“Yes,” he whispers, the admission quiet but utterly destructive.

  The fragile dam holding me back shatters and unleashes everything I’ve bottled up for too long, and I charge forward in a blur of fury. My fingers grip the collar of his armor, yanking him to his feet in one desperate pull. I tilt my chin up to meet his height, dragging him close until his scent floods me again.

  Sweet amber.

  Familiar.

  Devastating.

  “No.” I hold him there, our faces inches apart and breaths mingling in the charged air. “No, if you did, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. You wouldn’t dare.”

  We stare, chests heaving in syncopated rhythm, as a single tear slips free from his eye, carving a glistening path down his cheek.

  I shake my head as I watch it fall. “You don’t know the first thing about pain.”

  “I do,” he argues, voice wobbling.

  Anger narrows my vision as I shove him back again, but still, he doesn’t fight.

  Shoulders back, palms flat, he offers himself to my whims. That hollow place inside me screams with the unfairness of it all.

  I want to knock him to the ground and hurt him until he understands what it’s like to be half a person. Leave him to crawl his way back to something even resembling alive.

  I want to fist his hair and drag him close and tell him it’s okay. Kiss him until I remember what it’s like to be whole, then hurt him all over again.

  His eye closes as another tear falls.

  I move to do something—anything—to fill this void inside me, but a hand bands around my arm.

  “Dom, stop,” Cato says, pulling me to a halt inches from Xeni. “Whatever you do right now, you’ll regret later. Let’s lock him up until you’re ready.”

  My breath comes hard and fast, and Xeni’s eye opens, meeting mine with that same broken edge.

  “Come on,” Cato urges, tugging my arm with a gentleness that’s unlike him. “Let me handle it. Get some air.”

  I drag in a few ragged breaths, tracing the lines of Xeni’s face one last time. Then I turn to Cato, the concern in his eyes steadying me as I slide my arm around his neck and pull him close.

  “Yeah, alright,” I whisper against his mouth, holding his eyes before kissing him.

  It’s slow and deliberate, and drawn out until Xeni’s rage crackles in the air behind me like a squall.

  Heart pounding in my chest, I don’t spare Xeni another glance as I kiss Cato once more.

  “Come to my room when you’re done with him, okay?” I say.

  “Count on it,” he murmurs with a hundred questions in his gaze, but I can’t answer them now. I turn and storm out of the door, ignoring Xeni’s shout of my name that cuts straight through my soul.

  Xeni

  Rage tramples my body like someone dumped acid straight into my bloodstream. It’s fizzing and molten hot, and it eats through every fucking nerve ending as Bash’s arms slide around Cato’s neck.

  They touch with that comfortable, familiar ease that used to be ours. Their bodies press tight, hands clutching and tugging like the space between them personally offends them.

  The want, the intimacy…

  It used to be mine.

  My blood boils, and it isn’t just anger anymore. It’s fury with fangs, chewing through my ribs, clawing up my throat, and screaming to rip something apart.

  Preferably Cato’s smug fucking face.

  Because that? That right there?

  That’s my fucking territory.

  And it’s currently being trespassed on like I don’t exist.

  I have no right to this fury. No claim on Bash after everything I did. That truth is a bitter pill, but it does nothing to dull the burn.

  “Bash!” I roar as they separate, but he doesn’t even glance behind him as he walks away.

  “Bash! Sebastian!”

  I lunge toward the door, needing to stop him from leaving again, but before I can reach it, Cato catches me from behind and slams my chest against the wall.

  “Yeah, that’s not happening,” he growls by my ear. “You’re not getting anywhere near him right now.”

  “Let me go!” I pour every ounce of power I have left into the command.

  His grip loosens and I surge forward, bursting through the door into the hallway where a small crowd has gathered. They stare wide-eyed as I scream Bash's name down the corridor.

  Cato catches me again and yanks both my wrists behind my back as he pins me once more. I watch until Bash disappears through a distant door and slams it shut.

  The fight drains from my body. I slump against the wall, trapped there by Cato’s weight, and tears burn hot as I close my eye against the flood.

  “He isn’t yours,” Cato snarls, yanking me upright so roughly my shoulders scream with the angle. “Not anymore.”

  He drags me through a winding maze of rooms and hallways that pass in a blur. I should be mapping every turn, committing the layout to memory for a chance of escape, but all I can do is picture that closed door.

  Eventually, he shoves me into a small, windowless room that’s barely larger than the holding cells at Ljómur. A narrow bed occupies one corner, while a tiny bathroom with a toilet and sink takes up the other. It’s clean, impersonal, and utterly confining.

  “How long am I expected to be your prisoner?” I demand, voice scraped thin from the emotions clawing at my throat.

  “Until Dom says otherwise,” Cato retorts. The satisfaction in his tone twists the knife deeper, using that name like it isn’t a lie.

  I turn to glare at him, but he only lifts his chin in open challenge. The arrogant asshole is fully aware of what I could do to him now that we’re alone, but he’s unbothered by the threat.

  “You should never have come,” he says flatly. “There’s nothing here for you.”

  “Fuck you,” I grit. “There’s more that he needs to hear.”

  “He doesn’t need anything from you.” Cato’s voice hardens further as he takes a half step forward with a storm in his eyes. “Do you have any idea of the state you left him in? He was barely alive when I found him, and I’m not letting you drag him back into that hell.”

  The guilt is crushing, and I sink onto the edge of the bed with my face in my palms.

  “I did what I had to do,” I say. “It was for his own good.”

  “Tell that to the nights he woke up shaking and calling out for you.”

  The words slice clean through me, bringing with them memories of my own endless nights.

  Reaching for a body that wasn’t there.

  Waking in cold sweat.

  Sobbing until my throat bled.

  Sleep had been my only refuge, the one place I could pretend he was still beside me.

  The only time I didn’t want to die.

  My hands tremble as I hug my arms around myself, the old ache in my thigh throbbing in time with my pulse.

  “There will be a guard outside at all times,” Cato continues. “You’ll get three meals a day and necessities, but when the door opens, two people will be present, and one will have a fucking taser. By all means, give them a reason to use it.”

  I nod absently, the ringing in my ears drowning out everything else.

  Cato hesitates when I don’t argue. “Is there anything you need?”

  “Water,” I mutter without looking up. “A change of clothes. Soap, toothpaste.” My fingers dig into my thigh. “A razor.”

  He snorts. “Like I’m handing you a weapon.”

  I finally meet his eyes, forcing myself to hold that piercing gaze as I take in the rest of him.

  His broad, powerful frame fills the doorway like he owns the space, and his jaw is sharp enough to cut glass. He has a neatly groomed beard that screams control even when everything else about him feels like barely leashed chaos.

  Pink pitted scars cover his entire right arm and climb his neck onto his jaw and cheek, licking up his skin like burns long healed. They don’t detract from his looks. If anything, they only make him more rugged and interesting.

  It pisses me off more that I notice how godsdamn handsome he is.

  That Bash noticed.

  I hate him for it.

  “If I wanted to hurt you,” I say with a deliberate edge, “I wouldn’t need a blade.”

  His smirk deepens, carving a dimple into his cheek. “You want to hurt me right now. Don’t even try to deny it. I see how you look at him. We all see how you look at him.”

  “And how is that?” I demand.

  “Like you didn’t throw him away,” he says as his expression turns smug. “Like he still belongs to you.”

  “He’ll always belong to me,” I snap, rising to my full height so we stand eye to eye.

  He tilts his head in silent challenge, waiting for me to make a move.

  My gaze flicks down his broad frame with a snarl. “Take whatever scraps he offers and pretend they’re enough. But deep down, where it matters? He’ll wish it was me.”

  My finger jabs into his chest with enough power to bruise, but he doesn’t flinch as I inch closer.

  “You’ll never smell or taste right. Your body will always be too thick for the fantasy to be real, but he’ll close his eyes and fight through it. He’ll bite back my name and picture my face. Time will never change that, no matter how much you want it to. You’re just a placeholder, and you know it.”

  Cato remains unfazed, his smirk only sharpening before he spreads his arms in a mocking bow, deliberately exposing the back of his neck. It’s an intentional taunt, daring me to act while knowing full well I’m checkmated.

  If I hurt Cato, I hurt Bash.

  “I’ll get your things,” he says, turning toward the door. “Make yourself comfortable. Dom will be… occupied for a while.”

  The door closes behind him, leaving only the thin strip of light beneath it to pierce the darkness.

  My body deflates as I collapse onto the bed. The punch of leather from my armor rises sharp in my nose, and it clings to me like smoke.

  The uniform is a second prison.

  It's a constant reminder of everything I no longer am, and everything it tried to forge me into.

  A growl builds low in my throat, rumbling up from the depths of my chest before morphing into a broken whine. I surge to my feet in a rush of fury, hands shaking so violently it takes three fumbling attempts to free the first buckle.

  My fingers are slick with sweat, and tears stream hot down my face as I rip the chestpiece away from my skin. The leather protests with a final snap, and I hurl it against the wall with a raw shout that echoes through the room.

  A shudder ripples through the floor and up the walls like an aftershock, but it’s not enough. I snatch it up again and slam it down over and fucking over, the leather smacking walls and floor like fists on bone.

  I long for an explosion.

  For the floor to crack open and the wall to split into pieces the same way my insides are ripping apart. Shrapnel-sharp fragments of rage and grief spray outward with every hit, tearing through me until all I can do is wail.

  I hurl the chestpiece aside like it’s the thing that destroyed me.

  Like I can blame anyone but myself for this ruin.

  The boots come next, wrenched off my feet without bothering to untie them, and pain lances up my legs to my hips.

  It’s welcome, a sharp distraction from the deeper ache.

  Pants follow in a tangle of hide, flung into the growing heap in the corner with careless force. Finally free of it all, I stand naked and heaving.

  My chest rises and falls in ragged gasps, and I stare at the discarded leather as if it’s the source of every scar.

  My hands fist in my hair, yanking hard enough to send white-hot clarity searing through the fog in my mind. Each tug pulls me back from the edge, then my gaze drops to my bare thighs.

  To the raised wound nestled among the constellation of older, paler scars.

  Reminders of countless nights just like this.

  I fall to my knees as my fingernails dig in, twisting into the half-healed cut and reopening it with a deliberate roughness that drags a gasp from my throat. A few exhales chase the tears pouring down my face, relief flooding in as the sharp sting cuts through the chaos and grounds me in its burn.

  My body is feverish, but my bones are cold.

  Deep down, where those vile parts of me fester like buried rot, it never seems to thaw.

  Blood wells beneath my fingers in dark, glistening beads, and I sink back onto my heels. I stare, transfixed, at the deep red streaking my thigh and fingertips, so vivid against the pale canvas of my skin.

  A single tear falls, splashing into the crimson and creating a watery swirl that dilutes it to pink, and I close my eye, steadying my breathing with deliberate pulls of air that rattle in my chest.

  This was always going to happen.

  He was always going to say no.

  I was always going to end up here, broken and bleeding.

  Torn open.

  This is what I deserve.

  Shuddering breaths gradually slow the flood of tears, each inhale a battle against the urge to claw deeper and rip myself into smaller pieces.

  Eventually I fight my way to my feet, and inside the tiny bathroom, I methodically clean my leg. I scrub until the skin is pink and angry, and the raw edges weep. A thin streak of blood stamps onto the towel like a tally mark.

  A grim ledger keeping record of my shame.

  I dab the cut again, the line fainter this time, but no less damning.

  By the time the bleeding stops, six ruby-red stripes decorate the fabric, and my hands quake with the insatiable need to tear myself open and start the count all over again. I curl them into tight fists, nails biting sharp crescents into my palms that ground me just enough to hold back.

  Temporary marks for temporary control.

  I crawl beneath the covers and pull them over my head, staring into the suffocating darkness of the sheets. I wait for the fragile relief to fade, wondering how long I can hold the pieces together this time before they scatter again.

  Bash

  The fling of the door sends a gust of wind across my back, and I flinch at the sharp slam as Cato storms into the room.

  For a long moment he says nothing and simply stands behind me with that overbearing presence, and it chips away at my patience until I can’t take the silence anymore.

  “Are you going to say something?” I finally ask.

  “You want to tell me what the fuck that was all about, Dom?”

  The name stings more than I expected after hiding behind it for so long. It’s tainted now, poisoned by the real one spoken aloud, and coming from his lips, it feels like a lie.

  It is a lie.

  All of this is a lie, and I’m no better than a con man behind a counterfeit smile.

  “It was nothing,” I mutter, desperate for him to leave me to my thoughts.

  Cato isn’t so easily swayed.

  He grabs the back of my chair, spinning me around to face him. I set my jaw and meet his eyes. They’re hard, impenetrable in the way he so often is, but I know the softness that lies beneath that rough exterior.

  “Nothing?” he repeats, gripping my chin when I try to look at the floor. “You want to call that stunt nothing? I let you get away with it this time because you’re hurting, but kiss me again and I’ll knock you on your ass. You don’t get to use me.”

  Shame settles heavy in my gut. It’s an emotion I rarely face, because my choices are almost always governed by logic rather than impulse. But after letting everything boil over earlier, it sits there now, and it’s undeniable.

  Cato and I met years ago, when I was little more than a ghost of myself, desperate to feel anything at all. I’d spotted him across the crowded pub where I was trying to drown everything in enough liquor to take down a much larger man.

  He was handsome, yes, but more than that, he was different. Thick, messy red hair instead of long, flowing white strands. Broad shoulders and a solid neck rather than willowy, graceful limbs. Piercing honey-brown eyes instead of cloudy, serene white.

  I’d stumbled over, dropped myself into his lap without invitation, and kissed him with a ferocity that screamed I was running from demons I couldn’t outpace.

  He’d let me run for a while, leading me upstairs to an empty room and crashing onto the bed with me. I was a drunk, feral thing, clawing at his skin and clothes in a frantic attempt to forget. But he’d pulled back, concern replacing the heat in his eyes as his thumb brushed away the tears streaking my cheeks.

  At first, I was angry he wouldn’t give me what I wanted, but once the anger faded, all that remained was my broken heart. I’d cried until there was nothing left, and despite being a complete stranger, he’d held me through the night while I soaked his shirt with endless tears.

  We’ve been inseparable ever since. He’s the closest thing to family I have now. A brother who never tolerates my lies or bullshit when he sees through them.

  I hesitate before meeting his eyes again. There’s been no romantic spark between us since that first night, but his words linger.

  “I’m not… using you,” I say at last, sighing when he arches a brow at the weak argument. “Fuck. Okay, yeah, that was using you, and it was shitty of me. You aren’t…”

  I trail off, searching his expression. “There’s no… like that… between us, right?”

  Cato snorts a laugh and shoves me away, making me scowl as I rub my chin. “Don’t flatter yourself. Things might’ve gone differently if we’d met under other circumstances, but you made your stance clear from day one.”

  “My stance?”

  He rolls his eyes and flops onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “You were always in love with his memory. You might’ve pretended otherwise all these years, but don’t think I haven’t noticed the type you cozy up to at the bar. Tall, thin… long blond hair. A little coy mixed with a whole lot of cocky. You’ve been chasing his ghost, man. That shit isn’t healthy.”

  Heat floods my cheeks as I glance away, staring at the floor. “Yeah, I know it isn’t.”

  “And now it’s caught up with you,” Cato says, stern but not unkind. “You can’t ignore him when he’s sitting a hundred feet away. What are you going to do with him?”