2
My bedroom feels about twenty degrees warmer than the rest of the house. The vent isn’t blocked that I can see, but there’s no airflow coming through it whatsoever. I can already tell sleeping is going to be a nightmare — and in my experience, overheating quickly leads to episodes.
Beggars can’t be choosers.
While Asher might’ve given me a hotbox for a room, I should be grateful he gave me a room that isn’t flat out on fire. It’s a step up for him.
Once I’m unpacked, I spend a few hours cleaning up the house and finishing the laundry. I’m sweating and miserable by the time I’m done, but the house looks much better than it did when I first stepped in.
It’s nicer than I expected, especially given how plain it is. The grey vinyl flooring looks lighter than it really is thanks to the two jet-black leather couches and black end tables, and the marble in the kitchen is practically shining. There isn’t much else in the house except for a dining room table that looks like it’s never been used, a tv that spans almost a whole wall, and motorized blinds that completely cut off all natural light.
It’s like a millennial modeled their home after a cave.
I like it, even though it feels a little like a prison.
I’ve got dinner in the oven when Asher comes back home, and this time, he isn’t alone. Manson Bray is right on his heels.
They’re dressed like twins with their dark work boots, faded jeans, and zip up jackets. But where Asher’s hair is dark and short, Manson’s is almost blonde and long enough to cover his eyes when he looks down.
As Manson pulls off his jacket to reveal full tattoo sleeves on both arms, my stomach squirms. He wasn’t this covered the last time I saw him. “Hi,” I mumble, not knowing which version I’ll get — the Manson who told Asher to cut my brakes instead of slash my tires, or the one who cleaned my wounds for me behind his best friend’s back?
The one who said I should’ve died instead of my stepfather at his funeral, or the one who used to sing me to sleep when Asher wasn’t around?
Glancing between us, he tosses his jacket on the back of the couch and straightens. “Smells pretty good in here.”
“Thanks. I’ll go shopping after work tomorrow, but I did the best I could with what I had. It should be ready soon.” I turn my back to them to get the plates down from the cupboard, every second of silence that stretches making my heart beat harder. “H-How have you been?”
“Who me? I’ve been fucking great.” A door slams off in the distance before I ever even realize Ash walked away. “You?”
“I moved in here today,” I deadpan. “I’m fantastic.”
Laughing, Manson plops down on one of the chairs and looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He stretches out one of his legs and eyes me like he’s trying to peek under the surface, making me nervous for whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “Thought you two would get over your shit by now.”
“Tell that to him.”
His eye roll tells me he has, but there’s no use in beating a dead horse. “Whatever. So phone sex, huh? What’s that like?”
I don’t miss the way he lowers his voice so we can’t be overheard having an almost cordial conversation, nor the fact that Asher told him a little more than he probably needed to.
“It’s fine most days. People want company more than anything, and it’s nice being able to be someone’s fantasy for a little while when they want more.”
He ponders that for a moment before ultimately nodding like he agrees. “Makes sense to me. He said something about a shock collar that confused the fuck out of me. I was a little preoccupied when he brought it up, but I don’t see a collar around your neck.”
Because I’m not a fucking dog. My cheeks heat all over again as I show him my arm and explain to him why I have it. “I’m sure he warned you.”
I have to force myself to ignore the excitement glinting in his eyes. “Yeah, okay I get it now. What are your main triggers?”
He needs to know, I remind myself. They both do. “Heat, stress, and just being horny.”
“No one can avoid stress, but the other two can be solved easily.” There’s a brief moment where it seems like he might offer his services, but it’s gone before I can preemptively tell him no. “I’d be in fucking jail if I had that shit, no doubt about it.”
“It’s a miracle I’m not. I—”
Asher comes back just as the timer on the oven dings, stopping our conversation in its tracks. “Help yourselves.”
“Damn, no table service?” He sits next to Manson with a smirk, spinning something around on the dining room table I can’t make out, and when I focus enough to notice what it is my breathing stops short. It’s the remote. “Come on, Rhea. Take care of us.”
There’s no way. He’s cruel, but there’s no way. “I am taking care of you,” I argue quietly. “I cooked, cleaned, did your laundry. I’ll do the dishes after. I think you two grown men can handle getting your own p—”
The shock makes me gasp and nearly rip the bracelet off. It travels up my arm, through my shoulder, and straight to my cold, dead heart.
“Wanna know something funny, Manson?” He spins the remote again as his best friend finally catches on. “She hasn’t even said thank you for letting her move in. You think her mom ever thanked my dad for all he did?”
Yeah, with a knife to his cold, dead heart. If he was anything like his son behind closed doors, maybe she was onto something. “Thank you,” I say as sarcastically sweet as I can. “Please, have a seat. I’ll bring your dinners right out.”
After I spit in them.
Any hope I had of Manson being on my side fades as he asks for the remote. “How’s it work?” I hear them muttering about it as I angrily dish up their food, and just as I’m about to lift them up, it shocks me again. “Oh shit,” he says with a chuckle. The fuckers are getting off on the power. “Don’t forget the drinks.”
“Fine, but if I drop them because you shock me again, I’m not fucking cleaning it up.” I slam their plates down and flip them both off as I turn to grab glasses, pausing only when Asher reminds me I didn’t ask them what they want. Anger coils in my gut as I slowly spin around. “Sorry, Sirs,” I spit. “What can I get you to wet your cursed fucking tongues?”
The way Asher slides that tongue along his plump bottom lip should be illegal. “You wish you knew what we did with our tongues. You’d never have an episode if we put you to sleep. I want a Dr. Pepper, pet. Manson wants Mountain Dew.”
“Cubed ice for me, crushed for Ash... pet.”
They’re both smiling so widely, I feel my stomach drop. I knew I had to be careful. I knew there was a chance that Asher would try to kill me again, or at least hurt me. But I never considered the fact that he’d torture me, too.
Foolish girl.
I nearly fuck up who wants what on purpose, but I don’t want to know what they’ll do to me. So Ash gets his fucking crushed ice and Dr. Pepper and Manson gets cubed with Mountain Dew, untouched and served with a smile they can’t possibly believe is genuine.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, where’s your plate?”
I meet Manson’s eyes as I answer. “In the cupboard with the rest of my dignity.” Spinning, I go grab it so I can take my food into my room, but the sound of two chairs scraping against the floor stops me in my tracks.
“Get over here.” This time, it’s Asher. “Eat with us.”
“Yeah, new roomie,” Manson adds. “We’re all still getting reacquainted.”
Fuck. They look like predators as I take awkward steps toward the open chair and sit down. “Happy?”
Asher’s jaw is so tense, I’m surprised he doesn’t crack a tooth. He’s staring at me with a look I know too well — one that promises violence, retribution. He doesn’t back down until Manson sits and clears his throat, and even then, the tension is thick as he takes a seat.
“One happy family,” Manson says with a fake smile, but he waits for my stepbrother to take a drink of his pop before he truly relaxes and takes a bite. “Well, shit that’s good. Taste it, Ash.”
I’ll get a real compliment out of this guy when hell freezes over, but he begrudgingly takes a bite of my chicken tetrazzini and nods.
Close enough.
“I told you. I’ll earn my keep, but I think I need to take that remote back.”
You’d think they’re fucking twins. Like when they stood, they stop eating at the same moment and hastily reach for where it sits. Unfortunately, Ash is the victor. “Why?”
It disappears into his pocket as I sit calmly. “Because I’m not your little pet. I’ll do what I can to make sure I’m not a burden, but I’m no one’s pet. I’d appreciate it if you’d only use that in case of emergency or I’ll just take it off.”
Releasing a deep breath, Manson sits up straighter in his seat and shakes his head, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at my step-demon.
“Is that what you’d appreciate, pet ?” Ash leans in a little closer. “I don’t remember asking. You don’t want to be a burden? Then stop clinging to some semblance of control here, because you can’t have any. You seem to be struggling to keep up here, so let me lay it out for you plainly. I don’t want you to pay rent, I want you to be my fucking slave. That’s the only way this is going to work out, and if you think you still have the option to walk out that door, guess again. You’re stuck here. I own you now, Rhea. You’re not like your mom? Prove it. Bend for me or fucking break.”
So I’ll be taking it off then. Got it.
I’ll bend to save my own life, but I’ll never break. Not for him. “And what will you do when that’s still not satisfying enough, Asher?”
He shrugs. “Then I’ll move the fuck on and we won’t be any different than we are now, will we?”
“I think this is a good idea,” Manson interjects a little too excitedly. “Yeah, it might not change anything, but what if it does? What if Ash finally sees for himself that you’re not like her?”
“Shut up, Manson. You’re reading too far into this.”
For being dangerously hot grown men, they’re seriously stupid sometimes. I don’t understand how me waiting on them hand and foot will prove I’m not a criminally insane murderer. Actually, I do know. It won’t. He’ll just continue getting revenge for something that wasn’t my fault, and he’s throwing out a lifeline by suggesting that maybe this time, it’ll be enough.
“Fine. What exactly do you have in mind?” I ask. “I already agreed to cook, clean, and do laundry. You’ve made it clear I need to serve you your food and drinks. Anything else? Do you need me to hold it for you while you pee?”
Manson laughs darkly as Ash grins. “Yeah, that too. I have to piss right now actually. Let’s go.”
He stands up and walks toward the bathroom without waiting for me, and Manson stands too. “I’m not missing this. Come on.”
What the fuck? What the f— “No,” I blurt out. “You’re my brother, I’m not touching your dick. You hold it.” I point to Manson. “You t—”
Manson’s hand wraps around my wrist tightly as he tugs me in. “Play along, pet,” he hisses. “This could be fun for everyone if you stop overthinking everything. You don’t share blood, and it’s a nice dick. Trust me.”
Trust him. So maybe those suspicions weren’t that far off base. I don’t care, but god, it complicates things if they’re even closer than I thought. Any chance of Manson ever taking my side is gone. “He’s only doing this to embarrass me. I know that, you know that, he knows it too.”
I wrench out of his grip and stomp to the bathroom, shoulder-checking the gigantic dickhead standing over the toilet as I reach around him. “Where is it? Is it an innie?”
Snorting, he lifts up his arms to give me better access as his stupid fucking friend leans against the door frame to watch. “Have you ever unzipped a zipper, genius? Take it out.” I can’t see around his huge frame, so I have to blindly feel around to find it without any help.
“Well, now you’re just trying to get him hard.”
Manson isn’t lying, I can feel it growing as I slide his zipper down. It actually makes me happy. That may not be the right word for what I’m feeling, but it’s close enough. If he’s turned on by me, by the power... I can use that. “Do you want me to go slower?” I whisper, toying with the button of his jeans before I pop it open. “Like this?”
“Stop,” Ash growls, but his body doesn’t seem to agree. “Just get it out so I can piss.”
I feel the way his hips move forward in search of my hand even though the movement was small enough for him to deny. Sick fuck. “That desperate for me to touch it, hm? Have you thought about it, Asher?” My fingers brush his shaft as I wrap my hand around it and pull him out. “Does it feel like you thought it would?”
He doesn’t respond. How can he when whatever the hell he wants to say would be a lie? He reaches down to help me aim where it needs to be, and I have to ignore how hot and heavy it feels in my grasp.
When he begins actually going, I have to admit it’s... different than I thought it would be. I know this is meant to belittle me, but it doesn’t feel like that at all as he tenses and I grip it a little tighter.
I could rip it off right now if I wanted.
He has to lean forward and brace his arm on the wall to keep it aimed down thanks to his semi, and when he finishes. I feel Manson step in behind us. “My turn.”
“Wait, asshole. It’s still dripping.”
Is it? Or does the man who hates me simply not want me to stop touching his cock?
“I have two hands, but I think you’re done, Ash. Shake it twice so you don’t dribble.” I let my fingertips glide over it as I turn to Manson. “Come on, then.”
The shuffle around the small space is awkward, but Manson moves in happily and places both of his hands on the back of his head like he’s getting arrested. “Come on, mama. It’s not gonna drain itself.”
His dumb, fake country accent makes Ash laugh as he washes his hands, but it’s better than pet or slave. I study his dark hazel eyes as I take him out with both hands, exhaling quietly when I feel how thick he is. His cock is shorter than Ash’s, but not by much. At least I have some good memories to call on to make it easier with him. “Go ahead. Let it out.”
He groans when it starts, his gaze still locked on me with an expression I can’t read. The second he finishes, long, meaty fingers ghost along my chin. “Good girl.”
Fuck.
My clit throbs as I hastily let him go. “Are we done?”
“Nah.” He spins around with his cock still out before slowly putting it away. “Reach inside the front of your panties and then let us see your fingers.”
“Excuse me?” I look between them, begging one of them to take it back. They won’t get what they want here. They disgust me.
When they both step closer to me, I reluctantly slide my hand inside my shorts and freeze when I feel how fucking wet I am.
Something about my face has them grinning predatorily and stepping in more. “Let us see, pet.”
It’s weirdly the nicest tone Asher has ever used with me, but it’ll likely be the last time it ever happens. This will be nothing but fuel on the fire.
I pull them out and wiggle my wet fingers. “It’s not you, it’s me. The sound of my own voice turns me on.”
“Yeah, sure it does.” Ash leaves the bathroom first, calling back to let me know we’ll be doing this more often, and Manson agrees with a pleased smile.
“See how much smoother everything goes when you’re good for us?”
See how much more willing I am when you’re nice about it?
“Whatever. Do what you want. Just understand to the depths of you that it’s all superficial. My obedience, my submission? It’s survival, nothing more. You’ll get what you want, but it’ll forever come with an asterisk. Goodnight, Manson.”
I brush past him, stopping in front of a livid-looking Asher. “Goodnight, big brother. Don’t forget to lock your doors. I didn’t get a chance to install mine today.”
Neither of them even breathe as I walk into my room and close the door, finally getting some space from them — but now all three of my triggers are happening at once. I’m stressed out about being so close to a man who tried to kill me, turned on whether I want to be or not, and my room is still several degrees hotter than the rest of the house.
I have a bad, bad feeling about what’s gonna happen next.