7

The blade hovered between us, gleaming under the low light.

My fingers twitched.

The man hung from the ceiling like something already dead. Chains dug into his wrists, his skin torn and swollen, blood trailing down his chest in slow, sticky lines. His head lolled forward, chin slick with red. Every breath he took sounded borrowed.

The smell in the room was unbearable.

Lucian stood close behind me. Too close that I could feel his breath.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, lips almost brushing my ear. “Take it.”

My chest heaved. My heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my ribs.

I stared at the man.

And the image of a child came to mind. Childhood memories of how I was molested as a child flooded my mind.

The word rang in my head like a gunshot.

Something inside me snapped as I gritted my teeth.

I reached for the weapon.

Lucian’s hand closed around my wrist instantly, stopping me. He stepped in front of me, forcing my eyes to his. His expression was sharp, cold and predatory like he was trying to penetrate my soul.

“Are you sure you want to do it? If you take it,” he said quietly, “you finish it.”

My breath hitched.

“And if you don’t?” I asked hoarsely.

His mouth curved into something cold. “Then I kiss you.”

The words landed hard. I immediately furrowed my brows.

He tilted his head, studying my face like a scientist observing a reaction. “You don’t get to play brave and then walk away clean. This isn’t a story. Blood sticks.”

His eyes darkened. “Or what? You don’t have the guts?”

That did it.

Rage exploded through me—hot, blinding, violent. I hated the fact that everybody around me felt I had no audacity or boldness of any sort.

I yanked the blade from his hand.

Lucian’s brows lifted slightly. Amused.

I stepped toward the man.

He whimpered through the gag, eyes rolling wildly as he saw the weapon in my grip. His body shook, chains rattling faintly, like he knew this was the end.

Good.

I hated him.

I hated what he did. I hated what he took. I hated that the word child made my stomach churn and my skin crawl and my chest burn like something old and buried had been ripped open. How a fucking full grown man like this was making out with a child. What was the fun in that to begin with? I was so disgusted when I looked at him.

My hand tightened around the handle.

I raised the blade.

My arm trembled.

Images flooded my mind without permission—dark rooms, hands where they shouldn’t be, a voice telling me to stay quiet, that no one would believe me anyway.

“Plea…. Please… please don’t… don’t kill me” the hanging man muffled with blood spilling out from all sides of his mouth. He was clearly using his last energy.

My breath fractured. I tried my best to strike but…

I just couldn’t do it.

My arm locked in place.

The man’s eyes squeezed shut.

I waited for myself to move.

I didn’t.

The blade slipped from my fingers and clattered against the floor.

The sound echoed louder than a gunshot.

Behind me, Lucian cracked up sarcastically.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t wild.

It was soft, bitter and clearly mockery.

I turned slowly.

“Predictable,” he said, stepping past me. “All that fire, and still not made for this kind of blood.”

He picked up the weapon with ease, like it weighed nothing.

I backed away, heart pounding, unable to look away.

Lucian approached the man calmly. No hesitation. No anger. Just intent.

The blade flashed.

The man screamed—a muffled, broken sound—his body jerking violently as Lucian carved into him with practiced precision. Blood splattered across the floor, warm and alive. The chains shook violently, then slowly stilled.

Lucian finished it clean.

When he stepped back, the body hung limp and silent.

Dead.

I stood frozen, staring at the aftermath. My hands shook uncontrollably.

As I turned to leave, Lucian’s hand closed around my wrist.

“Not so fast,” he said.

I yanked against his grip. “Let go of me.”

He smiled. “You owe me.”

“For what?” I snapped.

“Have you forgotten our agreement?.”

Before I could react, he pulled me in and crushed his mouth against mine.

Before I knew it, his tongue found its way into my mouth his hand shifted from my wrist to my ass and he squeezed so tightly. He pushed me to the wall as he continued kissing me.

And for a terrifying second—

I didn’t stop it.

My body responded before my mind could catch up. My breath hitched. My fingers curled into his shirt. I could feel wetness in between my thighs and fuck I didn’t know when my hand slipped from his chest to rubbing his very big hard cock in his pants.

Then reality slammed back into me.

I shoved him hard.

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

Lucian only laughed, clearly entertained. “You’re interesting, Claire.”

I turned away, heart racing, disgust and confusion tangling in my chest.

As I reached the doorway, his voice followed me. “What brought you here anyway?”

I froze.

I saw it all again—running, fear, Damien’s body too close, the kick, the need to escape. That’s when I even remembered the main reason while I was here.

I didn’t answer.

I walked out.

I collided with Damien in the lounge.

The air between us went electric instantly.

His eyes dropped to my face, then my hands, then the faint smear of blood on my shirt. His jaw tightened.

Lucian stepped in behind me. “What the fuck is going on here?”

No one spoke.

The silence screamed.

I didn’t wait. I walked away.

Back in my room, my heart wouldn’t slow. My skin still burned where Lucian’s mouth had been. I hated that it lingered. Hated that it was the most aggressive kiss I’d ever had—and that some twisted part of me remembered it too clearly. The way I rubbed on his cock while he kissed me.

Fucking hell im losing my mind.

“Claire! Get a grip of yourself!” I shouted out loud and heaved a sigh of relief.

I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted and I dozed off.

Sometime later, I felt something.

It was a cold feeling that climbed from my wrist to my arm and then my neck.

I snapped awake.

A gun was pressed against my temple.

But I couldn’t see who was holding it.