Chapter 15
Soren
I lean against the cold, unyielding wall opposite the locked door, my arms crossed over my chest, a silent sentinel. The scent of stale sex and sweat still clings to me, a pungent reminder of what went down last night.
Inside, Gail’s breathing evened out hours ago when she cried herself to sleep, the soft rustle of sheets the only sound betraying her wakefulness. We’d untied her, sure, but we hadn’t given her freedom. Not yet.
“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face.
Gail is Abby, and Abby is Gail. The same woman, two very different sides. I wonder if Mickey has even processed that part yet, or if his brain took him straight to doom’s town, party of one after hearing she’s knocked up. In the dim light of the morning, I’m no longer angry. Well, I am, just not as much as I was last night. Truthfully, my anger wasn’t for me as much as it was for Mick. I didn’t need to look at him to know how Gail’s confession would feel like a punch to the gut—like history repeating itself.
I didn’t protect Mickey when Simone played him, but I’m here now, and I’m not letting this, or any, bitch play with him like this. Scoffing, I run a tattooed hand through my short, dark hair.
How do we even know this kid is ours? We have no idea how many people she spread her legs for at Cupid’s Court, or anywhere else. She claims she didn’t know we were the men at Cupid’s Court, which I believe. Sadly, that doesn’t help her case in the slightest. Because Gail openly flirted with us outside of that place, so how can I know she hasn’t slept with hundreds of guys?
But fuck, if she’s carrying something of mine inside her… a kid—possibly my kid—can I really turn my back on her if that’s true? Since Ryan’s death, family became my everything. Not my parents, because fuck them. But Nana, Mickey, and Sawyer are my family. If Gail’s pregnant, then she’s family too, in a twisted sort of way. And you don’t turn your back on family, not if you’re Soren “The Wall” Taylor.
Fuck!
A shiver runs down my spine, and I shake it off, trying to refocus on the here and now. On Gail, locked away in that bedroom, and the decision hanging over my head like a fucking guillotine.
“Good morning.” Mickey’s voice cuts through the silent hallway, gruff with concern. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s assessing the situation, reading the tension in my body like he reads plays on the ice. That’s Mickey—always seeing more than he lets on. “Still standing guard?” he asks, coming to stand beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in silent solidarity.
“Something like that,” I reply, my voice rough. Mickey doesn’t push, doesn’t prod; he’s never been one for unnecessary words. Instead, he claps a hand on my shoulder.
Then he leans against the opposite wall, propping one leg up. His white hair is in disarray, his eyes bloodshot. I have no doubt I look just as… what’s the opposite of looking put together? Whatever it is, that’s how I’m sure I look as well. “So Gail and Abby are the same person.” The words are soft, tinged with helplessness.
I nod, because what else can I do?
My body is as tense as a coiled spring, when Gail’s screams shatter the silence of the morning. The sound grates against my nerves like nails on ice, and I can’t ignore the twinge in my gut. Pregnant or not, she’s fire and gasoline, burning bright enough to sear through my defenses.
“Please! Let me out of here!” Her voice is hoarse from desperation, her plea slicing through the heavy air of the house. “I didn’t know who you were—I swear!”
Across from me, Mick’s eyes darken like clouds before a storm rips across the sky. He clenches his jaw, balling his hands into fists. “How do we even know she’s pregnant? Or that the kid is ours?” he asks, each question heavy with the same unspoken accusation that ran through my mind earlier.
“We don’t,” I answer. “But we should make sure to get some answers. Call Cupid’s Court and demand a visit with Cupid’s Court’s doctor ASAP.”
Mickey just nods, the movement sharp.
“Let’s go in,” I say finally, determination settling in my gut like a puck ready for the drop.
The room is dimly lit by the morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across Gail’s form as she sits up in bed, her blue eyes wide and wary. She’s beautiful, all tangled hair and defiant spirit.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Mickey greets her, a deceptive calm in his voice. I stay silent, watching her every move, aware of the tension coiled tight within me, ready to spring. “And for fuck’s sake, stop covering yourself up. You haven’t earned the right.” Without warning or notice, he fists the sheet wrapped around her, and despite her objections, he tears it from her, exposing her naked body.
Gail doesn’t fight him, she just lifts her chin in a defiant tilt as her chest heaves. “Fuck you,” she hisses, tossing her black and white hair across one shoulder.
The hair… wait, Abby has had this weird monochrome dye-job since we first saw her at New Year’s, but Gail’s only ever had her brown hair when we’ve seen her. “What’s with the hair?” I ask, my lips and tongue moving before I even knew I wanted to ask her about it.
She shoots me a look so filled with ice it would make a lesser man want to shrivel up and die. Too bad for her, I’m not a fucking lesser man. “What’s with the kidnapping?” she volleys, her tone haughty.
Our gazes remain locked, silence spanning across the room as we continue our staring contest.
Breaking first, Gail shrugs. “I wasn’t ready to show the world my little rebellion.” She laughs bitterly. “So I’ve been using a wig everywhere except Cupid’s and Luce’s house.”
Well… I don’t know what I expected her to say, but that definitely wasn’t it.
Still not ready to look away, I keep my eyes on Gail as Mickey moves closer until we’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She looks between us, her gaze lingering on the tattoos that snake over my skin, the inked reminders of a life lived hard and fast. There’s curiosity there, but something else too—fear, maybe. Whatever it is, it sends a jolt straight to my cock, and I curse silently. Not now.
Gail shifts on the bed, crossing one leg over the other and throwing one arm across her tits, like we aren’t already intimately familiar with every inch of her body.
“Please,” Gail’s voice breaks, blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”
“Believe you?” My laugh is cold, bitter. “You think this is some kind of misunderstanding? You think you can just bat those pretty eyes and everything will be fine? Even you can’t be that fucking dumb.”
Mickey’s watching me, his jaw clenched tight. There’s a storm brewing behind those silver eyes, and I know we’re both close to the edge.
“You still have her phone?” I ask him, remembering him taking it last night.
Mickey nods, fishing it out of his pocket. “You need to text Lucia. Tell her you’re too sick to come to her house,” Mickey orders, holding the phone up.
“Go to hell.” Her voice is a whisper, but it carries the weight of her defiance.
The smile spreading across Mick’s lips is cold. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He holds the phone up in front of her, unlocking it with her face. Then his thumbs fly over the keyboard, and I watch Gail deflate, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Done.” Mickey pockets the phone again, his expression triumphant.
Refusing to cower, Gail lets out a mocking laugh. “Whatever you wrote, Luce will know it didn’t come from me.”
Instead of letting her know that I’m scared that’s exactly what will happen, I turn to where she’s still sitting on the bed. “Are you hungry?” I ask before checking if she’s still fine for water. I brought her a couple of bottles during the night, and one of them is still unopened.
“Fuck off,” she says, sounding more sad than angry.
With a shrug, I leave the room with Mickey, locking the door behind us so she can’t go anywhere. Normally, we’d have breakfast together and talk about the game and Cupid’s last night, but we don’t. We each head to our individual bedrooms.
Hours pass by, and I’m almost asleep, exhaustion making my eyelids heavy when Mickey comes barging into my bedroom, Gail’s phone in hand. The sinisterly triumphant smile on his lips as he shows me the text is all I need to know we’ve gotten away with it.
Luce: Okay *thumbs up emoji* Feel better soon, and let me know if you need anything!
As soon as we’re back in the bedroom Gail’s occupying, Mickey gleefully reads the text out to her, and when she scoffs like she doesn’t believe him, he shows her the words, proving she isn’t going to be missed by her best friend any time soon.
Now, her family… that’s obviously another story, one I don’t care to get into. I don’t plan on keeping Gail at my house forever, just long enough to find out what the hell we need to do.
“How far along are you?” I ask Gail, arching an eyebrow as I take in her flat stomach and heavy tits.
Shit, playing with them yesterday at Cupid’s I did notice they’ve grown, which could be due to other things like implants or weight gain. But we’d know if she’d gotten implants, and she’s definitely not gained weight, at least not anywhere else on her body.
“Have you even had the alleged preggo status checked by a doctor?” Mickey asks, his tone harsh.
She shakes her head. “No.” Ahh, so she might not even be pregnant.
“So you could be lying,” Mickey says, his words echoing my thoughts.
Gail gnashes her teeth together, refusing to answer us. She makes a big show of looking anywhere but at us, like that’s somehow giving her an edge.
“You need to shower. You fucking smell of our cum. It’s disgusting.” I scrunch up my nose to punctuate every dark word, which is a lie. She smells fucking divine, even if our cum is dried on her skin.
She could have showered already if she wanted to, which begs the question why she hasn’t. I walk into the adjoining bathroom, checking that all the towels are still dry, and that there’s no water pooling on the floor in the shower cubicle just to make sure. Nope, everything’s dry.
As I return to the bedroom, she tosses her head, sending her strands dancing around her shoulders as she looks at me, her body quivering with barely restrained anger. “I need my own soaps,” she snaps, her voice cutting through the thick air between us. “Special ones. For the ba—Fet.”
“Fuck the baby,” Mickey growls, and I shoot him a warning glance. We both know that if there’s a kid in the picture, everything changes. But right now, we can’t afford to show any weakness.
Her lips part, and she looks like she might argue again, but something in my gaze must tell her it’s futile. She glares at us, the kind of glare that would have lesser men stepping back. But we’re not lesser men. We’re Sabertooths, used to playing rough and dirty.
“Fine,” she spits out, her bubbly, outgoing demeanor nowhere to be found. “But this doesn’t change anything.”
“Never said it did,” I reply, my voice as cold as the ice I defend every game night.
We trail behind as she stalks off toward the bathroom, her average frame somehow managing to look regal even in defeat. When she reaches the cubicle she turns around, gives us an unimpressed stare before she gets in and attempts to shut the door. But Mick’s faster, and he grips it, holding it open.
“No point in getting shy now, sweetheart,” he drawls, malice dripping from each word.
“Stop!” Her voice echoes against the marble. “You can’t—”
Mickey chuckles darkly. “This is Soren’s house, so we can do whatever the hell we want. Since we’ve already seen…” His eyes skim every inch of her body. “… and tasted…” He licks his lips. “… every part of your body, there’s no point in hiding from us.”
As the water hisses to life, steam rising like mist over a frozen pond, I move closer, wanting to watch her under the spray. Droplets cling to her skin, cascading down the curves we’ve come to know so well, even as she tries to shield herself with trembling arms. My cock jerks in response, begging to be set free, to be touched.
The heat isn’t just from the shower—it’s pooling in my gut, tightening my muscles. Beside me, Mickey’s breathing grows shallow, and I know without looking that he’s as affected as I am. The air is thick with humidity, clinging to us like a second skin.
My hand moves almost of its own accord, grasping myself through my jeans. The rough fabric chafes, but it’s nothing compared to the friction I crave. Mickey’s not holding back either. He’s got his hand down his pants, working himself with an urgency that borders on desperation.
I can feel the heat pulsating off of her skin, a tantalizing aroma that grows more potent every second. My cock grows, swells. “Get down on your knees,” I command, practically shoving her onto the floor. My voice is lined with a venomous sort of lust. It’s not just an instruction; it’s a declaration of her place in this moment. She hesitates, just a fraction, but it’s enough to stoke the flames of my temper again. “Be a good whore,” I sneer, the insult hanging heavy in the air between us.
Undoing my pants, I push them down and cup myself. I groan while stroking my hard shaft through the fabric of my boxer briefs. “You’re going to show us how sorry you are,” I growl, the words a dark invitation—no, a challenge—to her capitulation. “Remind us what that pretty mouth can do.”
While I pull my cock out of the hole rather than removing the briefs, I watch her, eyes narrowed, as emotions flit across her face—the fear, the resignation. The anticipation crackles between us, electric and raw.
My cock jerks, I love watching the fight on her face. I know she isn’t here because she wants to be. No, these are the actions of someone cornered by circumstance and coerced by fear. And you know what, that’s good enough for me.
Her breath hitches, and I can almost taste the dread mingling with the heated air. My body tenses, every muscle coiled tight in anticipation.
“You said you wanted to make amends,” Mickey spits, watching her closely as he fumbles with his belt. The clink of metal sounds too loud in the otherwise quiet room.
Did she say that? I don’t remember, or maybe I simply didn’t hear.
Gail’s answer is a whimper, vulnerable and broken. She nods, just once, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. There’s a tremor in her hands as they rest upon her thighs, and I’m torn between satisfaction and a deep, gnawing disgust—for her, for me, for this whole messed up situation.
“Time to prove it,” I growl when Mickey has his dick out, stroking it in long, firm motions. “To both of us,” I say, my voice a low command that brooks no debate.
The air is electric as Gail looks up from where she kneels; her gaze flickering between us. Her eyes, wide and wet, reflect a myriad of emotions—fear, resignation, determination. She nods once, resigned to her fate, to our demands.
Her hands are hesitant at first, as if unsure which one of us to touch first. But then, almost as if driven by an innate survival instinct, she moves her hand toward Mickey’s waiting dick. His face scrunches up in revulsion as he slaps her hand away.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spits. Though he sounds angry, I know my friend well enough to know its distrust coating his words. “You haven’t earned the privilege of touching my cock.”
Anger flashes in her eyes. “You think it’s a privilege?” she snarls. “More like a fucking job. That’s why I got paid for it.”
Laughter bubbles in my throat, but I manage to swallow it. Jesus, Gail knows how to fight back, even when she’s the one on her knees.
I don’t stop her when she reaches for my cock, I welcome her hand wrapping around my throbbing length. “Show me how sorry you are,” I growl. Watching her face contort with anxious desire fuels me further. “Give it what it needs,” I demand huskily.
Our bodies are inches apart now; close enough that when she swallows nervously, I can feel her hot breath fan against the crown where pre-cum glistens.
Gail doesn’t hesitate as she tightens her hold on me. A surge of electricity zips through my veins at her touch, and I moan out in pleasure as she starts slowly stroking me up and down with an agonizing slowness that has my hips bucking into her hand instinctively.
“Fuck,” I grunt. It’s a carnal sound—raw and unedited—one that resonates deeply within me. “Suck me, whore.”
As she envelops my cock with her velvety mouth, I can’t help but gasp. The feeling is intense. Her tongue flicks expertly over the sensitive underside of my shaft, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through my groin and straight to my brain.
Next to me, I can hear the sounds of Mickey jerking off. Fucker doesn’t know what he’s missing out on by refusing her touch. But hey, more for me.
Urged by the building pressure, I place my hands on the back of her head, roughly guiding her further down my length as I rock into her sweet mouth with vicious thrusts. She chokes when I push too far, but I’m beyond caring.
Looking down at Gail, eyes watering, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, only adds fuel to the rising tide in me. As sinful as this may be, there’s no denying how sexy she looks right now; her tousled hair is a curtain around her shoulders, lips plump from sucking.
With each sloppy stroke of her tongue against my throbbing cock, pleasure ripples through me, culminating at the base where my balls tighten deliciously. “Do you want to swallow my cum, whore?” I ask, my tone hoarse and dark.
She whimpers and nods her head as much as my grip allows, making a wicked smile spread across my lips. I let go of her head and watch as she opens her mouth wide, ready to catch my jizz. My breath hitches as hot spurts of cum shoot from the tip of my cock, but instead of guiding it toward her waiting mouth, I angle the tip so the warm spurts splatter across her face, coating her in my cum.
Next to me, Mickey’s breathing intensifies, his hand furiously tugging at his dick. He grunts before adding his release to the sticky mess glistening on her dark eyelashes and dripping down her chin.
The sight is lewd yet so fucking satisfying, and I take a moment to admire how she looks while on her knees with our cum all over her face. “You really are nothing more than a desperate whore,” I chuckle grimly.
Where Mickey hurries to get his clothes back into position, I take my time, not taking my eyes off her face. Her blue eyes flash with anger. “Aww, don’t look at me like that,” I coo sarcastically. Then I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and pull some money out, throwing the wad on the floor. “For your services.”
Gail’s eyes widen like saucers. With steady fingers, she wipes away the jizz near her eyes, all the while holding my gaze. Then she slowly gets to her feet, not bothering to cover herself up. “You fucking bastard,” she hisses, taking a step toward me. “I have done nothing to deserve this. It’s not my fucking fault you’re too… too…” A sob steals her voice. “I did nothing wrong,” she repeats with broken resignation.
I pivot on my heel, the sound of my footsteps too sharp in the sudden silence. Mickey’s hot on my heels, and we leave the bathroom, the door to the bedroom clicking shut with an air of finality. My chest heaves with shallow breaths, each one tasting of bile. The coppery tang of adrenaline still lingers on my tongue, mingling with the sour aftertaste of what we’ve done.
“Don’t forget to lock the door,” Mickey barks, and I mentally cuss myself out for being about to do just that.