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No matter how loud he’d scream on the inside.
“N-no,” Stephanie said, her terrified gaze shifting between the three men in the room. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but that was the least of his severe worries.
“Well, you see, these assholes have a special ritual when they patch into the club. They get a brand on their left forearm. It’s a big fuckin’ deal to them. They have to endure the pain without crying like a little bitch, without passing out or puking. Ain’t that right, Mav?”
Maverick didn’t bother to answer.
“That brand is sacred. They can’t have any ink on the part of their arm if they want the brand. And if they can’t get the brand, they can’t be in the club. So it’s a big fuckin’ deal. What would they do to you if something happened to the brand, Maverick? Oh say, you lost your arm or something?”
Hatred like he’d never experienced burned inside him, but he kept his mouth shut. The club would kick him out. Harsh, but it was the rule. Brand had to be there to be in the fuckin’ club.
“Don’t know?” Shark pushed off the wall and shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out. King.” He nodded at King who couldn’t possibly look more eager to inflict some pain.
“Oh, my God. Don’t!” Stephanie cried out.
Shark and King ignored her and advanced on Maverick. When they reached him, Shark withdrew a knife from a sheath on his belt and cut the ties around Maverick’s left arm.
Maverick tried to strike out, but the arm had been immobilized for so long it was useless. He wasn’t able to do anything but sit there helpless as they flipped his forearm up and re-secured it to the chair.
Then Shark backed away, grinning like a loon, and King advanced on Maverick, iron in hand.
Stephanie went crazy. There was no other way to describe it. She thrashed, kicked, and screamed until her voice cracked. Shouting insults that shocked and impressed even Maverick, she fought against the cuffs until Maverick was worried she’d break her wrist.
He’d been right to call her wildcat.
“Stephanie,” he barked out, ignoring the men about to torture him.
“No,” she screamed. “Leave him alone. Come back over here. Take me. You can do anything you want. Just leave him alone!”
Jesus Christ, was the woman insane? She was practically begging two sadistic men to attack her. For what purpose? To save Maverick some pain?
The pain would be temporary. Pain faded.
As though transfixed, Maverick watched the hot iron slowly lower toward his arm. King took great pleasure in drawing out the anticipation. Just part of the torture.
“Maverick!” Stephanie screamed.
He tore his gaze away from his fate and stared into her pretty eyes. She held his gaze, still screaming at the top of her lungs and fighting for all she was worth. Bloody red rings formed around her wrists and ankles, and her left hand hung at an odd angle, but she didn’t lessen her struggles. At that moment, she was a warrior, and Maverick would never ever forget the way she looked fighting for him.
His wildcat.
When the pain came, it was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Time had weakened the harsh memories of the branding ceremony until it was nothing more than a story told to make him look badass. But, holy shit, the memories came back to him tenfold.
Fiery pain so severe his vision blurred crawled over his entire body. He was powerless to stop the shaking as shock set in and his body went haywire. Even though each breath was more agony, Maverick’s chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm. He gritted his back teeth to hold in the animal scream clawing at his throat.
Nausea rolled through his stomach, and he fought the urge to vomit. Puking would only be murder on his ribs. He kept his attention on Stephanie who was still yelling and wrenching her body against the metal cuffs. He couldn’t hear what she was saying over the ringing in his ears, but her gaze never wavered. Never left his.
After a few moments of such outrageous pain, his mind started to numb. Some kind of protective mechanism. The anguish faded into the background and Stephanie took the forefront. Her beautiful face streaked with tears, mouth moving a mile a minute as she begged Shark and King to turn their attention to her.
As suddenly as it was shoved against his arm, the iron was ripped away, taking with it chunks of charred skin. The fog in Maverick’s mind cleared, sharpening the pain and making him aware of the room again.
Stephanie had stopped writhing and lie quietly, tears streaming down her face. Her poor wrists and ankles were bloodied and so raw they looked like uncooked meat.
“Let’s see if your bike-riding buddies want you back now,” Shark said as he laughed. His phone rang, and he spun away to answer it. “King,” he said after hanging up, “we gotta roll.”
