Page 104 of Godless Saints

He gripped my jaw hard, fingers digging in until I winced, forcing my head up.

“And while we wait…” His thumb pressed into my cheek. “We’re going to make sure you understand how little protection your precious Ashbourne heir can actually give you.”

They kept me on my knees the entire time. Zip ties cutting deep into my wrists. One of Ronan’s men kept pressing the cold barrel of a gun against the back of my neck, just enough pressure to remind me how easy it would be.

Ronan sat in the chair like a king, legs spread, watching me with lazy contempt. “Tell me,” he said conversationally, “does Cillian fuck you like he owns you? Or do you get on your knees and beg for it like a good little Aster bitch?”

Silence choked me, jaw locked, staring at the floorboards. He leaned forward and slapped me. Hard. The crack echoed through the cabin. My cheek burned instantly.

“Answer when I speak to you.”

Blood filled my mouth. I forced the words out through gritted teeth. My jaw locked. “He fucks me like he owns me.”

Ronan laughed. “Of course he does. Ashbourne boys always did have expensive taste in toys.”

Twenty minutes in, they brought out the phones.

They took photos. Multiple angles. Close-ups of every bruise on my thighs, hips, neck and ass. One of them yanked my head back by the hair while another snapped a picture of my face.

“These will look lovely in the group chat,” Ronan murmured. “Declan will enjoy them. So will your father.”

Every few minutes one of them would circle me.

“Look at that, he really went to town on you, didn’t he? Like a dog marking his territory.”

“Bet he thought these bruises would protect you.”

The humiliation was worse than the cold biting my bare skin. They didn’t touch me that way. They didn’t need to. The point was to make me feel small. Exposed and worthless.

Ronan eventually crouched in front of me again, gun resting casually on his thigh. “When he gets here,” he said softly, “you’re going to watch what we do to him. And you’re going to understand that no matter how hard your precious prince tries to play big bad man… he’s still just a boy.” He pushed the hair out of my eyes. “And boys get punished.”

I stared at the floor. Hurry, Cillian. Please. Don’t leave me kneeling here like this.

CHAPTER 26

CILLIAN

Moonshine:

Someone’s here. Two SUVs.

The message killed every useful thought except one. Moon. I dropped the cash on the counter and turned toward the door without waiting for the receipt or the change.

“Hey! What the fuck, man?” the cashier yelled after me. “You can’t just—”

The bell above the door barely had time to jingle before I was outside, already running for the bike.

My blood was roaring in my ears. Two SUVs. At the safe house. With Moon alone. If they—

I tasted blood. My teeth had sunk into my tongue. I swung onto the motorcycle, kicked it alive, and tore out of the lot, rain slicing across my helmet.

Hang on, Moonshine. I’m coming.

The ride back from the village should have taken twenty minutes. I made it in twelve.

I killed the engine halfway down the drive the second I saw them, two black SUVs parked at ugly, tactical angles in front of the cabin. Rain streaked down the windows. Something clenched hard behind my ribs.

Trouble.