The Syndicate

Chapter Thirteen

  As the night wore on, Carson's thoughts drifted, clouded by the intoxicating effects of the liquor he had consumed with Anderson.

  He knew all too well the blackout that often followed such nights, where memories slipped through his fingers like sand. His mind raced with fragments of conversations and blurred visions of laughter and shared triumphs.

  Amidst this fog, a dark impulse stirred within Carson, a hunger that went beyond control or reason. It led him, almost on instinct, down the silent corridors of his mansion, where shadows flickered against the walls like specters of the past.

  He came to a stop outside a familiar door, one that held a prisoner of his desires—Rosy Charms, a delicate soul trapped in his domain.

  Pushing open the door with a confidence born of entitlement, Carson's eyes alighted on Rosy, who stood frozen in the moonlit room, her vulnerability stark against the backdrop of his predatory gaze.

His lips curled into a smirk, his movements predatory as he closed the distance between them.

  Rosy's eyes widened in terror as Carson's fingers closed around her wrists, his touch cold and demanding. She struggled against his grip, but his strength was overpowering, his intent clear.

"No," she managed to whisper, her voice trembling with fear and defiance.

  Ignoring her plea, Carson pressed her roughly against the wall, his breath hot against her neck as he began to strip away her clothing with callous urgency, each movement laden with a menace that threatened to suffocate her. Each touch was a violation, a reminder of the power he wielded and the helplessness of those under his control. Rosy's protests grew more desperate, her voice a plea for mercy that fell on deaf ears.

  His assault continued, driven by a primal desire to dominate and possess. He kissed her neck with a hunger that bordered on madness, leaving behind a trail of bruises and marks that would serve as silent witnesses to his depravity.

  His teeth sank into her skin, drawing blood and eliciting a cry of pain that echoed through the room, a haunting testament to the brutality of his actions.

  Fate intervened in the form of JK, his instincts honed by the harsh realities of the wasteland. Drawn by Rosy's anguished cries, he burst into the room like a force of nature, his eyes blazing with fury as he assessed the scene before him. Without hesitation, he closed the door behind him, shutting out the world and sealing their fates within.

  JK's presence was a revelation—a man not just of survival, but of strength and resolve. In that moment, he shed the cloak of passivity that had defined his existence under Carson's rule. He moved with purpose, ripping Carson away from Rosy with a strength born of righteous anger.

"Get away from her," JK growled, his voice a low rumble that echoed off the walls.

  His hands, calloused from years of survival in a harsh wasteland, gripped Carson with a strength born of righteous anger. He could feel the weight of every injustice inflicted upon the helpless within Carson's domain, and it fueled his determination to end the reign of terror.

  Carson, momentarily caught off guard by JK's sudden defiance, recoiled with a mixture of fury and disbelief. His lip, bloodied from Rosy's struggle, curled into a sneer as he attempted to reclaim his dominance.

"You dare?" he spat, his voice laced with venom.

  In response, JK's movements were swift and calculated. He twisted Carson's arm with a precision honed by necessity, causing a cry of pain to escape Carson's lips. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, a stark reminder of the brutality that had defined his rule. Yet, even in his weakened state, Carson refused to yield.