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He wanted to take some small measure of comfort from her condition. He wanted to take satisfaction from the welt and bruises marring her skin and the infections starting to fester beneath. He wanted to feel some sort of smug confidence that justice had been done, but all he felt was a truly disturbing wave of pity.
She’d grabbed his dick under his own dinner table. She’d humiliated him and thrown herself openly at his men. She’d hurt and betrayed Taylor, but even that wasn’t enough. She deserved to suffer for those things, but she didn’t deserve this.
“Now, now, pet,” Marx coaxed, his deep baritone laced with amusement. “I’ve taught you better than to run away from me. Is this any way to greet myself or Agent Baas?”
A low, mournful noise emanated from the corner of the room. Sebastian took an involuntary step back when Irene peeled herself away from the wall.
The lacerations crisscrossing her skin had been bad enough, but her battered face brought another scalding wave of acid to his throat. The sharp ridges of her cheekbones were swollen, split from Marx’s heavy fists, and both sides were latticed with freshly made imprints from his hand. Thick bruises banded her neck and red and purple mottled the rest of her body in vivid bursts.
It took everything he had not to close his eyes. Steeling himself, he tried to think of her as nothing more than a target. Irene made that somewhat easier when she scrambled across the floor in an animalistic crouch and settled beside the commander’s feet. Without looking down, Marx absentmindedly stroked the top of her head, either oblivious to or unfazed by the dirt matted in her once vibrant copper tresses.
Leaning into him, Irene tried to press her cheek to the man’s pant leg, but he callously booted her away, his thick lips hitching on a sneer.
“I’m sor-sorry, si-sir,” she choked.
“You should be,” Marx stated, “but you aren’t sorry, pet. Not yet.”
His stare swung to Sebastian with no warning. For a moment, he found himself stricken with a crippling stab of panic. He didn’t know why the man brought him here, or what he was expecting, but the look in the Marx’s eyes warned it wouldn’t be good. They were cold and empty, reflecting nothing. It was like staring into the blackness of a bottomless abyss.
“Relax, Sebastian. Much like you, I merely crave my girl’s affections whenever I’m away. She doesn’t look like much, but with time and some gentle coaxing, she’s learned to serve me and my needs quite well.”
His throat squelched with his swallow. He was going to be sick. He couldn’t even close his eyes to help combat the nausea. Between the sight and the smells, he was done.
“That’s wonderful,” he quipped. “Are we finished?”
“Not just yet. I saw the looks you and your lover exchanged last night and, after your reaction, one thing became very clear. That ring on her finger is much more than a means to lock her down and keep her mouth shut.”
Sebastian tensed. The familiar phrase smacked him across the face and threatened to fan his anger into a raging inferno that would destroy everything in its path. He’d only uttered those words once before—in the warehouse with Laychee. That son-of-a-bitch was dead, as were his men. He’d planted a bullet in Dominic’s skull. The only other person who would know what he’d said that night was Taylor, and she would never repeat it. The pain of what they’d went through that night was still too raw, too real. Neither of them wanted to relive that experience in any way.
Yet here he was, listening to the words he’d uttered in a desperate attempt to save her all over again.
Hatred burned, igniting like wildfire in his veins. Marx’s words were as good as a confession. The sweet, coppery tang of blood rolled across his tongue as he bit his cheeks. His fists balled and he forced his hands behind his back before he did something he would regret. Revenge would come. Of that much he was certain, but now was not the time or the place. If he shot the bastard now, the guards would never let him out of the room. He would die there, trapped in a cell with Irene. Not to mention the fact that a bullet was far too quick and painless a death. No, Marx was going to suffer long and hard for everything he had done.
“What is your point?” he forced himself to ask, his voice coming in a harsh rasp.
Marx reached down and stroked the top of Irene’s head with absentminded affection. A cruel gleam ignited in his eyes as she cowered at his feet.
“I’ve decided to be generous. Your attachment to the girl is not without its benefits. You’re a hard one to tame, Sebastian, but perhaps your pet will give me the leverage I need.” Marx’s penetrating stare locked with his. “Is she expecting?”
It took effort not to flinch. The question hit him like a buckshot to the gut. Through reeling, he forced himself to stay calm, passive, and not strike out in anger or fear. It was growing harder by the second.
“Of course not,” he managed, his voice barely civil.
“She’s a slender girl, Sebastian. Her stomach looked swollen. Despite her efforts to hide it, I noticed.”
“I told you she was ragging it,” he snapped. “She was fucking bloated. That doesn’t mean I knocked her up.”
Marx smiled. “Pity. While I’m not fond of the girl, it would be nice to know someone was carrying on your bloodline. I will let you keep your pet, for now, but you and I are going to reach an understanding. Her ass belongs to me, as just as surely as yours. She will uphold our standards and expectations. You will comply with me and do everything I ask, Sebastian, or I will drag you kicking and screaming into a world of pain. This,” he said, gesturing to Irene, “is nothing. This is mere play. Sooner or later, I will get tired of her and then…” he pointed to the trembling woman with his fingers and simulated pulling the trigger. “Bang.”
Sebastian glared back at him. It was killing him, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say. Not without running the risk of getting them both killed. Marx was studying him, his soulless eyes searching for the slightest hint of emotion or betrayal, waiting for him to screw up or lash out in any way. Gritting his teeth, he spread his hands in a show of acceptance. There was nothing else he could do. He refused to die locked away in that room. Someday though, Marx would pay. Not just for threatening his family, but for his open acts of treason and betrayal. He’d given his life to this man, handed his conscience and soul over on a silver platter, only to have the cold knife of betrayal twisted and stabbed into his back again and again.
Hell itself was too kind a fate.
“I suggest you keep your family and your men in line, Sebastian. The nightmare the two of you endured at Laychee’s hands is nothing compared to the suffering that awaits her if you or your team disappoints me again. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” he bit back.
“Good. Get your team together and grab your gear. We’re heading out.”
~*~*~*~
Taylor lingered at the doors leading out onto the back deck. Sebastian sat partially reclined in one of the lounge chairs with a heavy tumbler of scotch cradled in his hands. He’d barely said two words over the course of dinner and, even now, in a moment of relative privacy, his stoic expression lent little insight into his thoughts. Resting her head against the cool glass, she searched for a way to relieve the tension and silence brewing between them. He’d seemed so troubled the moment he walked through the door.
Now he was just distant and, as he watched the brushstrokes of the setting sun paint the sky, he looked sad. Frowning, she noted the slight tremble in his hand as he lifted the glass and tilted it against his lips. His eyes clamped shut for a moment and her heart ached as she watched him fight to hold whatever he was feeling at bay.
She battled with herself. Shutting down was Sebastian’s way of defending himself and, in ways, protecting her, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept or endure. His pain was hers. There was no way she could stand there and watch the man she loved tear himself apart.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the screen door open. Sebastian tensed before turning sl
ightly in his seat. His eyes locked with hers. Uncertainty played in those pale shamrock depths before giving way to silent questions and shame. The strong lines of his shoulders lowered and, without a word, he let his gaze drift back across the yard. Taking that as a cue to keep her distance, she watched the amber sunset play across his face. The deep golden light only added to his beauty. It accented the slight dents in his cheeks that framed his mouth and lit the unruly tumbles of his hair ablaze with rich highlights of auburn and honey. The strong lines of his jaw tensed, forcing his mouth into a condemning purse.
She felt a small smile lift to hers in response. It made him look haughty and almost regal. He wore the look often without even meaning to.
Her amusement faded when his expression tightened and his body seemed to curl in on itself with a small tremble. Hurrying to his side, she caught the glass just as it started to slip out of his hands. He shook his head and tried to ward her away with one hand as he pressed the fingers of the other tightly against his eyes. His shoulders jerked with a silent sob and her throat closed in on itself.
Dropping onto the lounger beside him, she hesitantly ran her hand down his back in a bid to bring him comfort.
“Don’t,” he warned, his voice hoarse. “I don’t want you…” he trailed off and drew a juddering breath, “I don’t want you to see me like this. Just go back inside, Taylor. Please.”
“I can’t. I’m not leaving you like this, Sebastian. You’re hurting. I’m not asking you to tell me what happened,” she said. Running her hand over his back, she pressed her lips against the side of his shoulder. “Just let me be here for you.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Don’t shut me out,” she whispered against him. “We’re all each other has, Sebby. Please.”
Twisting away, he plowed a furious hand through his hair. His body jerked again. It was hard to say if it was a crazed laugh or another sob he tried to bury. “You’re not listening to me. You don’t get it, Taylor. I don’t need you to coddle me. I don’t need your comfort, and I sure as hell don’t deserve it. Do yourself a favor and get away from me.”
