Page 37 of The Price Of Possession

His muted eyes fall to mine. He fists his dark hair, muttering unintelligible nonsense. I've never seen him look so collapsed and broken. He would fall deeper in his dark thoughts if he lost Vesper. It's clear how much she means to him. It's all he's ever had. The closest thing to family, aside from me. I swallow my anger, forcing myself to be numb to the feelings pulsing through my system threatening to overload.

I rise to my feet and plod over to the glass wall separating us from Vesper. My eyes fall to the room again. My hands press against the cool glass. I scan the room. Clara still isn't there. I look harder as if she'll just materialize in front of me. I'm deep in my head again. Some strange shit bottoms out in the pit of my stomach. I refuse to look at Mortensen. The fucker can suck my dick. He will give me answers.

“Where is she?” my hot breath fogs up the glass.

“Come with me, my son,” Mortensen replies in a ragged breath, ignoring my question. “Nah, I’m not going to be your puppet,” I sneer. I can practically hear his displeasure. I smirk, keeping my eyes trained in front of me. “You are my son. A Grimshaw. You are what I say you are.” His words cut deep. Against my better judgement, I turn to him. I'm on him in two seconds. My hand wraps around his neck. “I may be your flesh and blood, but I am nothing like you. You're a worthless piece of trash. I'd rather fucking die than give you the satisfaction of taking on your legacy. I'll never give you a fucking heir," I force him to stumble backward, flip him off, and restrain myself from pummeling him.His chin tips up in a triumphant grin. Why, I don’t fucking know, but he thinks he's won. Fat chance. My hands shake. My sense of control is hanging by a

thread.

“You are exactly like me in every way. I shaped you. You've done worse shit than I ever have.”

His words stop me in my tracks. My feet propel me forward and I fist his collar this time. My heated gaze catalogs every cocky emotion on his face looking for a hint of deception. I find none.

I release him violently and rear back until my back slams into the glass, rattling it. Zain looks to me as if I've got the answers to Mortensen's insanity. Zain stands slowly, shifting forward on his feet to join me. Neither of us know what the fuck is happening or what the hell Mortensen is on about. Just as I'm ready to question him, he flicks on a light switch illuminating the back side of the room Vesper is in. Vesper remains unmoved, her body dangles listlessly still, but my eyes skate past her, and that's when I spot Clara.

I'm on borrowed time. I always have been. This is the point I've officially hit rock bottom. Sharp, jagged rock bottom. For the first time, even with the drugs, I allow myself to fully immerse in the hyper-sensation instead of blocking out the pain, pleasure, and everything in-between. The drugs drag me under to the euphoric waterfall of endless fleeting emotions. My entire body is floating, floating . . . floating . . .

The cold concrete floor kisses my naked skin. Each brush of rough scaly fingertips against my hip, breast and stomach hardly registers. Voices blur into a static hum. The gentle vibration of the endless stream of voices fills my ears like a whirlpool. My hands dangle lifelessly at my sides. The cold metal shackles wrap around my wrist and ankles, nailing me to the floor.

A soft vibration ripples through my skin. Grimy fingers dust along my body bonding to my cells like a virus, sucking every last sense of happiness from my soul. My eyes crack open. The harsh white lights burn into my irises. I twist my head toward the vibration. A glass window spans the length of the wall. Behind it is an irate Kieran hammering his fists against the glass until red streaks the translucent partition. I reach for him, but my hands are like lead, weighted to the floor by my manacles.

A strangled cry leaves my throat, but nothing but muffled gargling meets my ears. His eyes are full of fury as he backs away from the barrier, his body disappearing from view. My heart sinks. Into the arms of one despot to another. Some things will never change. A hand pinches my chin forcing my face forward again. Rancid hot breath skims along my cheek. I dare look into the eyes of my predator. Darkness like the devil himself greets me under the mask.

Instead of being greeted by the hellhound I had hoped for, I'm pinned by a quasit masked. With each punch into me, I force myself to disassociate. Just as his hand wraps around my mouth cutting off my air, the vibration ripples through the floor again. Both the masked guy and I snap our heads to the side. Kieran is relentlessly piercing against the glass with a metal chair. The barrier gives way, sending glass shards shooting in all directions, littering our bodies in sharp fragments.

I struggle to focus. The blur of Kieran and Zain's body come into view as they rush through the broken window. Before I know what's happening, the masked guy is yanked from my body and slammed against a nearby wall. His body topples over inciting a scuffle. Bodies blur together; the feeling is fading. My vessel stays molded to the cold floor.

Muffled voices ring out around me. Watered down chatter wooshes in my ears. I whimper while I gently tug helplessly at my confines. My stomach is nauseous and I'm on the verge of unconsciousness. I'm weak from whatever concoction of pills they fed me.

“Where is the fucking key?!” a voice shouts. I think it's Kieran’s, but my brain is struggling to catch up. Everything moves in slow motion.

A cacophony of laughter fills the room. Kieran's blurry silhouette moves slowly around the room. My eyes fall shut again; my body contends with consciousness.

Push, Clara. Stay awake. Feel every last sensation.

The frozen manacles fall from my limbs. My weightless body is lifted from the damp, dirty floor and hoisted by strong arms then thrown over his shoulder. Bleary shapes and colors come into view as I'm carried away. The noises of the room grow louder. I blink a few times to gain awareness.

“You are not taking our Offering!" a voice bellows out through the noise. Mortensen's, maybe?

A hand squeezes my thigh in an iron grip.

I squirm to free myself, but it only further digs my wounded stomach into his shoulder. I wince, weakness pulling me under again. The musky scent of Kieran burns into my nose. Pain, hatred, and deception. I hate how I crave his touch.

“Let me go,” I argue weakly. My trust in him is hanging by a thread. He's just another abuser injecting me with his venom.

“No,” his thick gravely voice rattles over the chatter.

My legs connect with his stomach. He returns the favor with a slap on my bare ass. I howl in pain. “I hate you.” I spit through the tears, but I can't bring myself to mean it and I despise myself for it.

He carries me through the Void. Nameless faces track his movements but don't dare intervene. Figures in the corner follow each step he takes. No one cares about a useless woman who comes from poverty, but they do care about the scene Kieran is creating. I swallow down the pain to make sure he isn't leaving Vesper behind to these monsters. I refuse to let him cloud my thoughts.

“Vesper. We need Vesper!!” I shout. My fist hammers into his backside weakly. He grunts as he continues pushing through the crowd. I've never seen so many eyes on me. Something tells me he's doing something he shouldn't be and part of me wants to know why. I'm no prize.

“Zain has her,” he finally responds coldly.

His answer pacifies me for the moment.

“You are a disgrace! You can never escape what you are!” Mortensen's shrill voice cuts through the room. My head snaps up. His bruised and battered body staggers toward us. His lip is cut down to his chin. He looks wrecked. Another wave of nausea washes over me, but I keep it at bay. Kieran stops in his tracks. His body visibly tenses. He sets me down gingerly on wobbly feet, but keeps his hand wrapped around my waist so I don't drop like a newborn baby foal.