The scrape of the plastic bucket on rough ground pulled me from that mental sanctuary. I sensed him shifting, and the mattress squeaked under his weight. Water sloshed, eliciting a shudder, and warm drops dribbled over my breasts. Goose bumps broke out on my skin. My nipples tightened, begging to be touched, pinched…bitten.

I wanted Rafe. God, how I wanted him—to get me out of here, to make my body bend, to fucking love me.

Lucas’ sleeve brushed my stomach, and I silently cursed my body for displaying any sort of reaction. He ran the sponge over my mouth and chin, wiping away the musk of Rafe, and continued to my breasts.

“My men fucked up. They should have separated you from Mason upon your arrival.”

I scoffed at his tone. He made it sound like we were his guests. “Let us go.” I swallowed hard. “If not me, at least let him go.”

He let out a heavy sigh. The sponge dipped between my thighs, and his fingers followed. Unlike the brutal force of his touch the first time he’d thrust his fingers into me, now he dipped into my center with such teasing skill, something inside me twitched to life.

I hated myself for that twitch.

He caressed my clit, soft and light as a feather. I gritted my teeth. “Just fuck me and get it over with.”

His low laugh rumbled through the room. “I’m not fucking you today. But you’ll beg me to, believe me.”

Over my dead, bloodied body.

“My personal slaves learn to serve me with pleasure, Alex. Some men like to forcefully take. I like to forcefully take what is given.”

“I’m not giving you anything.”

“You already have. You gave me a piece of yourself months ago. I saw your potential, your passion. And now,” he said, pressing on my clit with firm pressure, “you’re giving me your reluctant arousal.” He burrowed his fingers deep.

“Do you think this will work?” I asked, disdain bleeding from my lips. “You’re a sick, disgusting bastard who rapes women. You destroy them.” I thought about the young girl one of his men had brought to screams for hours on the other side of the wall.

And I thought of the blonde whose throat Lucas had so carelessly slashed. He’d pulled that blade across her neck as if she were an animal, as if she meant nothing. She’d been someone’s daughter, someone’s sister…someone’s mother.

She’d had history with Jax and Rafe. They’d both cared for her.

“Why are you doing this to us?”

“Some people believe in that old adage, ‘an eye for an eye.’ I’m underwhelmed with that saying. When someone wrongs me or mine, I don’t stop at the eye.”

He might as well have been speaking in Pig Latin. “Why are you telling me this?”