Todos os capítulos de MY TABOO STEP DADDY : Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

(DAKOR’S POV)I watch as the light leaves Declan’s eyes. The horror in his gaze. The regret. The shame. He wants to rip my head off. To hurt me more than he did Mad-Bishop. He’d tear my heart from my chest, slowly, painfully, making sure I feel every inch. Too late now. I have him where I want him. We’ve been driving for twenty minutes. Far enough from the pharmacy that the sirens have faded to memory, close enough to the woods that we can finish this. Mad-Bishop’s barely conscious, but his lips keep moving. Same names over and over: ‘Camilla.’ ‘Aurora.’ ‘Amanda.’ Then a different one. Softer. ‘Bunny. I love—’ The words die in blood and spit. Interesting. Mad-Bishop has a weakness. Someone he loves more than his own survival. Fucking family is a line I’d never cross. But I tortured old me and talk to ghosts, so who am I to judge? At least Mad-Bishop’s honest about his depravity. ‘Dak,’ Valek snarks in my head. His voice is me, my second, who’s still with me in the afterlife. Va

(YOSEF’S POV)I stay rooted to my spot as her fingers search me. My Glock hits the ground first, and my dagger follows. She moves with military precision, her steps hurried and sharp. I almost forgot she was here. How could I? Her hands slide over my crotch. A pained moan escapes me. I grin without meeting her face. “Too bad. I don’t do women.” “Shut up!” she snaps. The pistol twirls in her grip, hitting a place in my neck that makes me see white. “If you were the last man on earth, then I’ll die single.” I grunt, pain licking at my skin. I reach to rub the spot she assaulted me, but the click of the trigger freezes me dead. “I won’t repeat myself.” Her voice is hoarse from lack of talking. I know these things. I’ve been there before. “Move it, Demon.” I hiss, the sensation in my neck intensifying. It’s like something has ruptured inside me, bleeding, barely coated by my skin. I feel blood in my lungs. My eyes swim. I gnash my teeth, holding on to reality. The moment she gets

(CARLTON’S POV)MOSCOW. 1: 30am. He’s not dead. He can’t be. Tristan is a hard motherfucker. But the evidence is there. The news. The unsettling pang clawing at my gut. I stopped Lydia from jumping off the balcony. If she dies, who will bury me when I die of grief? Twenty-four hours since we arrived in Moscow, and my tears haven’t stopped. I can’t feel my face anymore. Can’t feel my heart. I’m a walking dead, but it’s worthless without him. Two months ago, I asked Tristan about Camilla. About the woman whose murder started all this. He didn’t answer with words. He fucked me raw and desperate, like he was trying to bury the question inside me, then vanished before dawn. But it didn’t hurt, until yesterday when I saw him driven in a gurney on live television. He didn’t even say goodbye. Have I accepted goodbye? That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To confirm if that body was his? Yosef must have been notified that we’re gone, but it doesn’t matter, does it? Ever since the death of

(CARLTON’S POV)The buzz hit me first, then the light. Consciousness returns to me like a slap. My heart hammers before I even open my eyes. The cold, rough concrete digs into my feet. The air smells like rust and burnt dust. Brick walls rise into darkness, a single flickering bulb casting shadows across corroded pipes and thick spiderwebs in the corners. Every drip, every scrape echoes, damp, dead, and waiting. Where am I?!A sharp pain nicks my wrists as I buck. Shit. I’m naked, hands cuffed backward to a pole, sweat flooding my body. A grunt beside me. I turn my head, pain shooting through my stiff neck, and freeze. Damon is gagged, naked, tied to a pole three feet away. His eyes meet mine, wide with the terror that mirrors my own. We came to Moscow to find Tristan. Now we’re both fucked.Another figure shifts in the shadows to Damon’s left. My stomach drops. Yosef is tied up like us, naked and cuffed, but his expression is… wrong. Not terrified. Not confused. Like he’s n

THE PYRAMID BROTHERHOOD, FIJIDALE. (THIRD PERSON POV—LYDIA’S HEAD)“More food!” The soldier’s plate strikes the counter with a sharp crack. “You’re slowing down, Godmother.” Lydia’s fingers tighten around the serving spoon. The urge to crack it across his skull is almost unbearable. But she’d felt this rage every day for three days now. Ever since Tristan was declared dead. Since Yosef disappeared. Since Amanda was taken, Carlton ran off to Moscow with that fool Damon. Every day, the Brotherhood crumbles a little more. And every day, she holds it together with nothing but willpower and vodka. The other maids work alongside Lydia: dishing broth, washing plates, drying cutlery. The kitchen buzzes with hurried efficiency that barely masks their fear.The pot holds barely enough for twenty men: Watery broth with few pieces of scraggly chicken floating in it. No rice, no bread, nothing to fill their bellies after a twelve-hour shift. “The fuck!” the soldier snarls. The meager portion