Madness: A Dark Revenge Romance

My head pounds, and there’s a ringing in my ears as if I’m standing in the middle of Blackout with the blaring music.

I swallow and flinch, my throat sore. I try to move, but I can’t seem to make my arms work. I have an itch on my face that needs to be scratched.

My head falls forward, and I groan, picking it up. I crack my eyes open, and it takes me a second for things to come into focus. But when they do, I tense. The ringing in my ears intensifies as if an alarm sounding to alert me of danger.

Haidyn stands before me, leaning back against the kitchen island, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s dressed in the same T-shirt and jeans as he was at the club. His dark blue eyes stare right at me.

I go to open my mouth to ask him what the fuck he’s doing, but I can’t. My eyes widen, and I try to look down to see why I can’t talk. Panic rises when my face drops, and I see I’m sitting in a chair naked in the middle of my kitchen. My breathing picks up, and I try to move my arms and legs, but all it does is make the chair wobble on the tile.

I try to scream, but it’s muffled. What the fuck?

My eyes shoot to his, and he doesn’t look the least bit concerned. I try to take a deep breath through my nose and allow myself a second to calm my racing heart. This isn’t the first time I’ve been put in front of a Lord, unable to defend myself.

He pushes off the counter, and I glare up at him, hoping he can feel how much I want him dead at this very moment.

Stepping into me, he wraps his hand around my throat, and I tilt my head back. His fingers tighten, holding me in place, and I blink rapidly.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He finally speaks, sounding as cool as can be.

I swallow against his hand, and he smiles down at me. “You know…” His hand moves from my throat up to my chin, and his grip tightens, holding it in place when I try to pull away. “You look really pretty wearing nothing but tape.”

My eyes widen. Tape? Is that why I can’t move? He’s taped me to a chair? I try to speak but still nothing. His smile just grows, showing his dazzling teeth. It’s like he’s warming me up before he rips my throat out.

“Is it turning you on as much as the rope does, doll face?” His eyes drop to my heaving chest, taking a second to look over my hard nipples.

I hope he doesn’t drop his hand between my legs because I can’t hide the fact that I’m wet. I’m unable to close my legs because of how he has my legs tied open.

He laughs at my silence, then lets me go. I lower my head and watch him walk to the island to grab a backpack. He unzips it and pulls out a syringe and vial of clear liquid.

What the fuck happened last night? What did I do? Or did I say something to him to piss him off? I can’t remember much other than calling him in the bathroom at Blackout? And then he was there. Did I ask him to come get me?

He sticks the needle into the glass vial, pulling back the plunger to fill it up. Placing it on the counter, he turns to face me.

His blue eyes remain on mine while he slowly walks toward me, and I scream into the tape that I fucking hate him. As if he cares.

“Don’t worry, Annabelle. This will only hurt for a second.” He grips my chin and shoves my face to the side, and I feel a sting in my neck.

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After removing the needle from her neck, I step back and place the cap on it. Then I toss the syringe onto the island, lean back against it, and cross my arms over my chest to wait.

Her chest rises and falls quickly from her heavy breathing, and her nipples are still hard. She looks absolutely stunning tied to the chair. So many things come to mind while having her in this position, and none of them include what I’m about to do to her.

She groans, her head falling back and then forward. It’s working.

Her legs are spread, each ankle duct-taped to each front leg, and her arms are down by her side, wrists also duct-taped to the back legs of the chair. I made sure to undress her so nothing got in the way. I wanted to see how her body reacted to the situation.

Walking over to her, I grip her chin again and push her head back so she has to look up at me. Her eyes are dilated and heavy. She blinks a few times, looking at the ceiling aimlessly. My hand drops to her neck, and I feel her pulse.

Strong and steady.

Reaching up, I grip the tip of the several pieces of duct tape that I placed over her mouth and rip them off.

She gasps, her head falling forward, her hair covering her face from me. I gather it all in one hand and pull her head up, holding it. “How do you feel?” I ask her.

“What…what did you give me?” she asks, her eyes still unfocused.

I ignore that and let go of her hair. I cup her face and run my thumb over her parted lips. I take in her pretty face. She’s still got makeup on from the club last night. The black eye shadow is smeared, her blush has rubbed off, and her lipstick has faded. Her fake lashes clump in various spots. She still looks fucking gorgeous. Like she spent all night on her knees being my good girl.

“Talk to me, Charlotte. How do you feel?” I ask, my eyes searching hers.

“Drunk,” she slurs, and her lashes flutter.

“Good.” Let’s get started. “Why did the Lords send you to Carnage?” I need answers, and this is the best way to get them.

“Assignment.” She licks her lips.

“You’re on an assignment?” It’s not what I thought it was. I figured, at the very most, it was an initiation.

“Y-yes.”

Interesting. “Why did they send you to me?”

Her head falls back, and her blue eyes meet mine. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit,” I hiss, though I know she’s telling the truth. Running a hand down my face, I ask, “What do you know about me?”

“I know you’re a Spade brother…” She swallows. “Your parents are dead…you killed your father.” Her eyes search mine, but I doubt she’s seeing me.

The Spade brother isn’t a secret to her. She knows that because she’s been seeing me at Carnage. My mom being dead isn’t a stretch. My father being dead? She can know that because again, Saint, Kash, and I run Carnage. But how he died? “Why would I kill him?”

“Because you love her.”

Her answer makes me frown, throwing me off. “Who do I love?”

“Ashtyn.”

I’ve only ever said that out loud to one person. It was recently, but I know she hasn’t told anyone. “Who told you that?” I inquire.

“My mother and her friend.”

This is what I wanted to know. Now we’re getting somewhere. “Been talking to your mother about me?” I know who her parents are.

She goes to roll her heavy eyes, but her whole head makes a circle. “She only knows that I have sessions with you—that you’re my assignment.”

Well, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I try to think what else I can ask while I have the upper hand. A thought comes to mind. I gather her hair and push her head forward. “Where did you get this?” I ask, running my fingers over the Lords brand on her upper back. I had seen it the first night I was in her house when I placed the tracker in her neck. I figured she was someone’s chosen and they branded her.

“The Lords gave it to me,” she mumbles.

With my hand still in her hair, I yank her head back and look down at her. “Why would they brand you?”

“Initiation. I either had to cut a woman’s off or give myself the same one. I removed hers, and they ended up giving me one to match.”

A brand for a brand.

What the fuck? She’s already had an initiation? This doesn’t make sense. Women don’t get initiated unless they are to be wed to a Lord and I’ve never heard of one having an assignment.

“What happened to her?”

“They made me kill her,” she whispers.

None of this makes sense. I bet it wasn’t about Charlotte being initiated but more about the woman she was supposed to kill. No one else wanted that responsibility, so they put it on Charlotte. But that doesn’t answer the branding question. Why was the woman branded in the first place? I mean, I know Lords who brand their chosens and Ladies. It’s all about claiming their property. But why did they want hers removed or Charlotte to brand herself?

Fuck, I’m getting a headache. This is giving me more questions than answers. “How did you kill her?”

“I shot her,” she says softly. “And every time I close my eyes, I see her.” She blinks, her heavy eyes looking up at mine through her fake lashes.

“You did what you had to do,” I tell her, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. Her decision haunts her.

She swallows and whispers, “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“I don’t have any regrets,” I say truthfully. It’s kill or be killed in our world.

Releasing Charlotte’s hair, I move to stand in front of the chair. “The bruises…when you showed up at my house with bruises, you told me they were from rough sex. Who gave them to you?”

“I was arrested. He was rough…”

“What the fuck were you arrested for?” I demand.

She tries to shrug. “Not sure. He never said.”

I’ll have someone look into that for me. I reach out and cup her face. “Am I the only guy who’s ever fucked you?”

Her pretty eyes look up at me. They’re heavier than they were. I’m losing her. “Yes,” she answers in her soft voice.

Goddamn.

Lowering my face down to hers, I cup her cheeks with both of my hands, and she licks her plump lips before I press mine to them. She moans into my mouth, her hips rising off the chair, and I lower my hand to her chest, softly playing with her nipple. Teasing her, I love the way her body rocks back and forth in the chair, needing to be fucked.

I pull away as I ask, “Why weren’t you a chosen?” If she’s a virgin, then she’s never belonged to a Lord before.

She blinks, her long, fake dark lashes fanning her cheeks. “I’m having…to save myself for my Lord.”

I tilt my head to the side in thought. “Who is your Lord?”

“Don’t know. Don’t have one.” She slurs.

Fuck! I’m getting nowhere and she’s not making any goddamn sense. Kneeling in front of her chair, I place my hands on her smooth thighs, and she tries to part them more as if she wants me to bury my face between them. She groans, and her dark blue eyes meet mine, silently begging me to use her.

“So this isn’t about revenge?” I have to ask.

Her dark brows furrow, and she gently shakes her head. “Who would I want revenge on?”

She doesn’t know.

“Haidyn—” She licks her lips, her thighs clenching under my hands as she tries to pull them farther apart. “Please…”

I stand to my full height and run my hand through her soft curls but don’t say anything. I know what she wants, but she’s not getting it tonight. Not like this.

Her head falls forward.

Reaching out, I gently cup her chin and push her head back to see her eyes closed. I wait a few seconds to see if they open. When they don’t, I remove my knife from my pocket and cut through the tape that secures her wrists to the chair and then her legs. Picking her up, I carry her to her bedroom and place her in bed.

She’ll be fine to sleep it off. She’ll probably be out most of the day after the night she had last night plus the drugs.

Pulling the covers up to her neck, I leave her room when I catch sight of her desk over by the window. I remember seeing it on the cameras after she called and woke up from her stay in the basement.

I pick up the laptop, tuck it under my arm, then lock up her house, leaving her to rest. Our little truth session is over for now. But it doesn’t mean we won’t have another one.

I’m sitting on my couch sipping on a glass of scotch when I hear a bike rev its engine. I get up and make my way to the garage. Opening the garage door, I lean up against the wall crossing my arms as Sin pulls my blacked-out R1 inside. Getting off the bike, he tosses me the keys.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “Yours are in your car.”

He nods. “No problem, man. Nice place by the way.” He walks out of the garage toward his car in the driveway.

My words make him stop. “You know her.” It’s not a question. I saw the way he looked at her last night at Blackout when he realized who it was that I was staring at. He did a double take, and I want to know why.

Sighing, he turns around to face me. “I know of her.” He corrects me.

My teeth clench. How many more Lords that I know will recognize her? You can’t try to sell a lie if everyone already knows the truth. “How?”

“William,” he answers.

I frown. “How do you know her stepdad?”

He runs a hand over his messy hair. “Before I gave myself over to you guys, I hired an attorney to help me with Elli.”

“Meaning?” I want to know exactly what William did for him.

“I bought her our house, and when I had him bring the papers over for her to sign, I had him slip in a marriage license.” His eyes drop to his wedding ring as he absentmindedly spins it around his finger before they meet mine. “And then the morning I turned myself into Carnage I met with him again—off the books—to get all my affairs in order to make sure Elli was taken care of. He had pictures of Annabelle and her mother on his desk. I’ve never met her face-to-face, and I don’t think she knows who I am.”

“So Elli knows who William is too?” I make sure I understand him. “Does she know who Annabelle is?”

He shakes his head. “No. I made up a name…introduced him as Mr. Tate. The less she knew, the better. I can’t say if she knows Annabelle or not.”

I nod, it could be worse. “This stays between us.”

“Of course.” He agrees. “But I hope you know what you’re doing.” With that, he gets into his car, starts it up, and drives off.