Chapter 3: The Poisoned Throne
The floor was cold against his cheek. That was the first thing Logan registered when consciousness clawed its way back—the chill of the tile seeping into his skin, the taste of copper on his tongue. The second was the weight of the restraints, the familiar bite of metal around his wrists and ankles, binding his arms behind his back and his legs together at the shins.
He opened his eyes.
The lab was different now. The sterile white was gone, replaced by something darker, more oppressive. Black tile stretched in every direction, slick with a faint sheen of moisture. Red emergency lights pulsed overhead in slow, rhythmic waves, casting the room in shifting shades of crimson and shadow. The air hung thick and heavy, carrying the metallic tang of blood and something else—something chemical and wrong.
And there, in the center of it all, sat the chair.
It was leather and steel, built like something out of a nightmare. Thick straps hung from the arms and legs, and the back was angled slightly, just enough to force the occupant into a posture of vulnerability. Logan's gut twisted as he took it in.
"Glad you could join me."
He turned his head. Viper stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching him with that same clinical amusement. She'd changed again—this time into something more practical, a black bodysuit that hugged every curve, the top half peeled down and tied around her waist, leaving her torso bare. Her skin gleamed under the red light, smooth and unblemished.
"You look like shit," she observed.
Logan's lips pulled back from his teeth. "Fuck you."
She smiled. "In due time. Right now, I have other plans for you."
She crossed the room, her bare feet silent against the tile. When she reached him, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and hauled him upright, dragging him toward the chair with surprising strength. Logan snarled, trying to twist away, but his body was still sluggish, the toxin clinging to his system like a second skin.
"Let me go, you psycho—"
"You talk too much." She shoved him into the chair, and before he could react, she was already strapping him in. Wrists first, pulled tight against the leather arms. Then ankles, spread wide and locked into place. A final strap across his chest, cinched so tight he could barely breathe.
Logan strained against the bonds. The leather creaked, the metal groaned, but nothing gave. He was trapped.
"There." Viper straightened, admiring her work. "That's better. Now we can have a proper conversation."
"I've got nothing to say to you."
"That's fine. I'll do all the talking." She circled the chair slowly, running a finger along the back of it as she moved. "You know, Logan, when I first learned about you, I was intrigued. A man who can't die. A man who heals from anything. A man whose body is literally unbreakable." She paused behind him, leaning down so her lips brushed his ear. "But what no one ever told me was how... responsive you are."
Logan stiffened.
"I noticed it earlier, in the lab. The way your heart rate spiked when I touched you. The way your body reacted, even as your brain told it not to." She laughed, soft and low. "You're a creature of instinct, Logan. Pure animal. And animals can be trained."
"I'm not a fucking animal."
"No?" She stepped in front of him, straddling his lap. The heat of her thighs seeped through his torn pants, and he could feel the dampness of her through the thin fabric of her bodysuit. "Then why is your cock already getting hard?"
Logan's jaw clenched. He couldn't deny it—his body was betraying him, responding to her touch despite everything he knew about her. It was the toxin, he told himself. The aftereffects of her poison, heightening his senses, making him more susceptible. It had to be.
But looking into her eyes, he wasn't so sure.
"You're a monster," he growled.
"Thank you." She reached down, her fingers finding the waistband of his pants. "I keep telling you, I take that as a compliment."
She freed him with practiced ease, her hand wrapping around his length. He was already half-hard, and she stroked him slowly, deliberately, watching his face as she worked. Logan gritted his teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
But she was patient. She knew exactly how to touch him—the right pressure, the right rhythm. And despite his fury, his body was responding, his hips twitching against his will.
"Look at you," she murmured. "So strong. So unbreakable. And yet here you are, completely at my mercy." She leaned down, her lips brushing his. "You can heal, Logan. But you'll never be whole again."
His breath caught. Before he could respond, she rose up, positioning herself over him. The tip of his cock pressed against her entrance, slick and hot, and she held there for a moment, torturing him with anticipation.
"Tell me you want it," she said.
"Go to hell."
"Wrong answer." She lowered herself an inch, just enough to tease. "Try again."
Logan's vision went red. Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to break free, to tear her apart. But his body was betraying him, his hips bucking involuntarily, trying to push deeper.
"I don't want—" The words died in his throat as she sank down onto him, taking him in one smooth, deliberate motion. The heat of her enveloped him, tight and slick, and Logan's head fell back against the chair, a sound escaping his throat that he hated himself for making.
"Mm." Viper's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the feeling. "You feel even better than I imagined. All that fury, all that rage... it's perfect."
She began to move, slow at first, a gentle rocking that made his teeth grind. She kept her eyes on his, watching every flicker of expression, cataloguing every gasp and groan. Her inner walls gripped him tightly, clenching and releasing in rhythm with her movements.
"This is what I do, Logan," she breathed. "I find strong men, and I break them. I find unbreakable men, and I make them beg." She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest as she rode him. "And you? You're going to be my greatest work."
"Fuck... you..." He strained against the straps, his muscles corded, his claws punching out and retracting in an unconscious rhythm.
"That's the spirit." She increased her pace, her hips grinding against him as she took what she wanted. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, wet and obscene, punctuated by her soft moans and his ragged breathing.
He hated it. He hated her. He hated the way his body was responding, the way he couldn't stop himself from thrusting up to meet her, the way his release was building despite everything he felt.
"That's it," she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let go. Give in. Stop fighting."
"Never." The word was a snarl, torn from somewhere deep in his chest.
"Even now? Even with me riding you like this?" She laughed, a breathless sound. "You're a fool, Logan. But you're a beautiful one."
She moved faster, her thighs trembling as she chased her own pleasure. Her nails dug into his chest, leaving red welts that healed almost instantly, and she moaned, a raw, guttural sound that sent a jolt through his spine.
"I'm going to make you come," she said. "And you're going to hate every second of it."
She wasn't wrong.
The climax hit him like a freight train, tearing through his body with savage intensity. He came harder than he ever had, his hips bucking wildly as he spilled into her, a guttural roar ripping from his throat. Viper rode him through it, her own body shuddering as she climaxed around him, her inner walls spasming and clenching.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the machines. Then Viper pulled back, sliding off him with a wet sound, and stood.
She looked down at him with a satisfied smile, her skin flushed, her chest heaving.
"You can heal," she repeated, stepping back. "But you'll never be whole again."
She turned and walked away, leaving him strapped to the chair, his body aching and spent. The red light pulsed around him, casting long shadows across the floor.
Logan's fingers curled into fists. His claws extended, slicing into the leather of the chair, and he began to saw at the straps.
It would take time. But he had time.
And when he got free—when he got free—she was going to pay for every last second of this.
The leather gave way with a wet, tearing sound. His right hand came free, then his left. He was reaching for the straps on his ankles when he heard it.
A soft, mocking laugh from the shadows.
"Good luck, Logan," Viper's voice echoed from somewhere in the dark. "You're going to need it."
The lights shut off. And Logan was alone in the dark, his body still trembling, his mind already planning his revenge.
He'd find her. He'd make her regret it. All of it.
The room hummed. The red light pulsed.
And somewhere in the dark, Logan started to plan.