None of them woke. Or if they did, they let me go.
I stumbled to the bathroom on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. Closed the door behind me, no lock, Ethan had said, and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. I needed to be clean. Needed to wash away the evidence of what they'd done. Needed to scrub myself raw until there was nothing left but clean, unmarked flesh. The water was scalding. I could feel it burning my skin as I stepped under the spray, but I didn't care. I wanted to burn. Wanted to feel something other than the four presences humming in the back of my mind.
I scrubbed myself viciously. My arms, my legs, my stomach. Between my thighs, where dried cum had crusted on my skin, where I was sore and swollen and aching from being used by four different men. I scrubbed until my skin was red, until it hurt, until tears were streaming down my face and mixing with the water.
No amount of scrubbing would remove the bonds. No amount of hot water would wash away the four consciousnesses that had taken up residence in my mind. No amount of soap would erase what they'd done.
I was marked. Claimed. Owned. There was nothing I could do about it. Eventually the water ran cold. I turned it off with shaking hands and stepped out onto the heated floor, wrapping myself in one of the soft, expensive towels they'd provided. Everything in this bathroom had been chosen for me. The towels. The soap. The shampoo that smelled like vanilla and honey.
They'd been planning this for so long. Every detail. Every comfort.
Every trap. I used a second towel to dry my hair, rubbing mechanically, trying not to think. Trying not to feel. But the bonds wouldn't let me retreat completely. I could still sense them, Mason stirring in the bedroom, Leo's consciousnessbrushing against mine with sleepy concern, Ethan's awareness sharpening as he registered that I was no longer in the bed.
They were waking up. They knew I was gone. I needed to see. Needed to understand the full extent of what they'd done to me. I turned to the mirror. The woman staring back at me was a stranger. Red hair tangled and damp. Green eyes hollow and haunted. Skin flushed pink from the scalding water, except for the bruises—finger-shaped marks on my hips visible above the towel line. Evidence of how thoroughly they'd used me.
That wasn't what made me stop breathing. I turned my head, exposing my neck. Four bite marks. Four savage, brutal bite marks arranged in an arc from my left shoulder to the back of my neck. They were angry and red, the skin around them swollen and inflamed. The puncture wounds had scabbed over but were still raw, still oozing slightly, the flesh torn and ragged where their teeth had sunk deep.
I looked like I'd been mauled by animals. I had been mauled by animals. My hand came up, trembling, and touched the first mark—Mason's mark. Pain lanced through me, but underneath it was something worse. Pleasure. Not my pleasure. His. He could feel me touching his claim, and it made him happy.
I could feel his happiness bleeding through the bond. Something inside me snapped.
"No," I whispered, my fingers pressing harder against the mark. "No, no, no?—"
I could feel them all now. Waking up. Sensing my distress through the bonds. Mason's concern. Ethan's sharp attention. Leo's confusion. Caleb's sudden, overwhelming urge to come to me. I didn't want their concern. Didn't want their attention. I didn't want them in my head, feeling everything I felt, knowing everything I thought.
I wanted them OUT.
My fingers curved into claws. I don't remember making the decision. One moment I was staring at the marks in the mirror, and the next I was digging my nails into my own flesh, trying to tear Mason's bite right out of my neck. The pain was immediate and blinding. Blood welled up under my fingers, hot and wet, streaming down my neck to stain the white towel. I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I clawed at the mark, sobbing, desperate to remove this thing that tied me to him, this invasion that I'd never agreed to.
"Get out," I screamed, my nails raking through my own skin. "Get OUT of my HEAD?—"
The bathroom door slammed open.
Caleb.
He was across the room before I could react, his massive hands closing around my wrists, yanking them away from my neck. I fought him, kicking, screaming, thrashing against his grip—but he was too strong. Had always been too strong.
"Let me go!" I shrieked, still trying to claw at myself even as he held my hands immobilized. "Let me go, I have to get them out, I have to?—"
"Stop," Caleb commanded, his voice rough as gravel, his ice-blue eyes boring into mine with fierce intensity. Through the bond, I felt his anguish at seeing me hurt, but no regret for what they'd done. Only certainty. Only the unshakeable conviction that this had been necessary. "Ava, stop. You're hurting yourself."
"Good!" I screamed back at him, thrashing against his iron grip. "I want to hurt myself! I want to tear these fucking marks off my body?—"
"You can't," he said flatly, pulling me against his chest, pinning my arms between us, using his whole body to restrain me. His voice was low and implacable, brooking no argument."The bonds aren't in the marks. They're in your soul. You could tear your throat out and they'd still be there."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I sagged against him, all the fight draining out of me, and started to sob.
"Why?" I wailed against his chest, my tears soaking into his bare skin. "Why did you do this to me? I didn't want this. I never wanted this."
He didn't answer. Just held me while I cried, one massive hand cradling the back of my head, his heartbeat steady against my cheek. Through the bond, I felt his certainty, absolute, unwavering conviction that this had been the right thing. That I would understand someday. That he'd done what needed to be done.
"I hate you," I whispered into his chest, my voice cracked and broken. "I hate all of you."
"I know," Caleb rumbled, his deep voice vibrating through me, his arms never loosening. "Hate us all you want. We're not letting you go." The others appeared in the doorway. Mason first, his golden hair disheveled from sleep, his face pale as he took in the blood streaming down my neck. Then Ethan, fully alert despite just waking, his green eyes sharp and assessing as he catalogued the damage. Then Leo, shirtless and barefoot, his usual playful smirk replaced by something hard and focused, his gray eyes locked on my bleeding throat.
"Jesus Christ," Leo breathed, one hand gripping the doorframe, his knuckles white. "Ava?—"
"She tried to claw out Mason's mark," Caleb reported flatly, not releasing his hold on me. His massive arms stayed locked around my shaking body. "We need to clean the wound."
