9. Enough

NINE

ENOUGH

CROSS

I know what Genevieve thinks. That I’m a nice guy. Sensitive . Good. Even though she knows I’m high-up in the Sinners Syndicate, part of her is convinced that I only got into because of my lifelong relationship with Rolls and my skill with my tattoo gun.

That’s on me. When I saw that innocence in her pretty blue eyes, I had this irresistible urge to keep it there as long as possible. If that meant hiding the darkness that’s taken root inside of me long before the fire… I did it. For as long as she believed I was worthy of being near her—knowing we could never last—I needed her to see that good in me.

But I don’t have the luxury of doing that anymore. I gave her my word that I’d protect her for as long as we’re trapped behind that glass door. My butterfly is beautiful. That’s not my attraction to her talking, either. Anyone with eyes can see how gorgeous she is. Our jailers haven’t hidden how they gawked at Genevieve, and I’m absolutely positive the cameras are aimed on her, especially when she’s discreetly trying to use the open toilet.

So, yeah, I was expecting this. One of these pricks thinking they can take advantage of her? Sorry, sick men will always prey on those they consider weaker than them; I know that one all too well. It was inevitable that someone would try, even with me here.

And I’m ready for it.

Because I’m not a good guy. Not anymore. For her, I want to be, but I’ve been a Sinner under the Devil of Springfield for close to a decade now, and that was after all the trauma I kept tucked behind an impassive mask. I know exactly what I’m going to do.

I might not have a gun, but that doesn’t mean I’m defenseless. I’ll only have one shot at this, too, and I swear I’ll make it count as I drop down in front of Mickey.

After the fire, I blamed myself. If I’d just dealt with Chad myself, if I’d waited until I was grown and strong enough to fight back without threatening to tell my mom the truth… maybe she’d still be here. Ana Lucia, too, and Rafe. Every time that he slipped into my room and told me I had no choice… I fantasized about my revenge.

I never got the chance to get any back when I was twelve and overpowered by my stepfather. Now?

As I thumb the corner of my mouth, then part my lips as though ready to suck down a beer instead of Mickey’s cock, the dark side of me admits that I can’t fucking wait .

The familiar tang of salt and unwashed skin nearly makes me hurl as he doesn’t even give me a chance to prepare for it. As though trying to prove how much I’m at his mercy, he shoves the head of his cock past my lips and into my mouth.

I’d planned on waiting until he’d fit as much of himself inside as he could before I reacted. Maximizing the damage was the plan since I don’t expect to survive what happens next, but I underestimated how much I would trigger my past when the tip touches my tongue and my teeth clamp down.

As a kid, I did the research once. With the right amount of force, a human could section and sever an erection with their teeth by clamping down with their jaw. I’d thought about doing it a dozen times, but was too afraid of the repercussions if I did.

Carlos was afraid.

Cross isn’t afraid of anything.

I bite as hard as I can, and when my mouth fills with blood and something the same texture and size as a bite of a fucking hot dog, it’s obvious that I took off the tip of his cock.

Not as much as I wanted, but by the howl that tears out of Mickey’s throat, it’s more than enough.

He jumps back, the bloody stump of his cock pulling free from my teeth. I spit out the tip from my mouth just in time for him to kick me dead in the face.

My head explodes, and over the roar of pain that echoes around my shattered skull, I hear Genevieve scream.

My cheek is probably fractured. It’s better than being shot, though that’s probably because Mickey’s initial reaction to having part of his cock bit off was to kick me away from him instead of using the gun in his hand.

But he’ll remember that he has one eventually, and when he does, I’m dead.

That’s okay. I think part of me knew I was the second I bit down.

He’s still howling. “Get on your knees. Get on your fucking knees!”

A boot to my side has me flopping to my belly as my arms give out. I don’t even have a second to respond to his demands before Mickey lunges at me, gripping me by my hair. He yanks it so hard, I have no choice to follow his pull unless I want to be scalped. I rear back, my ass against my boots. Another tug and I’m back on my knees again, forced to look up at him.

There’s murder in his eyes, and a promise of retribution in every line of his narrow face. Shock, too, and agony as he shoves the gun at my face.

Good.

The mouth of the gun bites into my forehead. “You’re dead. You hear me? Dead .”

Yeah. I figured.

But it was worth it.

I grin, letting the blood dribble free from the corners of my lips. It trickles down my chin, sticky and warm and wet, and I dare him to shoot me.

Try raping her mouth now, asshole.

It wouldn’t have stopped there. I know men like him. If he forced Genevieve to give him oral tonight—especially with me in the same cell—what would have happened the next time he wanted to get off? Would he have decided she needed to spread her legs for him instead. At least he won’t be able to do that with the top of his cock on the floor.

As I prepare for the bullet between my eyes, I feel at peace with my violence. Knowing that I’ve stopped one asshole from hurting Genevieve is enough, even if it costs me my life.

I have faith in Damien Libellula’s reputation. He’ll find her. He’ll save her.

At least one of us will.

Mickey bares his teeth at me. His finger moves a fraction?—

“ That’s enough .”

—but he never pulls the trigger.

The second that rich, almost taunting male voice booms into our cell, Mickey bellows out a wounded cry, then removes his finger from the trigger, the cool mouth of the unfired gun from my skin.

He doesn’t shoot me, but he flips the gun quickly, pistol-whipping me in the same cheek that’s already busted. Maybe it’s not fractured, but with the renewed explosion of agony nearly blinding me, it’s hard to tell.

But fuck if I don’t stay on my knees this time. If only to work my jaw, then spit out so fresh blood at Mickey, taunting the bastard the way he deserves… I stay on my knees as he pants, chest heaving, bloody cock a beautiful mess of red.

“You, asshole ? —”

“I said, that’s enough, Kelly.” The voice is firmer this time, his words cutting off Mickey’s fury. “You listen to me. I gave you permission to fuck Haven’s mouth so long as you didn’t touch her cunt. Same thing with li’l miss Dragonfly here. But you don’t kill unless it’s on my orders. Do you understand?”

“My cock—” he gasps, wide, staring, tear-filled eyes focusing on the camera in the right corner.

“Yes. I saw what the Sinner did. You put him on his knees, you fool. With his history, did you really think he wouldn’t retaliate?”

Ice slithers down my spine. His history …

Fuck. They don’t just know my name. They don’t just know my affiliation.

My history. The big shot talking over the loudspeaker knows about my stepfather.

How? No one does. Anyone who gave a shit that Chad Rogers was a pedophilic, murdering piece of shit is long dead. The courts didn’t care, giving him the minimum sentence they could for the arson. The fact that three people I fucking loved died paled in comparison to the amount of damage to the neighboring houses. Justice is a joke in Springfield. Is it any wonder I became a criminal after all? I saw what playing by the rules got me.

My stepfather’s hands all over me.

A dead family when I finally fought back.

Enough baggage to stock a department store.

But that’s my cross to bear. Fuck fuck’s sake, it’s the reason I shucked the name ‘Carlos’ in the first place, mockingly rechristening myself as ‘Cross’ instead. My mother and bio father was a born Catholic, like Devil, but after he took off, she stopped believing in God.

Then she met and married Chad, and not even God could save me then.

No one knows. I made sure of it. I mean, when I went into foster care, changing schools three times in two years before I ended up at Springfield West, there were rumors that followed behind me. Rumors that maybe I set the fire, or that I was the one my stepfather was really trying to feed to the flames. It didn’t take long for some punk kids to think I was fucking him, and while that was the one thing Chad didn’t do—at least, he didn’t fuck my ass, preferring to see me on my knees in front of him just like Mickey did—it didn’t matter. Kids suck, and I spent my early teen years dealing with that shit, too.

As an adult? I’ve put it behind me as best I could. It’s been almost twenty years. No one should know about my history with that pedo—but this guy does.

How ?

I don’t know who that is. No way he’s going to tell me, and I guess I should be grateful enough that Mickey’s boss seems to have some hard lines he won’t cross. The hired goon can fuck Genevieve’s mouth, but not her pussy, and even after I mutilated him with my teeth, he’s not allowed to kill me. Kick me, slap me with the gun, sure, but shoot me? Not yet, at least.

I have no illusions that that means he’s a good guy. A decent man. He’s caged us, and allowed his hired help to SA a girl enough that she went mute . That’s what Mickey said. She stopped talking, and now she’s gone, and all that’s left right now are my butterfly and me.

He won’t let his men rape her now . I’m not dead yet.

That could very easily change.

I won’t forget that, just like I won’t forget that my initial suspicions have been proven correct. Those cameras work, and that means there’s no way of knowing when the faceless boss is watching us—or what he’s learned so far.

“Besides, now you’ll know better. There’s a reason why you’re the one to interact without our guests, Kelly. Back an animal against the wall. Lock him in a cage. Give him a bitch to protect… you’re bound to see him go feral and use his teeth.”

“But my cock ? — ”

Through the loudspeaker, you can hear the impatience in the man’s sigh. “Do shut up about it. I’ve already sent Baker down with a cup of ice. Grab whatever piece of it’s missing off the floor, and stick it in the ice. There’s a car idling out back. My personal surgeon will fix you up.” He pauses a moment. “Can’t guarantee that you’ll get all the feeling in the tip back, but at least it’s something. Now put that stump away. You don’t want it flapping about when you move through the facility, do you?”

He shakes his head, cheeks hollowing as he clenches his teeth, biting back his pain.

My face is on fire, but I’m just as stubborn. I won’t let him see that I’m hurt, either. I’ll survive it. I’d kill for some of that ice the other man mentioned, but I can make do without it.

Mickey? Good luck with that reattachment surgery, motherfucker.

He’s obviously thinking along the same lines as me. Still holding his bloody cock, trying to tuck it beneath his ruined boxers, Mickey starts searching the floor for the piece of dick I spat out.

I see it. It looks as much as a piece of hot dog as I thought it felt like in my mouth, and I have half a mind to fling it beneath our cot to make it even more trouble to find. Too bad that he scoops it up, giving me one last murderous look as the ten minutes finally go off, the door sliding open behind him right as Noah comes clomping down the stairs, wearing a befuddled expression and holding a red Solo cup full of ice.

“Mick?”

“No one word, Noah,” he grits out, limping out of the cage before dropping the trip of his cock into the cup. “Not one fucking word.”

Noah clamps his mouth shut. And once the two men are gone, disappearing down the hall, I realize he’s not the only who’s gone quiet.

The man in charge of our imprisonment is silent—and so is Genevieve.