Hurt (The Hurt Series, #1)

by Lydia Michaels

  Rory placed the weapon on the table and nudged it closer to her. “Take the pistol, Trinket.”

  Her hesitation stretched into tense seconds, each one tingling like pins and needles.

  “Take it,” Rory whispered, his eyes wild with anticipation.

  Her hand quivered as she reached for the handle. A sharp shift in the air chilled his lungs.

  Callan recognized the moment she decided to shoot her tormentor. So did Rory.

  “Careful, Trinket.” He caught her wrist and Callan’s knees softened as he prepared to spring into action at any second. “There’s only one bullet loaded. But I have all night and many, many more.”

  Her shoulders shifted inelegantly, as if a chill chased up her spine. Rory released her arm and sat back, content with his warning.

  “Good girl.”

  Innis kept her head low as her fingers curled around the metal. The gun looked heavy and wrong in her delicate grip.

  Rory clapped his hands together. “Who else wants te play? Where’s that squirrely fellow with the green eyes who’s been leeching off me for the last year?”

  Rhys.

  Callan watched his sister’s hold on the weapon tighten. When she sat unanimated, it was easy to mistake her stillness for calm, but the gun gave her away as it shook in her grip.

  “Someone find him.”

  Innis’s gaze, her unspoken plea, cut into him like an ax to the chest. Rhys stood just behind Rory, in the bordering doorway. Innis knew he was there, and her internal scream that dinnae make a sound shook Callan like the tremor of a seismic quake. She was panicking.

  Callan shook his head, warning her not to do anything stupid. If she tried to shoot Rory, she had a one out of six chance of actually firing a shot. Five chances of failure and Rory would punish her beyond anything any of them wanted to imagine.

  “I’m here,” Rhys said, stepping forward and saving Innis from endangering herself.

  Rory grinned. “The one thing about a squatter is tha’ they’re always around. Have a seat, leech. We’re a player short.” He kicked out the empty chair to his right, across from where Innis stood.

  Rhys’s gaze bounced between Innis and the gun, as he lowered himself to the chair.

  “Trinket,” Rory said, keeping his eyes on Rhys. “Put the gun in your mouth.”

  “No!” Rhys jumped up from the chair, toppling it to the ground. Two men grabbed his shoulders, and Callan took a jolting step forward before stopping himself.

  His eyes shot to Uma, still playing with her blocks then back to his sister and Rhys. Rory glanced at him and smiled with slow, eel-like satisfaction.

  “Did ye want te play, MacGregor?”

  Despite everything he knew of Rory, he trusted this strange fascination he had with Innis. Why would he play a game that threatened to destroy something he loved?

  Because he’s incapable of love...

  Nothing was sacred in this house. No one was safe. Callan quickly tried to switch his thinking to that of a psychopath.

  This wasnae simply Russian roulette. Rory’s motives were never that transparent. He wanted something. And it wasnae Innis’s blood spattered all over the table—he had to believe that. But what?

  He matched Rory’s depravity with a cold calm. “What are ye doing, Rory?”

  “We’re playing a game.”

  Callan shook his head. “Ye dinnae want te play this game. This isnae the sort of game anyone wins.”

  Like an ill-behaved child incapable of gettin’ the attention he needs, he argued, “Oh, someone always wins.”

  Aye, and that person was usually Rory. “You’ll lose her. Who will ye play with if she dies?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Toys break.”

  “Let’s play a different game. One we all enjoy.”

  His glare tightened, seeping with challenge. “I want your sister te put the pistol in her mouth.”

  His jaw ticked.

  Rhys surged forward, but they had him outnumbered, holding him back. He struggled. “Innis, don’t listen te him!”

  The more Rhys fought, the more it became a battle of choice, one where Innis would have to choose a side to take. And Rory never lost.

  “Rhys, shut up,” Callan snapped, but his friend had been pushed past his limit over the last year, watching her endure so much cruelty at the hands of this man.

  “Fuck off, Callan! Innis, put the goddamn gun down!”

  Giddy with warped joy, Rory laughed. “Trinket, last chance. Put the pistol in your mouth.”

  Her chest rose with rapid inhalations as everyone watched and waited for her to move. She hesitated too long, and Rory’s delinquent amusement silenced. His fist slammed into the table. “Put the fuckin’ gun in yer mouth!”

  Her nostrils fluttered with panic as her face tightened and she looked at Rhys. Her arm holding the gun lowered to her side in unspoken defiance.

  A harsh breath hissed past Rory’s tiny teeth. “Fine. Bring me the child.”

  The gun was suddenly in Innis’s mouth, her entire body trembling as her eye screwed shut. But Rory was already standing.

  “Rory.” Callan snapped, jerking the man’s attention away as his sister shook hard enough to hit the damn trigger without even trying. “Play. Another. Game.”

  His cold, calculating stare burrowed into him, and his lips twitched. This was what he wanted. He dinnae want to kill her, his precious little plaything. He wanted to use her, just like he used everything else.

  But Rory wasnae after the baby or his sister or even Rhys. He was after him.

  Rory tipped his head back and breathed deep, the way he often did when scenting victory. “If I told her te pull the trigger, she would.”

  Callan slowly nodded, agreeing with him. “Aye. She’ll do anything you tell her te do.”

  “I own everyone in this room.”

  Callan knew where this was headed. They’d treaded over this beaten path since the day he’d arrived. But today was the day Rory would demand an answer. He’d have it his way, or there would be blood.

  Like he’d watched his sister do so many times before, Callan shut off his natural impulses and slipped into a shell. “You’re a very powerful man, Rory.”

  “Aye.” He preened, licking his lips and leaving them wet. “They might be free te roam, but they’ll always obey. I own all of them, MacGregor. Including you.”

  He shoved his pride down as low as it would go, tucking it safely beside his dignity, and nodded.

  Rory scowled. “You nod because you think you’re smarter than me. But I see the self-righteous way ye view my world. You fight the truth. I might be a pile of shite, but you’re the maggot that needs me te survive.”

  Callan kept his breathing level, his eyes locked with Rory’s. “We’re on the same side, Rory. I do everything ye ask of me.”

  “But ye always have an agenda, don’t you, Callan.”

  He dinnae know the significance of using his first name, nor did he want to waste time trying to figure out why it sounded so profane on his wet lips.

  He spread his hands in front of him. “My agenda’s irrelevant. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He glanced at his sister. “So long as ye do not hurt her, ye have my loyalty.”

  Rory scratched the back of his head, a strange show of uncertainty that concerned Callan more than any overreaction might. It was the drugs in his system, making him more dangerous than usual. Things were fraying too fast, and he’d grown used to an unemotional Rory. Anything else would be severely more disturbing.

  “Total loyalty?” he asked.

  Callan nodded, unable to speak the bitter lie.

  “Say it. Say I have your total loyalty and obedience.”

  His brow hung heavy over his glaring eyes. “I’m here. I’ve been here. I’ll continue te be here.”

  “Aye, you’re here. That’s not what I asked.”

  “Ye dinnae ask anything.”

  Frustration burned a red fog over his face. “Stop confusing matters! Y
ou’re a lowly taxation officer, yet ye think you’re somehow better than the rest of them.”

  “I’m no better than anyone else, Rory.”

  “That’s right. You’re no better! All that bulk and sinew and you’re no stronger than any other man sitting in this room,” he sneered. “Dae ye ken why she obeys me?”

  He forced his knees to remain locked and still. She obeyed out of terror, but that wasnae the answer he wanted. “Respect.”

  Rory threw his head back and laughed. “That’s what ye think I want te hear?” He slammed his fist on the table, and Innis flinched. “I dinnae give a fuck about her respect. It’s her fear I crave. And the fact tha’ ye have not kept your promise to kill me proves even you’re afraid of what I might do. Ye probably jerk off to thoughts of murdering me. Fuck, ye outweigh me by a ton. You’re nothin’ but fine, chiseled masculinity, but you’re as useless as a twat on a corpse when it comes down te it.”

  “Twat on a corpse still works in a pinch,” someone yelled.

  “Shut up,” Rory snapped. His challenging glare burned into him. “Does the thought of me dead make ye hard, MacGregor? I know there’s somethin’ broke inside of you, maybe some wee part Da dinnae love. It’s okay te admit ye get off on the pain of others.”

  The usual elocution of his finely dressed words slipped with each taunt, the heavy accusations stripping away all falsehoods and leaving everyone uncomfortably bare. It was a game, and Callan couldnae find an alternate end.

  The clank-clank-clank of that block trying to make it into the hole filled the silence. The tip of the gun still rested inside Innis’s mouth.

  “What do ye want, Rory?” he growled, knowing there was an end game and this drawn-out torture of guess-what-fucked-up-thing-I-have-in-mind was all part of the sadistic foreplay.

  “I want yer surrender. Yer obedience. I want you te admit I own you. I want te know I’ve broken you so severely that the ugliness will always seep out, that I’ve left a wound so open you’ll never be able te sew it shut. I want te know, that even if you kill me someday, I’ll always be with you, a scar ye cannae shake.”

  He already was. This place and all the evil inside would linger like a cancer in all of them. No matter if they escaped alive or dead, they were changed the moment this place touched them.

  “You’re not one who’s easily forgotten,” he confessed.

  “Not good enough.” He stepped behind Innis, his hands fondling her trembling shoulders, tracing along her arms until his fingers closed over hers where they held the butt of the gun. He wedged it deeper down her throat. “That’s a good girl.”

  “Get away from her!” Rhys shouted and lurched, earning a hard punch in the ribs that folded him in half. He moaned Innis’s name as he gasped for breath.

  Rory rolled his eyes. “You, sir, are on my last nerve.” He turned his attention back to Callan. “This is true surrender, MacGregor. I could pull the trigger or tell her te do it for me. She’d blow her own brains out before daring te defy me.”

  “You’ve made your point,” he snapped, sweat breaking out across his face.

  “I’ve only begun.”

  Things were unraveling, and Uma still hadnae accepted that a square block would never fit in the damn round hole. Dinnae anyone, aside from them, have the instinct to get her the hell out of here?

  “Enough of this,” Callan growled.

  “Oh, are we inconveniencing you? Sorry, no escaping work today, MacGregor. I’ve saved ye a front row seat.” He jerked the gun out of Innis’s mouth and shoved her forward, smashing her face to the satin finish of the table and positioning the pistol to the base of her skull. He glanced at Rhys. “You’ll enjoy this, too.”

  A sharp gasp slipped from Innis as Rory shoved her gown up over her hips.

  “Enough!” Callan threw over a chair and slammed his fist into the table. “Name it, and it’s yours. Just get yer fucking hands off of her!”

  “Yessssss,” he hissed, letting Innis’s gown fall back into place. “Let that beautiful rage out.” He shut his eyes and shivered.

  “What the fuck do ye want, Riordan?”

  His eyes opened, and he smiled with a full show of little teeth. “I thought I made it clear. I want your total obedience, your absolute surrender.”

  Innis’s body seized with fear. This needed to end. “Done.”

  Rory lifted a brow. “That easily?”

  “The gun goes away, and ye let her up.”

  The metal clattered to the table. Innis’s face crumpled around a silent sob as her body withered to the floor. Rory held out his hands and rounded the long dining table, his eyes never leaving Callan.

  He stopped just in front of him. “Anything I want ... you’ll obey.”

  “I said yes.”

  He nodded, drawing in a slow, deep breath. “Shall we?”

  Callan glanced at his sister. Rhys was already at her side. He looked back at Rory and nodded stiffly.

  Of all the horrors Innis survived in this asylum, this one would be his. He’d take it, stuff it down, and grow stronger from the pain.

  Callan followed Rory to the door, his eyes unseeing of anyone or anything around him.

  Rory stopped at the threshold of the room and looked back. “Keep the baby away from her until I return. If I don’t ... drown it.”

  Callan dutifully followed him out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Riordan Private Estate

  Lower Whitecraigs, Edinburgh—Scotland

  Callan followed Rory into his private quarters on the second floor, the tattering threads of his sanity unraveling fast.

  Rory swayed to the glass cart that sat in front of the fireplace. Ice clinked. “Drink?”

  “No.” Callan stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest for fear that if he unballed his fists, he might strangle the life out of the fucking creep.

  “Oh, have a drink, MacGregor. Live a little.”

  He watched with hooded eyes as Rory mixed two cocktails. Gone was the cold, calculating glare that had appeared below. The tension seemed lighter up here, replaced with a sort of implied kinship Callan dinnae feel.

  “Where are my manners? Come in.”

  He obeyed only to avoid Rory coming any closer and touching him. His personal space would evaporate soon enough, but for now, he needed the distance to prepare himself.

  A long couch hid the centre of the room where a sitting area clustered over an antique oriental rug. Wicker rockers angled to the sofa, their backs in front of the enormous four-poster bed draped with white lace that looked as if it hadnae been cleaned in decades. A marble-footed fireplace wore black soot up the front of its façade, and several glass birds decorated the mantle.

  Callan would never be sure, but he wondered if the house and the things Rory dressed Innis in had once belonged to the man’s mother. He wondered where she was now.

  “Sit.” Rory handed him a glass.

  The weight of the crystal filling his hand seemed sturdy enough to kill a man. He envisioned himself doing just that, smashing the heavy crystal into Rory’s face, bludgeoning him with the heavy heel of the glass until his skull caved in.

  “You’re not drinking your cocktail, MacGregor.”

  His grip tightened around the crystal as the toe of Rory’s foot pressed into his knee. One snap and he could break the limb so severely it would never heal. He jerked his knee away.

  “Uh, uh, uh,” he tsked.

  Callan’s lips formed an airtight seal against his teeth, and he forced his legs to relax.

  The foot returned to his knee, riding the thick seam of his jeans up the inner part of his thigh and only stopping when Rory fully extended his leg. “Ye promised total obedience.”

  His molars ground tight and his nostrils flared. “I’m here, am I not?” The words twisted through his clenched teeth.

  Rory tipped back his glass and drank it down in several, fast swallows. The crystal clicked loudly as he set it aside. “Stand up.”

>   Callan’s gut twisted as he rose from the seat. He studied the room, seeking a focal point to target his pent up anger. He needed something to lock his eyes on, an interesting distraction to help him detach.

  Any resistance would break the delicate truce keeping Innis and her baby temporarily safe downstairs. But as Rory’s narrow finger danced across his chest, Callan questioned if he possessed the strength to endure whatever this next while would bring.

  His eyes closed as an unfamiliar emptiness expanded inside of him, painfully stretching his chest until every beat of his heart hammered like an icepick chipping through stone. How did Innis do this? How did she turn everything off?

  “Do ye think tha’ll work?”

  Callan opened his eyes, glaring at the man who now tugged open the buckle of his pants. Having never been touched there by anyone, he suffered a strange surge of curious tension in his loins. His veins washed with acid and grime. Everything inside of him wanted to pull away.

  “You shut your eyes like a wee boy asked to stay after church with a grabby priest.” Cool fingers snaked into his pants and Callan grunted as they coiled around his flaccid cock with entitled possession. “Do ye think the darkness can protect ye?”

  His jaw remained wired shut as the tugging persisted and blood forcefully rushed lower, filling and stretching him until he filled the other man’s grip.

  “That’s it now.” Rory’s other hand snaked under his shirt, gripping his hip as he pulled harder. “A man of your size has sizeable needs. Maybe there’s a reason I never see ye with the women.”

  Callan held his breath, fighting back any response, but it backfired, bursting out of him in a hard grunt that gave away the physical release barreling through him.

  Rory touched him with absolute purpose, the way a man handles himself in private. No wasted time on delicate gestures or lies about love. The goal was completion, and with every pull of Rory’s fist, he brought him closer to that humiliating end.

  “Dinnae fight it, Callan, not when it feels so delicious to give in.”

  Hot breath punched through his nose as his hands fisted at his side, his weight rocking on the desensitized soles of his feet.