Deviant Games (The Controllers #8) - L.V. Lane Page 0,32

in my nest.

Stripping his pants away, he dimmed the big windows, and took me under him in the nest where he fucked me like subduing me was his new mission in life.

He growled as he filled me, forcing me to flush so he could take my blood in a way that drove me straight for that rapturous high. My body sang. But my heart ached. And when he had done, I pulled away and snarled at him, “I don’t want you. I want Ethan.”

“Ah, baby,” he said in a tone that told me I’d gone too far. “I don’t think I knew what joy was until you knelt here a week ago and said that you loved me. And I don’t think I knew what pain was until just now.”

I felt sick, a to the core kind of sick. I started to speak, but he put his finger to my lips. “It’s okay. I understand. Ethan told me to take care of you. So that’s what I’m going to do.” His lips tugged up suddenly, and the wrongness set a different kind of fear unfurling inside. Then the smile dropped, and the empty game face came into play before his lips lowered to my ear. “Brace yourself, Lilly. This might get a little rough.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ethan

THE TRIP THAT would take me behind enemy lines was a convoluted one. A member of the Empire did not simply walk up to the Uncorrupted. Although, I'd been known to take that approach before. When events became chaotic and jumbled during an attack was the perfect time to slip behind lines. It was amazing what people accepted if you were bold enough in your execution.

Things were more complicated now. For one, my face had been blasted over social media because I was mated to one Lillian Brach.

I'd taken risks in the past because I didn't care much about the consequence of failure. Losing my brother hit me hard, and after, I was so entrenched in the behaviors that they became the new norm.

Before Lilly, I'd been existing. Now I had a pregnant Omega and mate who would be destroyed if anything happened to me. Also, I didn't fucking trust Ryker. Who knew what trouble he'd get up to if I wasn't there to manage it.

He hadn't changed that much.

So, I took the less direct approach since it was the only safe option.

A shuttle from Chimera took me to the busy spaceport at Kix-9. A visit to a secret medical facility and I slipped onto the intergalactic cargo ship a different man—literally. My dark hair was shorn military short and dyed blond, a style favored by the Uncorrupted, although it wasn't unusual elsewhere. Temporary implants that would naturally dissolve altered the shape of my face. Nothing could be done with my size, but few would make a connection after the facial alterations, and the risk was deemed to be low.

The cargo vessel took me far from civilization to where the Empire's hold was weak, and the Uncorrupted had an unofficial presence. Ares West was a typical fringe colony, of which I'd visited many over the years. The kind of place non-dynamics came to having sold up all their worldly possessions, and handed over their last credits for a fresh start with the Uncorrupted.

The shuttle leaving the intergalactic ship was packed to capacity with dynamics of every persuasion. The local authorities typically scheduled arrivals so that conflicting parties didn't dock closely together. What they did once they were inside the adjacent town wasn't their problem. But minds greater than mine had orchestrated a delay that had transit shuttles circling in a holding pattern for several hours.

By the time the 'glitch' was resolved, a dozen arrivals were backed up. The Empire, the Uncorrupted, and a disreputable cargo vessel bearing me, all arrived within minutes of each other.

It was humid, wet, and miserable—I'd heard this was typical of Ares West. Everyone was cranky after flying circles for hours on packed shuttles.

As was inevitable, a fight broke out. The perfect time for me to press the magical device that reset my clothing from dull brown to Uncorrupted grey. By the time the authorities waded in with immobilizer rods, my outer coat was discarded, and I blended with the other Uncorrupted. A few instigators were rounded up. They ushered the rest of us out of the spaceport with no more than a cursory inspection of papers.

The main 'strip' was a cobbled-together mismatch of reclaimed material beaten together into structures. Neon lights