“Look at that,” I pant against her ear. “All that protest, and you still came on my cock. Guess you’re just as filthy as the rest of us after all.”
She collapses against me, trembling. Before I can say anything else, Ryder leans forward, his eyes dark with desire but also something else that looks like concern.
I watch as Ryder reaches for Cora, his expression softening in that predictable way of his. Always the gentle one of our trio.
“My turn,” he says.
Such a contradiction, our Ryder. He’ll participate in public humiliation without hesitation, yet look at him now—eyes full of concern like he’s about to rescue a wounded animal rather than fuck a woman we’ve jointly destroyed.
I lift Cora from my lap, feeling her body trembling against mine. She’s limp, almost doll-like, as I pass her to Ryder’s waiting arms. My cum trickles down her inner thighs as she’s transferred between us, a white rivulet marking the path of ownership. The sight of it—evidence of my possession sliding out of her—sends another pulse of arousal through me despite having just finished.
“Careful with our toy,” I murmur to Ryder, deliberately using language I know will make Cora flinch. “She breaks easier than expected.”
Ryder cradles her against his chest, shooting me a look that’s half-warning, half-plea. As if his gentleness now can somehow erase what we’ve done. As if soft touches can make her forget the calculated cruelty of our revenge.
Pathetic. But useful.
Let Ryder play the comforter. It creates the perfect good cop/bad cop dynamic without any planning needed. I’ve seen enough victims in courtrooms to know how effective that psychological trap can be.
22
RYDER
Liam passes Cora to me like she’s nothing more than a doll, and my stomach twists when I see her expression—vacant, glassy-eyed, her face streaked with tears. The fierce woman who spat in Liam’s face just moments ago seems to have retreated somewhere deep inside herself.
I want to fucking kill them both. Dominic and Liam. I want to kill myself too, because I’m as guilty.
“Come here,” I whisper, cradling her against my chest.
I position her to face me rather than displaying her to the audience like the others did. Her body trembles against mine, small aftershocks from what Liam just put her through. I brush hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I murmur so only she can hear. “Just hold onto me, okay? You’re going to be alright.”
Her eyes meet mine briefly before sliding away, unfocused and dull. This isn’t what I wanted. Not this hollow shell of a person, this broken thing wearing Cora’s face. I wanted revenge, yes, but not like this.
I enter her carefully, moving with deliberate gentleness. My hands stroke her back, her hair, trying to soothe rather than possess. Around us, the feast continues like we’re not even here—glasses clinking, conversations flowing, other prey being used for entertainment.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I breathe against her ear. “I’ll do anything to make this right, I swear to god, Cora.”
She doesn’t respond. Her head drops to my shoulder, face hidden against my neck. Her tears wet my skin, but she makes no sound.
“Just breathe with me,” I continue, rocking her gently. “You don’t have to do anything else. Just breathe.”
I feel her exhale shakily against my neck. It’s not forgiveness—I don’t deserve that—but it’s something. A sign she’s still in there somewhere.
Waiters materialize with ornate platters of food, placing them carefully on the table. I watch Cora’s face, searching for any sign of the woman I’ve come to know over the past days.
“You need to eat something,” I murmur, reaching for a plate. I select small portions of what looks most appetizing—a slice of steak, roasted vegetables, a piece of crusty bread. “Just a little bit. For strength.”
Cora remains motionless on my lap, her eyes fixed on some distant point. I cut the meat into tiny pieces and place a small morsel against her lips.
“Please,” I whisper. Her lips part slightly, and I place the food inside. She chews mechanically.
I continue feeding her, bite by tiny bite, alternating between food and sips of water. With each swallow, I feel her body relax incrementally against mine. Her breathing becomes more regular.
“You’re doing great,” I tell her, pressing my lips to her temple.
After several minutes, Cora shifts on my lap, her hips moving slightly. Her fingers dig into my forearm.
