by P. Jameson
Breaks the curse.
She remembered what he told her before. About getting her s.o.s and it bringing out his Firecat. I would have followed you out of this world, woman. I would have found you in the fucking afterlife. There’s no me without you.
Shit. No.
He couldn’t feel like that. Because she wasn’t planning on sticking around. She had too much hate in her heart for Bastian. There wasn’t room for love even if she was already dangerously close to feeling it for Skittles.
Her savior. Kind and tender and brutal enough to fight her demons back. No, to pull her right out of hell and run with her to safety.
Resist. Make it stop. Don’t feel.
Love is pain.
“Look,” Marlee said, gently. “You don’t have to take that journey with him. It’s your choice. It will always be your choice. Their beast won’t let them harm you, and that includes overriding your decisions. Oh, they might spit and stomp if they don’t like something, but you are queen. You have the final say.”
Nyla squeezed her eyes shut, pain gripping her chest with regret.
Their beast won’t let them harm you. It was everything a broken girl wanted. Someone devoted and noble enough to keep from hurting her.
But it couldn’t work. Not for her.
Why did Bastian have to make her heart this black? Why did he ruin her so soundly? Couldn’t she let things go the way the others obviously had?
Something inside her needed to ruin him back.
She dropped her head in her hands. “It won’t work for me,” she murmured. “Not for me. He fucked me up in that room. There’s too much hate now. All I want to do is end him.” A sob ripped from her throat but it didn’t end in tears. It was a sound of pure rage. “No… strike that. I want to see him burn. I want to hear his screams of agony. I want… I need him to pay for what he’s done. I need it more than my next heartbeat. Can you understand that?”
She lifted her face to see her friends. They were her family, and the thought of them being hurt by him again was unbearable.
“I’d rather not feel another thump in my chest if I can’t someday get revenge.”
“Have you told Skittles this?”
Nyla frowned. “Not… not exactly.” She ranted to him once, but he had no clue how obsessed she was with it.
“Tell him,” Marlee urged. “Ny, he can help you.”
“Help me get revenge?”
“No, he can help you overcome it. Help you move on.”
How could he possibly help her with this? With the hate she contained and the hunger she had to appease it?
“I don’t want to get over it,” she whispered, feeling tears prick the backs of her lids.
“When you do…” Vegas spoke gently, “that’s when you will be truly free of him.”
Janet stood from her spot on the floor and came to sit beside Nyla, her head falling to Nyla’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry we left you.” Her voice broke on the last word.
“No, Janet,” Nyla whispered through angry tears. “You never be sorry for that. Not ever, damn it.”
Marlee came to her other side, hugging her and Janet both in one grasp while Vegas knelt at Nyla’s feet. She laid her head in Nyla’s lap and tears streamed from her eyes to land on the couch.
Being together again felt right. She wished Skye was here, but the others weren’t worried. Marlee probably knew where she was.
“It’s what got me through,” Nyla admitted. “Knowing you were all free, and knowing there were people out there somewhere, trying to save me. I knew you wouldn’t give up, and it was my saving grace in that shitty room. Thank you. Thank you for being that.”
“And you were what got us through all those years locked away,” Janet murmured. “You kept us strong, Ny.”
“It’s true,” Vegas agreed. “And it doesn’t matter how many times Bastian comes for us, we’re never going back. No matter what attacks he wields. No matter what.”
Nyla scowled, catching the words carefully, and realizing Vegas knew more than the rest of them.
“How many times has he attacked?”
Vegas lifted her face to look at Nyla. “I won’t lie to you, but knowing isn’t going to help.”
“Tell me.”
“Three times. Someone slashed the tires on all the garbage trucks one night. They got too close, too easily. So Felix started a guard rotation. Then they set fire to the storage sheds out back. I put it out before it did too much damage.”
“You put it out?”
Vegas lowered her eyes, looking shy about it. “I’m a Lost Daughter. One of the clan females who escaped. I didn’t know it before Monster brought me here. And I can do that now. Freeze things with my breath. Like how the Firecats burn things. I’m the opposite.”
“That’s amazing, Vegas.”
“The third attack was the shooting,” she pressed on. “And it was the closest they got to hurting someone.”
Nyla felt Janet’s whole-body shiver as she said, “If I’d been in my room, I’d be dead right now. Skye too. Wherever she is, I’m glad she’s safe.”
Pain rattled Nyla’s chest as she realized the Dolls meant everything to her. They meant too much, they always did. But now, she had to do something about it.
She had to save them.
Chapter Twenty One
Skittles opened the door to find Nyla pacing his room. Something was wrong. She was softly pounding one fist into the palm of her other hand and muttering things he couldn’t understand. When she noticed him, her head snapped up, eyes big with worry. Or maybe something more. Because he felt her emotion like a blast of heat.
Anger, frustration.
Well, shit.
“Why didn’t you tell me Bastian had been threatening the warehouse?” she asked, before he even got the door shut.
He scowled. Did Marlee give her this information?
“Why would I tell you that?”
“Why wouldn’t you. It’s important, isn’t it?”
“You were resting and healing,” he said, pushing around her to the desk. “There was no point in worrying you with it.” He had a very important email to write. He would fix things with her afterward.
“Wait, did you just… walk away from me? Did you just dismiss me?”
He didn’t pay as much attention as he should have to the tone of her voice. “Gotta send this message real quick…” He tapped away at the keyboard, gleefully typing the words FUCK YOU in all caps before hitting the button to jet it right into Bastian’s office.
Fucking Bastard wasn’t getting his hands on Nyla—
Her palm slammed down on the desk, jerking Skittles out of his thoughts.
“Did you hear me?” she seethed. “You had no right to keep that from me. None.”
He found her gaze, trying to read her. She was really upset.
“I did what was best for you.”
“You don’t know what’s best for me.”
“Yes, I fucking do,” he growled. She was riling his animal, making it need… something.
He stood to face her because what he wanted to do was pull her down into his lap and kiss that temper away until she submitted.
“What happened? Why are you so angry?”
One hand went to her hip as she cocked her head to give him one hell of a vicious glare.
God. Damn. That made his cock hard.
“There are so many reasons. Shall I make a list for you?” Her words were polite, her tone was not.
“Yes. Yes, you should, damn it.”
“Fine!” She held a hand in front of her to tick off her reasons one by one. “I’m angry because I had to find out from the others that Bastian has been attacking the warehouse. I’m angry because I couldn’t get myself free of him. I’m angry because you make me feel things I don’t want to feel. I’m angry because he hurt me. Damaged me. And I’m not all right. I’m not all right. I’m angry because I did things for him I knew were wrong.” She was out of fingers now, but it did
n’t slow her down. “I’m angry because I don’t understand why you saved me. Why you still protect me when it puts everyone else in danger. I’m angry that my friends might be hurt. I’m just fucking angry,” she screamed. “I’m angry. And all I want is to… to hurt something.”
Her voice cracked at the end, telling him how much pain she was in. But he didn’t need to hear it to know. He could feel it in his chest, where their bond grew.
Fuck.
He reached for her, wanting to pull her into his arms, but she shoved him hard, and didn’t stop there. With her fists, she beat at his chest, tears springing from her eyes and furious sounds clawing from her throat.
“You,” she said accusingly. “You make me so mad.”
But he knew it wasn’t him. Not really. Because he knew what it was like to hate someone so bad you couldn’t breathe through it. To have it taint everything that had any potential of being good in your life.
He hated the Fathers like that.
He hated Bastian like that.
Even Felix at one time, and Ratchet, for leaving Nyla.
And… goddamn it, he had a list too.
But he wasn’t going to let her hate, or his, tarnish what they had together.
Yes, his animal snarled. Mark mate. Bond to mate.
The bond was the miracle fix. It was always the case. Bonding would make them solid, soothe them both. Mold them into something new. Heal them for good.
But first… first they needed to be free of the shit holding them back.
Mate needs us. Help mate.
If he didn’t do something right now, he was going to throw her down on the bed and fuck her. And make her like it. But that wouldn’t help any of their issues. It would only appease his Firecat.
Burn it away, his animal purred. Burn it away. The anger, the pain. Start over new.
Skittles grabbed her wrist, dragging her toward the door.
“Come with me.”
***
“Where we going?” Nyla demanded as Skittles pulled her toward the main entrance of the warehouse. She ignored the stares of the men who were milling about the area and held her chin high even though her big dumb brute was acting like a caveman and making her temper flare even higher.
Red. She saw red. It was all she could see. So much fury she was filled with it to the brim. And so what if they could tell she’d been crying. She didn’t care. She was too mad for that.
Skittles pushed through the door and into the brightness of the afternoon sun. Gravel crunched under her borrowed sneakers as he dragged her across the lot. They snaked through several rows of garbage trucks and she could smell the faintly sweet scent of old trash.
But he still didn’t answer her.
After countless moments traversing the maze of trucks and dumpsters, they arrived before a large storage shed. It was constructed of wood and sheet metal, and the shingled roof was charred, letting her know this was the shed Vegas had said caught fire.
Never letting go of her hand, Skittles stomped to the door flinging it open with one hard pull. Inside it was dark and dank, lit only by two skylights that filtered in the sun. Random junk was piled into the corners along with what looked like empty trash barrels. There were old TVs, bookshelves, small kitchen appliances, and random dishes. And... broken glass everywhere. Off to the side, lying on the cement, was a giant sledgehammer and a couple of smaller ones beside it.
“What is this place?” she asked, not bothering to hide the impatience in her tone.
“This? This is where I found the photo of you that very first day. It used to store empty trash barrels. But after Marlee was found here, Smokes started using it for… other purposes.”
“Like what?”
Skittles glared, pointing to the pile of junk in the corner. “He smashes shit. Helps him work through the anger. He doesn’t know I know, but I’ve been watching him.” He bent down to pick up the biggest of the hammers and swung it easily at his waist. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth. Like he enjoyed the feeling of a weapon in his hands.
Hammer. Weapon. Whatever.
“Is that what we’re going to do? Smash shit?” She didn’t have time for this. She had to figure out how she was going to keep Bastian from hurting everybody.
“Yeah, mate. I think we are.” He lifted the hammer high, cocking it like a baseball bat. “Don’t think Smokes’ll be needing this right now. Not with his hurt shoulder and all. We might as well make use of the place.”
Nyla watched him walk forward eyes intent on the 80s era boxy style TV. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious, Nyla. You’re mad. I’m mad. We should fucking do something about that. It was either this, or I fuck you.”
“This is how you want to fix things?”
“Sure, why not? It works for Smokes.”
And with that he jerked the hammer back and swung forward, landing a hit square on the curved glass screen. It exploded into a million shards, the resounding boom echoing against the walls of the shed.
But it wasn’t just the sound of the TV exploding.
A furious growl erupted from his throat. It was like nothing she had ever heard before, saturated by a lifetime full of rage. A lifetime full of hate and longing and denial. And it seemed to fade into something else as soon as he finished that first hit.
Freedom.
Relief.
Revelation.
Maybe it was the look on his face, like he’d just unloaded a fifty ton burden from his shoulders. Or maybe it was just that he was giving her permission to hit things, and she wanted to so badly. She wanted to destroy. Better if it was Bastian’s face, but hell, this would do.
Breathing hard, Skittles turned to look at her, one eyebrow lifting in question.
Oh, hell yeah she wanted in on this.
Nyla bent, choosing one of the smaller hammers and then stood scanning the room to pick out her target. There were some flimsy mirrors, stacks of plates, glass jars, a couple of kitchen chairs and rickety side tables. Smokes seemed to favor TVs and computer monitors, as there was an excess of those.
Her gaze landed on a chunky olive colored monitor. The hacking life might have saved her in the beginning, but it only led her down a path of bad choices and pain. Fuck that. What should have given her freedom from her underprivileged childhood, only made her a captive. Made her usable, but only because she’d chosen wrong.
She never wanted to choose wrong again.
Nyla stood before the thing, hating it because it represented what she had allowed herself to become. That was the real root of her anger, wasn’t it? She hated Bastian with every fiber of her being. But she… she hated herself too.
She hated that she was enticed by riches. That she was a puppet in his bigger scheme. That she had been caught up in his game. That she hadn’t made her Gran proud. That she hadn’t known about the girls Bastian kept in his basement until she was one of them. She hated that she’d let them down, and that she couldn’t protect them now.
She hated the loss of control. The loss of self. The loss of a future.
One that could have been brighter than ever.
One like the others described, with a man who cared about her.
Tears streamed down her cheeks but she couldn’t feel them. Just like she didn’t hear the furious sobs raking her throat. And she didn’t see the man standing firmly beside her.
She didn’t see anything but the computer monitor, highlighted like a beacon before her. She was going to ruin it. Hurt it like she hurt. Destroy it like she wanted to destroy Bastian. Crush it like her hope for the future.
With an enraged cry, she cocked her hammer back and swung forward with all her might. She made contact with the glass, shattering it, but it wasn’t enough. Pulling back, she swung again. And again. Over and over, scream after scream, until the thing was nothing more than a tangle of twisted plastic and wires. Each hit seemed to echo in her heart, breaking away pieces of it that had festered and gone hard.
More. She needed more.
She turned, finding a mirror that had been thrown aside. It was cracked down the center, but she could do it one better.
Rearing back, she angled the hammer at the glass, smashing through it like a bullet before turning to find something else. A rickety chair, the plates, three more fucking monitors. Each one chipping away at her damaged insides until there were no more callouses and she was just raw.
Raw and vulnerable and scared, even if she felt like she could fly higher than Icarus with how much of a load she’d shed.
Out of breath, she dropped the hammer, letting it clatter to the floor before following it down to the concrete. Heaving sobs wracked her body, but just like before in the mansion, Skittles was there to pick her up and hold her through it.
“It’s done. It’s over,” he murmured, rocking her against his chest. She clawed at his shirt, needing to be consumed by him. Needing something to fill in all the gaps left by the purging.
“It hurts.”
“I know,” he rasped. “I’m going to make it better.”
She felt like air as he lifted her from the floor and carried her into the fading sunlight, through the maze of garbage trucks, and across the parking lot. She couldn’t stop the sounds coming from her throat. No, deeper. Coming from her chest, her soul.
Inside the warehouse, she heard Marlee’s voice as they passed through to the stairs. “Ny? What happened?”
“Is she hurt?” Vegas.
“Should I call Janet?” That was Mama Kitty. The woman’s hoarse rasp was unmistakable.
“She’s fine,” Skittles snapped, and Nyla was glad he had answered, because she sure as hell couldn’t. And even if she could, how would she explain why she was breaking down like this?
He carried her up the stairs to the second floor of the warehouse and to the safety of his room, sitting with her on the bed. And that’s where she stayed. Tangled in his strong arms until she cried herself dry.
Chapter Twenty Two
She’d done it.
Skittles stared down at his mate, proud. Nyla was strong. So very strong. Inside, where it counted most. But right now, she was scraped raw. Exactly as she needed to be.