3

3

KADE

Blinking under the bright light, I rub my eyes and try to sit up, failing when dizziness knocks me onto my back. I’m not in a sleeping bag or in a tent or in my goddamn dream, I’m in a hotel room, the bed far too soft, with red hair dangling over my face. It isn’t dark and smelling of vanilla. It’s like straw and smells of cigarettes.

The butterflies aren’t there either. The only sign of humanity I have left, that I only feel when I think of her.

Fuck.

I rub my eyes again, needing to fall back into one of the many memories I escape to when I’m in these situations.

Bernadette leans over me, grinning widely. “Oh, good. I thought you passed out on us. Did we dose you too many times?”

There’s a voice to my left, close – really close – but I don’t try to turn my head to see who it is. Bernadette speaks to them while she leans over me, stroking my cheek like I’m her little petting lamb. Her nails scrape against my stubble, and when I attempt to sit up, she shoves me in the chest and presses her palm down.

I’m far too weak to fight her. My veins are burning with whatever they injected me with.

I’m in and out of consciousness from the drug, but that doesn’t stop them – something jabs at my arm, and a rush of heat spirals down my spine, gathering in my balls. She keeps stabbing me with shit that makes me hard, and no matter what I do, I can’t stop it. Being forced to have a hard-on for weeks is starting to hurt. I want to cut my dick off.

We came back to Scotland a few days ago, staying in a hotel up in Inverness while she signed some deal with new clients. She sold me to a married couple for two days then had to clean the mess up because I killed them both. I don’t remember skinning them alive, but apparently I did the wife first while the husband watched. Neither of them got near me.

I’m nearing my limit, even with all the consequences looming over my head. I’m the son of Tobias Mitchell, for fuck’s sake. I’m not a fucking toy – but in order to protect those I love, I need to pretend to be one. A pet. A killer. A warm body that she sells off, even though she has more money than fucking sense.

Barry better be keeping Stacey safe. I’ve done everything possible to distract Bernie while she hunts for both Stacey and my team. I’m surprised she’s still not dug into her little system and found my ex – it’s like she doesn’t exist at all. It’s… concerning. Someone is messing with her existence. It could be the reason Barry and I were never able to hack her home security or her phone – all I ever got was her previous address and the death certificates of her parents.

If she hadn’t told me about her stepbrother Kyle, I wouldn’t have known he existed. We live just far enough apart that our paths probably wouldn’t cross.

Bernadette did catch the tail of some of my guys in Australia – they were dissecting a terrorist group planning on attacking a high school, but I sidetracked her by causing an issue in Inverness.

I’ve been lying in this bed since yesterday morning. Somewhere near Glasgow. My body is starting to go numb. No food or water – she has fluids going into me through a vein yet still insists on jabbing me with needles.

Bernadette tells her bodyguards to get out and find Archie, and after she locks the door behind them, she pulls off her nightdress and smiles at me. “I know I said I’d give you two weeks off, but you’re coming to a party with me and Cassie next weekend. Then you’re going to take my daughter to the hotel room there, and you’re going to be at least a little more compliant than you are now. She needs to think you want to be there with her.”

I stare at the monster, and I guess my expression speaks volumes, since I’m too fucked to string words together.

“My daughter can be sensitive to our world. She’ll get used to it, but I need you to be by her side throughout. Archie is still insisting on marriage.”

My empty stomach curdles, and I grit my teeth as she pulls her hair into a ponytail then twists it into a bun.

“Your father is in solitary confinement, and he will stay there until I find who was working for you. Is his life no longer enough? Will I pay your sister a visit next?”

“No,” I grit, my voice strained.

“Will you behave and marry my daughter then?”

I try to glare, but whatever drug is pumping through me has me dizzy. It seems she doesn’t care for a response as she straddles me.

I close my eyes and sink the back of my skull into the pillow, revulsion and murder crashing into me. I think about dark hair, a soft voice, the way she feels under my fingers and ignore my body betraying me. It makes me sick. No matter how much I fight it, the drugs she’s given me win over my denial. I’m not attracted to Bernadette. I hate her more than anyone I know.

Death would be better. But me dying risks everyone else.

If I’m dead, how the fuck will I keep her off Stacey’s tail?

Barry could protect her – I trust him the most out of everyone – but he’s due to have a kid. Will he leave Stacey alone when his wife gives birth? Who will keep Stacey safe?

Fuck, my heart is racing again – the beginnings of a panic attack. I try to breathe through it, think about something calming.

Stacey is safe. She’s fine.

I haven’t laid eyes on her in so long and it’s killing me inside. Before, I could sneak away and log into my laptop, watch her on the cameras while she danced, or in the manor with my sister, or I’d park my car near the studio and wait for her to leave so I could see her face.

I can still taste her on the tip of my tongue. Just one fucking second of her, one drive to the studio for one goddamn look, that’s all I need – it’s fucking torture. Maybe worse than my current position.

Bernadette grabs my throat and squeezes. “Eyes on me, boy. Think about me.”

I don’t look at her, even as she crushes my airways. I look right through her – dissociating like I always do.

I’m too weak to snap her neck. Too fucking useless as I keep my eyes unfocused and imagine I’m somewhere else. A tent. My bed. On my motorbike with Stacey’s squeals of excitement in my ear while I speed through traffic. The look on her face when I showed her the tattoo I made for us both. The first time she told me she loved me.

My fingers mentally trace over imaginary paper as I stare at the last ever drawing I made of her – unfinished. Gathering dust in my apartment, locked away in my safe where all my drawings are. I once drew what I assumed our daughter would look like – my most prized possession.

I fist the sheets at my sides when Bernadette leans down to kiss my throat, breaking my focus. I’m not sure where the energy comes from, or how I manage, but I drive my forehead into her face. Her screams are the last thing I hear before she gets off my dick and stabs me with another needle, and I welcome it now, because I can go back to where I want to be in my mind.