“Freddy. Freddy, can you hear me?” Mikah’s agitated voice barks through the comms.
I’m half tempted to ignore him, my hand on the switch to shut him out.
“You better not ignore me anymore, asshole.” The gravelly declaration—a taunt.
Sighing, I hit the button and reply, “What do you want, Mikah? Shouldn’t you be both balls deep and covered in the blood of your prey to be bothered with me?”
“Have you heard from Griff or Jackson?” he asks, ignoring my dig.
“Nope, but I’m not looking for them when I have company.” I don’t tell him I have one of each of their victims. He doesn’t need to know that for now. I’ll take whatever bullshit consequences Mikah decides I deserve when we’re back at the barn.
“They’ve gone quiet,” he states, and I ignore whatever he says next because he’s acting like we all haven’t gone off the grid at least once when we’re out here.
Such a worrywart.
It’s so goddamn annoying. And not for the first time, I question the decision I made eighteen years ago when I agreed to ensure Mikah fell in line.
Endless freedom to torture, fuck, and kill, in no particular order, seemed so appealing to the sadistic part of me that was tired of playing “good little country club boy.”
I wanted to do what I wanted—kill whomever I so pleased, without repercussions. So, when they said get Mikah on board, and I could have it all, I signed without reading the fine print.
They don’t tell you that you’ll become a prisoner—a modern-dayenslavement. Given the illusion of freedom after reform, only to be discarded in the bottomless pit of indentured servitude in perpetuity.
“Fredrick.” Mikah snarls.
Irritated by the sound of his voice, I storm away from a scene that would normally have my undivided attention, considering how many ways I can kill the whiny bitch we’ve had to baby for the last eighteen years.
They won’t let you do that. Remember the last time you tried.
Grinding my teeth, I once again come to terms with the stupid fact that they won’t let me kill their “golden boy”.
Refusing to get the short end of this proverbial shit stick, I decide if I’m getting fucked, I may as well do some of the fucking myself.
“What, Mikah?” I hiss, storming to the spot where I keep my liquid nitrogen. “This isn’t some emergency. Everything’s in place, like we wanted. Talia is here, on our turf, like we wanted. And we’ll catch her and make her our Queen?—
like.
We.
Wanted.”
Mikah huffs, mumbling something I can’t understand before the line goes dead.
“Goddamn, fucking pain in my ass,” I mutter before signaling to Finley to bring Noah and Delaney over. My mood is spoiled, and I need a more refined brand of entertainment.
Sliding the gloves on, I point to the workbench to the right of me. “Get on there.”
Delaney pauses, a small glimpse of clarity before the effects of Spark swallow it. It’s why the drug is so perfect. The chemical compounds lower your inhibitions, overriding your impulse controls by targeting the prefrontal cortex and the limbic system, while heightening your desire. All of this leads to an endless need to do whatever it takes to come.
Noah scoots around Delaney, easily lies back on the bench, cock pointing high to the sky. He tugs Delaney, whose eyes connect with his shaft covered in her juices.
Thinking she’s going to get to screw some more, all apprehension dissolves, and Delaney climbs up, ready to hop back on Noah’s dick.
“No, not on him. Next to him,” I order. “With your legs spread.” Then I turn to Finley. “Eat her out while I make her a treat she’ll never forget.
Finley nods, face buried between Delaney’s thighs. They both fill the room with their moans, serving to keep Noah nice and hard just like I need him to be.
He’s so busy staring longingly at the two of them, he misses what comes next until it’s too late. I grip his dick, slicing through his shaft at the base before using tongs and dipping it into the liquid nitrogen.
