William didn’t flinch when Ben lunged.
He caught Mary’s father mid-swing, twisted, and slammed him against the wall so hard the plaster cracked. Mary screamed, tried to pull them apart, but Will had already thrown the first punch — fast, clean, merciless.
Ben hit the ground. Blood followed.
“This is just what I expected,” William growled, voice colder than steel. “A killer and his lying daughter.”
Mary pushed against him, useless. “Stop! He’s my father!”
But that didn’t matter. Not here. Not now.
William’s fists came down again and again — into ribs, into jaw, into memory. Ben coughed up blood and crumpled, and still, William didn’t stop until he was panting, blood on his knuckles, fury in his eyes.
The sound drew attention. Three men from the bar charged out the back door, shouting—but William didn’t hesitate.
He pulled his gun and fired once. Twice. A third time.
Bodies dropped. Just like that.
Mary stared in horror, frozen, breath locked in her lungs. It was the first time she’d ever seen death that close — not whispered about, not in shadows — just real, red, and irreversible.
The smell of blood hit her a second later, and her stomach turned.
William didn’t say a word. He grabbed her arm — hard — and dragged her down the alley. When she stumbled, he didn’t slow. When she cried out, he didn’t care.
“You lied to me,” he hissed.
She tried to speak. “I didn’t—”
But he yanked her harder. “You led me into a trap. You ran straight back to the man who sold you like meat.”
The ride back was a blur. She barely remembered it. Her hands shook. Her throat burned. Her mind reeled with the image of her father’s blood, of those bodies crumpled like discarded clothes.
And then they were home.
No words. No warning.
He shoved her through the doors and straight into the red room.
It was colder than she remembered. The lights lower. The edges sharper.
She was still in the skimpy disguise from earlier — the leather, the lace, the red.
And he looked at her like he’d finally decided what to do with her.
“You wanted to play dirty?” he said. “Fine.”
Mary opened her mouth to protest, to say something, but he was already on her — hands rough, mouth harder. She tried to twist away, but his grip tightened.
“No,” she gasped, the word barely audible against his lips, but he didn’t care. He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. His mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping against her skin in a way that made her shiver, not just from fear but from something else, something she didn’t want to admit.
His hands were everywhere—yanking at the lace, tearing it away like it was nothing, like it was just another obstacle in his way. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and fuck, it burned.
“You think you can betray me?” he hissed, his breath hot against her ear. “You think you can lie to me and walk away? No, sweetheart. You’re gonna pay for this.”
His hands moved lower, gripping her hips with a force that made her wince, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there as he pulled her closer to him. She could feel him—hard and unrelenting against her thigh—and damn, it sent a shiver down her spine that she hated herself for. He didn’t give her time to think, to breathe. He spun her around, pushing her face-first into the wall, the cold surface biting at her skin as he pinned her there with one hand on the back of her neck.
“This isn’t love,” Will snarled, his voice thick with anger and something else, something darker. “This isn’t even lust. This is vengeance.”
She could feel it in every movement—the way he yanked her hips back, the way his fingers dug into her skin, the way he used her body like it belonged to him, like she was both Madonna and whore, saint and sinner, and he wasn’t going to let her be either. His free hand moved between her legs, fingers sliding against her with a roughness that made her gasp. She wasn’t ready for this—fuck, she wasn’t ready for any of this—but he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care.
“You betrayed me,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous as his fingers pushed inside her, the stretch making her cry out. “You thought you could play me for a fool. Well, guess what, sweetheart? You’re mine now.”
She tried to protest, to beg him to stop, but the words died in her throat as his fingers moved inside her, rough and unrelenting. She hated it—hated the way her body betrayed her, hated the way it responded to him despite everything. His hand tightened on the back of her neck, forcing her face harder against the wall as he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.
“You’re gonna take it,” he hissed. “Every last fucking inch.”
And she knew he was right. There was no escape now. No way out. He was going to make sure of that.
He didn’t waste time. With one swift motion, he yanked his pants down just enough, freeing himself as he pressed against her entrance. She was tight—too tight—and he didn’t care. He pushed inside her with a force that made her scream, the pain sharp and white-hot as he filled her completely. He didn’t stop, didn’t pause to let her adjust. He just fucked her—hard and fast and rough—like it was punishment, like it was revenge.
“This is what you wanted,” he snarled, his voice thick with anger and something else, something that made her stomach twist. “You wanted to play with fire? Well, here it is.”
She could feel every inch of him inside her, every thrust sending waves of pain and something else—something she didn’t want to admit—coursing through her body. His hands were everywhere—on her hips, on her neck, on her ass—gripping her with a force that left bruises in their wake. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t kind. He was punishing her, taking what he thought she owed him, and fuck, it hurt.
But it wasn’t just the pain—it was the way he made her feel, the way her body betrayed her with every thrust. She hated him—hated him for what he was doing to her, for the way he made her feel—but goddammit, she couldn’t stop herself from moaning as his cock hit that spot inside her that made her see stars.
“That’s it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he slammed into her again and again. “Take it.”
She tried to hold back, to keep herself from making any sound, but it was no use. Her body had a mind of its own, responding to him in ways she couldn’t control. Her moans filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he fucked her harder and faster, his grip on her hips tightening with every thrust.
“You’re mine,” he hissed, his voice thick with dominance as he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “Say it.”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she tried to hold onto the last shred of dignity she had left. But he wasn’t having it. His hand moved from her hip to her clit, fingers pressing against the sensitive nub with a roughness that made her cry out.
“Say it,” he demanded again, his voice low and dangerous. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”
She couldn’t hold back anymore. The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.
“I’m yours,” she gasped, the words barely audible over the sound of their bodies slamming together.
“That’s right,” he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction as he fucked her harder, deeper, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. “You’re mine.”
When it was over, he pulled back without a word. His chest heaved. His eyes didn’t meet hers.
He straightened his clothes, turned toward the door, and before walking out, said:
“Get ready.”
“For what?” she asked, voice raw.
He didn’t look back.
“For our wedding.”