Breaker (Unmasked #3)

29. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Cora

I hate these functions. They involve fake people with fake smiles, all pretending they’re decent humans who actually care about the environment, homelessness, or hungry kids. Tonight, we’re at the Museum of Art, so it’s about preserving art expression or something.

I didn’t care enough to remember.

I guess I’m one of those people, too.

Most of the guests don’t care enough to remember, either. They only do it for a tax write-off and to clean up their image. Zane’s charity ball is an excuse to rub elbows with politicians, local law enforcement officials, and other corporate moguls so they can pat themselves on the back for going another year without being sent to prison. I think he just likes to dress up and uses these functions as an excuse to meet up with his lodge buddies. They come every year, too, and I hate being stuck in the same space as them.

Delly calls his lodge his boys club, and she’s right, although many have their wives join them for the yearly hunts.

Don Zimmer and his wife joined last year. And another, older man, I can never remember his name but loves to squeeze my ass whenever I have the misfortune of attending a meeting with him. There are three others, but I only remember their faces, not their names. Every single member is a business associate of Rune. Most he’s known for years and has held a membership almost as long.

If I’m actually forced to marry Zane, if my plan doesn’t work, I wonder if he will want me to go with him? The thought of being stuck in the middle of nowhere, dressed up in hunting gear, as we chase some poor deer through the woods makes my stomach ripple with dread.

My plan has to work. I just need to get Zane alone.

I lean forward and grip the metal railing, leaning against it as my eyes scan the city shining before me. Miami Beach shines with millions of little lights like a star-studded sky. Behind me, the sheets of glass and metal of modern architecture clash boldly with the sea spread out to my right.

The faint scent of seawater floats in with the warm breeze. I turn my face toward it, picturing the gray ocean and craggy cliffs, the old mansion with creaking floors, chipped paneling, and peeling wallpaper. Delilah’s smiles as I crawled into bed with her. How her face scrunched up before she came all over my hand.

How beautiful she looked, filled up with cum, dripping in Reaper’s lap.

Reaper.

Viper.

Striker.

Breaker.

“Are you going to stay out here all night?”

My teeth gnash together as Zane’s voice grates over my skin like cold shards of steel.

“If it means avoiding you, then yes,” I say, not bothering to open my eyes or turn to him. I feel him move up next to me, his arm brushing against mine. His touch burns like acid on my skin even though his arms over covered by his tux. I shove him away, disgust turning my words sharp. “Don’t touch me, Zane. I’ve already made the rounds with you.”

His hand lands on my lower back. When I shift, trying to slip out from under his grasp, he grips the fabric at the back of my dress to keep me in place. It draws tight over my belly.

“You’re going to rip my dress,” I snap.

Surprisingly, he lets me go.

“That would be a shame. It’s a lovely dress.” His eyes slip down the sleek red fabric, his greedy eyes drinking in the way it shapes to my body, then back to the red mask over my eyes. “It looks good on you.”

I’m surprised he doesn’t recognize it. It was my mother’s favorite, after all.

I touch my mask, the little wristlet purse holding my phone and the envelope hitting my arm, reminding me I need to act tonight. With a wicked grin, I trail my finger along the red feather on the side of my mask. His gaze follows my hand then dips lower, roaming over me like he has a right to look at me so hungrily. Like he’s picturing all the ways he’s going to fuck me the second those papers are signed.

Memories make my skin itch, and my nails hurt.

“I never thought such a bloody color would look good on a redhead, but you pull it off, Cora.”

I step toward him, feigning worry as I press the back of my hand to his forehead. “Are you okay, Zane?” I ask. “Your compliments are concerning.”

He smirks, brushing my hand away. “Fitting you came as lust. Lust. Slut. The perfect anagram for Cora Julian.”

“Ah, and he’s back.” I give him a sultry smile. “Actually, I came as wrath.” I point to his overly decorated mask. Asshole came as greed, his green, silky mask covered with gemstones around his eyes and down the cheeks. “I see you didn’t even bother to hide what you truly are.”

A playful wink. “No point.” He gestures to me. “But how pretty your wrath, Cora.”

My smile shows my teeth. “My wrath is quite vengeful.”

“So feisty for someone so small.” Zane does that whole body perusal again, making me regret allowing myself to get snared by his games, and I step further from him. “Tell me, Cora, did you fuck all of them? At the same time?” Zane takes a step closer, leaning down to whisper. “How does that work? One in each hole? What was the fourth one doing while the other three were busy fucking you like a common whore?”

“Common whores give great hand jobs,” I say as I hold up my hands, waggling my fingers. I lean in, conspiratorial, “But you forget Delly was with me in the club. Plenty of available holes for them that night.”

He doesn’t like that. I can tell by the slight way his jaw clenches. His obsession with her verges on pathetic.

Zane leans in, looking me square in the eye and it takes everything in me not to shy away from him. “Do you know who they are, Cora? What they did?”

“I know who you are and what you did.”

That makes his eyes narrow. I should keep my mouth shut but can’t seem to control it lately. Right when I’m about to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, music from the open doors drifts out, and my heart starts to pound.

I brush past Zane, shrugging him off when he tries to grab my arm and walk back into the large open room where people mill about, talking, laughing, and drinking a bit too much.

In the corner, near the bar, a group of people gathers around the large grand piano, watching whoever’s sitting at the piano pluck out the delicate tune.

One I recognize.

I heard it enough times in the three weeks I was there.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I suck in a lungful, hoping to ease this sharp pain in my chest. There were several nights when I was there, and I’d hear the music coming from the large room at the back of the house. I’d creep downstairs, only to find the door locked as one of the men sat inside, playing the same song repeatedly. Delly sat with me a few times, holding me as I cried.

It seemed impossible that someone could make the music sound so hollow. So desperate. So lost. But it matched how I felt most of my life—confused by the shit life I was given. At times, it was angry, the piano becoming stormy and loud before it would smooth out, the tune suddenly delicate but full of sadness.

It’s what I feel right now. Angry and Sad. So confused.

“You alright?” Clyde asks, stepping in next to me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I smile weakly, leaning to the side to see if I can spot the person playing. I want to ask them the name of the song. I want to curl up and cry.

“I think I want to go home,” I say, touching his arm. Clyde’s wearing his perfect tux and all-black mask. I don’t have to ask to know that he came as—wrath like me, but in the form of death.

He peels his eyes off the group around the piano and nods, but Zane comes up behind me and hooks his arm in mine. “Ready to make another round, fiancé?”

“Fuck off, Zane,” I say, casting a pleading look at Clyde as Zane pulls me away.

When I spot Rune, my stomach roils. The last person I want to be near is Rune, and that’s saying a lot since I’m currently being held captive by Zane.

Behind us, the music fades, and the crowd bursts into applause. I turn just in time to see the flash of a all-black lion’s mask with gold around the eyes and nose before the man turns his back to me. All I see is the smooth, deep skin of the back of his shaved head.

Pride was playing.

“Snyder showed up,” Rune says, lifting his chin in the direction of the man.

Of course, the Snyder guy would show up as pride, just like the assshole. He was too arrogant and self-important to actually come into the office to sign papers. We had to do it all digitally. Delly was so irritated that she shut off the video feed shortly after we logged on so he wouldn’t see her face. I barely even remember what he looked like—just large aviator glasses and smooth dark skin.

It must be the same guy.

“Did you send him the invite?” Rune asks Zane, who nods and says, “Sure did.”

I don’t bother hiding my eye roll. I make sure Rune and Zane see it. “Boys will be boys and all that toxic shit,” I say, jerking free of Zane’s hold. “Excuse me, gentleman, I have to take a leak.”

Rune’s face scrunches up. “Why do you insist on being so vulgar?”

I smile sweetly, patting his cheek as I pass. “Because a vulgar man raised me.”

Rune’s jaw clenches, his features hardening. I must have a death wish. Or maybe after so many weeks free of him, tucked safely away from his sickness, I know what it feels like to be from under his thumb, and have grown bolder, more confident in my ability to fight him.

And I need to make sure I keep that freedom.

It’s now or never.

***

I hide in the restroom as long as possible, then wander around the large gallery, chatting with a few of Rune’s associates. When I spot Zane in the corner of the room discussing an art piece with Zimmer’s wife, I give him a giant smile and slip out of the gallery and down a dark hall lined with offices. As I walk I try the handles of each door, until find one open.

With a glance over my shoulder and my stomach fluttering, I rush through the door. It’s a plain office with a simple desk and metal filing cabinets, which seems a little disappointing for an office in an art gallery. The only artful part is the large picture window framing the cityscape beyond.

I don’t bother turning on a light. He’ll find me. With my feet propped up and some art curator’s desk, I scroll through my phone and wait. A few minutes later, the office door opens, and Zane slips in.

Right on time.

“You’re like a fucking zit,” I tell him. “Popping up and ruining my day.”

“Oh, we’re resorting to schoolyard insults now?” he says, stepping into the office and shutting the door. His mask gleams, little pinpricks of light from the city hitting his mask and making it sparkle. When the lights hit his eyes, my back stiffens at the slightly wild look that’s turning them darker.

With unease swirling in my gut, lower my feet to the floor. I have to do this. Now.

“Never thought I’d say this, Zane, but I’m glad you’re here.” I stand, unzipping my little purse. My heart thunders against my chest.

Zane moves closer, and my hand drops. My foot slides back, my anima; brain screaming with alarm. That gleam in his eye makes my already quick heart rate shoot higher.

“What are you doing?” I ask, taking another step back. The need to put distance between us feels like feeling urgent enough to make my throat tighten.

The way his eyes dip to my chest tells me precisely what he’s he’s thinking.

“Are you glad I’m here so you can give me a sample?” He smirks, teeth flashing, reminding me of a hungry wolf.

Zane is a predator, eating up businesses and money. I didn’t think he was one like Rune, though, not until right this second. But I see it now. The dangerous glint. The demon he tries to hide from everyone as his smile widens. He’s not bothering to hide it now.

“Come on,” he says, stepping in closer. My back hits the window. “Lift that dress and show me.”

My stomach roils. I move to shove past him, but Zane grips my arm.

“Come on, Cora,” he snaps, dragging to him so his body is pressed to my side, his hard excitement digging into my hip, making my stomach lurch. “You’re going to have to give it up eventually. Like you do everyone else.”

“Fuck you,” I say, pushing him off and heading toward the door.

As I reach for the handle, my head snaps back by my hair so violently that I stumble backward, my hands reaching for his fist clutching the curls. Zane yanks me back so hard, I feel strands of my hair ripping from my scalp as I hit his chest.

“Be a good little fiancé,” Zane hisses, craning my head back. His masked face looms over me, mouth curled into a sneer. My insides twist as his free hand snakes up my belly, dipping under the fabric covering my breasts. Fingers dig into my flesh, groping me greedily. Bile rises in my throat, the feeling of his skin against mine a silent threat. I attempt to kick back, but he avoids my heel by widening his stance. My hands snake up his arms, nails digging into the flesh on the back of his hands, but he grips me tighter, ripping a cry from my throat, fear knocking the air from my lungs.

“Let me go,” I say, my voice wavering, “If you touch me, Clyde’s going to—“

His grip tightens. “What Cora? You’re my fucking wife. ”

“I swear to god, Zane, if you don’t get your hands off me, I’ll tell everyone—“ My words get cut off because the door opens, and Rune steps in.

“Papa,” I say, the word rushing from me with relief, but it fades as he marches forward, stopping before me.

He doesn’t tell Zane to get his hands off me.

He doesn’t order Zane to let go of my hair.

His eyes land on my face. Flicker to Zane’s hand under my dress.

Anger makes him snarl, “Why do you constantly have to make things difficult?” Rune asks me. Fear skitters down my spine. A breath catches in my throat as Rune’s fingers dig into my cheeks, forcing me to look at him.

“My fiancé is not cooperating,” Zane says, hand moving further south, stretching the dress so he can brush his fingers over my panties. My scream of disgust gets cut short, and he yanks my hair again. “You told me she’d fucking listen.”

“She will.” Rune grips my cheeks tighter. Meaner. Blue eyes, just like my Delly’s, moving to my mouth. There’s no kindness in the stark color like her. Just a thirst for power. Even if it’s over me. “On your knees.”

My heart stutters like my words. “Wh-what?”

“You know I don’t like repeating myself,” Runes hisses. “On your knees.”

His words slip over me like hot, black tar as the reality of what he’s asking sinks in. No, not asking. Rune doesn’t ask. He forces.

“Papa,” I whisper, my eyes burning. Is he seriously telling me to drop to my knees right here, at this party, with Zane in the room? “No.” I shove at his chest, trying to get him away from me, hurt and disbelief making me brave. “Fuck, no.”

The harsh graps on my cheeks leaves but then Rune grabs my throat, pulling me forward, glaring me at me with so much hatred, I don’t know how I ever fooled myself into believing he cared about me. Zane’s fingers’ in my hair grab and the pain of his tight grasp fades.

“Listen to me, girl.” He lets my throat go, using my shoulders to turn me to face Zane. “You took four dicks in that room in my club, I think you can handle one.”

Cut. That’s what he did. Rune just cut me off at the knees. I stand stock still, chin trembling, staring at Zane in front of me.

This isn’t happening.

“On your knees,” Runes says from behind me. “Get on your fucking knees and open your mouth.”

My mother was right. I am a stupid, stupid girl because this horrible pain tearing through my chest feels a lot like betrayal.

My teeth grate together, pain snarling up with rage. I step toward Zane, heart too broken to pound with fear. The slap to his face stuns him enough giving me time to say, “You’re so pathetically weak you can’t even force a woman to suck your dick without help,” before the sharp pain of his hand meeting my cheek has my head snapping to the side. I press my fingers to the stinging skin, my hair falling away as I turn my head back to look at Zane. I blink, sucking in air, but the shock of the intensity of his hit doesn’t leave.

Do you really think I’d let you go? You’re mine, Baby Girl.

My hands shake, but I can’t seem to move because there’s something simmering under my skin, making it feel too hot, making my limbs feel like they’re on fire.

Rage, I’m boiling over with rage. Rage at everything they’ve done, and now I’m here, fighting for my fucking life and rights before men who refuse to acknowledge I’m human.

“I prefer my women cooperative,” Zane says voice monotone. Emotionless. “And ones who know their place.”

“Remind me again, where exactly that is?” I snarl before I can think.

This time, when his hand meets my cheek, my mask scrapes over my cheek as it’s knocked off. I stumble back into Rune’s chest, eyes watering, nose stinging with pain. Warmth hits my lip. I swipe under my nose, feeling the warm trickle of blood.

“For fucks sake, Cora,” Rune snarls. He grips my dress and rips it over my shoulder, down my arm, revealing my breast to Zane.

All that rage, all that bravery, snags in my throat, growing cold at the reality of what’s happening.

Rune is offering me up to Zane. It’s one thing to steal my money. To steal my innocence and keep it for himself. But now he’s offering my body to Zane to use and hurt like he does.

An anguished growl tears from me as I try to cover myself back up. The attempt is useless because Zane grips my arms and flings them aside, raising a hand to slap me again. I wince, letting him pull the other side of my dress open, over my shoulder and down my arms until I’m fully exposed.

“Good,” Zane says. “See. I knew you were smart.”

My anger solidifies. Turns hard. Until it’s not anger anymore. It’s just a mass of pain expanding, forcing air from my lungs. That pain presses on nerves, pinching them against bones and it’s agony. Pure agony .

Reaper promised. He promised.

I refuse to believe everything I felt, everything they said and did was a lie.

It can’t be.

The clink of metal on metal punches through my thoughts. Zane backs away, unbuckling his belt. The grating zipper as it slides down, feels like the teeth grate into my mind, ripping apart my soul and cutting away all thoughts. The only thing I can process is the prominent outline of his dick in his pants. The reality of what he expects me to do.

Zane points to the gray carpet in front of him. “Knees.”

I shake my head.

Rune’s hand lands on my shoulder. A scream catches in that agony clawing at my throat. He presses down hard, making my shoulder dip.

I shake my head again.

No . This isn’t happening. Rune isn’t going to let this happen. He’s hurt me, forced me to my knees, but he’s still protected me in his fucked up way.

He still loves me in his fucked up way.

Rune pushes harder. The pressure on my shoulder makes tears flood my eyes. I press them closed, sinking to the floor, my knees hitting the carpet silently.

Shame heats my face. Sours my gut.

“Open your mouth,” Zane grates, and I feel hands in my hair.

Zane’s holding it back.

Rune’s holding me in place.

I gag when his dick hits my closed lips, the musky smell of cologne and Zane making me sick.

Another hard slap to my cheek opens the floodgates, and tears slip out. I gasp out a sob, my pride and anger so far gone, it doesn’t matter they know my devastation. I’m too humiliated. Too horrified.

Too sickeningly broken.

There’s part of me that wishes he’d hit me again. And again. Make me feel something other than this agonizing pain coursing through me. A hard slap to my face would hurt far less than this betrayal from the man who tucked me in bed at night. Who threw me parties. Who hurt me because he couldn’t contain his hatred for my mother. Couldn’t contain his need for revenge, even when it morphed into something dark and depraved, until I was something he hated enough to ruin but loved enough to protect.

Rune’s forced me, degraded me more times than I can count, but he’s never allowed someone else to do it.

He’s never wanted someone else to hurt me.

They’re going to come for me. Reaper promised. He’s seen my shattered pieces and said he wanted them anyway. He promised me that he wanted me.

Even if I’m broken. Even if I’m ruined.

Even if I’m nothing.

Another slap. “Tongue out.”

My shoulder’s wrack with a sob. I grip Rune’s hand in my hair, a silent plea to stop. I’ve been on my knees before four men, any of which could have humiliated me or hurt me, and never once did I feel this powerless. This disgusted with how female I am. How useless my rage feels. How pointless my pain.

He promised. He promised , I repeat in my head as the tears slip out. I just have to survive long enough. I’ve been through worse than this.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Clyde’s scream cuts through the room like broken glass. It jars Rune so much that his fingers twist tighter into my hair, and I’m jerked sideways. I land on hands and knees, looking over my shoulder.

A flash of metal and the click of the safety being unlocked.

I let out a strangled sob.

Zane’s chuckle makes my stomach twist as I scramble to my feet, moving behind Clyde, whose gun is trained on Zane’s face.

Rune growls out Clyde’s name. A warning. A command but he ignores him, eyes fixated on the demon before us.

“I swear to god,” Clyde says. “If you lay another finger on my little girl, I will shoot your fucking dick off, then shove it down your throat.”

“Dammit, Clyde,” Rune grates. “Lower your weapon.”

For a heartbeat, I think Zane might end up with a bullet through his head. Clyde’s hand twitches, but he removes his finger from the trigger and lowers the gun slowly, eyeing Zane, daring him to say or do anything to give him an excuse to shoot him.

Zane backs away, just as slow, tucking himself back into his pants.

Clyde wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his chest. I grip his suit, pressing my cheek to him, gasping for air as I sob. I adjust my dress with trembling hands, pulling it back over my shoulders.

“Who the fuck do you think—,” Rune starts, fury twisting his features into something far crueler than I’ve ever seen.

“Fuck you,” Clyde seethes, shooting a death glare at Rune. “This is too far, Rune. Too far even for you.”

He backs away enough to shrug out of his suit jacket and drags it over my shoulders, then bends and scoops me up, cradling me to his chest.

I keep my face tucked to his shoulder as stalks down the long hall, walking briskly past the large room where the party is still going. Clyde kicks the large double doors at the back open with his foot, and we burst into the warm night. The music and laughter fade as the door closes. He sets me down on the veranda and cups my cheeks.

“Cora,” he whispers, “Jesus. Cora, your nose is bleeding.”

A shiver moves through me. I raise my hands to look at them. They look small and useless. Weak. I’m weak. I couldn’t even fight them.

I didn’t fight. Because Rune trained me to accept what he did to me. I bury face in Clyde’s chest, clinging to him, hating that I didn’t even fight .

“Come on,” Clyde says, peeling me off him enough to grab my hand and pulls my little purse free. Fleetingly, I wonder how I’ve managed to hang on to it as Clyde tucks it in the inside pocket of his tux. His sharp tug propels me toward the large parking lot behind the museum.

My heels clack on the asphalt as we rush through the lot, rows and rows of cars gleaming in the bright white lights lining the lot overhead. We stop in the second row of parked cars, and Clyde takes his phone out, cursing as he unlocks the screen and makes a call, but the roar of an engine cuts off his words. I spin toward the sound, my eyes snagging on the sleek black motorcycle as it speeds toward us. Clyde grabs me again and tugs me forward, right in the path of the black bike.

“Is that—“ I ask, but I stop talking when I realize it is the same black bike I saw days ago outside the office building.

The rider skids the bike to a stop before us, the back tire slightly fishtailing with his abrupt stop. The rumbling engine echoes in my ears as I take in a breath, trying to make sense of the rider’s presence, but Clyde shoves me toward him. I take a step, my head swimming with questions.

Why is he here?

Who is he?

And why isn’t he wearing the same black jacket and pants? Instead, he’s wearing a black-on-black tux with a gold floral pin on the lapel.

The rider holds out his bare hand and my eyes drop from his black helmet reflecting the city lights to his outstretched hand.

I blink, taking in the long, strong fingers. The deep skin and perfect fingernails.

My chest constricts. Expands.

I know that hand. It’s the same hand that skimmed over my lips so sweetly. The hand that has been in my hair, between my legs. That’s caressed my broken parts affectionately.

A fresh sting of tears floods my eyes. I suck in air, and his name escapes on an exhale, all my fears, all the anguish, all my hope breaking free. “Breaker?”

That hand curls up, and he presses his pointer to the black helmet, telling me to hush.

Clyde shoves me forward again and says, “It’s about fucking time one of you showed up.”