Chapter 27
Garron
She walks the cabin like it belongs to her, bare feet moving across the boards, chin high, daring us to stop her.
I don’t. None of us do. I watch instead.
The set of her shoulders. The way her wrists are still red from the cuffs but she doesn’t rub them like she’s sore.
She lets the marks show like proof. Strong.
Fierce. Smarter than she wants us to believe.
Corwin lounges against the wall, arms crossed, grin wide, waiting for her to slip. Evander stays close, steady, but I can tell he’s guiding her, testing. That’s what he does best.
She pauses at the couch, then lowers herself onto it like a queen choosing a throne. Her smirk cuts sharp. “I want to know the rules.”
I raise a brow. “What do you mean, rules?”
She leans back, crosses one leg over the other, eyes bright with fire. “I mean you’re obviously not letting me leave here. But I have to get back to work. I can’t just not show up to school on Tuesday.”
The word hits. Tuesday. Not Monday. I see Corwin tilt his head. Evander’s eyes narrow just enough. She catches it instantly; her smile widening.
“It’s a three-day weekend. I have to film too. Whether you think I’m yours or not, I need to make money. You fuck with my money and I fuck you up. I don’t care how scary and deranged you are. I’ll set this cabin on fire and go back to fucking myself in my film room.”
Corwin bursts out laughing. “She’s threatening arson. I like her.”
I bite back a smile. She means it. Every word. But that’s not what hooks me. It’s how she looks saying it. Alive. Not cowed. Not broken. Alive in the middle of three men who could end her if we wanted to. She doesn’t bend. She blazes.
Evander’s smile curves slowly. “So you admit you want to fuck us.”
Her eyes go wide for a second, her breath hitching before she spits it out. “No.”
“Liar.” He steps closer, calm as ever, but there’s something sharp under his voice now. He cups her face, thumb dragging over her jaw. She flinches, but doesn’t pull away. Her eyes shut when he leans down. His lips brush hers, barely there. She whimpers, soft, involuntarily.
Evander’s smile deepens. “So needy for someone who claims to hate us.”
Corwin laughs again, circling like he’s looking for another opening to press.
I stay where I am, but my fists tighten at my sides.
Because she’s right. She should be in her classroom.
She should be in her own bed, not here with us.
And yet—when I look at her now, fire blazing in her eyes, mouth parted from Evander’s touch, I know the truth.
She belongs here more than anywhere else.
“We’ll worry about Tuesday when it gets closer,” I rumble. “It’s only Friday night. A lot can happen in a weekend.”
Evander nods, steady. “As for filming. Tell us what you need, and you’ll have it.”
Corwin shoots his hand up like a kid in class. “I volunteer to hold the camera.”
Her laugh is bitter. “I’m supposed to be filming a special set. My boss picked me for the company calendar. October. I was planning on a My Bloody Valentine theme. Can you do that here?”
“No mines around here,” Corwin mutters.
“Same back home,” she says. “I was going to use a crypt.”
We don’t answer. Not about how much we already know. We know she talked and arranged to use a crypt at a cemetery in town.
“There’s an old cemetery,” I say finally. “Other side of the woods. Last burial was ’47. The grass is tall, headstones all cracked. Kids dare each other to sneak in after dark. Could work.”
She tilts her head. “And what, you three just drop me off and let me work?”
“Or,” Corwin grins, “we film with you.”
She laughs, harsh. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
Evander doesn’t laugh. He grips her chin, steady, tilting her face up again. “No lies. Truth only. We know how wet you were for us. How you cried. How you clenched around us. You liked it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh, I want to,” Evander murmurs, brushing his lips against her again. “No masks this time.”
“I want to taste you,” I growl, low. “Feast on you like the delicacy you are.”
“I want to watch you choke on my cock,” Corwin snaps, no softness anywhere in him.
Her thighs press tight together, betraying her. She goes to speak, but Evander squeezes her cheeks harder. “Only truths, Agatha.”
Her voice cracks but it comes. “I want that too.” Her eyes shut tight. “God, I’m fucked up.”
Evander’s voice is calm, dark, sure. “Not fucked up. Perfect.”
Agatha
“So the cemetery,” I snap, desperate to rip the attention somewhere else. “When?”
Corwin leans back against the arm of the couch, still grinning like a devil. “Tomorrow night. Midnight shoot, Little Horror. We’ll make it bloody for you.”
The way he says it makes my skin prickle.
Evander doesn’t look away. “Tell us what you need. Props. Costumes. Whatever it takes. You’ll have it.”
I swallow hard, my voice low. “Fine. Then tomorrow, we film. But this is my set, my rules.”
None of them laugh. None of them argue. And somehow that’s worse.
Because for the first time tonight, I realize they might actually mean it.
I lean back against the couch, rubbing my wrists where the leather bit into them. “If we’re actually doing this, I’ll need props. Fake blood, plastic pickaxes, maybe a heart mold. Something that looks real on camera.”
Corwin whistles. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of practice making messes look real.” He winks. “Bet I could get you a heart that still beats.”
“Not funny,” I snap. “I had all the things I needed at my house. But devil knows how far from there we are.”
“Didn’t say I was joking.” He grins.
I roll my eyes so hard my skull aches. “I’ll also need candles. Tall, black ones if you can find them. Lanterns too. A crypt set means shadows, not flat light. Otherwise it looks like shit.”
Garron finally speaks, voice low and steady. “We can get those. There’s a hardware store in town.”
I blink. “You’re seriously going to waltz into Ace Hardware for horror props?”
“We’ve done worse,” he mutters, and I believe him.
Evander hasn’t moved from where he’s standing, watching me like he’s cataloguing every word. “What about you?” he asks. “What will you wear?”
I freeze. My chest tightens. “Why does it matter?”
“Because it’s part of the story,” he says. “Tell us what the costume is supposed to say.”
I swallow, heat crawling up my neck. “Black dress. Torn tights. Boots. I was going for gothic horror slut. You know, scream queen but make it fuckable.”
Corwin leans forward so far he nearly falls off the couch. “You don’t have to try for fuckable, Little Horror. You already are.”
Garron grabs his shoulder, shoving him back with a grunt. “Don’t crowd her.”
“I wasn’t crowding,” Corwin shoots back, but the smirk never leaves his face.
I ignore them both, keeping my eyes on Evander. “And no, you’re not co-starring. This isn’t amateur hour porn with the babysitter’s uncles.”
Corwin raises his hand again, grinning. “I volunteer anyway. Could hold the camera with one hand and—”
“Try finishing that sentence and I’ll break your nose,” I cut in.
His grin only widens. “God, I like you.”
Evander tilts his head, lips barely moving. “You said no masks this time. Does that mean you want us in the frame?”
The air punches out of me. My throat goes dry. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say no either.”
I cross my arms tighter, nails biting into my skin. “I’m not letting you three hijack my shoot. This is my calendar, my job. If my boss sees anything off, I’m done.”
Garron’s voice rumbles steadily. “Then tell us exactly what you need and we’ll give you that. Nothing more.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’ll actually listen?”
Evander’s smile is slow, unsettling. “Only if you keep telling the truth.”
My breath stutters, traitorous. Because part of me is already picturing it—the cemetery, the crypt, the blood. And them.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Candles. Lanterns. Blood. Costume. Camera. That’s it. You three don’t get a cameo.”
Corwin laughs. “We’ll see.”