As his cock penetrated something that had all the softness and slickness of a rusted-out sink drain, the first of the cuts were made on his chest. Might have been a blade. Might have been a long fang.

And then something blunt was forced into his mouth. Tasting salt and flesh, he figured it was some kind of cock and he started to choke, air suddenly becoming a scarce commodity.

Riding the crest of suffocation, he had a moment of total, autonomic flip-out. It was, however, a case of mind over body. The faster his heart pounded, the worse the lack of oxygen was and the brighter and hotter the flaring agony inside his rib cage.

Slow down, he told himself. Slow it all down. Just sloooooooooooooow down. . . .

Higher reasoning reigned and got the reins on his body: His pounding blood cooled and his lungs learned to wait for the withdrawals from his mouth to sneak a breath.

Frankly, he wasn’t impressed. Sexual shit was so unimaginative when it came to torture.

This wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, for real. But Devina wasn’t going to break him with this violation bullshit. Or by trying to fillet his fish with the knife work.The thing with pain was, yeah, sure, it lit up your switchboard, but really, it was nothing more than a loud sensation—and like going to a concert and having your eardrums compensate over time, eventually you got used to it.

Besides, he had vast reserves of strength: Matthias had lived another day, his boys were hanging with Grier and Isaac, and while he would have preferred a time-out at Disney World or Club Med instead, the power of doing the right thing and sacrificing himself for another’s well-being was sustenance for every cell in his body.

He was going to make it through this.

And then he was going save Isaac’s soul and laugh in Devina’s face at the end of this round.

The bitch couldn’t kill him and was not going to get the best of him.

Game on.

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 29

As Grier stared across her bedroom at the tattoo that covered Isaac’s back, her hands crept up and curled around her neck.

The image in his skin was done in black and gray and was so vividly drawn, the Grim Reaper seemed to be staring right out at her: The great black-robed figure stood in a field of graves that stretched in all directions, skulls and bones littering the ground at its feet. From beneath the hood, two white spots glowed above the hard jut of a fleshless jaw. One skeletal hand was on the scythe handle, and the other reached forward, pointing at her chest.

And yet that wasn’t the most terrifying part.