Page 38 of Glutton for Punishment

My wrists yank violently against the restraints, the leather biting into skin that was already torn open more times than I can count. It draws his attention, and his dark green eyes finally land on me.

The scientists laugh as Ryker’s eyes go surprised with rage, before he masks it.

“Well now,” one of them says. “That’s the biggest reaction we’ve gotten from her in days.”

“Is this one of your academy conquests?” One of the younger scientists punches him on the shoulder as he walks by.

Ryker’s expression remains relaxed, but something flickers briefly in his eyes when he looks at me.

“You piece of shit,” I rasp.

My throat burns with every word.

Of course, it wasn’t enough to pretend to have feelings for me to keep me closer to his father. He was in on this betrayal as well.

He doesn’t answer, just stands there. Staring over his project.

The same scientists lift a metal rod from the tray beside the table. The tip glows a deep orange, heat rippling in the air above it.

“Since you’re here,” the man says, “would you like the honor?”

Ryker glances toward him.

“The honor?”

“Branding her with your family crest.” The scientist gestures toward the iron like he’s offering a drink. “A symbolic gesture. For your visit.”

For a moment, Ryker stares at it, processing.

Then he laughs. “I think I’ll pass. I’m not a farmhand.”

The scientist shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

The iron presses into my skin before I can brace myself.

Pain detonates across my side as the metal sinks into flesh, the smell of burning skin filling the room. My scream tears free before I can stop it, my body thrashing against the restraints as fire spreads outward from the brand.

Through the blur of pain, I see Ryker flinch.

“Stop!” He yells, surprising everyone.

“You don’t want to break my father’s newest project,” He chides.

The scientists wander toward a nearby counter to document their observations, arguing about nerve sensitivity and emotional agitation.

Ryker moves the moment their backs turn.

He drops beside the table, close enough that I can see the strain in his expression.

“I swear I didn’t know,” he says quickly, the words tumbling out. “Fuck, Arwen—I didn’t know about this. I didn’t know he had you here—”

A bitter sound escapes my throat. “Get. Out.” I manage the words raw in my voice.

I turn my head away from him.

After how hard he played to get me into his father’s clutches? There’s no way. This is just another performance.

I’m too exhausted to play along or curse him out.