Regan removed the smelling salts from his nose and stared at him with a peculiar expression. Bryson stared right back.
Regan was a predator, through and through, and Bryson couldn’t be mistaken as prey. He needed to establish himself as a predator too, if this sick little game of theirs was going to continue.
“Had enough?” Regan asked, his voice thick with arousal.
Bryson turned his head from side to side, making a show of cracking his neck and stretching, ignoring the pain in his body. “I could go another round but,” he leveled Regan with a dark stare, “I think you’re getting impatient.”
Regan’s face broke out into a huge grin.
Standing, Bryson pushed Regan backward until his body hit the foot of the bed.
“Lay down,” Bryson commanded.
Regan took off his shirt and shook out of his pants, moving to get on the bed.
A darkness uncoiled in Bryson. He remembered the blade his father had handed him. Remembered its warmth from its prior victim’s blood. What he wouldn’t give to have a blade right now.
To feel the heat of Regan’s essence dripping down his palm.
“All of it comes off,” Bryson said.
Regan hesitated.
“Had enough?” Bryson asked.
Regan took off his undershorts and climbed onto the bed.
Bryson ignored his body’s protests and climbed on top of Regan. Their bodies pressed together, and he could feel Regan’sarousal beneath him. Pushing Regan’s hands above his head, he felt resistance.
“It’ll feel better,” Bryson said.
He didn’t say to trust him, because they didn’t trust each other. But Bryson had made him feel good. Day after day, time after time. Bryson had given him pleasure.
Even if his soul died a little every time, he did it. Bryson knew exactly what Regan needed, and he gave it to him. He would do anything to protect his brothers, even if it meant selling his soul to the devil himself.
After some consideration, Regan stopped struggling and allowed Bryson to tie his hands above his head.
Moving back, Bryson retrieved the Picana. One glance at the settings and Bryson could see that Regan had used the highest one. Rage coursed through him, and darkness settled in his chest.
If Regan wanted to play, Bryson could show him what that meant.
The bed shifted under Bryson’s weight as he moved to stand over Regan’s bound body. Jabbing the Picana into Regan’s inner thigh, Bryson’s lip twitched when Regan tensed.
“Two for flinching,” Bryson said before delivering two shocks.
Regan’s body moved unnaturally. When the pulse finished, Bryson moved the prod further up Regan’s thigh. The metal prongs brushing at his sensitive hip crease. Before Regan had a chance to register the device’s proximity to his dick, Bryson delivered another round of lightning.
When Regan’s body settled, Bryson saw red trickling down the side of his mouth. No doubt blood from biting his tongue.
Bryson hit him again, this time on the right nipple.
With every delivered shock, he felt Adria’s face slip further away.
The memory of that day with his father was so much more fitting. Bryson could almost feel the skin slicing beneath his hand. Could hear the gurgling as the man choked on his own blood. Feel the warm spray of fluid mixing with the tears on his face. He did it because he had to, because that was what it took to survive in the Nine.
With each burn and every red mark of pain that Bryson gave to Regan, it reminded him of that.
Except he couldn’t shake the feeling that with every action he was moving further away from her and closer to turning into him.
