Page 39 of Claimed By the Damned
The plan is simple: cultivate paranoia. Let fear consume her focus.
I watch her now, awaiting the package’s effect. Waiting for her composure to crack. When she leaves that shop, rattled, scanning her surroundings, distracted by the phantoms I’ve conjured—thatwill be my opening.
My men, positioned discreetly nearby, require only that second of weakness, that brief isolation, to intercept her cleanly. No fuss, no witnesses. Just my Pet, frightened and stumbling, returned to her cage, where she belongs.
She’s different now. I observe it in the way she carries herself, in the scraps of confidence she’s pieced together. She moves with purpose, chin higher, shoulders squared. She thinks she’s found strength. Independence. Attributes that do not belong to her. It should infuriate me. Should compel me to dismantle this town. Should anger me that she believes she can rebuild—without me. But no, this is preferable.
Because it means I get to break her all over again. Piece by piece, I will dismantle whatever fragile sense of self she imagines she possesses. I’ll remind her exactly who she belongs to, who shaped her, who owns every inch of her mind and body. She thinks she’s healing, free, but she fails to understand—she was never permitted freedom.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel's leather, watching the shop’s front door. The minutes crawl, slow, excruciating. Then, movement.
She steps outside, package clutched tightly. Her expression is pale, shoulders rigid. Exactly as anticipated. She’s opened it. Read my words. She glances nervously down the street—perfect. Fragile. Ready.
The moment vaporizes. The sequence shatters. A low hum. Tires crunch hard at the curb.
An interruption.
A violation. My plan, derailed.
A black SUV pulls up, hulking and unwelcome. The back door swings open—a man emerges.
He’s a wall of muscle, towering near 6’4", broad, built for force. Dirty blond hair falls into his eyes, suggesting a lack of discipline. Those green eyes flicker with instability, a glint of chaos that signals he’s undisciplined. He’s covered in ink and scars, the marks of a man clearly lacking control. Predictable. Men like him—all brute force and swagger—they fancy themselves protectors, saviors. They see a frightened woman and believe they can be her shield. They fail to comprehend the forces they dare to challenge. He is an obstacle, yes, but a temporary one. An insect buzzing too close.
I don’t know who he is, but I know what he is… A problem. Aminorproblem.
Lila hesitates only a second before moving toward him. He doesn’t ask—he takes. His large hand closes around her arm, guiding her to the vehicle. In his other hand, he carries the package—mypackage.
My grip tightens on the wheel. Heat builds in my chest, slow, smoldering. A spike of rage, consuming fury.
How dare he touch her? How dare he stand there, his hands on what is mine? The audacity sends a tremor through my fingers,but I steady them. Not yet. I am patient. I let the rage simmer, feeding it, but retain control—because controlispower. Another man touching what belongs to me, leading her away, interfering without my permission? An insult I will not forget. An affront to be repaid.
I watch him murmur something. She doesn’t answer, only nods. Then they’re gone, disappearing into the SUV.
The vehicle melts into traffic. My hand moves smoothly, retrieving my phone. A single tap connects the call. No greeting.
"The black SUV. Follow it," I order, my voice clipped, devoid of the fury churning beneath the surface. "Report their destination. Maintain distance. Do not engage."
The response is immediate, affirmative. I disconnect. Informationispower. Identifying her protectors, their locations, their routines—this is merely the next phase. This detour only sharpens my focus. This muscle-bound fool and anyone else involved are simply names to be added to a list, variables to be accounted for and then eliminated. They are irrelevant in the grand scheme.
A muscle ticks in my jaw, teeth grinding as I wrestle the urge to actnow, to tear him limb from limb. But I am not careless. Not reckless. I remain patient. Let him think he has won this round, believe she is beyond my grasp...
That false confidence will be his undoing. When I reclaim her, I’ll strip away more than his illusions—I’ll dismantle everything he values. He will watch, helpless, as I erase every trace of safety she has ever known.
This wasn't part of the game. The rules may shift, but the outcome is constant. I always win.
I lean back against the leather seat, exhaling slowly, forcing tension from my muscles. Let him have his moment. Let him think he’s taken from me. He doesn’t grasp the pieces already in motion, the inevitability of what’s coming.
Lila believes she’s safe with him. Believes he’s her protector.
She’s wrong.
He’s just another pawn. Soon, he’ll learn that nobody stands between me and what is mine.
When I take her back, it won’t just hurt.
It will ruin them both.
Chapter 15: Fire and Fury
