Page 70 of Reclaimed

She draws in a sharp breath like she’s about to protest, so I crush my lips against hers to silence her, the kiss hard and unforgiving. My hand slips beneath the hem of her shirt, gliding over her already wet slit before I shove two fingers inside. She lets out a breathy moan when I pull back, her lips puffy and swollen.

“You were made for me, little stray,” I say, pumping my fingers in and out to punctuate every word. “Your pain. Your pleasure, it’s all fucking mine.”

Her eyes narrow in defiance as she reaches up, grabbing onto my hand and trying to dislodge it from her hair.

“Listen here, Sasquatch,” she snarls. “If I’m gonna stay here, I’m not gonna be owned.” Her fingernails dig into my skin, but I revel in the pain, not loosening my hold. “By you, or by anyone else, ever again.”

“Never said I owned you.”

“So what’s the difference?” she asks.

“A choice.” I pull my fingers from her tight cunt, raising them to her lips.

She hesitates for a beat, blinking up at me. Then her pupils blow wide as she opens her mouth, sucking my fingers clean.

I shift back in the chair, grabbing her thighs to adjust her on my lap.

“You sure you’re not a hero?” she asks, her head dropping lazily against my chest.

“Positive,” I say, fingers tracing idly up her spine.

“Then what does that make you?”

I gaze down at her, a smirk playing at my lips. “A fucking monster, little stray. Just one that hunts for you now.”

28

EPILOGUE

Jersey

“Look who’s awake,” Talon announces with a smirk, inked forearms folding across his chest.

Harris groans incoherently, blinking up at us through swollen eyes. Deep red and purple bruises blossom across his face, a fresh spray of crimson layered over the dried blood already crusting his skin like some macabre Monet.

His head lolls to the side, his eyes disoriented and confused. It takes a second for recognition to set in, and when it does, the panic that overtakes his features– well, those you can actually see through the carnage– gives rise to a positively euphoric feeling.

I think I finally understand why Talon enjoyed his job so much.

It took a while for him to admit that he missed it. We hunkered down at the cabin for an entire month, fucking like animals and doing whatever the hell we wanted while we waited for The Registry to conclude A311 was dead and gone and call off the hunt. Once they did, restlessness set in, and Talon’s friend Slade suggested we spice things up with a date night. Ya know, normal ‘couple’ shit.

Except I’d hardly call us a couple, and we’re definitely not normal. Not after all we’ve seen and endured under The Registry’s corrupt regime.

I’ve gotta admit, vigilante missions have proved to be a much more satisfying date option than dinner and a movie.

Slade provides us with access to the files of Northbrooke’s most heinous elites, and we study every detail before plotting their assassination.

This particular date night has been a long time coming. Harris keeps his security tight, but Talon worked tirelessly to weaken his defenses, creating an opening for us to finally nab him. Best date ever.

“Hi, Master,” I purr, a coy, cruel smile playing at my lips as I wiggle my fingers in front of Harris’ mangled face.

Moving closer to the platform, I lean forward to admire the Pepto-bismol-pink collar fastened around his throat, hands bracing against my knees.

“You know,” I muse, tilting my head. “Pink is definitely more your color than it was mine.”

The chains rattle as Harris jerks against his restraints. Hog-tied and helpless, he rocks forward, then topples sideways onto the white fur rug with a heavy thud. It feels like poetic justice that the same pristine fur I was forced to be displayed on is now stained with his blood. Ironic how the elites have no problem with stripping away a person’s choices until they’re the ones naked, collared, and waiting to be used for someone’s twisted pleasure. Then, suddenly it's absurd and barbaric.

Fucking hypocrites.