Chapter 29 Briella #2
For the next hour, I learn how Vincent takes care of the animals.
He shows me the food storage area, which is made of large plastic bins filled with goat pellets, bags of oats, and sweet-smelling hay stacked against the wall.
There’s a separate locked cabinet for veterinary supplies: needles, salves, clippers, bandages, and a shelf of meds I mentally catalog in case I ever need to sedate someone bigger than me.
In the back corner sits a small trough-style sink with a long-handled brush and jugs of apple cider vinegar, which he says they use for cleaning wounds and deterring flies. I store that away too. Vinegar could burn. Or blind. Could disinfect a gash, too.
Knives hang above the feed prep station, supposedly for opening bales and cutting rope. He doesn’t even glance twice as he uses one to slice into a stubborn feed bag. Just leaves it there on the table when he’s done.
I could work with this.
Vincent brushes a bit of hay off his sleeve while he mucks out the stall. He wouldn’t let me do it because there’s too much risk of ripping my stitches, but he taught me how to feed the goats and groom the horses.
I steal glances at him, remembering our encounter in the pit.
Vinny.
His whole body had locked up like I’d clawed my nails down something raw inside him. I wonder what he’d do if I said it again.
During the next few hours, I keep my face smooth and obedient, my mouth soft with murmured praise for the horses, the goats, even the chickens out back. But my mind? It’s already clawing for ways out, ways through, ways to survive.
Finally, Vincent leads me out of the barn.
Let them think I’m settling in. Let them think I’m softening.
When they least expect it, I’ll run…and never look back.
“I win again!” I squeal, thrusting my arms up in the air, only to cringe at the pain. The sofa is comfortable with plenty of cushy pillows, but the healing process will take time.
From the chair on my left, Jude looks up from his book, monitoring me with a cautious eye, but I lower my arms, nodding that I’m okay. Then, I adjust the newsboy cap so it doesn’t fall. I’m still wearing the sundress. With the crackling fireplace, I didn’t need Vincent’s hoodie anymore.
Seth grumbles across from me and chucks his cards onto the coffee table. They scatter across the game board. “It’s statistically impossible. It literally makes no sense,” he says, because I evaded his Boardwalk/Park Place hotel holdings—and somehow managed to get Free Parking ten times.
“Just like she blazed right past all your bombs and won Stratego on her very first time?” Vincent mentions from the other side of the sectional sofa, where he’s remained for the past hour with a bundle of cream-colored yarn in his lap.
Despite how he neatly takes up one whole side, his fingers move deftly, looping the soft thread into what looks like a scarf.
Seth snorts. “Yeah, says the guy aggressively crocheting his feelings like it’s a competitive sport.”
“It’s not crochet,” Vincent mutters, not looking up. “It’s Cashmere. Be grateful. Goat luxury. Keeps us all warm during the winter.”
“I like to knit,” I say, observing his neatness, appreciating it.
And then, I get another diabolical idea.
I swear Raphael zeroes in on me whenever it happens…
like the crazy psycho can read my mind. It’s already scary enough that he spends most of his time sitting or standing nearby, doing absolutely nothing but watching the rest of us.
His predatory eyes focus most on me from his position at the fireplace, forearm resting on the mantle.
A muffled groan of pain echoes from down the hall, and I spurt out more laughter from my prank still working its beauty on Rory hours later.
I wonder if Raphael knows I sneaked another dose into his backup “comfort” whiskey, as he called it.
Not my fault if Rory didn’t hide it well. And left it unattended.
The best part may have been when he came out of the bathroom while we were setting up games.
“Want to play Monopoly, Red?” I’d offered. “Oh, that’s right, you’re still stuck in bathroom jail.”
He’d charged for me with savagery in his eyes. But all it took was one epic throwdown from Vincent to send the socio running back to the bathroom.
“Shit fucking dick!” Seth exclaims. “Is he gonna be in there all night?”
“I’d bet on it.”
Jude looks up from his book, and Vincent from his knitting. Seth lifts a brow. “What are you hiding, Briella Darling?”
I simply smile.
“Bedtime,” Raphael interjects firmly while drumming his fingers on the mantle, eyeing me from the side.
Seth wastes no time in standing. As does Jude, setting aside his book. Vincent gathers up his knitting supplies.
I dart my eyes between them. “You boys have a curfew?”
The psycho rises, approaching me with steady eyes. “We turn in early. This is our home. Self-sustainability requires regular maintenance. Everyone does their part. Everyone has a role.”
“What’s my role?” I don’t take my eyes off his.
He narrows his eyes on me. “To heal. Then, we will see. Jude already mentioned your gardening skills.”
“You’re not letting me go?” I shouldn’t hold my breath.
“No.” His answer was so quick. Unwavering. No hesitation. His eyes sharpen on mine—two resolute dark emeralds. “You are Kin now. You are blood. And you will abide by our laws. But you also reap the rewards.”
I chew on my inner cheek, deciding not to question those laws and rewards for now. “So, where is my bed?”
Raphael nods to his left. “With Vincent.”
“What?”
Vincent snaps his head up, echoing, “Yeah, what?”
A chill rushes up my spine. My stomach somersaults.
Raphael steps toward me, flexing his fingers at his side. “You will share his bed tonight…unless you’d care to stay in the bathroom with Rory.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Pass. What about Jude?” I flick my eyes to the man I trust most in this damned gang.
Raphael crosses the distance to me, his shadow falling over my body, chilling me to the bone, but also setting my blood on fire. “If you continue to question my authority, Briella, after your five days of service are done, you will be disciplined.”
Slowly, I rise, clenching my hands, prepared not to question but to test my boundaries. “Can the service be whatever I want?”
“Within reason.” He nods.
I shrug. “I can work with that.”
“So, this is your cabin?” I survey the area as Vincent closes the door behind us.
“Sure ain’t Rory’s. He’s a slob.”
I take in the area. It’s smaller but feels spacious. One large bed on the left-hand side sits opposite the small kitchen. In the back of the cabin is a small area with a sitting bench near the floor-to-ceiling window that doubles as a back door.
I shiver because it’s still late fall in the middle of the thick Redwood forest, and all I’m wearing is the sundress.
Vincent opens the free-standing wood-burning stove next to the kitchen, adds a few logs, tinder, and strikes a match, lighting the fire. I smile at the basket full of knitting materials. He couldn’t have made it easier for me. I hope he’s a deep sleeper.
I’m so caught up looking around, I don’t notice him until he’s right behind me, fingers touching the dress sleeves.
“Holy shit!” I flinch, jerking away. “I need to get you a bell or somethi—ohmygod!”
All the breath leaves my lungs when I turn around. Because he’s naked. Head-to-toe naked with all his muscles and tattoos on full display, and his dick hard and throbbing and far too excited to see me. I clamp a hand over my mouth, stepping back only for heat to attack my back. Too much heat.
Vincent huffs, swinging an arm around me, tearing me away from the stove. “Nothing you haven’t felt, Girly.” He doesn’t grind against me, but his cock still rubs against my belly.
“I guess seeing is believing,” I mutter, looking away, looking in every direction but him. Believing, acknowledging he was inside me. Not as thick as Raphael. Not as long as Jude. But Vincent passes for the eight-inch territory.
When he slides one strap down my shoulder, I try to pull away, but his hold is iron-strong on my back. “What the fuck are you—”
“Kinship law, Girly. Nothing between us.” A grunt leaves his throat as he does the next strap, tugging the dress down until it slides down my hips, leaving me naked and pressed against all his endless masculinity, muscles, ridges, and tattoos that go on for miles.
I try to cover myself with my arms. “What?” I glare at him. “Now, you have your way with me?”
He rolls his eyes, huffing. “Hardly. None of us is allowed to fuck you until your two-week healing is up.”
Shock stutters my pulse. “Seriously?”
“Unless you beg for it.” He shrugs, then pulls away. Seth would wink. Rory would grind. Jude would simply sweep me into his arms and off to bed.
But Vincent? He just turns, showing me his scarred back, and climbs into the bed.
“You gonna stay there all night so I can stare at your pretty purple hair and perfect, pink tits until I fall asleep, or are you gonna get in bed?” He gestures to the other side of the bed.
“You guys have weird laws,” I sigh before getting into bed, welcoming the heavy quilt. I wince from the wounds.
Rolling over, he mutters, “Raphael’s law.”
For fuck’s sake, I should not be staring at his iron-like ass. “Guess he must have done something pretty big for y’all to come out here to the middle of nowhere.”
“You’d never understand.” He punches his pillow.
Settling on my pillow, I pause and eye his back tattoos. Black wings with splatter effects. More skulls. Thick five-roped chains like a snake coiling all over his back, interlacing with all the other tattoos.
“I probably wouldn’t,” I admit. “I’ve never had anyone stick their neck out for me.”
“Their goddamn loss. Now, you have five necks.”
I chew on my lower lip, remembering all the corpses, the skeletons in the pit. And all the shit they did to me. How can I believe a word they say?
“Can practically feel you staring daggers at me back, Girly.” He doesn’t turn around.
“Raphael said service.”
“Within reason.”
“I want answers,” I demand.
He rolls over, but he’s so big, I have to move back. My breath hitches when I realize I’ve run out of room. Vincent grabs my hair, yanking me back before I fall. “Oh, god!” I hiss from my scalp protesting, my front crashing, breasts bouncing against his chest.
“Better than your back, Girly.”
Fair enough. But he doesn’t let go yet. I suck in a deep breath, overcome by those dark, hooded eyes and the wispy brown hair casting deeper shadows upon his face. His body is a kiln against mine. And that eight-inch cock jerks against my pelvis since I’m slightly above him.
“I have a brand new vibrating dildo,” he opts, trying to divert me from the questions. “Still in the packaging.”
I shake my head. “Answers.”
“Whatever.” He snorts, letting go of my hair. “Ask away.”
“What’s with the hoodie?”
“Fuck.” He raises a hand to rub his eyes.
“Come on, you had to know it was coming.” I tentatively reach out and touch a scar on his upper chest. His muscle flexes beneath my finger.
“It’s my lucky hoodie.”
“More.” I dig my fingers in.
He scrubs a hand down his face. “I was a fighter. A damn good one. Never lost a fight. Except one.”
“What one?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Does to me.”
“For fuck’s sake, Girly,” he groans.
“Okay, okay,” I relent for tonight. He’s got a right to his privacy.
My fingers tremble, heat sparking in my blood. So tempted to inch my hand lower, but I take back my control and dare to ask another. “Back in the pit, when I called you Vinny…were you angry?”
I freeze at the touch of his fingers in my hair, tips brushing my cheek. My skin breaks out in tingles. “No. Just the opposite. Vinny was my stage name. Hate the memory of those cheers and chants. Of who I was before. But you? Say it again. Fucking say it again, Briella.”
“Vinny.”
“Again,” he presses, fingers digging into my cheek.
“Vinny.”
His cock jumps. “Fuck, gets me so hard,” he says in a deep, husky voice.
“You like Jude.”
It’s not much of a question, but his entire jaw hardens. And I can’t help but smirk at how his cock jerks, harder than ever. His brows furrow low. “Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Go to sleep.” He rolls over.
Jude. He’s the doctor. The healer. If they grew up together, if he was around during Vincent’s fighting days…
“Did he fix you up after your matches?”
“I said go to sleep,” he growls.
“Fine, you stubborn ass.” I grin and give his rock-hard rear a little pinch. He flinches. “But it’s going to come out. Can’t hide that level of animalistic hunger forever. By the way…”
“What?”
“I’ll take that dildo now.”
And I’ll help myself to some knitting materials…