His laugh rumbled through his chest. “We’ll discuss it.”
“After medical attention,” James ordered.
“And food,” Ryan added. “Near-death experiences make me hungry.”
As we drove away, leaving the chaos for others to clean up, I watched Matt—battered but unbroken, still somehow elegant despite the blood and torn clothes. Still mine.
“Stop staring,” he murmured, pulling me closer.
“Make me.”
His kiss tasted like blood and promise, fierce enough to make James clear his throat pointedly from the driver’s seat.
Forty-Two
MATT
The drugs took hours to fully clear Matt’s system. He spent that time studying his prison, cataloging every detail while pretending to still be affected. The concrete walls were damp with underground moisture, tapestries depicting medieval scenes doing little to hide their industrial brutality. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead, its harsh glare creating strange shadows in the corners.
The manacles bit into his wrists as he tested them for the hundredth time. Professional grade, but Porter’s theatrical touches had led to a critical weakness—the mounting points were drilled directly into concrete rather than using proper anchors. Matt’s lips curved slightly. His father’s voice echoed in his memory:“Always check the foundations, son. The strongest building is only as good as what it’s anchored to.”
By dawn, his head had finally cleared enough to work the chains methodically against the concrete. The ventilation system’s steady hum masked his movements. Each scrape of metal against stone was calculated, precise. His wrists were bleeding, but the bolt housing was beginning to crack.
He heard the morning guard change above—heavy boots on metal stairs, voices muffled by distance. Four-hour shifts, threemen per rotation. Twelve guards total. Porter’s obsession with symbolism would be his downfall.
The sound of the door’s heavy lock engaging made Matt go still. Footsteps approached—lighter than the guards’, almost reverent. Porter.
Matt kept his expression neutral as his captor stepped into the harsh fluorescent light. Porter’s face was flushed with excitement, his pupils dilated. The sight made Matt’s stomach turn.
“Did you miss me, my king?” Porter’s voice was breathy, intimate. He approached slowly, like a worshipper approaching an altar. “I brought you breakfast. You need to keep up your strength.”
Matt said nothing, watching Porter set down a tray with careful precision. Everything about Porter’s movements was deliberate, choreographed, as if he’d rehearsed this moment countless times in his mind.
“Still so proud,” Porter murmured, stepping closer. His fingers trembled as he reached for Matt’s face. “So magnificent, even in chains.”
Porter’s touch was fever-hot against Matt’s jaw, his fingers tracing patterns on Matt’s skin like he was mapping territory. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” he whispered. “Having you here. All mine.”
Matt jerked his face away, but Porter’s grip tightened painfully. “Don’t,” Porter breathed. “Don’t deny me. Not now. Not when we’re so close.”
His other hand slid down Matt’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt with desperate intensity. “Do you know how many nights I’ve watched you?” Porter’s voice took on a dreamy quality. “At the Maxwell, at board meetings, at every charity gala. The way you command a room. The way lesser men bow before you.”
Matt’s muscles coiled with revulsion as Porter pressed against him, mouth hot and demanding against his neck. The chains rattled as Matt pulled back, but Porter followed, hands roaming possessively over exposed skin.
“Your dragon,” Porter gasped, fingers tracing the tattoo with religious fervor. “I used to imagine touching it. Tasting it.” His tongue followed the pattern, making Matt’s stomach heave. “It’s even more beautiful up close. Like you. My king. My everything.”
Porter’s hands slid lower, and Matt had to fight back the urge to snap the man’s neck right there.Not yet. Wait for the right moment.
“That night at the Maxwell,” Porter continued, his voice taking on a manic edge. “When you looked at me at the bar. When you took me upstairs…” His fingers dug into Matt’s hips. “It was perfect. Our beginning. Until that worthless little—” He caught himself, inhaling sharply. When he spoke again, his voice was honey-sweet. “But it doesn’t matter now. We have all the time in the world.”
Porter’s mouth crashed against Matt’s, desperate and demanding. His hands tangled in Matt’s hair, pulling painfully as he tried to deepen the kiss. Matt kept his lips sealed, his body rigid, which only seemed to excite Porter more.
“Still fighting,” Porter panted against Matt’s mouth. “Still so magnificently defiant.” His hands slid down Matt’s chest again, fingernails leaving red trails on skin. “But you’ll understand soon. I’ll make you see how perfect we could be together.”
Matt waited until Porter was pressed fully against him, lost in his delusional fantasy. The chain had weakened enough. It was time.
Porter leaned in for another forceful kiss—and Matt’s head snapped forward with brutal precision. The crack of Porter’s nose breaking was deeply satisfying. As Porter staggered back,Matt yanked hard at the chains. The concrete crumbled, and the bolt tore free with a sound like thunder.
The look of worship in Porter’s eyes turned to shock, then to something darker as blood streamed down his face. “You?—”
