because Kyllian’s expression softened slightly.
“Hey,” she said, her voice gentler now. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just here to talk.”
“Talk,” I repeated, and my voice came out hoarse and broken. “About what?”
“About you,” she said simply. “About what’s been happening. About whether you’re okay.”
Am I okay?
The question was so absurd I almost laughed. Almost. But the sound that came out was closer to a sob, and I had to bite down hard on my lip to keep it from turning into something worse.
“I’m fine,” I said, and even I didn’t believe it.
Kyllian raised an eyebrow. “You’re fine,” she repeated, her tone making it clear she thought that was bullshit. “You’re sitting in Nano’s bed, covered in bruises and bite marks, looking like you’re about to have a panic attack, and you’re fine.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because she was right, and we both knew it. She moved then, crossing the room with an easy confidence that made me shrink back against the headboard. But she didn’t come to the bed. Instead, she pulled out Nano’s desk chair and sat down, crossing her legs and leaning back like she had all the time in the world.
“Let me tell you something about the Brotherhood,” she said, her voice still calm but with an edge of steel underneath. “This club doesn’t do old ladies. Not traditionally. The brothers fuck whoever they want, whenever they want, and they don’t commit. They don’t claim. They don’t keep.”
I stared at her, not understanding where she was going with this.
