Chapter 3 Oliver
Oliver
“For the last time, nothing happened!” I shouted, pounding against the fortified glass walls of the cage.
The sound barely echoed.
The glass didn’t even rattle when I hit it.
Outside the cage, Hayes leaned back against the metal worktable, arms crossed over his chest, his expression carved from marble. Hudson stood near the door of the cage, his fingers tapping idly against the keypad panel like he was debating what to do next.
The overhead light cast everything in that same sterile glow I remembered from years ago.
That first night.
The terror.
The humiliation.
But I refused to let old emotions overwhelm me. I breathed out slowly, then back in, attempting to calm my racing pulse. It would be okay. They were my husbands now. Back then, we weren’t technically even boyfriends.
I had nothing to be scared of.
At least that’s what I was trying to convince myself.
“You let him flirt with you,” Hayes growled, his teeth clenched from anger. “You let him think he had a chance with you.”
“I was being polite,” I snapped, slamming my palms against the glass. “He bought me a drink. I said thank you. That’s it.”
Hudson stopped fiddling with the controls and looked down at me. “You let him touch your waist.”
“He was guiding me out of the way of the bar crowd!”
Hayes’s jaw popped. “You didn’t remove his hand.”
I laughed—sharp and disbelieving. “Because I didn’t think I needed to. I’m allowed to exist in public without acting fucking feral every time someone speaks to me.”
Hudson stepped closer to where I was sitting, head tilting like a predator watching its prey. I could see my own reflection faintly overlaid on his body—my flushed cheeks, my dark curls sticking up messily from running my hands through them, the glitter that must have rubbed off on me from Lane.
We’d gone out dancing together before, and it had been fine. My mistake was assuming it’d be fine tonight as well.
I sighed, internally groaning. Right about now, Lane was probably propped up in bed with a nice snack and Greyson massaging his aching feet.
Yet as soon as I got home, my men had literally thrown me over their shoulders and carried a disgruntled, still slightly tipsy me down into their murder basement.
I was sweaty, too glittery for comfort, and itching to get out of the tight clothes I’d gone out in. I just wanted a big glass of water and a shower. Maybe some cheese puffs, too.
“Focus, pup,” Hudson warned, peering down at my pitiful form.
“Take me upstairs.” I glared up at him.
Hayes pushed off the table and joined his brother in looking down at me like I was a misbehaving dog they needed to punish.
“You entertained his advances,” Hayes scowled. “Wearing that.”
My brows pinched together as I glanced down at the skin-tight clothing. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“Nothing,” he said, shrugging. “You look fucking delicious, little one.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I asked incredulously.
Hudson crouched slowly in front of the glass, bringing himself level with me. “The problem,” he said softly, “is that you look like you’re asking to be bent over and railed in the middle of the club.”
I stared at him. “You didn’t have an issue with that before I left.”
“No, pup. The issue is that you let some other man touch you and flirt with you while looking like that.”
“I didn’t let anything happen,” I said, forcing calm into my tone. “I talked. I laughed once. I accepted a drink. That’s normal behavior. What was I supposed to do? Throw the drink in his face?”
Hudson’s lips twitched despite the tension. He leaned closer to the glass, fingertips brushing it lightly, almost thoughtfully, tracing the outline of my hand. “That would’ve been a start.” He slowly stood.
“You weren’t even there,” I protested.
“You really thought we would let you go out without supervision?” Hayes asked. “We heard and saw every little thing.”
The wheels in my brain churned. “How?! No, fuck, that doesn’t even matter right now.” I pushed to my feet, refusing to stay small and seated while they towered over me. I dragged my hands down my face. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me out this instant.”
Silence.
That dangerous, synchronized silence.
Hudson’s fingers tapped the glass once. “Do you remember your first night in there?”
My stomach twisted. “Of course I do.”
Hayes’s gaze flicked down my body slowly, assessing. “I’m tempted to drug you in order to recreate it.”
A chill slid down my spine, and I stumbled back from the glass. “Don’t you dare! I’m your husband.”
“Fine. No drugs, but you still need to face consequences.”
I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. “Why? I didn’t do anything,” I hissed.
“You enjoyed it,” Hayes said.
I opened my mouth to deny it—and hesitated.
Because I had enjoyed it. Not the man. Not the flirting. But the feeling of being wanted without fear. Of being seen as just… some guy at a club. Not someone owned. Not someone watched.
Hudson noticed the hesitation immediately and rested his palm flat against the glass. I could feel the faint vibration through it, as if the room itself were breathing with him.
“You shouldn’t have hesitated, Oliver,” he said, deathly calm.
My arms erupted in goosebumps. “I just liked the attention. There wasn’t anything else to it, I promise.
” I closed my eyes briefly, colors bursting under my lids from how tightly I squeezed them shut.
Breathed in. Out. When I looked at them again, my voice was quieter, but no less firm.
“I love you. Both of you. You know I would never leave you. Please, just let me out…”
Hudson glanced at Hayes. Something passed between them—silent, complex, and dangerous. Speaking without words in the strange way twins do.
Then, Hudson looked back at me, studying me carefully as he said, “You need to be reeducated.”
“What? What does that mean?” I questioned nervously, gaze darting between the two of them.
Hayes was the one to answer. “You’ll see.”
It wasn’t until several hours had passed that I started to understand.
I must have dozed off at some point, exhaustion from the argument and the lingering buzz of alcohol pulling me under.
The basement’s eerie hum was the only sound, a constant reminder of my confinement.
My head jerked up at the heavy thud of the door opening upstairs, followed by footsteps descending the stairs.
Hayes and Hudson soon appeared in the doorway, each gripping one end of a large box that strained even their powerful arms. The package was bulky, taped shut, and obviously heavy.
I pressed my palms against the glass, peering through the dim light.
Hudson’s eyes locked on mine first, a smirk curling his lips as he adjusted his hold.
Hayes glanced over, his expression unreadable, but I knew that look.
“What the hell is that?” I called out, my voice a little hoarse from shouting earlier.
They didn’t answer, just maneuvered the box toward the center of the room, away from the cage. The sound of ripping tape filled the air as they set it down and tore it open. Inside was some kind of machine. Oh fuck.
That was totally a sex toy.
It looked almost like a horse saddle, but with a piston arm near the center that was topped with a realistic dildo attachment that made my breath stutter. Thick, veined silicone, easily eight inches. And who could ignore the anal bead strand attached behind it?
The whole thing was held up by strong metal legs, making it look like a sexual version of that bull riding thing they had at western bars.
I watched, frozen, as they worked. Hudson flicked a switch, and it powered up with a low whir, the arm extending and retracting in a test thrust.
Hayes straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans, and finally turned to me. “Time for your lesson, pup,” he said, his voice smooth as silk over steel.
They approached the cage together, Hudson punching in the code on the keypad. The door hissed open, and before I could scramble back, Hayes lunged in, grabbing my arm and yanking me out.
I stumbled into the open space. “Wait, please—”
But Hudson was already behind me, his hands fisting my shirt and ripping it upward. The fabric tore with a sharp sound, exposing my bare chest and the black ink of their names adorning my scars. Cool air hit my skin, making my nipples peak instantly.
Hayes didn’t waste time. He shoved me toward the worktable, bending me over it roughly.
My cheek pressed against the metal as Hudson pinned my wrists above my head with one massive hand.
With the other, he unbuckled my belt, jerked my pants and underwear down in one swift pull, and left them tangled at my ankles.
I kicked instinctively, but Hayes forced my legs apart, exposing my holes to the room.
I felt the slickness there already, betraying me, arousal mixing with fear as the air kissed my folds.
“By the time this is over, you’ll be so fucked-out that you won’t even remember your name,” Hudson growled.
His free hand dragged down my back, squeezing my ass cheeks hard enough to bruise before dipping between my thighs.
Two fingers probed my entrance, finding me wet, and he chuckled darkly. “Look at you, pup. Soaking already.”
I whimpered, hips bucking despite myself, but he withdrew, leaving me aching.
They flipped me onto my back and Hayes secured my wrists together with cuffs.
Hudson bound my ankles next, spreading my legs and tying them to the legs of the table, immobilizing me completely.
I tugged against the restraints, the cuffs biting into my skin, but it was useless—they’d done this before, knew my limits.