Page 131 of Vows of Ruin

A shape sitting in a chair in front of me comes into focus. Sebastian. Holding a delicate glass teacup between his fingers like we’re in a fucking parlor instead of a torture chamber. He smiles when he sees my eyes open.

“There you are,” he says, voice bright, pleasant, wrong. “I was beginning to think they’d overdone the sedative.”

I test the restraints. Thick, bolted, and cold against my skin. They dig deeper the harder I pull. Sebastian watches me fight them with the fascinated calm of a man watching a tiger from the safety of a cage he built himself.

“Saves me so much trouble when you’re awake,” he adds conversationally.. “You’re terribly heavy when you’re unconscious, did you know that? It took three of my men just to get you into position.”

I stare at him, jaw tight. My voice comes out raw, shredded from whatever they drugged me with. “What do you want?”

He sips from the cup. Tea. Something floral. The image is obscene against the backdrop of rusted steel and dust.

“What do I want?” he echoes, amused. “Liam, we’ve only just begun. There’s no need for impatience.”

The name, my name, hits harder this time. Because now there’s no distance. No buffer. No weapons in my hands. He’s using it like a knife.

“Don’t call me that.” I growl.

“Why not?” Sebastian tilts his head, smile widening. “She does.”

A muscle in my jaw twitches. He sees it. He savors it. Sebastian rises from the chair, walking toward me with slow, easy steps. His shoes click softly on the concrete floor.

“You know,” he muses, “When I imagined this moment, I pictured her. Not you.. But I must admit…” His gaze drags down the length of me, strapped tight and immobile. “…this is a delightful surprise.”

I pull at the restraints again, harder this time. Metal creaks. Skin splits at my wrist.

He tsks. “Careful. You’ll hurt yourself before I get the chance.”

“Go to hell,” I rasp.

Sebastian laughs quietly. “Oh, Liam. We’re already there. And I’m your devil.”

He circles me, slow, studying the cross, the bolts, the tension on my arms. Checking his work.

“You traded yourself for her,” he says finally, tone turning soft, deadly. “An admirable decision. A predictable one. You must love her very, very much.”

I say nothing. Because the truth is too big to fit inside words. He knows that. He steps close, too close, resting a hand lightly against my chest like he’s checking the temperature of something he ordered at a restaurant.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Do you think she’ll come for you?”

My heart stutters once. Just once. He feels it.

“Oh,” he breathes, delighted. “She will. Eventually. She would come for any of you.”

He steps back slowly, tapping the side of the teacup with one finger. “But by then… you’ll be so beautifully broken.”

I pull so hard against the restraints the veins in my arms bulge, teeth gritting as metal cuts into skin. Sebastian smiles like he’s watching a masterpiece in progress.

“That’s right,” he says softly. “Fight. I want her to see what you look like when you finally stop.”

He turns toward a tray behind him, metal tools neatly arranged, glinting under the light. The sight of them doesn’t scare me. What scares me, what curdles something deep in my gut, is the look in his eyes when he touches them. Soft. Tender. Reverent. Like this is holy.

He lifts a blade, small, sharp, surgical. “Now then,” he says, turning back to me. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

Sebastian doesn’t touch me at first. He talks. Of course he talks. He sets the blade down with surgical care and chooses a different tool entirely. His voice. He prefers to start there. Of course he does. He circles behind me slowly, hands clasped, voice mellow and warm as poison.

“You know,” he muses, “I’ve been thinking about the last time I had my hands on her.”

My muscles coil. He senses it. His smile sharpens.