Breaker (Unmasked #3)

40. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Cora

P art of me can’t believe he’s left me alone in this warehouse full of their secrets, but he had little choice. I need something besides a torn gown and heels to wear. When Breaker heard my stomach growl, he said he’d be back and to wait down here, on the main floor, while he was gone.

Thirty minutes, he’d said. That’s how long it would take to run to the store.

So that’s how long I have to snoop.

Last night, Breaker showed me their surveillance room, his bedroom, and the spacious open area on the first floor where I currently stand. As soon as I hear the roar of Breaker’s motorcycle fade away, I rush back upstairs to explore the other rooms, heart hammering with nerves. Disappointment crashes through the adrenaline rush when I find they are locked except for a small closet stocked with linens and cleaning supplies and a compact bathroom equipped with an old toilet and rusted sink. When I see the toothpaste, I squeeze some onto my finger and use it to clean my teeth as best I can, rummaging through the containers lined up neatly on the metal storage shelves. Inside are random bars of white soap, razors, and shaving cream. No medicines or weird creams for rashes to show they are human and not super soldiers made of just muscles and sex.

When I find nothing of value in the little bathroom, I step back out into the hall. I hold Breaker’s oversized shirt to my nose, breathing in his clean, slightly earthy scent, like almonds and cedar. My gaze darts along the doors lining the wall, moving to the two at the far end. I know trying to pick the locks is a bad idea. First and foremost, I don’t even have anything to use for picking, and second, I have no clue how, so I make my way back downstairs.

And find the kitchen. Or at least a room that looks like one. There’s a refrigerator, a large sink, and a long metal counter. In one corner sits a modern range, looking out of place. I realize that this must have been a cafeteria for the factory workers, and they added the range and fridge when they decided to use this as their base for collecting intel.

Stalk, Cora. They stalked you.

The fridge is empty, like it was cleaned out—probably right before they took us because they knew they wouldn’t return for a while— and the counters and long table with folding chairs are clean.

The whole place is clean, including the large open room with the TV. Besides the rusted metal beams, the painted black metal and concrete walls, and the round rusted holes in the floor from where the factory machinery was bolted down, the place is tidy and homey.

As comfortable as a bachelor pad can be.

My fingers glide along the bookcase, taking in the titles of classic and fantasy books, the old black-and-white DVD movies, and a few CDs of random bands from the 90s. The massive TV on the far wall is flanked by new video game consoles, which is about the only thing in the place that fits the fact that four men live here.

What strikes me most is the lack of personal items. No photos on the fridge, no liquor bottles lined up, or sports memorabilia displayed. Besides the books and old movies, this place could belong to any group of men from any walk of life and age range. It’s disconcerting, considering the elaborate surveillance equipment upstairs.

Maybe the men took their belongings with them? I never dared search for their rooms while in the mansion. I knew better. They’d tell me who they were and what they wanted when ready.

My belly flutters, thinking about Reaper’s promise. Viper’s. Striker’s.

Breaker.

The roar of an engine fills my ears, signaling Breaker’s return. A loud rattling echoes in the space as the bay door slides upward. Breaker’s bike engine revs, and he slowly guides it to the back of the factory. He effortlessly dismounts and removes his helmet, setting it down on the seat.

As he removes his black mask, he strides towards me with intense focus, sending heat to my core. I can’t deny how good the all-black riding gear looks on him, perfectly hugging his tall, muscular frame. Everything looks good on him: tuxes, black fatigues, a white undershirt shirt and black pants.

Stark naked with water dripping off him.

He’s mouthwatering gorgeous, and he’s currently walking toward me with a smile on his beautiful, innocent-looking face. I’d have never guessed that he looked like a runway model—an absolute work of art. The fact that neither Delilah nor I ever noticed him as he watched us speaks volumes about his ability to remain unnoticed.

This gives me hope that his posing as Snyder will work. None of us ever saw him coming.

“Get dressed.” Breaker holds out a bag for me to take. “Harlow’s going to be here to pick you up soon.”

My eyes drop to the bright yellow bag in one hand, then fix on the fast-food bag in the other. “Clyde knows about this place?” The question is out before I remember he said this earlier before he saw what Rune had done to my body.

“Harlow knows us, yes,” Breaker says, relinquishing the fast-food bag into my eager hands.

“Nice way to keep it vague,” I mumble, only half paying attention to him as I unwrap my food. The parchment paper crinkles sending glee shivering to my belly. When my teeth sink into the greasy food, and the familiar flavor of salty, processed meat explodes on my tongue, I let out a satisfied moan, looking up toward the heavens in a silent thank you.

“I’ve missed you,” I confess to my burger before taking another bite. The men had been providing us with fresh meals or snacks like dried fruits and nuts. It was all so healthy I wanted to cry. “I’ve missed you so much.”

With a smirk, Breaker hands me a bottle of water. “Reaper would have a nervous breakdown if he saw you eating that.”

“Don’t tell me he’s a food snob,” I say, reaching for the yellow bag.

“He’s definitely a food snob,” Breaker says, dropping his backpack to the floor and settling onto the sofa.

“He made pancakes,” I point out. “Food snobs don’t make pancakes.”

A small smile tugs at Breaker’s lips, indicating that pancakes are not a regular occurrence for them.

My stomach flutters, and I shift my focus to the bag, trying to hold back tears. I never thought I’d miss that asshole, but I do.

Inside the bag, I find a pair of black leggings, some plain underwear, and a sports bra, along with a set of basic sneakers and a package of socks. The shirt he has chosen for me is a large Miami Dolphins jersey, which earns him a quirked brow.

“Slim pickings.” Breaker grins, but it fades when I put down my food and slip off his huge shirt, revealing my naked body.

His eyes immediately travel to the bite mark, then the stitches, down to between my legs, then finally back up to my face. “Little Red,” he whispers, voice filled with agony.

I can’t tell which part is causing his voice to crack—the bite that nearly sent him into a rage when he first saw it, the stitches that oddly contort his features, or my nakedness that makes him reach for me and pull me onto his lap. My bare pussy brushes against the coarse material of his black riding gear, right where he is now hard and straining.

“Harlow is going to be here soon,” he groans, kneading my ass cheeks and pulling them apart before pushing them together like he’s thinking about all the filthy things he said this morning. When I lean in to brush a kiss to his lips, he lets out a low, needy sound and whispers my name like a wish.

My fingers trail along his jawline and over his cheeks. He’s so pretty. Beautiful .

His mouth covers mine, silencing all thoughts. My hands wrap around his neck and then move down to his chest. They travel to his pants, feeling the hardness of his cock trapped behind the zipper. I break the kiss. Breaker’s pale eyes shift to my arm once more, and I feel him lift his hips slightly, driving up into me. It’s barely noticeable, but it sends shivers down my spine. I grind down onto him, feeling how wet I am.

“It should still be safe,” I whisper, watching as his eyes dart again to my arm.

Guilt washes over me for not telling him this morning that the birth control implant was removed so he could make an informed decision about having sex with me. He’s obviously worried.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Do you have protection?”

A guttural noise escapes that I can’t decipher.

“Pulling out is only—“ My words are cut off as his lips press to mine.

“I’m not pulling out.” He clasps my hands. His lips leave mine and he shifts me onto my back, then positions himself over me, pushing my hand away to unzip his pants and free himself. “Open. Open those legs for me, Little Red.”

My thighs part as his palm lands on my knee, shoving them open. He kneels between them, one of his knees on the cushion of the couch, his other leg propped on the floor. He grips my hips with one large hand and brutally pulls me to him as he guides himself toward my entrance.

“Breaker,” I gasp, my hand flying up to flatten against the armrest as he inches into me but stops when I whimper. The sting of my pussy stretching around him is overwhelming. He’s overwhelming. Feral in his need.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling out before slowly easing back in, forcing my body to accept him.

My eyes close, my pussy stretching to the point the sting is too much. I bite my lip, wincing, trying to take him without crying out as he slips slightly deeper.

“Look at me.” He grips my cheeks. “Fucking look at me, dirty girl.”

My eyes open and settle on his face. Jaw clenched, brows knit, eyes bright blue and wild, he looks unhinged. Untamed.

“I’m about to fuck you rough. Hard.” That savagery in his voice has slick heat pooling between my thighs, helping in ease his cock into me deeper. “That’s it. Fu-ck.”

He drives forward, pushing, inching. I whimper, spreading my legs wider.

“Come on, Little Red, you can take it. I need to be inside you. I’m about to lose my mind.”

I nod, knowing. My heart feels frantic, not just beating wildly, but desperate to relieve the ache that’s settled. With my hand still on the armrest, I use my other hand to circle my clit, his eyes following every movement as he continues to slide himself inside inch by inch. Then he’s fully inside me and begins moving, driving in slow but steadily increasing in speed and force with each thrust.

Breaker grips my ankle and lifts it onto his shoulder, bracing my heel. His other grips my hip to pinning me in place. The angle makes him slip in even deeper, and I cry out at the slight pain of him moving too deeply into me, but arch my back, wanting more. Needing more.

“ Fuck , Little Red, you take my cock so well for such a tiny girl,“ he grates through gritted teeth. “Suck my cock deep in your pussy, you greedy thing. Yes, just like that. Take all of it.”

He thrusts harder, almost brutally. This morning was soft and sweet, but now it’s rough, with harsh grips and nails digging into my flesh. His teeth sink into my calf, his tongue trailing over my ankle, his animalistic groans echoing around us.

“I can’t hold on much longer, beautiful,” he rasps. “I need you to come.”

His hand on my hip moves to join mine on my clit. He dips his head and spits, using his thumb to spread the wetness over my sensitive nub. My blood zings with heat and I push back against him, forcing him to fuck me harder. Faster and deeper.

“ Fu-ck ,“ he grates, head thrown back as he thrusts forward with more force, movements turning sloppy, his thumb circling faster with more pressure. “Your pussy is so fucking tight.”

The sight of him losing control pushes me over the edge. I break, screaming as pleasure courses through me, my back arching and my nails digging into his skin. My hips rock against him as I ride out the orgasm.

A wave of heat floods me and his deep, guttural groan grates through the room. By the time I gather my senses, he’s already pulling me up and onto his lap, still buried deep inside me. He grips my hips, guiding me up and down on his still hard cock in slow, deliberate strokes, thoroughly fucking his cum deeper and deeper into me.

“We need to stop,” he says, although it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “We don’t have much time before he arrives, and you have to go.”

“Go?” My heart aches at the thought of leaving him. I know logically that I have to return, and he has to resume his role. Rune sent him an invitation just like they wanted.

“Yes, go, Little Red.” He kisses me softly, achingly tender. “But remember, even if you can’t see me, I’m always with you, keeping you safe.”

***

Thirty minutes later, Clyde storms into the factory, his eyes ablaze with deadly intensity, fingers twitching at his side like he’s ready to strangle someone. When he pins me with those dark eyes, I know we’re going to have a talk later about what he walked in on last night.

I narrow my eyes at him. Yeah. We’re going to talk. He’s been feeding the men information for years.

“Did you forget how phones work?” Clyde snaps, glaring at Breaker behind me, hands on my shoulders, warm chest to my back. “You’re having drinks with Zane in a few hours.”

“Drinks?” I ask, scooting back, so I’m molded to his body. Breaker’s hand drops to my hip and Clyde definitely notices. From the way his gaze fixates on Breaker’s hand and how his jaw clenches, I think he’s putting together the pieces in his head. Things more than likely already knew, but didn’t, maybe was too scared, to name.

“Yes, with Zane,” Clyde says through clenched teeth. He rips his eyes from Breaker’s hand, gripping my hip intimately, familiar with the shape of my body, and locks them with mine. The air crackles with unease. Breaker is the enemy, but he’s also an accomplice. They have a common goal, and that goal is ending Rune.

Breaker’s in it for revenge.

Clyde… I’m not so sure.

I tilt my head back to look at Breaker. “Is Ben your real name?” I ask, remembering he told me last night.

“It’s on one of my driver’s licenses.” He shrugs. “But no, my name is Breaker.”

“One of them?”

Another shrug.

“The man doesn’t exist, Cora,” Clyde says, gesturing at Breaker. “He has no name other than the one his father gave him. He only has this name, Ben Snyder, as a cover for the corporation.”

“Our father kept records on each of us,” Breaker says. “But there are no records of my foster family, or my birth mother’s family. I’ve looked. Fallon made sure when he took us we disappeared.”

“That’s why he took orphans or kids off the streets,” Clyde says. “No one cares if a ratty kid disappears.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask Clyde, still reeling, trying to sort through it all. I think last night my brain short-circuited, and today, I’m just not able to process it all. The school, Clyde knowing Breaker, Clyde working with them, which means he knows the other men too.

“Zane mentioned his yacht,” Breaker says, his deep voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “The message I received was unclear. Is that where I’m meeting him?”

My stomach lurches. Zane is known for several things, none of them never changed.

“You know Ben has a reputation for his love of women and parties and expensive boats,” Clyde says. “Zane wants to show off his new yacht.”

“You do?” I ask, barely hearing the rest of what Clyde’s saying other than the single word “women”, which I will touch on later when jealousy isn’t staining every thought.

Breaker’s brow quirks. “ Ben has a reputation for being a flirt. When we started Snyder, Inc. we all decided I was the best face for the company. Now I have to act accordingly to make it believable, so Rune doesn’t get suspicious.”

“So, Ben likes parties and pretty women. Not Breaker,“ I say to clarify, well aware of the ice edging my voice.

“Jesus girl,” Clyde says. “Green doesn’t suit you.”

“My eyes are green,” I snap.

“So, I see.” Clyde smirks at my pointed stare. He holds out his hand to me. “Come on. We need to get back to my house before Rune comes looking for you. I left our phones behind because I’m pretty sure he’s tracking mine, but I know he’s tracking yours. Soon he’ll get suspicious if there’s no activity on your phone. Not that he has a fucking thing to say after last night.”

A primal sound edging on a snarl rumbles through Breaker’s chest.

I pat his hand. “Rune’s tracking my phone?”

“Every single incoming and outgoing message, calls, and your location,” Clyde confirms. “So be careful. Don’t message him,” he gestures to Breaker, “and never mention this,” he twirls a finger in the air, “on your phone.”

I reach for the sneakers, my stomach still in knots at the idea that Breaker is a playboy, when a thought hits me. I turn around to face Clyde. “Did you know they were going to take us that day?”

His jaw tics. “Yes.”

“But they killed Manuel,” I say. “Did you know they were going to kill people?”

“It was a risk we are all willing to take. Reaper didn’t want anyone hurt, which is why I made sure it was on a day few people were in the building.” Clyde’s gaze shifts to Breaker as he rips open the package of socks and hands me a pair. “Besides, I didn’t like the way Manuel looked at you,” Clyde says, straight faced. “He had it coming.”

Jesus H. Christ.

“Although,” Clyde glares at Breaker. “I didn’t realize they were planning to meet you at the club the night before.”

Breaker’s lips curl into a devious smile as he pushes me to the couch and kneels before me. He leans in to kiss my knee as he takes my foot and slides on a sock. When his winter eyes meet mine, his playful wink makes me wish I didn’t have to leave.

***

The sharp, pungent odor of bleach assaults my senses as soon as we step into Clyde’s sleek and modern home. The interior matches the sterile and austere exterior perfectly. Although I’ve been here a handful of times to drop off paperwork, I’ve never stayed longer than necessary or ventured beyond his study at the front of the house.

Clyde turns my way, jaw clenching like he’s trying not to say something he’ll regret. He warned me we were going to have a chat. I just didn’t think it would be right this second. My heart races at the memory of my near assault last night, and I bite my lip, knowing that I’ll have to explain what happened to Clyde. I’m not sure how he even knew where to find me, but I’m grateful he did.

After a moment of intense inner debating, he says nothing and spins on his heel.

As I follow Clyde through the entry and into his office, I take in the home of the man who helped Rune raise me without even knowing it. Most of my interactions with Clyde as an adult revolve around business meetings with Rune and Zane, or discussions at Rune’s house about deals and mergers. He’s not just a loyal and trusted right-hand man, but also Rune’s friend who was present for every moment of my childhood.

Clyde was at every dinner my parents held with Rune. He sat around the pool watching Delly and me swim as he talked business with our parents. As we both grew older, he became like a bodyguard, accompanying us on outings and stepping in for Rune when he couldn’t or wouldn’t attend events. He was there when I came home from prom, having waited up for me with Rune until I was delivered safely home.

Clyde has always been there, silently watching over me, not realizing he was shaping the type of partner I wanted in my life. Strong. Capable. Dependable. Protective. Slightly unhinged in his love.

It’s this unhinged love that made me so scared he’d find out about Rune. As much as I hated what Rune did to me, I still loved him like a father. More. I got so mixed up, bound to him by so many traumas that part of me was terrified Clyde would kill Rune if he found out he took me by force. If he found out that force became consensual out of fear.

Because if Clyde killed Rune, he’d be labeled a traitor and killed like my parents were. And I can’t have his death on my hands. It would destroy me.

“Here.” Clyde holds out the little bag that holds my phone. My stomach sinks, the fear he looked inside and discovered the envelope, making me sick. But if he had seen it, he wouldn’t be so calm right now. He’d be dialing Rune.

“Quick,” he says, “answer any texts, so it shows you’ve been active. Rune thinks you spent last night with me. Give him proof before he suspects both of us.”

I unlock my phone and spend a few minutes responding to work-related messages. With a quick glance at Clyde, I pull up my contacts, find the name I want, and type out my message.

My thumb hovers over the send button, my heart stuttering.

I hit send.

With in seconds, it shows Zane’s read the text.

I shove my phone back in my purse and strap it to my wrist.

“ This way,“ Clyde says, when he sees I’ve done as requested. He leads me out of his office toward the back of his house.

House is an understatement. It’s a sprawling modern piece of art. Everything, inside and out, is a gleaming white—the walls, the furnishings, the stucco architecture—and any accents are a dark, smokey gray-blue. It sits in the older part of town, so it’s surrounded by a large section of property overlooking the ocean, adding to the luxurious feel.

We make our way to a massive gray metal door tucked between two white square columns. I watch him press his palm to a screen and the door slides open.

Cold air hits my face. “What are we doing?”

“You’re going to shoot a gun,” Clyde says.

“Weird thing to say at 10am, but okay.”

“No weirder than me picking you up from your former kidnapper’s criminal headquarters,” he grumbles before striding through the doorway, gripping my hand to drag me along.

The interior is dim until lights gradually flicker on as he advances deeper into the space. I pause, letting out a choked breath.

“Are you serious?” I ask, turning in circles. The heavy metal door clanks shut behind me and the sound reverberates throughout the space. The massive room is painted a military gray, empty except for a section of one wall lined with flat black metal lockers. The opposite wall holds two large black and white images of an old dilapidated stage. In the center of the stage, several ballet dancers are frozen in various poses. The back is hidden in shadow, but I can make out what looks like a long table in the center.

I huff out a laugh, turning back to look at Clyde as he stalks toward the row of lockers. “Very supervillain of you, Clyde. I never pegged you as having a secret lair in your house.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, girl,” Clyde grumbles as he unlocks a metal locker and starts pulling out guns.

“Like you having an armory for one.” I step forward to look at the sleek black firearms. They look like the ones you see soldiers using in war-torn countries, and I quirk a brow in question when he glances my way. “And the fact you’re a rat for the enemy.”

Clyde picks up a large rifle and snaps the clip in place. He hooks bright orange earmuffs around my neck, then gathers some items for himself.

Dark eyes meet mine. “Shall we discuss how you’ve been fucking one?”

I grin. “One?”

The sound he makes reminds me of Reaper. Lethal.

“Delly too.” I smile, showing my teeth. “All four of them, if you’re interested in knowing.”

“I’m not,” he says, turning his back to me. “Come on. I need to shoot something.”

I follow behind him, my skin pricking with nerves, as lights pop on at the back of the room, lighting up the space. Stopping at the center of the room behind the long table, Clyde sets down the two guns and several clips. A control panel rests in the center of the table. Clyde presses a few buttons and lights pop on in rapid-fire succession along an empty corridor. At the end, a spotlight casts a bright blue-white glow onto two targets.

Removing my wristlet and setting it on the table, I say, “You have an entire shooting range in your house?”

Ignoring me, he hooks yellow earmuffs around his neck and picks up a weapon. “Do what I do,” he says, then hands me a rifle that looks too big for me to hold, much less fire. “It’s a semi-automatic, AR-15. Don’t point it at anything you don’t want to shoot.”

“Shouldn’t I start with something smaller?” I ask, eyeing it before taking it. It’s heavier than it looks, and my stomach jumps at the thought I’m holding a loaded weapon. “Like a Glock or something?”

“Glocks have a kick too and it would be uncomfortable for your little hands.” Clyde moves to my other side and demonstrates how to hold the rifle. “Keep it tucked tightly against your shoulder. Your body will absorb the recoil, so you need to maintain a firm grip.”

With my heart skipping, I mimic his stance and how he’s holding the weapon, careful to keep my finger off the trigger like him.

“Good,” Clyde says, slipping the earmuffs on. He waits for me to follow suit. “I’m going to fire so you can see how loud it is and how it kicks back.”

I bite my lip and wait.

The bullet explodes from the barrel and the target ripples. He shoots again and my heart hammers. I focus on how tightly he’s gripping the gun, and how much it kicks back against his thick shoulder, how his body absorbs the impact.

When he lowers the rifle, he looks at me.

“Can I marry you?” I ask, half-shouting. “That was sexy.”

“Don’t be crass, girl,” he says, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m too old.”

“So, you’d consider it?” I ask, “I’d much rather marry you than Zane.”

The way he rolls his eyes makes me laugh.

“Come on,” he says, gesturing to the shooting range. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

“Piss and vinegar, remember?” I raise the rifle and aim.

“Do you want a black eye?” He repositions the weapon in my hands, showing me how to look down the sight, then steps back only when he seems satisfied.

With a deep breath, I pull the trigger and feel the solid kick of the gun against my shoulder. It’s not as bad as I anticipated, but still more than I expected. My brows knit when I notice the target didn’t move.

“Try again,” Clyde shouts. “Hold on tight.”

I aim again and take several more shots. Then I keep shooting until the clip is empty and still the target doesn’t move. “I’m not hitting it,” I say, setting down the gun and removing the earmuffs. “Not even grazing it.”

“Girl,” Clyde says with a hearty belly laugh as he removes his earmuffs. “You have balls of steel.”

I gesture to the target. “Steel balls aren’t helping my aim.”

Clyde picks his rifle back up and screws a long black tube to the end, then another, longer one. He catches my eye and grins. He’s so in his element right now that I can’t help but match his smile.

“Is that a silencer?” I ask him, my eyes growing wide as he points and shoots, the noise nothing compared to before.

“Suppressor.” He lowers the rifle and hands it to me. “Here, try this one.”

I take it and aim.

“This one’s got a bigger kick, so grip it like it’s trying to escape. You control it, not the other way around.”

Taking another deep breath and widening my stance, I pull back on the trigger and the pop doesn’t prepare me for the recoil. I stumble backward slightly, more surprised than anything. I blink through it, and right myself, maintaining my death grip and aim and shoot. The target ripples.

I lower the rifle and grin, a satisfied fuzzy warmth spreading in my chest when I catch Clyde’s satisfied smirk.

“You’re fucking natural,” he says. “Again.”

I aim again and shoot, feeling steadier and more confident, hitting the target almost every time until the clip is empty.

“I like this gun more than the other,” I say, slipping the earmuffs off. “My aim is better.”

“Helps when your bullets are live.”

I catch his eyes and notice the amused expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

He chuckles. “You really think I was going to hand you a semi-automatic with live bullets?” He grabs the first gun he gave me and reloads it with a fresh clip, then hands it over. “The first magazine was shooting blanks.” He repositions my earmuffs and points to the target. “Aim to kill.”