I wanted them to rip each other limb from limb.
And honestly?
These fucks deserve worse.
If my mates were here, they’d chop them into bits. They’d pluck out every eyelash one by one. Use pliers to slowly peel each nail from its bed. They’d heat spikes and shove them into every orifice until these fucks resembled living voodoo dolls…
My perfume grows stronger.
Glancing down, I realize that my violent fantasy about my mates has pebbled my nipples. Made my breasts heave.
Shit.
Apparently I really like the idea of watching my men turn into vicious monsters on my behalf.
But, I mean, what girl doesn’t want her guy to bring her enemy’s head to her on a platter?
Roars, growls, and wild bays erupt as the stronger, sugary scent of me reaches the noses of all the alphas in this hellhole.
The two cowboys howl and start to shoot. Bullets bite wildly, zinging into walls and pipes, aim forgotten, alpha pheromones squeezing these soldiers’ brains down to singular cells with a singular purpose.
Claim me.
Shivers of anticipation and fear rollick my bones as my gaze darts around them.
On the threshold of the stairs, Pedro has another alpha in a headlock. The other man is two steps lower, his hands scrabbling at the chokehold. His wheeze carries all the way across the room to me, as does Pedro’s flinty stare.
The unhinged mercenary shouts, “You see me! I don’t even need a weapon.”
My teeth grind when I see he’s got the upper hand on someone. If there’s anyone I want to see the life get slowly squeezed from, like a python hugging its prey, it’s Pedro.
Him.
I refuse to grant him the time of day, to acknowledge his prowess. Deliberately, I swing my gaze away from him.
Against the wall, the bald Noth cracks the other’s neck. The man on the wall slumps, head drooping like a flower with a broken stem as baldie drops him, turns, and then stomps forward.
He yanks his weapon from its holster and ten-rings Ryan.
I swallow as the back of Ryan’s skull splinters like a jam jar, and his brains burst out in a soggy red gush. His body spills onto the floor.
The bald man grins at me.
But then his left eye blasts open, peeled apart like an orange, blood splattering onto my skirt as his face collapses. He tips forward—no longer a man, just a hunk of meat that drops to the ground.
Pedro glides down the stairs with a little skip in his step, his teeth clenched into a smile that sears my very soul. “Well, well, little siren. This is a fun little game. But now that I’ve won, you can bet I’ll collect.”
10
BRYLEE
The airin my cell is a toxic perfume, thick with the coppery scent of blood that has already begun to congeal on the concrete and the acrid stench of burnt-out lust that hangs in the air like a shroud. It’s the smell of my victory, and the smell of my damnation.
I pull desperately at the cuff around my ankle, the metal biting into my already raw flesh. Each tug is a useless, frantic prayer. I feel more than anything like an animal that has just been led to the slaughterhouse, the sound of the killing floor still echoing in my ears.
Pedro.
The name alone sends a shiver of pure ice through my veins, a cold that has nothing to do with the damp chill of this cell.
