Chapter 32 Ace
ACE
Her body trembles around us, stretched beyond its limits as Cyrus and I move in tandem.
The friction of my his cock sliding against mine inside her tight heat is maddening.
I’ve never felt anything like it—this connection that binds the three of us together while Henderson’s life bleeds out across the concrete floor.
“Fuck,” I groan, gripping Keira’s hips harder, my fingers digging into flesh already bruised from my brother’s hands.
Blood drips down her neck—Henderson’s. The copper scent fills my nostrils, primal and intoxicating. Her savagery awakened something in us both. Something we’ve kept contained even from each other.
Cyrus catches my eye over Keira’s shoulder, his pupils blown wide with the same hunger consuming me. We’ve shared women before, countless times, but never like this. Never with this raw, visceral connection that transcends flesh.
“She’s perfect,” Cyrus growls, his rhythm faltering as Keira clenches around us.
I feel the moment Keira looks back at Henderson, her body suddenly tightening around both our cocks.
The knowledge that her abuser is bleeding out and watching her take both of us—that he’s witnessing her strength, her sexual power—drives her higher.
Her inner walls grip us like a vice, the slick heat pulsing with each beat of her racing heart.
“You feel that?” I murmur against her ear, biting the lobe hard enough to draw blood. “The power shift while you show your abuser just how strong you are. He never broke you.”
Henderson makes a gurgling sound from across the room. Blood bubbles from his lips as he watches with fading eyes.
The sight of him dying while watching us fuck his victim, our Keira, pushes me dangerously close to the edge. I’ve killed countless men, but this is different.
Cyrus’s cock throbs against mine inside her, and I almost lose control. We move faster now, our bodies slapping against Keira’s as Henderson’s breathing becomes more labored, his life fading with each thrust we take into the woman he once victimized.
My release hits violently, emptying into Keira alongside my brother. Our groans echo off the basement walls, the sound primitive and raw. For a moment, there’s nothing but the three of us locked together, blood-smeared and panting.
Then reality crashes back like a tactical flashbang—disorienting and harsh.
We’re in a suburban basement in Boise. Henderson’s barely conscious form slumps against the restraints, blood pooling beneath the chair. The metallic scent hangs heavy in the air. Keira’s body trembles between us as we carefully separate ourselves from her.
“Ten minutes,” I say, my voice returning to its usual controlled cadence. “Then we clean and move.”
Cyrus nods. I check Henderson’s pulse. Weak but present. Perfect.
“Felix has the disposal site prepared?” I ask Cyrus.
“Abandoned mine shaft. Twenty miles out.”
I move to the duffel bag we brought, retrieving bleach, tarps, and the specialized chemicals that will dissolve DNA evidence. My mind moves through each necessary step with precision.
“We need to be airborne by 4:30 AM,” I say, checking my watch. “That gives us three hours to complete cleanup and disposal.”
Keira watches us, her expression shifting from post-orgasmic haze to dark realization.
“What do you need me to do?” she asks.
I hand her a pair of latex gloves. “Remove anything you touched and wipe down surfaces.”
Cyrus wraps Henderson in plastic, securing the bundle while avoiding additional blood spatter. I prepare the chemical solution for the basement floor.
“His wife returns tomorrow afternoon,” I remind them. “By then, he’ll be three hundred feet underground, and this house will show no trace of our presence.”
“Rope, Ace?” Cyrus asks.
I toss him the coil from our bag.
While Cyrus is grinning with the savage satisfaction of what we’ve accomplished, I notice the change in Keira.
The trembling starts in her hands first, then spreads to her shoulders.
I recognize the signs immediately; she’s experiencing an adrenaline crash.
Her body is coming down from the intense high.
“Cy,” I say quietly. “Protocol six.”
My brother’s eyes clear, shifting from euphoria to focus. He understands instantly. We’ve done this enough times that our procedures are automatic. Protocol six means he handles the disposal while I manage any civilians.
Except Keira isn’t a civilian. She’s ours.
I take a clean cloth from our supplies and wet it with bottled water, then gently begin wiping the blood from Keira’s face and hands. Her skin feels cold beneath my touch.
“Arms up,” I instruct softly, helping her into her shirt. She complies mechanically, her movements robotic. Behind us, I hear Cyrus efficiently securing Henderson for transport. The plastic wrap crinkles as he works.
I kneel to help Keira step into her pants, steadying her with a hand on her hip. Her legs are unsteady. I’ve seen this before—the body shutting down after extreme stress. It’s not weakness. It’s biology.
“You did well,” I tell her, zipping her jacket. “It’s finished now.”
Her violet-blue eyes find mine, unfocused. She’s processing what she’s done, what we’ve done together. I cup her face between my palms, anchoring her to the present moment.
“We need to move,” I say gently. “Can you walk?”
She nods, still dazed.
“Good girl,” I murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Cyrus will handle him. You’re with me.”
I lead Keira upstairs, away from the basement’s carnage. My arm stays firm around her waist, supporting her weight as the adrenaline crash takes hold. Her skin is clammy beneath my fingertips.
“Sit,” I direct, guiding her to a leather armchair in Henderson’s living room.
She collapses into it, her body trembling more violently now. I retrieve a blanket from the couch and wrap it around her shoulders, my movements precise yet gentler than I’d normally allow. Below us, I hear Cyrus dragging Henderson’s wrapped body toward the garage.
I kneel before Keira, taking her ice-cold hands between mine. Her eyes remain unfocused, staring through me rather than at me.
“Look at me,” I command. When she doesn’t respond, I cup her face, turning it toward mine. “Keira. Focus.”
Her gaze finally meets mine, tears pooling but not falling.
“I—” she starts. “I didn’t expect to feel...”
“I know.” I stroke my thumb across her cheekbone, catching a tear as it escapes. “The first time is always disorienting. You’re not broken because you enjoyed it,” I tell her, my voice low. “You’re exceptional.”
Her eyes widen at the unexpected praise. I lean forward, pressing my lips against hers in a kiss that contains none of our usual aggression. It’s soft, almost tender. When I pull back, I find myself surprised by the gesture.
“Ace,” she whispers, her fingers curling into my shirt.
I cover her hand with mine, feeling the tremble in her fingers. Words build in my throat—unfamiliar, dangerous words I’ve never allowed myself to speak. Not to Cyrus. Not to anyone.
The truth is simple and terrifying: I would burn this world to ash for her. For them both.
I swallow the admission back down where it belongs. Sentiment is weakness. The Collective beat that lesson into us until it became reflex. Even now, so many years later, I can hear Handler Eight’s cold voice.
Attachment is failure. Love is death.
Yet here I am, my chest constricting as I watch Keira struggle with the aftermath of vengeance. My control over my emotions is slipping through my fingers like sand.
Behind me, I hear Cyrus’s footsteps on the stairs. He’s always moved with deliberate noise around me, a courtesy born from years when silence meant danger. The familiar rhythm of his gait settles something in me that I hadn’t realized was unsettled.
“Car’s ready,” he says from the doorway.
I nod without turning. “We’ll be right there.”
In the brief silence that follows, I know he’s assessing the scene—me kneeling before Keira, her hands in mine, the gentleness in my posture. I feel his gaze like a physical touch between my shoulder blades. My twin. My mirror. My only constant.
Neither of us has ever needed words. Not really. I’ve never told him what he means to me—how his presence has always been the only home I’ve known in a world of darkness. The thought of losing him is the one fear I have never conquered.
And now there’s Keira. This unexpected variable that’s somehow become essential.
I help her to her feet, keeping my arm around her waist. Her head drops against my shoulder.
“Let’s go home,” I say simply, though the word home catches strangely in my throat.