Dancing in the Dark

by T. L. Martin

  Emmy Highland is not her. What she is, is a pawn in Raife’s twisted game. But if my past has taught me anything, it’s that even innocence is not always as it seems. And her little tells confirm as much; especially now, with the wax sliding down her bare leg.

  Whether she’s seductively stroking my brother’s palm at the dinner table or helplessly tied to a steel chair, there is something undeniably fragile about the girl with raven hair. Something that threatens to crack with a single touch. In fact, I get the feeling I wouldn’t need to touch her at all to make her bleed.

  My eyes fall shut, the thought of blood against her little body taking over until it’s all I see. So familiar, yet not at all.

  Crimson rivulets slowly dancing down her fair skin . . . A deep shiver running through her spine at the thick, warm sensation . . . I wonder how those plump, pink lips would look with her tongue flicking out to catch the drops of red. The blue of her eyes would reflect so clearly in the silver edges of my knife, her pale palm such a stark contrast against the blade’s black handle, and I have to know . . . if I slipped the weapon into her delicate hand, would she startle and drop it? Or would she wrap her grip around it and squeeze?

  Fuck. Heat cuts down my chest and straight to my cock, burning through my skin until I’m swallowing down a groan.

  Goddamn Raife and his mindfuckery. He knew exactly how this girl’s presence would screw with me.

  I need to get the hell out of this room. I need to get the hell away from her.

  Just as I take a step toward the exit, a soft whimper from the other side of the glass has my head tilting. Raife’s got the girl’s head pulled back by her hair, blue eyes wide at the ceiling, hands still tied behind her back. He’s looming over her, a smirk on his face as he holds the candle over her shoulder, just close enough to make her quiver. Likely trying to work out if his next touch will leave far more than a sting.

  He’s toying with her, seeing what she unwittingly reveals in moments of fear, intimidation, pleasure. Or pain. He tends to get more of a rush from screams than whimpers, but then, so do the types of women that sign up for his ridiculous charades.

  Raife’s methods today are nothing new, if slightly more . . . strategic than usual. But what is new is her reaction. I hardly notice I’m taking another step forward until I’m almost as close to the screen as Griff. I dip one hand in my pocket, the other stroking the side of my jaw.

  Emmy has angled her head back enough to see him, her slender neck fully exposed. One corner of her lips curves, but just slightly. Seductively. When she whispers something too low for me to hear, Raife lowers his head enough his dirty-blond hair brushes her forehead. His grip loosens, and soon his fingers are teasing the material around her hands.

  He tugs at the coarse material. Her body stills, her eager anticipation visible from all the way over here. I almost think he’s going to untie it completely, but then he slowly backs away with that obnoxious smirk etched across his face.

  When the girl grits her teeth and something vicious flashes in her angelic eyes, my gaze narrows, and that fucking heat runs straight to my groin again.

  So she failed at her weak attempt to get free. Unsurprising. But she did attempt—and in wolf’s clothing no less. Some of the girls may get a little excited in the Dark Room, may even nip when Raife goes too far, but they never fight it. They always want it.

  Hmm. No, this won’t do. This won’t do at all.

  It’s one thing to walk away from a girl who’s fragile, quiet, easily frightened. Submissive, sure, but someone who wants it all the same. How easy it would be to break her with a single squeeze. But this—there’s something too familiar about the maddening gleam sparking within her eyes now.

  Something no mouse would be capable of replicating.

  Unless, of course . . . the mouse really is a lion after all.

  The girl is hiding something. And the sick part of me is suddenly determined to be the one to discover all her secrets.

  Calmly rolling up my sleeves, I turn on my heel and walk leisurely toward the door connecting the Dark Room to ours.

  There’s only one way to really see who someone is, past all the bullshit. Let them have their moment of control, then pull their legs out from under them and watch them reach for you before they shatter. It’s fascinating how fast the truth spills when they’re on their knees, without them ever needing to utter a single word.

  “If you are afraid of darkness,

  you are afraid of your own soul.”

  —Unknown

  As Raife’s shadow looms over me, the fire in my stomach only burns hotter.

  I knew it was a weak effort, whispering promises in his ear. Untie me, and I’ll show you everything you want to see. But the tingles dancing along my body just a minute ago have transformed into a fiery, slippery blanket, and I feel like I’ve been left in a sauna too long.

  My skin is damp everywhere, flushed. My thighs rub together, seeking something. Anything. Friction, wax—I’ll take any of it. The knowledge makes my insides burn twice as hot.

  The only thing keeping my butt on this chair and my mouth clamped shut is that I need these men to want me here. At least enough to keep me under contract until I figure out what happened to my sister.

  Even through the haze, the more I watch Raife and see his fixation on pushing limits, the more my curiosity grows in thinking he could have claimed Frankie. Aubrey did say he claims almost all the girls at some point, even if it’s just temporary. Based on looks, he’s definitely her type. But more than that, Frankie believed, or maybe insisted, she didn’t have any limits. She loved nothing more than a man who wasn’t afraid to test them. To test her.

  A sharp sting jerks my shoulder forward, and I bite back a hiss through the pain. There’s no warning, no hot trickle of wax this time. All I’m left with is a throbbing sensation, a tender spot above my right shoulder blade. He must have lit the candle again while standing behind me. I was so lost in my head I didn’t notice the light come to life.

  “You know, the red flames really are exquisite against your fair skin.” Discomfort bristles across my shoulder when something thick and cool is gently rubbed over the fresh wound. The more he rubs, the more the sharpness soothes into a dull ache, and the more I want to turn my head and sink my teeth into the asshole’s fingers until I see red.

  So many sensations are tumbling through me that I can’t tell if I’m turned on, scared, or pissed off. But knowing Raife did this to me makes me focus on the latter.

  His touch retreats when a door I hadn’t noticed on the wall opposite us opens. Light seeps into the room, and I squint at the bright intrusion. A tall, broad figure strolls toward me, not bothering to close the door behind him. Even before I’m able to make out the smooth lines of his face, I know who it is.

  Adam Matthews.

  My heart swoops before fluttering against my chest. My already flushed skin heats up at the strange look in his dark, chilling blue eyes as he inches closer. One step, two steps . . . each soft footfall feels like a threat. His posture appears so at ease. I’d never guess the tension coiled inside him if it weren’t for the shadowed way the lighting hits each hard angle of his build. The golden streams highlight every flex of muscle beneath his fitted button-down.

  I don’t know if it’s from fear or whatever Raife did to mess with my head, but I can’t stop myself from squirming under his icy gaze.

  He halts right in front of me, his shoes almost brushing the toes of my designer heels. He dips his head, eyes narrowing to slits as he leisurely rakes them over me. “You drugged her.”

  His voice is more distant than it should be, yet the low sound vibrates down my spine as he confirms what I already suspected.

  “Just a little concoction I’m experimenting with.” Raife’s hand lands on the curve of my neck, then he strokes me like one would a cat. The crisp material of his suit tickles my back, and I cringe. It’s sandpaper to my hypersensitive skin. “If I didn’t know better, brother, I’
d think you almost sound disappointed.”

  “Disappointed? No. I’d have to have expectations for that.”

  Adam’s face materializes directly in front of me when he kneels. His hand comes up, then strong, warm fingers grip either side of my jaw. His hold is tight, almost uncomfortably so, but when he slowly angles my head to inspect me closer, the movement is surprisingly gentle.

  My eyelids droop, and my limbs become too heavy as a dreamlike haze clouds the corners of my vision, the drugs making a home in my bloodstream. I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping my head up right now is the strength of his grip, because the rest of me has melted against the hard chair.

  It’s surprising, all the details you notice in a person’s features when there’s nothing but a few inches of empty space separating you. Like the thick, masculine stubble around his square jaw. I’d noticed it earlier, but being this close makes me wonder if it’s the kind that’s shaved smooth every morning and grows back by evening. The dark blue of his eyes doesn’t look so black now, even while shadowed beneath a row of dark lashes. His olive skin appears exotic so close up, and I find myself wanting to know where he’s from. Why he and his brothers all look so different.

  A strange shiver flits down my spine when he uses his other hand to sweep my hair over one shoulder. He leans in, inspecting the fresh wound that still throbs faintly. The cool material of his pants brushes the insides of my bare thighs, and awareness rushes through me as I realize he’s right between my legs.

  A breath pours from my lips.

  He pulls his head back, then looks straight at me. His gaze darts down to my throat when I swallow.

  Something lethal flashes through his eyes. The tips of his fingers dig into my cheeks a split second before he releases me completely, forcefully enough my head falls back.

  Raife’s chuckle is the only thing that reminds me of his presence. He walks to the tray along the right wall and sets the candle down. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist watching this one, but I’ve got to say, I didn’t expect you to join in quite so quickly.” He gestures to the candles near his feet, both now unlit, then raises a brow as he removes a square lighter from his pocket. “Care to do the honors? Personally, I enjoy the romantic look of a candle’s flame, but I’m thinking straight from the lighter is more your style.”

  Adam doesn’t move from between my legs. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine either. “Since when do you get off on burning our hires in the Dark Room?” he asks so casually you’d think he were asking about the weather.

  Raife’s footfalls head toward me, the sound reverberating in my eardrums as I think about the lighter still tucked in his palm, but I refuse to be the first to look away from the man right in front of me. The one who looks at me like he sees something the others don’t. Like I’m a puzzle to be worked out and he’s got all damn day.

  Whatever drugs I’ve been subjected to have already screwed me to the point I can hardly hold myself up, hardly trust myself to speak if I tried. But a staring contest? This I can win, even with heavy eyelids.

  Fingers stroke my hair as Raife settles behind me again. “Since Emmy Highland, of course. Just look at that face.” I wince when he jerks my head back, and I’m almost forced to break my gaze from Adam. I manage to hold it, barely. “So familiar, don’t you think? It’s uncanny, really.” The dark humor laced through Raife’s tone is unnerving enough I almost miss the words. Familiar? “Come on, brother. You know I’ve fantasized about fire on that woman’s skin for years.”

  That woman? What woman?

  When a tongue slides over the back of my neck, it’s so unexpected and teasing to my hyperaware skin that a strangled sound escapes—something between a moan and a growl. For one intoxicating moment, I can’t bring myself to care that the man with a fixation on burning me is the one touching me. Not when his brother’s deep blue eyes are boring into me, body heat radiating mere inches from the emptiness between my thighs, and—shit. What the hell did Raife give me? This time the noise that rumbles through my throat is an unmistakable growl.

  Raife tsks and leans closer until his breath is on my ear. “You should know, I like it when you struggle.”

  “Enough.” The quiet word slices through the air as Adam stands.

  His fist clenches at his side before he dips the hand into his pocket and looks at Raife.

  I win.

  I smile. It feels awkward and detached, thanks to the drugs, like my body is not my own, but still. Maybe a staring contest isn’t the greatest accomplishment right now, but it’s all I have.

  Adam only cocks his head to one side, then slowly runs his tongue over his full bottom lip.

  My smile falters.

  “Emmy, Emmy, Emmy,” he murmurs. Thoughtful. His deep, smooth voice commands my attention so effortlessly it makes my thighs rub together. His eyes are bolted to mine when he says, “Untie her.”

  “But she’s a gift to you,” Raife scoffs, throwing his hands up. “Gifts are meant to be wrapped. Honestly, it’s basic etiquette—”

  “A gift,” Adam repeats. One corner of his lips lifts as he watches me, but it disappears just as fast. He flicks his gaze to Raife, his expression hardening to stone. “Un. Tie. Her.”

  Raife lets out an agitated sigh. When he tugs at the rope around my wrists until my arms fall to my sides, my eyes widen. I glance down at my hands, at the line of raw skin circling the area below them like bracelets, and then I slowly stretch out my fingers.

  I’m still staring downward, in awe of the way a spark zips through my fingertips as they graze the soft fabric of my dress, when Adam’s deep voice pulls at something low in my stomach. “Get up.”

  I glance up. Both brothers stand right in front of me. They eye me like I’m a circus clown who’s just been presented on stage, and they’re my audience of two, waiting to be entertained. Waiting to get what they paid for.

  “I said, get up,” Adam repeats.

  I continue to stare dumbly at him.

  “You’ve been set free.”

  Free?

  Two figures form near the open doorway as Griff and Felix step into the room. They keep their distance as they, too, wait for my move. Felix’s bright blue bowtie catches the light as he leans against the wall, arms folded over his suspenders, while Griff’s massive frame remains motionless in the doorway, darkening the already bleak room.

  I don’t understand. What do they expect me to do when my body weight feels too heavy to lift on my own? My tongue is thick in my mouth, my throat dry, and I fear that only garbled sounds will come out if I try to speak. That I’ll try to stand and fall straight to the ground in front of them. That I’ll be made to look even more weak and breakable than I already do.

  Adam takes a step forward. I try to lift my head to see him better, but it’s like an anchor on my neck. As if he knows this, he slides his warm fingers beneath my chin and tilts it for me, until I’m forced to look straight into his eyes.

  His voice drops to a murmur. “Isn’t this what you want, Emmy? To be free. To call the shots.”

  I swallow. The man doesn’t even know me. So why does it feel like he sees right through me? Am I really so transparent?

  He lowers his head until his stubble gently scrapes my cheek, and it sends a tremor down my body. “Or have I overestimated you?” His large hand slips from my chin to my throat, his fingers squeezing lightly. “Maybe you’re truly as weak as you look.”

  Before I can respond, he pushes away from my throat. The heat of his touch still burns my neck. We’re not alone, yet he may as well be the only man in the room. His face hardens as he watches me. After a long, uncomfortable moment of me staying rooted to my seat, he grinds his jaw.

  Still, I don’t move.

  He finally shakes his head, his lips thinning into a firm line, and blows out a breath.

  Without another glance my way, he turns and walks toward the exit.

  “Not weak,” I croak, slurring. The words are out of my mouth before I realiz
e I’m speaking. Adam stops but keeps his back to me. “Just trying to get a feel for the brothers I’ll be spending so much time with.”

  He turns his head just enough for me to see the sharp angle of his jaw, the way the longer strands of his hair have fallen over part of his forehead, the way his eyes narrow.

  He’s daring me to make a move.

  I push off the chair and wince when nausea tears through me. My legs wobble, skin breaking into a fresh sweat. I don’t know how long I have until my knees are bound to give out. Allowing myself to drop, I catch my weight on my hands and knees, then cringe. I clear my expression before looking up at Adam through heavy lids as I kick off my heels and crawl toward him.

  I’m making this up as I go, but they don’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to know that.

  “Do you want to know what I’ve learned so far?” I ask, keeping my pace slow so my shaky arms don’t collapse.

  Finally, Adam faces me. He tucks his hands into his pockets, angles his head, but doesn’t respond.

  “For starters . . .” I let my voice hang, then shift sharply to the right so I’m crawling toward Raife instead.

  Raife’s eyebrows shoot up.

  I fight the irritating urge to look over my shoulder and see Adam’s expression. A chill runs through me as the skirt of my dress rides up above my thighs. Once I reach Raife, I stop and sit back on my feet. My breath is heavy and my bones are quivering, but I try to play it off like I’m just turned on.

  I lock my eyes on Raife’s brown ones.

  “I’ve learned”—my focus blurs, Raife’s face doubling, tripling. I shake my head, try again—“I’ve learned that some of you really know how to tease a poor girl.” Bile rises in my throat, but even being drugged doesn’t subdue the voice deep in my gut tying Raife to Frankie. Raife, the one apparently running this operation. Right now, in a mansion filled with black walls and the unknown, the only thing I’m certain of is that I’m not leaving this room until I’ve sold myself to the devil. “And no one likes to be left hanging . . .”