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His eyes snap up to look at mine before they go to Haidyn. “Saint…I didn’t…”
“Hit my wife?” I arch a brow, and he swallows. “I guess the footage I saw of you and her in the elevator must have been fake as well?” I look at Haidyn who snorts.
“I…uh, no…I didn’t—” he rambles unable to lie but refusing to tell me the truth.
“Threaten to rape and kill her.” I finish for him. Not caring what else he has to say, I push off the counter and step forward, and he starts screaming, trying to pull away, but he’s not going anywhere.
Devin pushes the cart over to Emerson and removes the syringe as Emerson begins to scream. He knows what’s coming. He’s been through it before. It’s routine for brandings. But this one will be a little different. The Spade brothers pride themselves on being creative. It’s not as if there is a rule book on how to torture and kill people. But if there ever was, we would be the ones to write it.
“Small pinch,” Devin says, placing his left hand on Emerson’s bare chest while he shoves the needle between his ribs, injecting the shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. I don’t want the fucker to pass out and miss the fun.
Blood begins to run from his mouth, and I look at Haidyn. “He bit his tongue.”
“Pity,” he says dryly.
Devin finishes and removes the needle, nodding to me before dismissing himself.
“Haidyn,” I say, and he walks behind Emerson as he wails. His body thrashes uncontrollably in the chair. He’s strapped down as tight as can be, but his body runs on adrenaline now. For the next fifteen minutes, he’s going to fight as hard as he can before he passes the fuck out.
I pick up the old, rusted, and stained blood meat cleaver off the counter and walk over to the front of the chair.
He manages to find his voice as spit and blood fly from his mouth. “No. No. No. Please…”
I bring the sharp blade down right at his wrist, slamming it down into the metal table, cutting it clean off.
His shrill scream follows, making my ears ring, and blood squirts all over it and to the floor. The fact that he no longer has a wrist means his arm is free from the restraint. So Haidyn grips his forearm and holds it down on the table. His broken hand rolls off the edge of the tabletop and onto the floor. I kick it out of the way into the far corner as it leaves a trail of blood along the way.
“Don’t worry, I have something for that,” I assure him, picking up the brand I had sitting in the bucket with hot coals. Haidyn holds his arm down while I push the 666-branding iron onto the end of his arm where his hand once was.
His scream ricochets off the concrete walls as I heat it up once again and repeat the process. “I’m going to do it as many times as it takes to stop the bleeding,” I tell him while he sobs like the motherfucker he is.
After two more times, I’m satisfied that it’s covered enough. Haidyn lets go, and he cradles it to his chest. “Just one last thing, and then you’re free to go,” I tell Emerson.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask Haidyn over Emerson’s cries, watching him go over to the counter. He removes the key from his back pocket and unlocks one of the upper cabinets.
Haidyn doesn’t turn to face me as he says. “I’ve done lots of questionable things in my life. I’m going to need you to be more specific, Saint.” His voice is flat, but I can see how tense he is. Usually, this shit gets him off. He’s still in a mood and just needs some pussy.
I smirk at his way of avoiding what he knows I’m asking. “Ashtyn. Why did you tell me what happened?” For someone who just told me two days ago that he’d kill her if he saw her, he sure as hell protected her when the time came.
Placing what he wanted from the cabinet onto the counter, he turns to face me and crosses his tatted arms over his chest. Emerson’s sobbing fills the room, and he speaks over it. “Did she tell you what happened?”
I frown, not expecting that as an answer. “No…” I trail off, realizing what he meant. He wants her to be in trouble. He’s telling me she’s still the same conniving little cunt who shot and left me for dead all those years ago.
I can’t argue with him. Did I think dragging her back here would change what happened? No. But I’m just a selfish piece of shit. All Lords are. That’s what we’re taught to be. You want it? It’s yours. It doesn’t belong to you? You take it. That kind of thinking can mean anything in our world. Doesn’t matter. Lords are, above all, unstoppable.
Ashtyn was always mine before, and I wasn’t going to let that change. She’ll live here with me until I decide I no longer want her, and then if she’s lucky, I’ll kill her. If not, I’ll pass her on to someone else. After all, a Lord can share his Lady with whoever he wants.
* * *
An hour later,I’ve cleaned myself up and am walking back into the office. Haidyn chose to return to his room. I’m betting it has more to do with Ashtyn in here than the naked girl chained in his room.
Ashtyn still kneels in front of the mirror; her eyes are closed, and her head moves ever so slowly as she sucks on the dick. Tears and drool run down her pretty face. I’m sure the numbing spray has worn off by now.
I’m no longer in the mood to sit at my desk and listen to her suck on a fake dick.
I’m pissy and horny as fuck. She’s pissed me off once more. I expected it. Nothing about her being back here was going to be easy. That’s too much to ask for. Plus, I know who I am, and when it comes to the naked brunette sucking on the dildo, I can reach fucking blackout rage level.
I walk over to her and lean down, undoing both belts that wrap around her thighs. Then I undo the latch to her collar, and it clinks when it hits the mirror, still attached to the shaft. Pulling on her ponytail, I remove her swollen lips from the dildo. She sucks in a deep breath and starts to softly cry.
