Maxwell's POV　　"How far are you wanting to take this?" Chester, the pack enforcer, asked casually. Looking at the dainty figure of the girl handing in front of me, her head lolled forward; her body relaxed with slumber; I shrugged. 　　"She will break easily." I muttered, hoping I was right. The metal clanking drew my attention to the table beside her, Chester had been setting up all kinds of tools to use on her, a scare tactic, and he and I knew it. He had always relished his job, and I knew he was asking out of self-preservation, not because of care for the girl; he was looking forward to extracting the information from her pretty lips by any means possible.　　"What about her attachment with your son?" he coaxed, looking over his shoulder at me as he palmed a well-polished double-edged blade. "I don't want this blowing back on me, given their relationship." He stated firmly. 　　"There will be no blowback because she won't leave this cell until I am satisfied I can control her." I n

　　Jason's POV　　"Abigail?" I called out; images of her face chased the remnants of a nightmare from my head.　　"Shush, son." I heard my mother's voice soothed, her fingers stroking lovingly up and down my arm, just like she had when I was a child and had gotten hurt. Opening my eyes, I looked around the sea of faces and winced, seeing Kayla sitting beside me; how had Archer not noticed her presence? 　　Offering her an apologetic look, I felt guilt eat at my stomach as Kayla gently squeezed my hand and offered me a tight smile. It was forced! She was angry!　　"Do you blame her?" Archer mumbled groggily in the back of my mind; I could tell he was fragile even if his wit was intact.　　"You betrayed your mate bond," he mumbled, making me snort loudly,　　"I recall that was a joint effort; you were not exactly refusing." Silence followed my statement; apparently, he had nothing cocky to say to that. 　　Looking back at Kayla, I took note of her slumped shoulders, red-rimmed eyes and dishevell

　　Abigail's POV　　Nothingness, an empty black void! That was all I could see, but I could smell the same stench I had smelt for hours: death! Straining my eyes to see further into the cell I was being held captive in, but the darkness was total and unwavering. I was frightened, and that shocked me; the idea of being scared of the dark was alien to me, but I knew my new roommate was lurking, ever present in the cell; I merely couldn't see him; the only thing that let me know he was still here was the occasional flick of a lighter being opened and closed. 　　My skin still felt tight from where he had run that lighter across my throat, jaw and eyelids. The sick fuck enjoyed watching my flesh scorch and singe, but I think he got off on the smell of charred skin, specifically my burnt skin. I had lived behind a mask of innocence all my life, never wanting to admit that darkness and evil excited me. Yet, this dipshit wore his evil proudly and enjoyed seeing the fear in others' eyes as he cir