Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 454: Drake’s Revenge Caravan Begins

Nicole stared at me with an odd expression, her eyebrows knitted in that blend of irritation and bewilderment that only teenagers seem to master.

"Then why did you refuse to... tell Officer Megan that you were actually the one protecting her?" she inquired, her voice soft but pointed. "She is probably cursing you as we speak... convinced you are nothing more than a cruel monster who thrives on people's suffering."

A silent, cynical amusement stirred within me. Nicole was truly naive for this world. She still harbored the foolish belief that humanity could be swayed by kindness, logical reasoning, and moral high ground.

She was yet to learn how a woman’s heart is genuinely captured—especially one like Megan, who was proud, fractured, guilty, and already teetering under the weight of her own shame and gratitude. When I eventually brought Megan back into the fold... Nicole might unknowingly assist me in winning her affection.

I adopted a casual, almost languid tone in my reply.

"It is of no consequence," I stated, offering a casual shrug. "I have no desire to be the hero. I prefer playing the villain."

Nicole’s mouth parted, likely prepared for a rebuttal, but Mira stepped forward immediately, her arm hooked through mine, her soft breasts pressing warmly against my bicep.

"Alright... enough with that..." Mira murmured, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. "Let him be. Otherwise, he might not even track down where Megan disappeared to."

Nicole exhaled a frustrated huff and crossed her arms, opting to remain silent.

I turned my gaze to Camilla, who was still kneeling near the cave entrance. Her dress was haphazardly adjusted, stained with blood and her own fluids, and her massive breasts were straining against the torn fabric, while her rear remained marked with red welts.

"Behave yourself," I directed, my voice low and authoritative.

Camilla lowered her head, nodding in quick, submissive fashion.

"Yes, Master..."

I stepped outside. Night had begun to settle, the sky shifting from a bruised purple to an ink-black void as stars emerged. I reached into my system storage and retrieved a compact tactical flashlight, though I ultimately chose not to activate it.

I could already track Megan’s silhouette as she trudged forward, staggering under the dead weight of Drake. Had I clicked the light on, I would have been spotted instantly. There was no need, for I had already tethered her to the World Map Function; the blue indicator pulsing on my HUD made it impossible to lose her.

Ahead, Megan was struggling, her movements uneven and strained. She had clearly realized her predicament: night was rapidly falling, and she was burdened by a handless, unconscious man on a treacherous path littered with roots and shadows. Even from this distance, her breathing was audible—frantic and labored.

I trailed behind in the gloom, silent and unseen. Megan’s figure was easy to monitor as she hunched under Drake’s bulk. The forest was now swallowed by the night, leaving only a sliver of moonlight to guide her path.

Suddenly, Drake stirred.

A low, painful groan broke the silence, followed by his raspy, venomous tone.

"Camilla..." he mumbled, his head lolling against her shoulder. "Don't you dare... let that bastard..."

Megan grunted, adjusting his weight higher, her clothes damp with perspiration.

"You’re awake," she remarked, her voice strained but laced with relief. "That is good. Can you manage to stand? We are nearly back at the camp."

Drake attempted to lift his head, only to be reminded of his missing hands. His torso jerked, his stumps flailing helplessly before he nearly slid from her grip.

"Yeah... I suppose I can..." he rasped a moment later.

Megan lowered him to the dirt with caution. Drake lurched upright, leaning precariously against a tree and fighting to keep his knees from buckling. Lacking hands to balance himself, he swayed like a drunkard, his movements appearing pathetic.

Megan stayed by his side, ready to catch him if he fell.

A sharp spark of fury flickered in Drake’s eyes.

"I will certainly have my vengeance..." he growled, his voice trembling with malice.

"Don't think that motherfucker Dexter is untouchable just because he hoards a few supplies... and those women... whom they all look down on... I refuse to believe he can hold his own against everyone. I will reveal his exact location to the other survivors... did he not hack off my hands?"

"I will carve him into shreds... I will watch those survivors queue up to violate his women... that arrogant bitch Angela... smug-faced Lisa... and that whore Mira... and her pathetic daughter too... I will ensure they suffer exactly as they deserve..."

Megan stood frozen, her expression warping with indignation and disgust.

"Enough," she snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. "And you are forbidden from revealing Dexter’s location. Just drop it. Do you understand? Forget it."

Drake erupted into a bitter, blood-flecked laugh.

"Forget about it...?" He turned to look at her, his eyes wild even in the dim light.

He scrutinized her, then shifted his gaze to her clean garments and the way she held herself with a new, strange dignity.

"He severed my hands..." he stated slowly, his tone rising with suspicion. "Yet he left you untouched...? Did you already sell yourself to him...? Did you spread your legs for that bastard while I sat there bleeding? Is that why you returned adorned like a queen? Did you moan for him just as Camilla did?"

Megan’s palm cracked across his face—a sharp **SLAP** that echoed through the woods.

"Shut your mouth!" she hissed, shaking with rage and humiliation.

"Not everyone is a piece of trash like you! I sold nothing. I didn't beg. Yes, I pointed a gun at him, but I did not drop to my knees like your slut of a wife. I was trying to safeguard everyone! You were the one threatening to violate them! You were the one who invited the loss of your hands through your own insatiable greed! Don't you dare cast blame on me for the mess you started!"

Drake spat out blood, his cheek coloring bright red, and gave an ugly, diminished laugh.

"Oh, so now the savior role suits you?" he sneered. "You stood there with a gun while he fondled Camilla right in front of me. You watched him finger her like a common jade, and you did nothing. Now, you’re draped in his clothes... hauling me back like a loyal pet... Do you think I’m blind? You already belong to him. You just haven't had the guts to admit it yet."

Megan’s fists tightened, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You are truly vile," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You lose your hands and still, all you think of is your lust. I was trying to save us. Every one of us. The children. Paul. Everyone. And you... you were ready to destroy us all for a petty revenge. Had Dexter not intervened... we would both be rotting in the dirt. Or something far worse."

Drake leaned heavier against the trunk, his stumps twitching in frustration.

"Worse?" he laughed with bitter detachment. "Worse than this? Look at me, Megan. No hands. No leverage. And you... you stride back in fine clothes while I am the broken cripple. You likely already let him have his way with you. That is why he spared you. That is why he gave you those clothes. Truth be told, you are his new toy, aren't you?"