Three days later, I walk into the rec room on Bryce’s heels. He graciously overturned the two-week ban Lee instilled in retaliation for our one-sided game of dodgeball after he “accidentally” entered my room while I was getting dressed.

It wasn’t an accident, but since a peek at my cock was required for me to regain access to Claudia, an impromptu strip was in order. Bryce is hoping his leniency will increase his chance of us becoming “friendly.” He is sorely mistaken. Sneaking a peek at my flaccid cock is one thing; touching it is another. I’ve toyed several times with the idea of killing him just for wanting to look. It is mainly in fantasy. . . for the most part. I want to see if he squirms the same way when his veins are drained of blood. I doubt his thighs would still press together after I nicked the vital artery pumping through them for my experiment.

Pushing aside the joy I get from imagining the life fade from his eyes, I return my focus to the task at hand. It takes me scanning the loon-filled space three times before I spot Claudia sitting in the corner of the room. She is wearing her favorite attire, a floral printed dress and ankle boots. Her hair that looks recently washed is pulled back with a fancy clip, and her face is void of any marks. Luckily—or the silent threat I issued Lee three days ago would have become a reality. I don’t give a fuck if the carcass is riddled with maggots. If I’ve claimed it, you don’t touch it—ever!

My steps to Claudia slow when a high-pitched voice squeaks, “You won’t get anything out of her. She’s a cookie that’s been dumped into a coffee mug too many times—all soggy and crumbling.”

An emo-looking female with heavy eyeliner, stark black hair with a purple stripe down one side, and a face as white as a ghost steps out of an alcove. As she paces toward me, she tugs down her sleeves to hide the fresh cuts on her arms. She tries to act tough, like she hasn’t detected the evil leaching from my pores, but her wobbly knees give away her true response. She’s petrified. Justly so. The guards are wary of approaching me, and they’re armed with skull-cracking batons and mace. And don’t even get me started on their mind-fucking candies.

Hoping to divert my attention from her, the unnamed female nudges her head to Claudia. “She doesn’t talk. Not that she don’t wanna; she just doesn’t. From what I’ve heard, she hasn’t spoken a word in over five years.”

Although I’ve never been one to believe rumors, this goth-lover has an honest edge not unusual for the disturbed. She doesn’t cut herself for attention; she does it for the solace. An immense amount of silence comes when people don’t understand you. That’s why I’m shocked she’s reaching out to me. I don’t give off friendly vibes as I’m not a welcoming guy.

A vein in the unnamed girl’s neck twitches when I hover over to her. “If she’s mute, who’s your source?”

My back molars grind when she swings her eyes to the right. Lee is standing at the side of the Rec room. He wears his uniform cap down low, hoping it will hide the direction of his gaze. It doesn’t. Even if I couldn’t feel the heat of his stare, the rapid bounce of his head as he strives to keep both Claudia and me on his radar is a surefire indication that I’ve secured his attention, much less his hand floating over the undone clip of his baton case.

My eyes drift back to Ms. Sun-hater. “Are you friendly with the guards?” The way I express “friendly” ensures she can’t mistake my question.

She quirks her black-painted lips before pulling a face. “No. I’m not their type.” Her voice is more pleased than dissatisfied. After scanning the room to ensure we don’t have any extra eyes focused on us, she murmurs, “But I am roommates with Claudia, so I’ve got my ears close to the ground.”

I arch a brow. I was under the assumption Claudia’s pasty white skin meant she was a patient on my side of the ward—the one for the real loonies. I had no clue she walked the halls with the lesser evil crazies. This is an interesting development I never anticipated, one I hope to exploit to my advantage. I ignored the voices in my head for years to get transferred to a facility like Meadow Fields, as the freedom was worth the boredom. But Claudia and this freaky-Friday contestant don’t have to walk the same line I’m walking. They can occasionally step over it. That’s an advantage—a fucking massive one.

“Have the guards ever paid Claudia any late night visits?” I clench my jaw, annoyed at the protectiveness in my voice. Claudia isn’t a little doll for me to play with; she’s a pawn. Nothing more.

Don’t get me wrong, I like my women broken, but Claudia is an entirely different type of cracked. I crave women with disheartened spirits, not ones with destroyed heads. Claudia has both. She’s all types of fucked-up.

The sun-hater shakes her head. “They’re too scared I’ll scream on her behalf.”

“Are you looking out for her?” I ask, pretending I didn’t hear the hostility in her voice.

Her shake turns into somewhat of a nod. “Yeah. I guess. She’s got that vibe, you know? The one where you can’t help but protect her. She reminds me a lot of my little sister.” Her voice tapers to a whisper before her last sentence.

Her confession is surprising considering she doesn’t look a day over twenty-one. Claudia would be at least mid-twenties if not close to her thirties, so why the fuck would this emo believe she is younger than her?

The blue-eyed girl shifts her eyes from Claudia to me. “Is that why you’re looking out for her too? Does she remind you of family?”

Her inaccurate assumption makes me smile, but it’s not a happy smirk. It is one of a man who’s hurt more women than he has loved. Usually, the only women I pursue are the ones who remind me of my mother, but that isn’t the case with Claudia. She’s my ticket out of this place, a free pass back to the life I had before he fucked it up. I have no intention of playing her as I did Cleo, so you can be assured that means I won’t be fucking her either.

I watched Cleo for years before Marcus entered the picture. My game plan was long, but the secrecy behind it was addictive. I loved knowing that most of Cleo’s struggles were influenced by me. Her prolonged stint in the hub often referred to as the “dungeon” at Global Ten Media, the constant misplacement of her security ID tag, and the lack of funds in her bank account. That was all me.

I kept my sneaky transfers on the downlow, ensuring no one would discover her wages were thirty percent less than the rest of the staff. It worked for nearly three years. My scheme was only unraveled when Mr. Carson returned to the helm of his ship. He didn’t just snoop around; he found a way to increase her wages as well. That altered my game in a way I never thought possible. It made it more challenging, which was both a welcomed and unwanted change.

Although I didn’t need to work at Global Ten Media to fund my campaign for revenge, I did it so I’d have access to Cleo twenty-four hours a day. She was furious when she discovered Marcus had been spying on her for months. I wonder how she’d handle learning I had been watching her for years longer. Just the thought of her tears hardens my cock.

Not wanting the emo-lover to get the wrong idea about my extended crotch, I end our conversation. “No. She doesn’t remind me of my family. And I’m not looking out for her either.” Since both replies are honest, they are delivered that way.

I step away from the goth, only to be stopped three strides later. If I weren’t conscious of the four sets of eyes on me, dying for the chance to intervene, I’d pass on my dislike of being manhandled in a non-verbal way. But since I’m skating on thin ice, I shelve my retaliation and return my eyes to my new best friend.

“For a couple of benzos, I could give you an in with Claudia.” She keeps her tone low, ensuring the guards won’t hear her.

My chest rattles with silent mocking. “Are you not getting enough brain-fucking medication during your pleasant stay at Meadow Fields?”

I don’t know why I ask my question. I don’t give a fuck if she pops sedatives until she dies. I’m just stunned by her request. Her eyes are so lucid, I am beginning to wonder if anyone here is taking their meds.

“They’re not for me. They’re just. . .”

I stop her midsentence by slicing my hand through the air. She flinches like all good women do. “I don’t give a fuck who they’re for. I just need to know how many you need.”

Although I’m not interested in developing a relationship with this vampire groupie, some of the best contacts I’ve developed are ones who have come to me. For all I know, she could be holding a swipe key to Claudia’s room in her hand, so the least I can do is play along with her ruse by feigning interest.

The stranger licks her dry lips before murmuring, “I need enough to take down a grown man.”

Her reply piques my suspicion, but not enough for me to act on it. “Alright. I’ve got the funds; I’ll get you what you need.” She stops peering at me like a god when I add on, “But first, you need to give me something in good faith. Prove you’ve got the goods to deliver your side of the deal.”

I expect her to balk at the insinuation in my tone, but she does no such thing. She just hands me a slip of glossy paper, like one document is the answer to her prayers.

The manic tick of my jaw increases when my eyes drop to the folded up magazine article. I am thrust into a spiraling tunnel. It is a dark and lonely place, derailing my train straight off the tracks.

When I pin the unnamed emo to the wall by her throat, the guards shout my name in the same manner the bailiff did during my trial. Her airways are cut in an instant, her eyes bulging just as fast.

“Who gave you this?! Was it the guards? Was it Lee?”

She doesn’t speak. She can’t. I’m clutching her throat so firmly, she is seconds away from collapse.

Ignoring the pleasurable sting of her fingernails shredding my hand and the whacks of batons on my back, I assess the article more diligently, seeking clues to its origin.

The more I read, the hotter the blood in my veins boils.

Marcus is in multiple photos in a two-page feature, smiling like he has the world at his feet. He somewhat does, considering Cleo is standing at his side, wearing a white wedding dress and a bright smile.

Her smile angers me more, meaning my clutch on the sun-hater’s throat tightens. I’m still suffering the consequences of Cleo’s betrayal, so shouldn’t she still be mourning the death of her unborn child?

The reason for her lack of bereavement comes to light when a pair of bright hazel eyes capture my attention. The little girl in the picture, who would only be a few months old, has the eyes of both her mother and father—Cleo’s dirty chocolate eyes mixed with Marcus’s barren green ones.

They have a child.

A daughter.

A bastard who was born before they wed.

I pledged to save Cleo’s future children from turning out like him: the master—the taunter—the man who stole her away from me. I will keep my promise.

I just need to work through the drugs numbing my arms and legs. To push through the pain of the guards’ batons battering my skull hard enough to crack it, and the blackness attempting to swallow me whole. I need to remember that no one is higher than the king. I am a god. Everyone else is merely a pawn on the board I call life. They are cowards.

When the sting of a needle hits my neck for the second time, my knees collapse beneath me. My limbs suddenly become heavy, the guards’ shouting nothing but a buzz of noise. The unnamed emo’s bones stop squeaking when I remove my hand from her throat to yank the sedative dangling from mine. I slot the lengthy needle between my fingers before swinging my hand wildly through the air. If they try to sedate me again, they won’t do it without injury.

As the world spins around me, the magazine article on Rise Up’s latest wedding slips from my grasp. It floats across the stark white floor, only stopping when it reaches a pair of ankle boots.

Impassive to the ruckus occurring around her, Claudia bobs down to collect the thin slip of glossy paper. When her eyes lock on the article, they widen like mine did when I speed-read the document. She looks both angry and aroused, which is an odd combination, but it matches mine to a T. Seeing Cleo for the first time in years thickened my cock, but the circumstances behind the featured spread not only pissed me off, they resurrected a devil years of counseling couldn’t control.

Feeding off a surge of inhuman strength, I stand to my feet with a roar. After knocking off three guards as if they are weightless, I head in Claudia’s direction. She is to blame for the hate thickening my veins, so shouldn’t she pay the penance for it?

My steps halt midstride when Claudia’s eyes lift to mine. They are carrying as much violence as mine; her quest for revenge is just as strong. I take a step back, stunned by the sheer hate in her slit gaze. I didn’t think a demure mouse could pull off such a horrendous look.

Before I can work out the cause of her repulsed expression, the third prick of a needle drops my legs out from beneath me and has me seeing black.