6. Rue #3
Silence stretches across the line. When he speaks again, his voice goes flat and cold in a way that terrifies me more than yelling.
"Can't? Or won't?"
"Dad, please?—"
"You want your brother to die? That what you want?"
"No!" My voice cracks. "Of course not, but?—"
"Then you'll do what we tell you. You're already living under their roof, eating their food. How hard is it to let them fuck you a few times?"
My hand shakes so badly I nearly drop the phone.
"Already living under their roof" echoes in my head, each word a stone sinking through dark water.
I should tell him it worked. That Roman claimed me first, then Reed stretched me open on his massive cock until I couldn't think straight. That they filled me with so much seed I can still feel it pooling inside me, kept there by Reed's fingers to give their babies the best chance.
But the words stick in my throat like glass.
If I admit what happened, they'll use it.
They'll twist it into something ugly, hold it over my head forever.
"You're already spreading your legs for them, might as well get paid for it.
" Mom's voice would drip with satisfaction as she reminds me I'm nothing but a whore now, just like she always said I'd become.
And if they know Reed and Roman are aware of the scheme...
My stomach drops. They'll panic. Do something rash. Take Kurt, disappear, and I'll have to leave Roman and Reed.
"I'm working on it," I whisper instead. "But these things take time. I can't just?—"
The phone gets snatched away. Mom's voice cuts through, sharp and bitter.
"Time? You think we have time?"
Her tone makes my spine lock up, every muscle going rigid. I know that voice. The one she uses right before she does something cruel.
"Mom, please?—"
"No, you listen." Papers rustle. "Kurt's next treatment is scheduled for three days from now. If you haven't gotten what we need by then—if you haven't sent us something we can use—that appointment gets canceled."
My heart stops.
"You can't. He needs that treatment to survive. I'll come up with the money."
"You'll come up with the money?" Mom's laugh cuts through the line, sharp and ugly. "With what, exactly? Your precious bartending tips?"
Reed's voice echoes in my head—We'll take care of everything. The way he'd held me after, promised Kurt would get the best care available. How Roman had whispered they'd never let my brother suffer.
But I can't say that. Can't give them another weapon.
If Mom knows Reed and Roman are willing to help, she won't stop there.
She'll twist it, demand more, use their kindness as proof they're "invested" and should pay even bigger amounts.
She'll threaten to expose them, to cause trouble with their business.
And Reed and Roman don't deserve that—don't deserve to have their generosity weaponized against them.
"I'm in his house." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I can get what you wanted from the start. Documents, bank info, valuables. That's why you want me to seduce them, right? So they trust me. So they give me everything I want and let me move around the house without suspicion."
"Now you're talking sense." Mom's satisfaction drips through the speaker. "His office is on the second floor, northwest corner. Find his safe, copy everything inside. Credit cards, account numbers, property deeds. And there's bound to be jewelry, watches, things we can liquidate quickly."
My stomach turns. They want me to rob them—actually steal from the men who've shown me more care in one night than my parents have in years.
"Do that." Her voice goes cold. "Or you'll never see Kurt again."
The threat lands like a fist to my chest, driving all the air from my lungs.
"What?"
"You heard me." Papers rustle again, like she's checking something off a list. "One wrong move, one sign you're not following through, and we disappear. Take your brother somewhere you'll never find him. Somewhere no hospital, no cops."
My knees buckle. I catch myself against the dresser, fingers digging into the wood hard enough to hurt.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me." Mom's voice drops lower. "And when he dies because you couldn't follow simple instructions? When you get that phone call saying your baby brother's gone? You'll know it's your fault."
Tears burn hot trails down my face. My throat closes up so tight I can barely force words through.
"Please don't do this. I'll get what you need, I promise."
"You have three days." She pauses, lets the silence stretch. "Seduce them. Earn their trust. Send us proof you're making progress by tomorrow night. Photos of the office, account numbers, something. Or we start packing."
The line goes dead.
I stand frozen, phone clutched in shaking hands, my whole body trembling. The walls close in around me, squeezing tighter and tighter until I can't breathe.
Kurt's face fills my vision—pale and thin, eyes too big in his hollow face, trying to smile even when everything hurts. The way he holds my hand during treatments, trusting me to keep him safe.
And I have no idea how to do that anymore without betraying my stepbrother and my stepdaddy.