Chapter 8 #3
“I said sit,” he snaps. “And watch. I think our audience is getting bored, brother.” A beat and I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Give him something exciting to hold his focus before he bleeds out. Something memorable and make sure you make her scream.”
Kross’s hand slides from my throat to my hip, grounding and claiming all at once, while his other reaches around and yanks my bra down.
My pierced nipples spring free, the cool bathroom air hitting them hard enough to make me gasp.
When he feels the barbells, his grip tightens possessive, unforgiving, and the rhythm of his thrusts turns brutal.
Relentless. Like he’s decided restraint is no longer worth the effort.
“Fuck—harder,” I cry, the words tearing out of me without permission, my gaze locked on Mark the entire time.
Beside him, Kade doesn’t move much. He doesn’t need to. The blade is already in his hand, already slick, already doing the work. He watches Mark the way a professional watches a clock, waiting.
Mark’s eyes find mine again, and this time there’s no confusion left in them. No anger. No entitlement. Just fear. Raw and naked and humiliating. The realization has finally landed—this isn’t a threat, this isn’t intimidation. This is the end.
Blood keeps soaking through his shirt, spreading darker, heavier, dripping down his side and onto the tile. His breaths turn shallow, uneven, each one worse than the last.
Kade glances down at the wound, then back up at Mark’s face. Calm. Detached.
“You’ve got minutes,” he says flatly. “Maybe less, if you keep fucking bleeding like that.”
Mark makes a broken sound in his throat, something wet and useless, and spits blood onto the floor.
Kade smirks at that. He wipes the blade clean across Mark’s shirt—slow, deliberate—then straightens and steps toward me. When he reaches us, he lifts the knife and uses it to tip my chin up, forcing my mouth to his.
Kross doesn’t slow. Doesn’t stop. He keeps slamming into me from behind, every thrust sharp and punishing, dragging me higher whether I’m ready or not.
“Look at you,” Kross murmurs against my ear before taking the lobe between his teeth. “Taking everything we give you like you were fucking made for it.”
Holy hell.
The bathroom feels wrong now. Too tight and loud. Too fucking alive. The bass outside is still pounding, but it feels distant, muted, like we’ve slipped into our own pocket of fucking chaos where nothing else matters.
Behind us, Mark’s breathing breaks apart completely—wet, panicked, and rattling. He’s slumped against the wall now, barely upright, eyes glassy as his body starts to give up.
I finally look away and bring my eyes to Kade as he lowers the handle of the blade between my legs, pressing the cool metal against my clit. I hiss at the contact, my hips shifting away but Kross’s grip only tightens, holding me exactly where they both want me.
Kade smirks, then slowly starts, teasing, almost gentle, then faster, syncing perfectly with the brutal rhythm of his brother’s thrusts as his free hand pinches my nipple. Twisting and turning the barbell between his fingers.
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck me.
A soft moan slips out of me before I can stop it.
Both of them catch it instantly.
Kade’s eyes flick to Kross behind me. Kross grins, feral and pleased.
“There it is,” he growls. “That sweet fucking sound.”
“Come on, valentine,” Kade says quietly. “Give it to us. Let Marky boy here see what it looks like when your pretty cunt comes at the hands of killers.”
He glances back at Mark for half a second, almost like he’s bored.
“Let that sight be the last fucking thing he sees before he dies.”
That’s all it takes.
The danger. The revenge. The fucked-up, euphoric awareness that I’m not just being fucked—I’m being claimed. Owned. The knowledge that this man who hurt me is watching his world collapse while mine explodes.
Fuck.
I come hard.
It hits me like a goddamn typhoon, my whole body spasming as Kross slams into me one final time and finds his own release. Kade’s mouth crashes onto mine, swallowing my cries and grounding me as Kross’s cock throbs deep inside me.
And then, just as I’m starting to come down from my high, movement against the wall catches my eye as Mark’s body finally gives up.
He slides down the wall slowly, like gravity is the last thing claiming him. His head lolls, as he collapses onto the floor in a heap, blood pooling beneath him.
Kade watches for a long beat. Silent. Assessing.
Then, with his cock still buried deep inside me, Kross lets out a low, satisfied hum and sings, “Another one bites the dust,” rolling his hips just enough to make my breath hitch and my legs threaten to give out all over again.
Kross finally pulls back, careful this time, hands staying on me until my legs remember how to work. Kade’s already at the sink, grabbing paper towels, wetting them, wiping me down with quick, efficient movements that feel oddly grounding after everything else.
I let out a breath that turns into a laugh that’s soft at first, then a little hysterical.
“What the fuck is this night?” I mutter.
Kross snorts, tugging my clothes back into place with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist yet somehow fucking does. “Valentine’s,” he says lightly. “Always messy.”
Kade straightens and finally looks past me.
At the body.
Blood on the tile. The wall. The very obvious, very dead problem slumped on the floor.
He exhales once, slow and resigned. “Alright,” he says. “So…what the fuck are we doing with him?”
I laugh again, breathless and incredulous, because of course, that’s the question.