by Forgy, M. N.
Basically, he told me it’s nothing physical, but all mental shit. Cross was a smart son of a bitch when conditioning these girls.
I’m going to have to emotionally terrorize Raven, this is a first for me and I’m not fucking thrilled about it.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I growl.
Chapter 4
Raven
Sitting on the cold hard floor, my knees to my chest I stare into the darkness. I can smell Machete on me, and I close my eyes and breathe him in. The metal door creaks and groans as it opens and a silhouette of a man that is not Machete looks down at me. His shoulders are wide and legs thick and strong. His presence in the doorway alone causes my spine to stiffen, and my veins to fill with ice. The smell of spice and something unfamiliar wafting into my cell. Goosebumps paint across my skin, and I inhale a shaky breath and lift my chin to mask my beating heart.
The light turns on and I wince from the harsh brightness. Raising my hand above my eyes I glance in the direction of the man and come face to face with no other than Zeek himself, the president of The Sin City Outlaws. His record is as thick as an encyclopedia, and he has no regard for anyone but his own rules. Masking my own fear, I roll my eyes and look back down at the floor. Him being here will offer nothing good that’s for sure.
He chuckles. “You don’t seem excited to see me.”
I don’t reply. I’ll lose my temper, putting myself in a deeper hole.
He squats in front of me and raises his hand to slide a finger across my forehead where I head-butted Machete. I wince in reaction and pull away from his cold touch.
“I pictured you more mangled,” he mutters, grabbing my fingers he observes them as if he’s surprised to see all ten of them still intact. He seems disappointed that Machete hasn’t made me bleed all over the floor, that he hasn’t broken me yet.
Sighing, he drops my hand, narrowing his brows. It makes me wonder myself why Machete hasn’t sliced me for answers.
“Where is Cross, Raven?” Zeek asks, annoyed.
Flicking my gaze to him I stare at him blankly, before lifting a challenging brow. If I would tell anyone anything about Cross... it would never be him. He’d kill me after I did in a second. I’m not stupid.
He seems to forgot what it’s like to be ruled by Cross, to have no option but to go along or be dead. Zeek is privileged, having the club to back him up in his defiance. I on the other hand… have no one.
Suddenly, hard fingers clench around my throat and my head is viciously slammed into the bed frame behind me. A stinging sensation races down my face, my mouth parting as I whimper from the pain.
“You attack my club, threaten to kidnap my children and you think I’m just going to let you get away with it?” he replies through gritted teeth. Hatred pouring from every word. I don’t take my eyes off his and stand my ground silently. “You’re the reason I can’t be with my kids or feel my woman’s legs around my waist while I fuck her every night, and I do not take being cock-blocked lightly. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I inhale a shaky breath and open my mouth to speak but think better of it. Everything he’s saying is true, but what do I say… Sorry? He wouldn’t believe me or trust me if I told him my intentions were misplaced.
When I kidnapped Alessandra, I wanted her. Cross wanted his kids.
“Admit it, tell me you were going to hurt me and bring my club down.” His last words a whisper. He’s so angry at me all I can do is laugh, the attempt not great as his grasp on my throat is so tight.
I could give a fuck about his club. I’m not his enemy, Cross is.
Cross is the villain you see in comic books and can never beat. His vile ways corrupt but he’s wise. Not even I fully know what his intentions were, I just know there’s much more to the plan of breaking The Sin City Outlaws. I overheard him whispering about things that would tear the club apart. With Cross, there’s always much more than what meets the devil’s eye.
“TELL ME!” he roars, jerking me forward and backward.
“Fuck. You,” I wheeze. He roars, bringing me to my toes by pulling me up by the throat. I clench my eyes shut, waiting for whatever comes next. Hell, a bright light, maybe a flashback of my life.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The familiar voice of Machete makes my eyes snap wide, and my heart skips a beat. He’s here.
He’s standing in the doorway, his shoulders puffed out, his face red and chest rising and falling rapidly. He doesn’t look very pleased to see Zeek in here with me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Machete is fond of me.
“Why haven’t you broken her yet?” Zeek demands, never taking his eyes off of mine.
“It’s a process, one which you’re fucking up,” Machete snaps hatefully, before stepping into the room. “Pain won’t break her, so I needed to find something personal,” he explains as if I’m not even in the room.
I attempt a laugh. I have nothing and no one, so his process at something personal is a failed task before it begins.
“She is a cold hearted bitch. She has no-one but Cross,” Zeek replies dryly. In a way he’s right, the only person that I’ve ever had was Cross. It’s not a good feeling.
Machete crosses his arms and tilts his head sideways as he takes in what Zeek just said. He looks at me with a wolfish smirk, as if he knows something I don’t. Whatever it is, I can feel it in my gut I’m not going to like it.
“I think Cross is her only weakness. We should use her to get to Cross then,” Machete informs as he nods in agreement with himself. “Bait.” Machete’s eyebrows raise with the word, and I suddenly feel nauseous.
Zeek’s hard eyes slowly soften and his grip releases. I fall to the hard floor, my knees biting into the concrete unforgivingly. My palms grating on the hard surface as it breaks my fall, they instantly ache from the rough coldness.
Zeek turns to face Machete.
“That might actually work,” he mumbles. They both look down at me, and Zeek rubs at the dark scruff running the line of his jaw as he’s deep in thought.
With glossy eyes, I flick my gaze to Machete, his red hair disheveled and sexy, his bright eyes looking at me as if he can see right through me. Like he knows me more than I would ever know myself.
“I’m not the solution to your problems,” my voice full of emotion, as my eyes slide up their legs and to their cold eyes. Machete looks at me with understanding and Zeek looks confused so I clarify. “Cross doesn’t care about me,” I whisper, saying it out loud both hurts and relieves the ache in my chest. It hurts because that means nobody cares about me, I’m the dirt under the rug everyone steps on and tries to ignore is there. It relieves the pain I’m feeling because it means I am not Cross’s prodigy. I am my own and I might be something other than damaged goods in the wake of the man they call Cross.
Zeek leans down, a disgusted look passing his face. “I guess we’ll find out,” he says to me. His dark eyes promising me whatever happens, I won’t like it. He’ll see to it.
They both walk out and slam the door behind them. The sound of locks creaking into place sealing my confinement.
Machete
“So how do we use Cross against her?” I ask, making sure the door is locked. Rage pounds in my chest so hard I can feel it in my neck. I don’t like that he had his hands on my toy, my girl. Realization hits me of how upset I am about him touching her. It irritates me because I know this girl can never be mine. She’s a dead girl, and Zeek will see to it.
Pinching the bridge of my nose I try to breathe through the thoughts and feelings reeling through my body like a fucking circus. The way her eyes lit up when she saw me enter the room, I’ll never scrub that look from my mind. It made me feel good.
“I don’t know. But getting to her and Cross at the same time is hitting two birds with one stone.” Zeek looks up at me with a concerned look on his face. “We have to end this shit and soon brother. I don’t have a good feeling about any of this,” he informs me, and it unsettles me to hear that he’s unea
sy about all of this.
“Yeah no shit,” I mumble under my breath. What did he expect to happen when we doused the flame in gasoline?
“Just keep her in once piece, if Cross finds her mangled he may not want her,” he shoots me a dark look. “Not that you’re having a problem with that.” His words suggesting I’m not doing my job.
His words piss me off, insulting me for not physically trying to break Raven. It makes me really question why I haven’t tried. I can do more and still keep her in one piece.
“She won’t break with pain. You chose me to do this, so just fucking let me do it,” I clip back, trying to defend my actions, or lack of. He shakes his head and turns to leave the bunker without another word.
Looking at the door, I rub at my chin. I need to up my game, even if I’m afraid of what may come of it.
I get in the shower, thinking about the poem we found in the hotel and how to bring Cross and Raven together. Looking down, I notice my dick is hard and it’s not showing any signs of going away. Veins protrude, the tip swollen to the point it hurts. I have blue balls. Bending down I grab the apple soap and squirt it over my cock. Fisting it, I begin to pump it, slow at first and then faster. My balls pulse, and my ass cheeks clench. I rub back and forth, my thumb barely swiping over the tip before I pull my hand back. I close my eyes and see Raven. She’s naked, her hands caressing her bare tits, her dark nipples pebbled and begging me to bite and lick them. Pressure begins to swirl and warmth presses up my cock. I grit my teeth and pump faster, my toes curling into the tile as cum shoots out of my cock and onto the wall. Breathing through my release as it takes over my whole body, I envision me blowing my load all over her.
Opening my eyes, I realize the water is cold, and my mind is so loud it makes my head hurt. Leaning into the wall, my right hand pressed into it to keep me up. I wonder what the fuck I just did. Why I thought of Raven. She’s in my head, man.
That weed Mac brought me sounds good right about now. Turning the hot water off, I grab a towel and dry off. I smell her. She’s fucking everywhere. Wrapping it around my torso little droplets slide down my chest, as I head into the main room for some clean clothes.
After dressing, I sit on the couch and stare at the door across from me. What it is Raven is thinking about in there. What is she doing in there?
Standing I head into her room, finding her on the floor singing softly to herself again. I can’t hear the words so I don’t have a clue as to what she’s singing. It’s dark in here, cold too.
I drink her in, the way her black doe eyes look up at me, and her long legs look soft to the touch. I’m losing more than my mind, I’m losing control of her.
Raven
I stop mid-song, finding Machete standing in the doorway, the smell of his soap filling the room. He’s shirtless, with just a pair of black shorts hanging low on his hips. His hair is curly and brushing against the top of his ears, and the way his muscles bulge and dance with excitement when his eyes land on mine, you’d think he was a beast.
“Get up,” his tone is harsher than before, his whole demeanor different. My knees shake and I stand, knowing he’s not to be messed with at this moment.
Reaching for me with both hands, he grabs hold of my right wrist and pulls me across the room. I jerk and slam my heels into the floor to resist, but he just yanks me like a doll right behind him. He stops on the other side of the room, in front of a wall. I notice chains dangling freely, four of them to be exact. I’ve seen them before but I wasn’t sure what they were for. Grasping my wrist tightly he lifts me off my feet by a foot at least and clamps my wrist in one of the metal cuffs hanging from the wall. It’s cold and hard against my wrist bone, it hurts. He does the same to the left wrist and my weight feels ten times more than usual. I feel heavy, my arms stretched to the point my shoulders feel like they may snap.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask with a timid voice.
His warm hand cups my ankle, clasping it in a cuff before he does the same to the other.
“It seems I’ve been too nice, Raven, and you’ve been taking advantage of that,” he mumbles.
“Too nice?” I scoff. “You cut my hair, and you nearly cut my fucking finger off!” I protest. I’ve still been picking at the sore in boredom.
He stands straight, intimidating eyes hitting me hard. His tattooed chest rising and falling as he drinks me in. He likes me helpless, I can tell from the growing cock in his pants.
“Again, I’ve been too nice,” he growls. My stoic face slips into anger.
He leaves the room, and I wiggle my hands in the cuffs to try and free them, the chains clashing against the wall. It rubs my wrist even rawer and applies more pressure on my joints. I stop as it’s hard to breathe like this, and my wrists feel like they may snap at any moment.
Machete turns the light on and saunters back into the room. Something shiny and silver in his hands catches my attention. It’s not his knife, so what is it?
“Where is Cross, Raven?” Machete asks casually. His eyes drawn to the floor as he paces. His shoulders are slumped and his jaw tight.
I can’t help the half laugh that spills from my lips. This man is insane.
He raises his hand and throws something at me. Sharpness whizzes by me and cuts right into the wall next to my head. With a shaky head, I turn finding a Chinese throwing star impaled in the wall with pieces of my hair caught in it.
My eyes race to his, my heart racing in my chest like a beating drum.
“Are you fucking crazy?” I thought we were past this trying to break me shit. I thought they were going to wait for Cross or something. I should have known he wouldn’t give up.
“What is your boss, Cross, putting together? It’s surely something against the club,” he continues to talk like he’s unaffected, pacing the small space.
“I—I,” I can’t think, all I can think about is where he is going to throw that next star. What if he hits me?
Not liking my response, he throws another one and it impales my shirt to the wall. I lift my chin, swallowing back my fear. My chest warming with fury. He’s trying to intimidate me and I won’t give him the benefit of the doubt.
“You throw like a bitch,” I taunt. He shifts his head to the side, his brow lifting as if to say “is that right?”
He throws a star, and I see it before I feel it. It cuts into my right bicep before sticking to the wall.
I bite my lip to keep from hissing, blood tickling my arm as it drips down. The burn is deep, and it stings to unbearable lengths. I clench my teeth and refuse to let my tears fall down my cheeks.
“Tell me!” he bellows, but I just hang my head, refusing to look him in the eye. If I do, I might cry and show him just how close to breaking I am.
Machete stomps up to me and fists my chin. Making me look him in the eyes. His gaze falls to the blood sliding down my tan arm and spotting onto the floor like one of those pictures rich people pay for.
I choke on emotion, gaining his attention. His eyes that appear soft mask into something darker. So fast I’m not sure there was anything there soft to begin with.
“Oops, I missed,” he smiles malevolent.
I inhale a strong breath.
“Like I said, you throw like a bitch,” I grit through the pain.
He grabs me by the chains, jerking me back and forth. I cry out with pain, the metal cuffs on my wrist, the weight on my chest and my cut all protesting. He mimics my whimpering, and deep inside it makes me fucking angry. Arching my neck I scream in his face, shaking the chains with him.
Stepping back, he chuckles rubbing his beard as he looks me over. “You really are a crazy bitch. Even playing circus games with your life won’t make you give up a man that cares nothing about you. A man that locked you in a cage like an animal when you were a kid and made you fight until you were nearly dead. I’m not sure if that’s dedication or fucking stupidity.” His brows inch together as he looks at me with a serious glare.
He throws the last
star in his hand and I squeeze my eyes shut scared he’s going to nail me again. It lands right between my legs, a whoosh of air spreading across my sex.
“Do you want me to kill you? Do you want Cross to kill you?” he hollers, and I pinch my lips shut. “I’ve never run my blade over skin so soft before,” he whispers, as his finger trails along the dripping blood. My chest heaves trying to find air, but it’s coming up empty every time I gasp.
“Will it slice like butter or go straight to the bone?” he tilts his head to the side, as his fingers spread my wound wider. I clench my eyes shut, tears leaking out.
“You’re crying,” he observes with a delicate tone. Thumbing my cheek and smearing my blood on my face.
“Because I’m fucking pissed!” I hiss, wanting to get at him, at Cross, at myself! I did this to myself. I fucking put myself here just trying to get back at Alessandra! It’s so stupid.
“Me too, Raven. Me too,” he mutters before leaving.
Slamming the door shut, I scream as loud as I can, the taste of blood spitting from my throat. I jerk my chains, my wrist about to snap, and my pain insignificant to the one rattling my chest.
As I scream, I hear Machete roaring in the other room. Our cries of pain mixing and telling a silent story only are dark hearts can understand.
Machete
Later that night I enter her cell and find her limp and asleep in her chains. Her head is laying on her shoulder and her body is arched from her own weight. Swallowing the lump in my throat I unlatch her right wrist, and then her left. She sways into me and I catch her. My nose in the crook of her neck I can’t help but smell her before holding her while I completely free her. Carrying her tightly against my chest, I slowly lay her on the bed and watch her sleep.
She’s fucking tough. I hate and love that about her. I want her, I want her so fucking bad it makes me a traitor without even having to admit it. My eyes fall on her cut in her arm, it looks nasty. Her wrists are purple from her jerking and trying to escape too. I turn away from it, not liking the way sympathy sets heavy in my stomach. I’m Machete, I gut people open and play in their blood like a toddler in a sandbox.