Page 34 of Cold Bastard
“Good.” The word felt foreign on my tongue, a venom I spat out without conscious thought.
My jeans were getting tight. I could feel the throb of my dick with every step, every time she gasped or cried out. Her defiance wasn’t just annoying; it was fucking intoxicating. Made me want to see how far I could push her before she shattered completely. And in that moment, the terrifying realization hit me: I didn’t justwantto push her, Ineededto. I needed to see if I could break her, just as a part of me was breaking. The disciplined persona I’d painstakingly built was crumbling, replaced by something I both loathed and craved. This was a failure, a monumental collapse, and the bitter taste of it was far worse than any physical pain she might endure. I was becoming the very thing I had spent my life running from, and the self-hatred was a suffocating blanket, promising a regret that would haunt me long after this moment passed.
The brothers were watching now. Some were grinning. Some were curious.
I hauled her up the steps, and she stumbled over everything. Her legs gave out as I hauled her through the door into the main room. The usual chaos died instantly. Music cut off. Pool games stopped. Club girls straightened up, watching.Perfect. Let them all see what happens when you steal from the Brotherhood.
I dragged her across the room toward Morpheus, her boots leaving scuff marks on the floor, her breathing ragged and desperate. My cock pressed hard against my zipper, the friction almost painful as I moved. “Here,” I said, shoving her forward hard enough that she fell to her knees in front of him. “Your thief. Delivered as promised.”
She caught herself on her hands, her hair falling forward, her shoulders heaving. For a moment, she just stayed there. On her knees. Breathing hard. Then she looked up at me. And then the stupid bitch tried to stand. I watched as she pushed herself up, watched as her legs shook, watched as her face twisted with pain and rage and something that looked like determination. Then she took one step toward me and slapped me across the face.
The crack echoed through the silent clubhouse.
For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody breathed as I felt the sting spread across my cheek, sharp and immediate. I felt heat bloom under my skin, radiating outward like wildfire. I felt every single eye in the room watching to see what I would do, waiting for my reaction, the tension so thick I could have cut it with a knife. The silence was deafening. Time seemed to slow down; each second stretched into eternity as I processed what had just happened.
And then I felt something else. Something unexpected. My cock throbbed, fully hard now, straining painfully against myjeans. The defiance in that slap, the sheer fucking audacity of it, the way her hand had connected with my face without hesitation or fear. It lit something up inside me I hadn’t felt in years. Something dark and primal. Something predatory and sexual and completely fucking wrong. A hunger I kept buried, locked away where it couldn’t hurt anyone. Something that she unknowingly just unleased. But I didn’t care. Not anymore. Because she’d just given me permission. She crossed a line, shattered boundaries, and now all bets were off.
This was wrong. I knew it was wrong. Every fiber of my being screamed against the thrill that was coursing through me. I was supposed to protect her, not... this. Morpheus had offered me a way out, a chance to atone for past mistakes, to finally be decent. And here I was, about to throw it all away for a flash of twisted pleasure. My choice was stark: the path of redemption, or the descent into the intoxicating darkness. And my body, betraying every good intention, was already leaning towards the latter. My shame warred with the rising tide of lust, a battle I was desperately losing. She had a right to be angry, to lash out. And I, in my brokenness, reveled in it.
“Nano,” I vaguely heard Morpheus growl.
I should have recoiled, should have defended myself, should have shouted for her to stop. Instead, I remained rooted to the spot, a captive to the raw power of her defiance, and the even more potent power of my own corrupted desire. I was failing her and failing myself, in the most profound way possible.
My hand shot out, closing around her throat with a speed that surprised even me. Not gentle, not careful, but with enough force to cut off her air completely as I lifted her onto her toes. Her hands flew to my wrist, her nails digging into my skin, a desperate, animalistic struggle to pry my fingers loose. She couldn’t. A part of me, a dark, insistent whisper, reveled in herhelplessness, in the raw power surging through me as it taunted me...She deserves this. She wants this.
But another voice, a smaller, colder one, screamed in my head.What are you doing? This isn’t you. This isn’t who you’re supposed to be.
I saw her face, contorted in silent agony, as a sickening lurch twisted in my gut.
This was too far. This was a line I swore I would never cross. Still, my grip tightened as I slammed her back against the wall. Hard. The impact rattled the framed photos, sending one crashing to the floor. Her head snapped back, cracking against the wood paneling, and I heard the small, choked sound she made. A half gasp, half whimper.
The sound, primal and pathetic, went straight to my cock, a jolt of pure, unadulterated arousal that disgusted me even as it fueled me. This wasn’t just anger anymore; it was something far more monstrous, something I didn’t recognize.
Her eyes went wide. Panicked. Her mouth opened, trying to pull in air that wouldn’t come. I leaned in close, my face inches from hers, and watched. Watched her face start to darken, a morbid fascination taking hold. Watched the blood vessels in her eyes begin to burst, tiny red spiderwebs spreading across the whites. Watched her pulse hammer against my palm, frantic and desperate. Watched her realize she was going to die if I didn’t let go.
The choice was mine. Let her live and face the consequences of her actions. Or... or let this dark tide carry me further, drown out the conscience, silence the screams in my own head.
“You think you’re in charge here?” I said, my voice calm. Conversational. The contrast between my words and the violence I was inflicting was jarring, a reflection of the war raging within me. “You think you get to put your hands on me?”
And the fucked-up part, I was so fucking hard it hurt. A testament to a perversion I was now embracing, a terrifying confirmation that I had become the very thing I fought against. The regret, I knew, would be immense, a weight that would crush me. But in this moment, the primal instinct, the need to dominate, to punish, was all that mattered. And it was a terrible, damnable thing.
She tried to speak but couldn’t. She just made a wet, choking sound that made my cock pulse. It was a sound I craved, a testament to my control, yet a sliver of something sharp pricked at my gut.STOP! You are hurting her!
The thought was a traitorous whisper, quickly drowned out by the roaring need to dominate.
“You’re not in charge,” I continued as I tightened my grip. Her nails dug deeper into my wrist, drawing blood. I didn’t care. The pain was a confirmation, a physical anchor to the escalating thrill. But even as I felt it, a flicker of unease, a ghost of the man I used to be, recoiled.You’re killing her! STOP! You don’t want this.
“You don’t give orders. You don’t make demands, and you sure as fuck don’t hit me.”
Her pulse was slowing now. Her struggles were getting weaker. Good. Let her feel it. Let her understand exactly how powerless she was. The feel of her life literally in my hand, the way her body went slack, the terror in her eyes. This was the most aroused I had been in years. My cock throbbed with every beat of her failing pulse, every desperate attempt she made to breathe. A dark, intoxicating power coursed through me, but beneath it, a cold dread began to bloom. A chilling premonition of a self I no longer recognized.
“You belong to the Brotherhood now,” I sneered, watching as her eyes rolled back. “You’re property. I own you.” My words felt heavy on my tongue, more like a pronouncement than a threat.Part of me, a part I desperately tried to suppress, argued with myself.You’re not a monster, Tucker. You’re not him.But the need to prove myself, to claim what I believed was mine, was a gnawing hunger.
The room was silent except for the wet, desperate sounds of her trying to breathe. I cataloged every detail. The way her body had gone limp, held up only by my hand around her throat. The way her face had turned a mottled purple-red. The way her eyes had glazed over, consciousness slipping away. The way my cock had gotten hard watching her break. The way I wanted to keep going. Wanted to feel her go completely limp. Wanted to watch the exact moment the fight left her eyes. But as I stared at her, a profound sense of loss washed over me.
This wasn’t triumph. It was... emptiness. And in the deepest, most hidden corners of my being, a new fear took root: the fear of becoming the very thing I swore I would never be, and the devastating regret that was already starting to settle in.
“Nano.”
