15. Victoria

I slideinto the passenger seat of Cian’s beat-up Jeep, still buzzing from the adrenaline rush. The fight has left me on edge, but in a good way—as if I’ve purged some lingering ghosts with every punch thrown. I cast a sidelong glance at Cian. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his split knuckles are white and oozing blood.

The ride back is silent but charged. Every few seconds, I can feel Cian’s gaze burning holes into my profile, but when I turn to confront it, he looks away.

When we finally pull up to my townhouse, my body screams for rest despite my mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. He doesn’t say fuck all as I climb out of the car, but neither do I.

I leave him in the Jeep that seems to scream as much rebellion as its owner and head inside. He waits until I close the door, and then I hear him peal out of the driveway with a screech of tyres. The blood on me is starting to dry and crack; I probably look like some wild banshee caught mid-carnage. But right now, I don’t give a fuck.

Once inside my sanctuary, it hits me how alone I am in this madness. But it’s by choice. I could have company tonight. Cian and I could be fucking right now if I’d given in, but there’s something clawing at my mind, and I can’t seem to let it go. I’m riding the wave of power, and now is the time to send the shower video to Luke. Dropping Bonnie on the side table, I head upstairs. She’ll need a good scrub tomorrow to get all the blood stains off. Halfway up, I pause to take off my shoes and then carry on as I bring up the video, I let it hang there on my bed for a minute while I strip off and climb in the shower, washing off the blood, sweat and the feel of stranger’s hands on my skin, imprinted there like marks of shame.

The bile rises in my throat, and I fling the shower door open, stepping out just in time to purge the content of my stomach into the toilet, memories of unwanted touches flooding my mind.

Fuck, I hate this part.

When the retching subsides, I lean back against the cool tiles, my pulse starting to slow. It’s a routine now—the fight, the rush, and then the crash. I’ve got to keep moving, or the darkness will swallow me.

Clean enough, I shut off the shower and swill my mouth out with water before I dry off, the towel soft against my skin. In the mirror, I’m a ghost of the hellraiser from an hour ago. Naked and vulnerable, yet there’s a fire in my eyes that feels insatiable. I need something more—more control, more chaos, more... Luke.

Moving into the bedroom, with damp fingers, I pick up the phone and type:

Watch on silent when you’re with him, but don’t let him see.

I press send on the message. My heart pounds against my ribs like a caged animal; each beat is permission—consent for Luke to enter this part of my life.

I don’t get into bed. Instead, I sit cross-legged on top of it, naked and waiting for his response. The read notification comes up, and the three dots as he replies.

Okay.

One word that means nothing and everything at the same time. He isn’t with Cian right now, that much I can tell, but when will he be? Will he even wait?

It’s a fucking game, all of it. The power, the control—Luke knows it, I know it, and Cian’s caught in the crossfire of our silent war.

The silence in my room stretches out. Ignoring the chill creeping over my skin, I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Waiting for something more, waiting for an indication from Luke that he understands the storm he’s stepping into. But nothing comes.

The clock ticks. Time is a heartbeat, thudding its way toward midnight.

I’m tired—fuck, I’m exhausted—but sleep is a no-go when every cell in your body hums with anticipation. There’s a burning need to step back into the fight, to feel alive and powerful—even if it’s dark and twisted.

Cian has always been intoxicating, but Luke... Luke is different. He’s like the shadow you can’t shake, a constant presence that leaves you wanting even though you know it’s damned dangerous.

I finally break the stillness by standing up and moving around the room. I grab an oversized t-shirt from my drawer and slip it over my head. The soft cotton does little to warm me.

Forcing myself away from thoughts of Luke and Cian, I crawl into bed and close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. I need to torment Luke more. I need him to see what he can’t have but craves more than anything. It’s messed up but I can’t stop reaching for the phone and flinging the covers back. I prop it up and press record as I open my legs and rub my clit.

This is power—the ability to evoke desire from a distance, to control it, harness it, and use it as a weapon. My fingers move in rhythmic circles, and I bite back a moan, knowing full well the effect this will have on Luke.

I’m not gentle. There’s no time for that. It’s about need—raw and desperate. I work myself faster and harder, feeling the build-up of something monumental. The t-shirt rides up, exposing the curve of my hips, the smooth skin that Luke has only ever seen from afar.

The orgasm hits me like a lightning strike, leaving me shaking and breathless. With a final shudder, I stop recording and drop the phone on the bed beside me, glaring into the darkness as my demons come out to play.