With Visions of Red: Book 3 (The Broken Bonds 3)

Was I out of control? Did I have no stamina? Was I going to get us caught?

I had to eliminate the technique stealing copycat to gain my master’s favor again—to prove that I didn’t violate our partnership. This hack imitator—whoever he was—would pay.

I was so sure of my talents. And ultimately, that was my undoing.

The vixen in the red dress didn’t need to put me in her sights to destroy me. She was not like the Monarch, waiting to be devoured, patiently accepting her place in nature to wreak retribution. She was like the widow spider, the pursuer. Her fangs sank into my vein, and the poison spread to every connecting blood vessel, detonating a cataclysmic event that would shake the whole of me.

She was destruction incarnate.

I envied her. That wasn’t an emotion I was comfortable with. Her performance surpassed mine…even my mentor’s…and I wanted to snuff out the threat of something greater than us.

Connelly agreed, of course, but his reasoning was more logical. She was a different kind of threat to him, because she knew who he was, what he was. He was going to make an example of her, but first, he needed to disgrace her. Discredit her.

It was just all so entertaining, watching them toy with each other. I admit, I got a thrill out of it. Up until that point, no one had held a candle to my mentor. I was fixated, like a scientist on the brink of a discovery. I needed to observe.

Then, she walked right past me. The scent of lavender enveloped me, and I inhaled deeply. That’s when I saw it. The crest. It hung from a chain around her neck. I glimpsed just a peek before she quickly tucked it beneath the blouse of her dress as she shook her dark hair from her shoulders.

Everything about her was carefully devised, deliberately meant to keep your focus on the obvious—the sex. She wielded it like a weapon. Guarded herself with beauty like a shield. All so perfectly designed to pull you into her trap…right before she escapes, leaving nothing of her true self behind. No lingering effect of her real person to call into question.

She was a delicious apparition who would haunt me forever if I didn’t discover who she was. That one piece around her neck could open a world of knowledge for me about my temptress. It was the key to her.

But I digress. The point of this story, the moral, is that we can plan for a life, make endless preparations, have everything falling into place…and then boom! We’re rocked. Our very foundation tested.

What we choose to do after the fact defines us.

My little red widow shook my world that night. That upset nearly catapulted me to ground zero. But I would rebuild. I would come back stronger, smarter, deadlier.

Instead of submitting to her venom, allowing it to consume me whole—I festered in it, little by little, until I built up a tolerance. And once I was sure I could suffer her bite without succumbing to my weakness, I struck.

But on that night—the night that tipped the first domino—I watched. As always.

In the end, I made my mentor proud. I obeyed his command and suffered her poisonous attack in writhing agony.

Oh, how I would revel in my vengeance. How I would draw blood. How I would bleed her until her entire world ran red…

But first, I would unlock her secrets.

Avery stirs in my lap. I glance down, having almost forgotten the point of my story. My fingers dig into her hair and I yank her head up. Her whimper soothes the burn of that memory.

“I bet you don’t know what I know,” I whisper to her.

Her thick sobs send a shiver over my skin, and I wrap my other hand around her throat. Squeeze until her body is wracked with tremors.

Then with disgust, I shove her off and stand. She curls into a ball at my feet, her pathetic crying and the jangle of her chains suddenly grating my nerves.

“What is taking our Sadie so long?” I ask, not really seeking an answer.

I’ve patiently and painstakingly orchestrated the perfect scene…and my beauty is not keeping to the plan. It was the wrong move allowing them to take her communication away. It forced my hand, and I hate that. It was too soon.

With a deep inhale, I find my center. No one could’ve created what I have. No one could present Sadie with the perfect gift as I have done. So, no one can take this away from me.

With a grunt, I reach for the lever and crank the rig. The chains clang and rattle as they pull taut, dangling a thrashing Avery in the middle of my dungeon. Her pink tank top clings to her slick skin, her bare thighs glisten from hours of struggle. Her recently dyed brown hair layers her face, concealing just enough, tempting me to believe she is my love.

My cock hardens at the prospect, but no—not yet. She’s an illusion. I want—I will have—the real thing.

I turn to leave so that Avery can experience what transformed my Sadie into the ultimate beauty, but a rumbling snags my attention. The phone on the table vibrates to life.

My excitement almost makes me trip over my own feet to get to it. And then…on the screen…in beautiful bold font, there she is.