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Callen is a sadist, but he has feelings—well, I think he does, somewhere deep down. He had a daughter, so he’s shown he’s capable of caring for someone. Torean is different. There’s only evil behind his blank, dead eyes.
“I can think of a few ways you could show me your appreciation for my hospitality,” he purrs.
“And I can think of a few ways to tell you to go fuck yourself,” I snap, but my voice shakes.
“Why don’t we start with you on your—”
Suddenly, another figure steps from the shadows and asks, “What’s going on here?”
CHAPTER 7
CALLEN
Freddie ordered us to stay away from Ivy, but he doesn’t know my brother. To Torean, knowing the Dukes are holding a prisoner in his castle is like telling a child that they can’t touch a pile of wrapped presents. He always breaks the rules, so I’ve been observing him.
When Seb and Freddie returned to their rooms, I lurked near the dungeon door. It’s not that I was guarding her—not at all—but I won’t let him hurt her. She belongs to us.
Torean turns when he hears my voice and steps away from Ivy. “You arrived at the perfect time, Callen.”
I see a flash of panic on Ivy’s face, and then it disappears, hidden behind an impassive expression. I take in the pink handprint on her pale cheek and how her ripped shirt reveals her perfect round tits, barely covering her nipples.
“What are you doing, Torean?” I ask, keeping my tone measured and friendly without looking away from the knife in his hand.
“You know me, brother,” he says, “I wanted to make my new guest feel at home.”
“She’s not your guest,” I remind him. “She’s our prisoner.”
Torean’s eyes light up at the prospect of a challenge. He turns everything into a competition. It’s something we have in common and developed growing up with nothing, being forced to forge our own way in the world.
“This is my castle,” Torean declares, gesturing at the walls with his knife. “She may be your prisoner, but you are all my guests. You’d do well to remember that.”
Ivy opens her mouth to argue, but I shoot her a ‘don’t say a fucking word’ look. For once, she pays attention. Maybe she senses we’re in the room with the equivalent of a hungry shark who strikes on the first scent of blood. If I hadn’t intervened, Ivy wouldn’t be alive by tomorrow morning.
Torean doesn’t discriminate in who he kills. He kills for fun. He enjoys the chase and gets consumed by bloodlust. That need is something else we have in common, but he lacks my self-control. While I try to avoid hurting women, Torean, like our father, who used to beat our mother, doesn’t care. He raises his hand to anyone who dares to defy him.
“Lighten up, Cal,” he says, changing his tone. “I helped the Dukes. Now it’s your turn to repay the favour.”
Ivy bites her lip so hard that it bleeds. Good girl. She’s doing well to keep her mouth shut for a change. This must be killing her.
“Not like this,” I say firmly. “You don’t touch a hair on her head, understand?”
“But look at her,” Torean says, reaching out and twisting a strand of Ivy’s long hair around his finger. “How can you expect me to hold back?”
“Fuck you,” Ivy hisses, jerking her head away.
“You know how much I love it when they try to fight,” he breathes. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about fucking her.”
“Been there, done that,” I say casually. “She’s just another loose gash. Nothing special.”
He doesn’t need to know the lingering effect her pussy has had on me. She’s fucking addictive, and I’m not letting him find that out for himself.
“Maybe I should see for myself,” he says.
“She’s off limits,” I warn, lowering my voice. I don’t want to fight him, but I will if I have to.
“Fine,” Torean relents, tucking his knife away. “But you owe me. My favours don’t come for free. I’m not a fucking Salvation Army.”
“What do you want?”
