Breaker (Unmasked #3)

12. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Delilah

M y boot drags as it hits the top step, and I wonder how I’ve managed to climb a set of stairs several times a day and still be this out of shape. My determination began wavering after the second set of stairs, but now that I’m on the fourth floor, it’s rising again, making my heart skip.

I need to get in better shape.

And I need to find those keys.

I’ve already determined the keys are in Reaper’s room, so I stop at the first door, hoping I’ve got the right room.

I twist the knob, but it’s locked. Lifting my foot, my hand drops to grab for my little knife when I remember once again, Viper never gave it back to me.

Damn it.

Not wasting time, I move to the second door, feeling like Goldilocks, terrified the bears are going to find me as I reach for the knob. When it turns easily, my fear jumps up a few notches, but I push, and the door swings open with a quiet creak. I glance over my shoulder, my heart already thundering so fast it’s hard to breathe. Part of me expects Striker to appear, belt in hand and at the ready, but the house is deadly quiet.

I step in, closing the door behind me, and scan the room. It’s just like Striker’s, but there’re no masks lined up, and no personal items on display. The dresser drawers reveal nothing, only a few black shirts and socks. The bottom drawer reveals a stack of masks, telling me I’m in Breaker’s room.

Other than that, the room is completely empty save for one of those old traveling trunks. I slide over to the vintage footlocker at the end of his bed, taking in the creamy, pillowy comforter, and knitted blanket thrown artfully over the end. I drop to my knees in front of the leather footlocker and flip the rusted latch open. As much as I know I shouldn’t be snooping, I can’t seem to stop myself.

Inside are several old and worn music books and thick folders bound with string. Even though my mind screams to hurry, I pick up a folder and unravel the string, opening it to the last page.

I blink several times, trying to figure out what I’m seeing. Times and dates. Random names, mostly female, and some strange form of code. Many have been crossed out, some so aggressively, the pen ripped through the paper. The next page holds more names, some men, but all crossed out. In the middle of the book are pages filled up with strange lists, almost like a log, with dates and times and a letter next to it.

C 11-12-20 12:00/12:30 w/D CICI Italian

Stay focused. Stay centered.

My mother’s words flash in my head and my heart flutters painfully. It’s been so many years since I’ve even thought about that day that I slam the book shut and shove it back, closing Breaker’s trunk and standing.

Keys. I need those keys.

I glance at the bed again, the fluffy blankets and expensive sheets, and I briefly wonder what it would be like to sleep next to them.

Which one, Delilah?

I shake the thought loose, because I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to delve into the logistics of fucking four men and my best friend. Much less picking apart what their promises mean when they just sent Cora back to the seventh level of hell.

Scanning the space one last time, I leave Breaker’s room, and dart to the door between Striker and Breakers. I don’t even have to wonder if it’s locked because the door is partially open, like it never latched all the way. Using just the tips of my fingers, I tap it, and it swings open. Bright yellow light from the bedside lamp spills across the floor, illuminating the space with a buttery glow. When I step in, I know immediately it’s Viper’s room.

It smells like him.

Like soap and citrus and untamed male.

The bed’s unmade and a black plastic laundry hamper sits at the end of the bed, black pants and shirts spilling onto the floor. Like he was rummaging through it, or tossed the clothes in its direction, not caring if they made it into the basket.

On the dresser sits a stack of books. I run my thumb along the spines of each one, reading the titles, surprised and somehow not when I see they are all Tolkien novels.

With a hint of a smile, because of course, Viper would be a fantasy nerd, I ease the top drawer open. Nothing but boxers and socks. My brows raise when I open the second drawer.

Rope, silk fabric like the black material he used to cover my eyes that night in the dining room, several handcuffs, and an array of things I don’t even know how to identify, littler the drawer. I pick up a bottle of clear liquid and read the label, smirking when I see it’s lube.

Other than his naughty second drawer, the dresser holds nothing but clothes and his masks. I check the large armoire and gasp when I find a massive array of knives lining the interior instead of clothes. On the door, I spot a small one, similar to the one he gave me, and snag it, shoving it in my boot, not at all feeling guilty for stealing.

Or snooping.

Viper’s room has revealed more about him than the others and fits with what I’ve learned of him over the last few weeks.

There is only one room left. My eyes move back to the first door.

Heart pounding, I bolt back and stop in front of it, already pulling my newfound knife from my boot and jamming it between the latch and frame. It takes some wiggling, but it finally pops and the door swings open. Holding my breath, I wait. When Reaper doesn’t materialize to reprimand me for breaking into his room, I run forward, going first for the dresser.

I pause, breath seizing in my lungs when I see what’s in the top drawer.

Handfuls of small wooden figures lay scattered in the drawer, sliding around as I pull it open fully. I reach in, picking up a small bear. It’s not as crudely made as the one I found in Striker’s room, but it’s not as well-crafted as the next one I pick up. It’s another bear, but this one has fur and eyes carved into the soft brown wood.

I set it down gently, staring at the carving, seeing the years of progress the carver made, each little figurine slightly better than the next. In the back, I spot one of two wolves, the carving rough and half completed. Like the person never finished it.

Or never got the chance.

He made them.

Their brother.

Slowly, I slide the drawer shut, feeling like I’m invading something far more personal than all the items in Viper’s room. Like I never should have seen these.

My heart sinks, thinking of a man like Viper, or Breaker. Maybe he was like Striker, or Reaper, sitting somewhere carving these little figurines.

It puts a human to the information they gave me.

It wasn’t just a nameless person my father killed. He was their brother. Someone they loved. Someone who carved little animals and gave them as gifts, a show of his love and affection. Possibly even a lover.

My heart pangs and I step back, suddenly not caring about the keys. Suddenly not caring about the why or how. Not caring if they manipulated me, or who was at fault for Cora being sent away.

I just want her safe.

Safe from Rune. Away from the man who killed the person who carved animals from blocks of wood and gave it to his brothers.

I need to get her.

I open the next drawer and search, finding Reaper’s clothes and socks neatly organized. A few belts coiled up tightly. Irritated, I shut the last drawer and head for the little table holding the lamp next to his bed.

I stop for a minute, looking down at the white bedding, the crisp sheets and try to picture him sleeping here. I can’t. It’s hard to picture him as anything but a massive, looming form. But that doesn’t seem to fit him well anymore after who he was with us just two nights ago.

Passionate. Tender with Cora. With me.

As I slide the drawer open, I hear the clanging of metal before I spot the keys. I grip them, shoving them down into the pocket of my sweater.

“Found what you were looking for?”

I scream, my hand flying to my mouth as I spin.

Reaper stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching me, his mask smirking like I’m sure he is. I wonder how long he’s been there. If he saw me looking at his collection of memories.

His bare hand drops to his belt, hooking his thumb in the leather band. Of course, my eyes drop. My cheeks heat, remembering him inside me. Moving into me, emitting feral groans as he fucked me. Our eyes meet. The way his gaze dips down, then back up to my face, tells me he’s remembering too.

But he says nothing.

We haven’t spoken. Not yet. He vowed to get her, but other than those few words, we’ve not spoken since he told me he’d killed to have me. I spent the morning with Striker and Cora, then didn’t see him again until I stepped foot in the library and came face to face with their father.

He’s made so many promises, yet here we are. Cora gone.

My heart in shambles.

Reaper unmoving. Barely breathing.

My skin picks with unease. I’m not sure what to say to him after everything. It feels like we’re still complete strangers. Like we didn’t say or do any of the things that lovers do. Like whoever we were the other night, whatever passion possessed us was fleeting and we’re once again just these two people staring at each other.

Captive and captor.

“Put the keys back, Delilah.”

Shit. When he says my name that way, with that slight growl laced with a warning, I want to defy him.

Instead of barking out the demand again, he surprises me by saying, “And why would my pretty Kitten need the car keys?”

God. I hate my body.

My belly ripples, his compliment spreading desire through me, heating between my thighs. An ache blooms, one I know he can ease, and I don’t like the sensation. It makes me feel vulnerable. This feeling of being left wanting.

So, I do what I do best.

“So, I can take a fucking scenic drive,” I snap. “Why do you think?”

He pushes off the doorframe, moving closer, and I take a step back. Even after all the intimate moments, even after his promises, I’m not foolish enough to forget what he is.

Reaper pauses when my foot slides back to keep space between us, his entire body tensing, back straightening, making him look even more intimidating. I think he must clench his teeth with how his jaw moves under his mask.

He doesn’t like that I’m putting space between us. I wonder if it’s because he knows he still scares me a little.

Maybe even a lot.

He’s a killer, after all.

His eyes darken, hardening, losing all spark they had when he slipped his cum soaked fingers in my mouth and told me I was theirs.

His.

I think… I think whatever we built, that small structure held together by promises and hope, just crumbled.

His stance widens. Arms cross, eyes narrowing in on me like I’m a target now. Not something he craves. “What’s your plan? Drive back and return to your father? And tell him what, Kitten?”

The way he says my pet name makes my skin itch, the single word splintering into a thousand needles, scraping my flesh with its harshness. It no longer holds that lustful heat.

“That you’ve fucked your captors? That you are ours now? Will you tell him how much you liked all of our cum in you? How good it feels to be with us?” Reaper takes a step backward, further away from me. He’s the one putting distance between us now and I feel that stabbing of hurt that he must have felt a moment ago. “Or were you just planning on popping in and rescuing her?”

“I don’t know,” I grit out, angry at myself for this mess I’ve let myself get into. Angry at Reaper for putting me in this position. Feeling stupid for letting myself believe for a brief moment we…

We what?

Could have a relationship? With the four men who kidnapped me, held me hostage, forced me to my knees, took a belt to me, and then sent my best friend away? I don’t think they’re the crazy ones anymore. It’s obviously me.

I’ve been here too long, tucked away from reality, and I’m losing my mind. Sane people don’t fuck the men who are holding them captive. Sane people don’t crave another night with them. And sane people certainly don’t have this bone deep ache to bury their face in the chest of the killer standing before them until the pain, the longing, the fear, goes away.

“You can’t go back yet,” Reaper says, his use of the word yet snagging in my head and freeing me from my downward spiral. “It’s not time.”

Hope blooms in my chest, easing that ache he’s put there. “Yet?”

Ignoring me, Reaper turns his back. He doesn’t even try to get the keys from me.

How quickly he trained his kitten.

“She needs me,” I say, voice wavering.

He doesn’t answer.

Rage snakes through my mind at his blatant dismissal. How can he be so callous when he promised her? He promised us? We’re his. She’s his. My chest heaves, eyes stinging, remembering, him promising her. Us. I don’t even know what that means, belonging to them, to him, but I’ve never felt so wanted.

Wanted as a tool, Delilah. A way to get revenge on Rune . I need to remember that. I’m a means to an end. I’m their revenge and that’s it.

They can all make promises, vow to protect, fuck me into believing they want nothing more than us, but they sent her back.

They took her from me.

Again.

“When is a good time, Reaper?” I snarl. “After she’s hurt again?”

He pauses in the doorway, back growing rigid. Over his shoulder, he says, “When you are trained and prepared for the mission.”

“What mission?” I snap. “You have yet to tell me what you want me to do.”

Of course he doesn’t answer.

“What if he hurts her?” The way my voice cracks angers me even more. When his shoulders droop, rage splinters through me.

How dare he act like he cares?

I growl as I march forward, gripping his arm to force him to look at me. He lets me turn him, lets me shake his arm like I can shake some sense into him. Convince him to send me back now, right this minute. Instead of responding with venom, his onyx eyes seem to grow tender, his whole body softening under my grip.

“You can go back when I know you can defend yourself—“

“From who?” I snap. “You really think my father would hurt me?”

All that softness snaps, gone in an instant, and he somehow looks larger than before. I don’t have to see his face to know he’s angry. Rage leaks from him with every controlled breath. “You have no idea what Rune’s capable of when he’s cornered. When he feels slighted. When he wants revenge.”

“Revenge?” I ask, my brows knitting. “On you? For taking me?”

His hands flex, but he says nothing.

“I can handle Rune,” I say, letting go of his arm.

His humorless laugh does nothing but pour gasoline on my rage.

My neck throbs from my thundering pulse. “You lied to her.”

Fury flares his eyes. “You understand nothing,” he snaps. “Do you really believe I —“

“You promised her,” I say, cutting off his next few words. I don’t care what they are. He’s just spewing excuses. “You promised me .”

“I told you we’ll get her.”

“After what? She’s raped?”

His eyes close and his body goes rigid. “I have put measures into place to ensure—“

“Ensure what? He’s hurt her for years and no one knew.”

“If I hadn’t sent her back, it would have ruined years of planning.”

I shake my head, sick of all of this. “I don’t know what’s worse. That you were too much of a coward to defy your father, or that you sent her back to be abused by the man you hate.”

He rears back like I slapped him, then moves forward so fast, I barely have time to react before he’s gripping my arm, dragging me to him. His other arm lifts and I flinch. Reaper stills, hand frozen mid-air, eyes flashing with something like disappointment, before he slowly continues moving it toward me, gently tucking strands of hair behind my ear.

“I underestimated you,” Reaper whispers. His eyes grow darker, like the sight of me disgusts him. It makes my heart skip because I’ve not seen that dark look in weeks. “I won’t make that mistake again. You are Rune Gavin’s daughter, after all. Cruel.”

He shoves me back so violently I stagger, my stomach sinking.

“And you will manipulate innocent people to get what you want,” I snarl, hurt and anger making my tongue loose. “You lied to get us to trust you and you took—“

“Took?” he growls. “I took what you gave me, my pretty little Kitten.”

My cheeks flush, air sucking in my lungs from the possessive snarl in his voice.

He grips my arm again, shoving me backward. “And it’s ours now. You’re mine.”

My ass hits the edge of the bed, and he shoves me down. I scramble backward onto the mattress as he crawls forward.

“If you think you’re going to touch me again, you’re sadly mistaken,” I hiss, rage blurring my vision at his audacity. “You lost the privilege of fucking me when you sent my best friend back to her abuser.”

He doesn’t answer, just continues to move, forcing me up higher and higher on the bed. My back hits the headboard. It rattles and hits the wall. He stops in front of me, kneeling between my thighs that have inched up toward my chest in a futile attempt to keep him from touching me. The metal rails dig into my shoulders as I try to scoot up even higher until his hand drops to his belt and I freeze. Long, ink covered fingers slip it free of the buckle. My eyes dart back up to his.

“Don’t you dare,” I grate. Anger mixed with something tasting close to arousal, making me heady.

He yanks, freeing the leather from the buckle. Black eyes pin me in place. The silky sound of leather slipping through belt loops hits me between my legs.

“Reaper.” Even I hear the faint, breathy way his name slips out like a plea, though I’m not sure what for. Stop? Keep going? Free yourself and let me take you in my mouth like I’ve been shamelessly thinking about for far too long?

“Grip the headboard.”

A dull throb in my clit makes me move before I’m thinking, grabbing the metal rails on either side of my head.

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs, voice dropping low. “Even you know you belong to me.”

My teeth gnash together, fingers unfurling, embarrassment heating my cheeks. Before I can move, he’s gripping one of my wrists and holding it against the railing. With his other he’s wrapping the belt around and around, binding it to the rail.

“What are you doing?” I scream, using my free hand to claw at his fingers as he pulls the belt and slips it into itself, tying my wrist to the headboard.

He doesn’t answer as he slides back off the bed and moves to his dresser. I scramble, trying to slip the leather free, but he’s got a weird knot I’ve never seen before. I’ve barely gotten it loose before he’s back and gripping my other hand, still fumbling with the leather, and slams it against the railing, wrapping the belt around it.

A furious scream rips from my throat. “You fucking asshole!”

Still nothing. Even as I try to kick him in his gut, he says nothing. Just grips my ankle and yanks my leg downward, pinning it to the bed. I kick again, thrashing wildly, but he manages to climb between my legs, gripping my thighs so tight my pussy throbs. Reaper pulls me down toward him by my thighs until my dress is hitched up and my legs are fully open for him. When his hard length hits my clit, I instantly clamp my mouth shut.

“Good girl. No screaming,” he says calmly. Like this is normal. He grinds his dick to me again, rubbing himself over me and I feel how wet I am, my underwear soaked. When he runs his thumb over the material, I press my eyes closed, biting my lip to hold in my whimper. “Look how wet you get for me, Kitten. I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you.”

I swallow, opening my eyes to pin him with a glare. “I don’t.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a terrible liar.” He scoots back but keeps my thighs in his grip. “We’ll have to work on that.”

Reaper yanks my legs open wider, shoving them up toward my chest, and leans down, pressing his masked face to my underwear. He breathes in deeply, letting out this strangled, almost feral groan, savoring my scent. Releasing my legs, he drags his nose up over my belly, then between my breasts, burying it in the fabric of my dress. His hands slide up, moving under the material, fingers like flames on my bare skin. I grip the railing, hating how my body aches with need. How my legs part even more. By the time he’s pressed his nose to my neck, his entire body covers mine and his hands have traveled higher, pinching my nipples through my thin bra, so that I’m arching to meet him, wrapping a leg around his, trying to get our bodies connected in any and every way.

“God,” he grates. “I love you like this. Shamelessly desperate.” His masked mouth skims over mine, and I feel his breath. Smell him. Spice and longing. ” You turn into such a sweet, good girl when you want my cock buried in you.”

Rage heats my cheeks. I buck against him but regret it as it drives him harder into me.

“You’ll only have me again if I’m kicking and screaming,” I snarl.

“Promises, promises,” he growls and leans down to whisper, “Even if I never sink between your thighs again, this pretty cunt belongs to us. You belong to us. Your mind, your body, your fucking soul. Every single breath you inhale belongs to me .”

He sits up and scoots off the bed. I grind my teeth, biting back any retort because I know it’s pointless. When he adjusts himself and fishes the keys from my pocket, all the heat that had been building turns cold, and unease ripples in my belly.

“Reaper.”

He ignores me and walks to the door.

“Reaper. You can’t keep me tied up here,” I scream.

He pauses in the door. “No? You tried to run. You know what happens when you try to run, Kitten.”

Shit. I clamp my mouth shut, because yes. I do.