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In their minds, they were God.
Unfortunately for Sire, he was only a man. Men could be killed, God complex or not, and Connor’s qualms couldn’t give a fuck anymore about the right and wrong of taking a life. Megalomaniac assholes like Sire deserved to die.
Connor threw the truck into reverse and backed up until he could turn around. Time ticked past too fast, and he felt the weight of the seconds sliding away as he headed back to the Creek. An hour wasted getting here and another one to get home, but something told himthiswas the right choice.
The bar was the center point.
And the road home would lead him to Jenna.
*
“What I just don’t understand—”
Snap!
“—is why you would ruin something that worked—”
Snap!
“—so well. You ruinedeverything, Twenty-Two. You would have been a goddamn—”
Snap!
“—masterpiece! My finest and most acclaimed number I’ve ever achieved after years of dedicated training, and you spoil it all, you ungrateful bitch!”
Snap! Snap! Snap!
Jenna’s eyelids fluttered as the whip licked lines of fire down her front. Her blood was the only semblance of warmth she had left as it trickled over mottled skin. Her hands no longer existed in her mind—they were long gone. She couldn’t see or feel them, her fingers wouldn’t obey commands to move.
“Do you understand how angry I am with you? Do you?” Sire roared.
The single-tail cut gashes in her thighs, a nasty slash for each one, but she hardly felt anything after the sting of connection and quick flare of the burn. Her mind was as slow as the blood seeping from the wounds.
This was just his warm-up act. She’d been here before, although not under quite so tenuous circumstances, and he liked to warm his muscles up with this before he broke out what she silently called the snake-tongue.
One whip, two tails, double the pain.
She almost laughed. It bubbled up inside her hysterically, her voice desperate to be heard. Sire could beat her around the world, use any implement from his collection, and she wouldn’t feel a thing. Too far gone, sliding down the path of no return.
A hand gripped her jaw, yanked her head up and back until the tendons in her neck shrieked for mercy. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, Twenty-Two. I want you to look in my eyes and show me how sorry you are.”
Show him remorse? Repent for things she hadn’t done?
The man was as insane as he was vicious, but then, she already knew that. Had understoodwhathe was even if she didn’t have a cluewhohe was. All she’d ever seen was the monster, whether he wore his mask of charm or not. That’s all he was to her.
“If you want her to live past the next hour, she needs cutting down and warming up.” The faceless voice spoke up quietly from the corner. “Otherwise you’ll just have a cold corpse to fuck.”
Sire sneered and released her jaw, letting her head snap down without support. “Now where would be the fun in that?” he murmured icily. “I want to feel the bitch kick with my cock in her, my hands around her throat.” One slim, manicured hand locked around her throat, tightened. “The dead ones don’t cry.”
Neither did live ones, Jenna thought. Not when they’d given up.
“Dead ones don’t talk either. Unlike a certain little bird.” The anonymous voice grew hostile. “Seeing as I’m not staying for the final festivities, maybe you’ll let me cut her tongue out before I leave. My contribution to the cause after all the shit she’s dropped us in.”
Fear stirred in her belly, rose up her throat. She made her eyes open in time to watch consideration seep into Sire’s features. If he said the word, she’d probably choke to death on a sea of her own blood.
“No,” he said slowly. “No, I don’t believe that suits my plans for her. She changed the rules, she can sing as much as she likes. The more she sings,” he added deviously, “the more it’s going to hurt. Let’s see if she can hold her tongue then.”
The other man scoffed. “Getting soft, old man.”
