Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(40)

Damn that woman.

Damn her for being… whatever she is.

Damn her for catching my attention and refusing to leave me the fuck alone.

My mind flashes to the thought of her tits, barely covered, pushed out because she wanted me to look. I bet Knox looked. I bet Knox looked his fill. Did he fuck her against the wall? The rough stone and brick digging into her back while he thrust up into her?

No, the cut down her back was too straight for that. A solid, continuous cut, not scrapes from stone. So he used a knife or something on her. That means he had her bent over something. Her ass up, his hand in her hair, maybe.

Knox doesn’t do anything gently, so he didn’t take his time with her. He probably shoved right in, making her feel every single inch of him.

I gasp out a breath as my thoughts spiral down that path. I can imagine it, the way they must have looked. The way she must have sounded.

My cock stirs between my legs, perking up when I think about River using that filthy mouth of hers to tell Knox just how much she liked what he did.

Giving in, hoping it’ll do something to shake off this energy, I wrap my hand around my cock. I give it a squeeze, and I can feel a few traces of pleasure emanating through my body from it, a little dull and distant, but there.

I think about Knox, big and imposing, and River, slight and goading. I think about the sounds, the slap of their bodies, the way River must have moaned and arched when Knox drew a knife down her back. She definitely looked satisfied when I saw her. Pleased with what happened and pleased with herself.

My hand starts to move in fast strokes, the slickness from the shower and soap making it easier. For a half second, I think maybe it’ll work. That I’ll be able to lose myself in the feeling the way I want to.

But it doesn’t. Of course it fucking doesn’t. It hasn’t for years. My cock doesn’t go past half hard, and it softens in my hand, my erection dying along with my hopes of working this mood out naturally.

Fuck.

I snarl in fury, emotion rising in me faster than I can stamp it back down. Rage and frustration form a heady mixture, and I let go of my dick and slam my fist into the shower wall.

It hurts like hell, but I like that.

It’s grounding.

My chest heaves, and it takes a good few minutes before I can get a grip on myself. But I do it. I drag in a breath and then another. I shut off the shower and reach for the towel. By the time I’m dry and crossing back to my room to get dressed, I have more control.

Brick by brick, I rebuild the wall I keep around those feelings, sectioning them away so I can get on with my life.





16





RIVER





WHEN I WAKE up in the morning, I can feel that soreness settling in from the rough sex with Knox last night. The cut on my back isn’t deep at all, a testament to his skill with a blade, but I can feel it when I get out of bed and stretch slowly.

My body twinges with that low-down ache that only comes from being fucked into the mattress or the wall or a counter full of torture implements, and it makes me smile just a little as I savor it.

It feels good. Like being alive.

But I still need a shower.

I go crank the water up as hot as I can stand it and let the bathroom fill with steam while I work my fingers through the tangle of my silver hair.

When I get in under the spray, the hot water makes the cut sting, but it doesn’t bother me that much. I soap up my loofah and go about cleaning myself up from the night before.

Last night was probably the hottest sex I’ve ever had in my life.

Knox is big everywhere, and he’s not afraid to put his size to good use. I can still feel the way he stretched me open with his cock, slamming it into my body over and over again.

It was fucking good.

For the first time in a long while, I truly felt the heat of arousal and desire. It was primal and undeniable. His hands on me left little bruises behind, and I look at them while I wash my body, savoring the proof of what happened.

After Hannah died and I was finally released from the men who held us captive, I spent a year in a numb fog. After everything that happened to us, and losing the only person I could really say I cared about, there wasn’t anything I wanted to do. I didn’t want anyone or anything to touch me.

Then, after my father died, when I made the vow and decided to wreak my bloody vengeance on the men who hurt me, it was like I came back to life.

Like the fog I’d been living in was suddenly gone, and I could see colors again. I wanted things again, even if it was mostly just to make the men who hurt me pay with their lives. But that was still better than existing in a haze where I was just going through the motions of survival.

Still, the person I came back as wasn’t the same person who effectively died during that year of numbness. That person doesn’t exist anymore, and trying to get her back is just a waste of time. You can’t do anything to change the past, after all. All you can do—all I can do—is keep moving forward and keep staying on my path.

It’s like… in order to feel anything, I have to go to the furthest extreme. Soft and gentle just don’t do it for me. It may as well be nothing at that point. I’ve never found a guy who could please me, even though I’ve fucked several over the last five years.

It’s been a good outlet, and sometimes a good tool to get what I want.