Carson was committed to a pediatric psychiatric hospital when he was eight. By the time he was ten, rumor has it that he’d run away from that institution, leaving a trail of police reports in his wake that were quickly buried by his parents.
Years later, after Carson was an adult, Rupert and Victoria came forward to “set the record straight”: Carson hadn’t so muchescapedfrom the hospital as he hadgone to live with an uncle out of the country for a number of years.
Sure.
In any case, never mind the tabloid articles online linking Victoria to at least two dozen affairs, Carson looksnothinglike Rupert.
It’s no smoking gun, butcome on.
If Diego’s bastard heir is in the Syndicate inner circle, it’s gotta be Carson.
But again, all that is part of the story I’ve been telling myself about why Ihave todo this.
Have to endure Vaughn and his brutal sadism.
Except… That's a lie.
Diego’s threats are real. But my brother runs one of the most powerful bratva organizations in the world, one that’s allied with a half dozen otherhugelypowerful criminal families.
Despite Roman’s feelings for our father, I could end this with one phone call.
But I haven’t. Because the other cold truth is that I’m not “enduring” Vaughn.
I’m craving him.
Reveling in the madness he brings, and the destruction he wreaks on me.
I finish toweling off and get dressed, stuffing my dance things into my bag. I brush my hair out in the locker room mirror, put on a little makeup, blush at myself, and then walk back out to sit on the very spot at the edge of the stage where Vaughn told me to “stay put”.
Not because I’m worried about what he’ll do if I don’t follow his orders.
Because I can’t wait to see what he does if Ido.
Maybe this pull I have toward Vaughn and the darkness he offers really is a sickness. Because I know there’s no happily ever after to this story. Vaughn doesn’t want one.
The man fucks me like agodbut won’t kiss me.
He won’t even let me touch him.
Well, I touch him in the context of wrapping my lips around his cock. Or raking my nails down his chest. Or grabbing his hair as he bites down on my throat.
But anything past that? It’s an uncrossable line for him.
No cuddling. No lying in bed together. He even bristled the one time I walked up behind him tohug himafterward.
And that’s the biggest problem with all of this. I can take the brutal sex. I mean, for God’s sake, Icrave it, in ways that I know are probably deranged. I can also take his iron-clad “rules” and the insanely rigid way he lives his life.
But I want more than that. I could tell myself that’s my naïveté and lack of experience talking. But it’s not just that he’s the first man I’ve ever slept with. It’s that thisthingbetween us—toxic, demented, and wildly unhealthy though it may be—is the closest thing to a relationship I’ve ever had.
My phone suddenly dings in my hands, startling me as it echoes through the empty auditorium. I glance down at the screen and frown when I read the text.
Unknown
Hi, it’s Sabine. Vaughn’s meeting is running late. He won’t be available until later tonight.
Unknown
He asked me to tell you to go home to the city. He’ll reach out later.
