Page 62 of Chained

I do know. That's the worst part of it. I've always known, and I've always chosen survival. But tonight is different, tonight I'm not me. I'm not the weapon they forged; I'm back to being the eight-year-old kid trapped in the back of the van. I'm the one person who knows the fear that lives inside that girl.

"It's one person, Adrian." I try to reason without spilling every fucking emotion that's running through my head. It's hard. Everything is so fucking loud.

"It's always one person." His jaw tightens. "But it never ends at just one, Jax. You save one of them, and Vincent takes three more to make the point. Fourteen years, I've kept you alive. Fourteen years, I've stood between you and every stupid decision you've ever made, and I will not watch you throw it away over a box you were told not to open."

"Adrian—"

"I am not finished." His grip tightens. "You hand it over. You go to your room. And you forget whatever you think you heard on that drive. Are we clear?"

Jarrod hasn't moved. He's staring at the ground, thumbnail between his teeth. He knows better than to interrupt and face Adrian's wrath. I envy him in this moment.

I hold Adrian's gaze.

"Are. We. Clear." Each word is separate. Final.

I nod, suddenly feeling smaller than I ever have. I'm used to Adrian's discipline, fuck I've had more good hidings than I can remember. Any time I spoke back, any time I did something against the rules, Adrian was there to keep me in check. But this feels different. For some reason, Adrian doesn't seem angry.

He seems scared.

"Go with him, Jar." Adrian moves between us until he's stood guarding the van doors. Jarrod moves quickly to my side as we move into the manor.

"Drink?" Jarrod's voice is small, quiet.

"Not tonight, brother." I sigh through the words. He doesn't reply. We walk in silence until we separate, Jarrod heading for his room while I make my way to my own. I push through the door and let the familiar feeling of my own space settle, offering me the smallest moment of relief. Throwing my jacket on the bed, I walk out onto the balcony and stare into the darkness. I don't know why or even how I know, but my head turns without thinking as I look out to the empty balconies beside me⁠—

And that's when I see her.

Her curls, the tiny baby hairs that curl against her temple and her haunting big brown eyes that glint under the moonlight.

Amora.

Our eyes lock, and I forget every single thing. Every rule. Every reason. All of it gone in the space of a breath. I don't move, and neither does she. And for a second, the whole manor ceases to exist. There's no coffin sitting in the van outside. No Adrian's voice still ringing in my ears. No weight of the night pressing down on my chest. Just her face and the way she's looking at me like she's trying to work out if I'm real or not.

She looks different up there. Something in her eyes has changed since the warehouse, since the Order meeting. Something…quieter. Something that shouldn't be there on a face like hers.

I should look away.

Then the doors behind her open.

Vincent steps out. His hands find her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest, and I watch her body go still under his touch. Her eyes drop from mine, and that's when I see Vincent looking over her shoulder, staring straight at me. The smile spreads slowly as he rests his chin against her hair, his hands wandering over her body, across her breasts until he reaches her throat.

Slowly, he pulls her back into the room. Her eyes dart back to mine, and I see every plea, every beg to save her, but I'm paralysed in this moment until she's out of sight.

My jaw tightens, stomach doing somersaults. I turn on my feet and rush through my room. Slamming the door behind me, I know where I'm going, but I can't talk myself out of it. I need something, a release, a distraction—a fucking hole to plough my cock through until I can't think of anything else.

I don't know when or how I ended up at her playroom. I know she'll be here; she always is. I push open the door slowly and I see her, long, black hair down her back, wearing only black lingerie—straddling a woman on her bed.

She turns with a smile, eyes dark. My eyes flick from her to the girl beneath her, the sobs filling my ears. I move closer, and that's when I see the girl's chest covered in pins. I hear the vibrations, but I don't register it, not until my eyes fan down and I see the vibrator placed between the girl's thighs. Her cries are mixed with moans. Fuck, I feel sick.

"What the fuck are you doing, Melina?"

"Playing. Would you like to join?"

She licks her lips as she slowly slides the pin deep into the girl's breast. The girl cries out, her blonde hair dirty, eyes wide. I don't know if she's in pain or if she's close to an orgasm. She ducks down and gently presses her lips against the girl's, slow and passionate, their lips smacking and tongues colliding.

She pulls away, turning to face me as her teeth graze her bottom lip. She climbs off the girl, her fingers running over her nipples as she then slowly makes her way over to me. My body stiffens, but my cock throbs at the sight of her. I glance at the girl in the bed who hasn't moved. I watch as she writhes on the bed, hands clutching the sheets, her moans flooding my ears as the vibrator sits against her clit.

This is what I need. This is what will get rid of her voice. I try to breathe, to let myself feel something that isn't the emptiness crawling through my chest.