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That could be fun.
“Freddie,” Jasper called. “Get your ass in gear.”
“Moving,” I said, but I was still grinning. We had a lot to look forward to, and I wanted to try all of it.
Just—one at a time.
Yep.
“Freddie,” Vaughn yelled, and I shot him a middle finger, much to Liam’s amusement. I picked up the pace. Yeah yeah, think about her pussy later.
CHAPTER42
Milo
Openingmy eyes took real effort. It was like my eyelids had grown impossibly heavy, or they’d been glued shut. It was a fucking battle to get them to open. Cool air filtered over my chest.
“I know you can hear me, Princess,” a voice said from what seemed like very far away. “Can you hear him?”
Hear wh—the thought didn’t complete as something burning hot connected with my back. The smell of scorched flesh and burning hair filled my nostrils even as pain shredded my thoughts.
A shout escaped me even as I clenched my teeth together. Adrenaline flooded my system along with alertness. Whatever had been keeping me out didn’t survive the—
The man beside me held out a brand, a simple x-formed metal cross-section heated to flaming orange. I still couldn’t quite breathe around the pain.
“You have one minute, Princess. Then I’ll burn him again.” The man speaking pulled my attention even as details of where we were filtered in.
Outside.
I was chained to something. Head tilting, I studied my wrists—not chained. Tied. Yeah, okay, I needed some focus to get out of those.
My shirt was in tatters, but I still had on jeans and boots. A headache split through my skull. Blood was in my mouth—the taste of it, anyway. Lips cracked. Throat dry. Pain throbbing in my back.
“Again,” the man said, and the brand gouged into a second spot on my lower back, right next to the already brutalized flesh. Even with my teeth clenched, the sound escaped as I fought to breathe around the pain.
“How many times do you want me to burn him, Princess? Three? Four? A dozen? I know you’re out there—”
I swallowed painfully then leaned over to spit out the blood. “Leave her the fuck alone,” I told him as the man in question strolled toward me. I recognized him.
Bradley Sharpe.
Fuckbucket.
Rapist.
Pedophile.
Asshole.
“She’s mine,” he informed me. “She’s always been mine, and if I have to gut every single one of you until I cut away your taint, I will.”
“She’s not coming back to you,” I said, even as I tried to remember how the fuck we ended up here. My last memory was being in the car, Ivy giving me shit as she kept changing what music we were listening to, and then…
“Deluded boy,” Sharpe said as he limped around in his too-expensive suit. Whatever aftershave he wore was cloying. “She always comes back to me.” He moved behind me. “She loves me—loves what I can do for her.” Then he dug his fingers into one of the burns, and I took the chance to twist.
My legs were still free and I got a good kick in that knocked him back. His lackeys were on me, raining down blows with fists and canes. The lashing offered a kind of brutal clarity.
But the fucker was limping.
