25 | Mike
Mike
Iam pretending to watch a movie in hopes everyone will leave me alone, while Nate is trying to feed Mary.
She is refusing to eat, knowing damn well these are her last moments alive.
I honestly don’t know why he bothers—she is already dead.
A beating heart doesn’t change anything, and dead people don’t need food.
If anything, he should leave her alone. She might starve to death and do everyone a favor.
We’ve never had a woman captive before. Usually, our game ends with blood, but this situation is different.
The way she’s been behaving tells me that if things were any other way, she might have survived us.
She is careful. Calculated. She doesn’t say much; she refuses food, and she measures the words that do come out of her mouth.
Smart woman, I’ll give her that. Maybe if she’d been kidnapped by anyone who didn’t share a blood relation, she would manage to survive the ordeal.
Sadly, she had the bad fortune of being taken by the kids she didn’t want.
Oh well. I guess worse things can happen.
Even though she’s been telling us parts of her story, I’m not enough of a fool to believe any of it.
She is using pity to her advantage, trying to get to whoever she can in hopes they’ll let her go.
Liam starves for any crumb of a mother’s love.
Nathan has a constant need to take care of people.
And me? I have a hatred burning hot inside me.
She has all of us figured out, and she’s using it.
When she talks to Liam, she is motherly, soft, sweet.
To Nathan, she acts like she’s lost her will to live entirely, refusing his food and his care—which only makes my man want to help her more.
With me, she is completely different. She offers information, dropping tiny bits of it each time.
She makes sure not to say too much, never everything at once.
She plays her cards right. She’s convinced that as long as I still have things I need to know, I won’t kill her.
She knows who’s in charge, which makes her a first—no one has ever figured that out before.
I think she believes that if she buys herself enough time, one of the guys will break.
Maybe she thinks the son she likes the most will eventually grow a pair and demand her freedom.
Perhaps she thinks Nathan will try to convince me she deserves to walk away, or she could even believe that telling enough of her story might ignite a spark inside me.
Maybe I’ll feel her pain. That sure as hell won’t happen, though I do give her points for pure delusion.
While I know exactly where my boyfriend is, I don’t know where Liam is right now, and I have no intention of poking into his business.
My brother likes his secrets, and he needs them to cope.
Whatever he’s been doing lately away from the house seems to be helping his mood—he seems...
less guilt-driven than usual, which is an improvement. The man loves to torment himself.
I have already made my decision about the woman’s fate.
Which is mostly why I’m currently stuck in front of this box pretending to be a television, watching a black-and-white movie.
I hate black-and-white movies, but I don’t want to talk about my decision until it’s too late, and I need to buy time for myself.
I guess both my brother and I have parts of Mary in us.
He is calculated and thinks of details. I know how to manipulate people.
I already know I will end Mary’s life tonight.
I don’t think there was ever even a debate inside me about it.
I knew I wanted her dead before I even knew who she was, and that never changed.
I also know the men in my life will try to save her out of fear of what killing my mother all over again will do to me.
They’re delusional. It will do absolutely nothing, because this woman wasn’t any more of a mother than the one who raised me for half my childhood.
Nate enters the living room and drops the plate he’s holding onto the coffee table.
“She didn’t touch the food again,” he says.
I chuckle at the thought—my boyfriend struggling to take care of a soon-to-be-dead woman.
“I’m guessing being held captive in a basement can reduce your appetite,” I point out, keeping my tone serious.
Then I start laughing as the sheer absurdity of how messed up the situation is hits me.
He gives me an annoyed look, which only makes me laugh louder.
He steps closer, taking my face in his hands and pushing my chin up.
“Pretty boy, you’re being a brat. That’s not polite,” he teases, brushing a finger against my lips. I lick it without breaking eye contact.
I can sense the tension crackling between us—a playful game of dominance and submission. That’s always how things have been between us. I test the boundaries, and he shows me how much I deserve to be punished. It’s a game with a whole different meaning, one that only the two of us know how to play.
He grabs me by the throat and pushes me back against the couch, towering over my body.
“You know better, pretty boy,” he warns.
I smirk. “Do I?”
My hand falls against his hard length over his jeans, and I unbutton his pants, eager to get a taste of him.
When his cock is free, I wrap my fist around it, stroking him while I take his lips with mine.
He moans against my mouth, and I pick up the pace.
I’m not usually the one to take charge, and in a way, I’m still not.
But that little sense of power he allows me in this moment is much needed.
He pushes my head down. “Be a good boy and suck my cock, pretty boy.”
His voice is thick with lust and passion. I obey his command and take him into my mouth. He grabs a handful of my hair and begins to fuck my mouth hard.
Tears stain my cheeks, and I’m gasping for air, which only makes him moan harder and move faster. I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s pumping in and out, and I stick my tongue out, ready for him to give me that taste I crave.
A growl escapes him as he comes inside my mouth, and I savor every drop of him like a starving man.
“Good boy,” he praises, leaning down to kiss my lips softly.
He takes a seat beside me and I curl up against him, his arms wrapped tightly around me. My own piece of heaven, right here in this man’s arms. I can’t let anything get to me as long as he’s around. He is my safe place, my heart, and my soul.