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“Yes,” the deep voice of the man in front of me agreed.
The robe parted, revealing the bare chest and groin of the man I realized I knew—my new foster father.
His hand touched my chest, dragging down with trembling fingers, stopping at my pelvic bone. Spread wide, I had no idea what to expect. I knew nothing of the touches, thrusts, or blood that would follow.
His body covered mine as he grasped something hard, long, and thick below his waist.
Over the speaker, the voice grew excited. “Gain your place in Heaven.”
Pain exploded in my head, spreading out from between my legs. The agony of it, the shock, produced tears that I couldn’t hold back. They welled in my eyes, dripping down over my cheeks.
Broken, terrorized cries left my lips.
“Give me your tears,” he rasped, driving my back into the mattress.
GASPING, I JERKED UPRIGHT, a scream clogging my throat. Sweat coated my skin, leaving behind a dampness that chilled me to the bone. The memory of that night, the pressure of those hands on my thighs, the invasion, and the resulting pain came rushing back.
Scrambling from the bed, I blinked the sleep from my blurry eyes, hoping like hell I didn’t fall asleep again tonight. I couldn’t return to that torment or the agony that would consume me.
The darkness. A mask of terror. That warbled, haunting voice over the speaker.Nooooooooo.I could still hear the cries of the others and the adult laughter filtering through the nightly recording.
“Please,” I begged, choking out a sob. My hands lifted to my ears, blocking the words repeated so many times they were locked in my subconscious.
You’re such a pretty little girl. Give me your tears.
Trembling, I slammed my fists against my temples. “Stop!”
Give me your tears.
My heart hammered in my chest, thudding so fast I thought I would pass out. My lungs dragged in air as I felt the walls of the room closing in.Go away.Please.
A movement in the shadows materialized out of nowhere, wrenching another scream from my lips. I backed away, slamming into a wall as I nearly hyperventilated.
A man’s wispy, deep voice proved no demon entered my room until the bright cherry end of a cigarette flickered, igniting to life as it revealed familiar features. Reaper. No demon but instead, the hand of death.
“Vivid dreams?”
Wow. I didn’t expect him to sound like that.
He hadn’t spoken to me before tonight, staying silent at Amelia’s bar and the entire ride to Reaper’s Vale. Hearing him talk now, I knew I’d never forget how he sounded. His tone wasthe deepest among the bikers I met, with a hint of smoke and grit. A slight rasp almost buried the accent that lingered on the edges. New York, maybe. A seductive purr clung to the timbre, the kind that easily seduced women.
“Very vivid dreams,” he added.
My body shivered, still cold and clammy but alert for a different reason. Reaper set me on edge. To be honest, he also stirred something deep and curious within.
I wondered what color his eyes were behind that skeleton mask when we met, and now I caught the unnatural gleam of silver as they glowed in the darkness. Eyes as hard and unforgiving as steel. A gaze that stole the breath from my lungs. Predatory. Determined.
His high cheekbones were almost sharp next to the long line of his nose. Stubble covered his square jaw, framing lush, plump lips that seemed created to give the perfect kiss. The upper lifted into a perfect cupid’s bow with a jagged scar resembling a bolt of lightning cutting through on the right side. Reaper’s face was the most angular of all the guys but no less striking or attractive. The most rugged, raw, and scarred of the four, he commanded a room when he entered it without a bit of effort. And yet, he also seemed thoroughly at home in the shadows.
“Something like that,” I finally answered.
I DIDN’T INTEND TOwalk down the hall leading to our prisoner’s room, but I couldn’t seem to stay away. Pausing outside the door, I leaned against the wood, listening for any pathetic display of weakness.
Would she cry? Pound on the door and beg us to free her? Or break everything in the room in an immature temper tantrum?
Almost gleeful at the idea of catching her in the act, I unlocked the door and slipped inside. Henny—that was her name—moaned in her sleep as I entered, kicking at the blankets bunched at the foot of the bed. Her limbs jolted right before her body seized in what could only be described as terror. Arms flying out to shield herself from harm, Henny cried out, begging someone to leave.
“It hurts!”
