by T. L. Martin
I frown, unsure if I finished my sentence or if that last word was only spoken in my head.
Raife squints down at me, adjusts his tie. “Felix? Griff?” Holding up a hand for show, he snaps twice, as though summoning trained dogs. “I believe the girl is asking for some relief.” He pats my head. “I’m nothing if not selfless.”
My insides churn as heavy footfalls approach from behind me. Griff’s wide, towering build appears beside Raife, and my throat constricts. He cracks his knuckles, rolls his neck, then takes one long stride toward me and halts.
“Felix?” Raife looks over my shoulder, and I imitate the movement. Anything to avoid Griff. Adam still stands behind me with his hands in his pockets, obnoxiously looking as calm and at ease as ever, but I make a point not to look at him. “You surprise me,” Raife continues. “Don’t you want a taste?”
Felix, still leaning against the wall, only shrugs. “Nah, not tonight. Whatever this”—he gestures toward me, making a circular motion with his hand—“is, I’m pretty sure I want no part of it.” He meets my gaze and winks. “Family drama. Nothing personal.”
His words swim in my ears like a school of fish racing in endless circles.
Raife huffs. “Suit yourself.”
A huge hand grips my neck, and I’m yanked to a standing position. I gasp, pain shooting through me, but the sound catches in my throat. My knees buckle from holding my weight, and Griff steps closer, then flips my body so he’s right behind me. Something long and thick rubs against my back, and I squeeze my eyes shut. The fucker’s hard over this.
When I open my eyes, Raife’s settling into the single steel chair in the middle of the room. He kicks his legs out, then leans back and clasps his hands behind his head.
He grins at me. “Front row seats and everything.”
Heat rises in my chest, my neck, my cheeks. I can’t bring myself to look at Adam. I don’t know why—I’m sure he’s enjoying this as much as the others, if not more. He’s one of them, after all. But for some ridiculous reason, I’m embarrassed knowing he’s watching. The man who wants so badly to see me break.
Griff squeezes tighter, then tighter, until I’m straining to suck in a breath as he hunches forward and grinds against me once more.
I clench my teeth but don’t fight it. Not that I’d stand a chance in this state anyway. I signed up for this for a reason, and I’m not going anywhere until I find my sister—even if it means allowing them to think they’ve shamed and broken me in the process.
Enjoy the show, Adam Matthews.
Finally, I slide my gaze to the man in question. Lie or not, there’s something empowering in telling myself I’m allowing this to happen.
Adam gives nothing away, his expression a hard wall, but I take some satisfaction in knowing he sees the challenge in my eyes.
Griff releases my throat to grip my waist, and I gasp as cool air fills my lungs. Before I can catch my breath, he lifts my dress and squeezes my bare ass hard enough to leave a bruise. I choke out a pained sound but quickly turn it into a moan.
“You like that, do you? Some pain to go with your pleasure.” It’s the first words Griff has ever spoken in front of me, and the rough sound makes my skin crawl.
I suppress a cringe, sloppily grinding my ass against him. “I like whatever you’ll give me,” I garble.
Griff groans then crushes my ribcage between his hands. I can’t hold back my wince this time, but it only takes a second to recover my expression. He presses his nose against the crook of my neck, then bites. Hard. I bite down on my tongue before a yelp escapes.
Motherfucker.
“And this?” Griff mutters, his breaths growing heavy as he licks the fresh ache with his slimy tongue. “I fucking know you like this.”
“Mmhmm.”
I think I start to sway, but then his fingers appear as he roughly rubs my shoulders, holding me up in the process. I tilt my head to eye his hand better, wishing I could sink my teeth into his skin and see how he likes it. Wishing I could see him curl up in pain. Writhe on the floor. Beg me to stop.
He slides my thong to the side and strokes his fingers over my bare slit, then stops between my ass cheeks. “Fuck, I’m gonna enjoy this.” He angles two thick fingertips into the one spot I’ve never let a man touch.
Just as I take a lungful of air to prepare myself for the pain, Adam strolls toward me. Griff freezes but doesn’t release me.
Each slow, measured step is intentional—whether to torture my nerves or anger Griff, I can’t be sure. Probably both. Adam stops when he’s close enough my chest grazes the warmth of his shirt. I lift my chin, set my jaw, and he dips his head as his gaze wanders down to my lips.
“So this is what you like?” Adam asks softly, his voice too calm, too soothing.
Griff’s grip around my waist tightens, staking his claim, but Adam lifts a hand and slowly brushes the hair from my eyes, as though he and I are completely alone. His dark eyes flit back and forth between mine, searching them. Waiting for my answer.
“Yes,” I lie, my voice a weak whisper.
He nods, then leans closer. Tilts his head. Presses his lips to my neck so softly I wouldn’t be sure he’s even touching me if it wasn’t for his hot breath on my skin.
Awareness kicks through me, and a shudder wracks my body.
“And you’re sure?” he murmurs. The hand in my hair travels past the curve of my jaw and lands gently on the other side of my neck.
My stomach dips, his touch pulsating every vein inside me.
“Mmm.” I hardly register what I’m saying, only that his caresses are hypnotic. My head falls back against Griff’s chest. Revulsion sobers me slightly when Griff slaps my ass. My head pops back up, and I find Adam looking straight at me. A barely perceptible smile tugs one side of his lips, amusement flickering in his blue eyes.
He glides a thumb across my bottom lip, then pulls it down. “Just . . .” Releasing my lip, he bends enough to wrap both warm hands around my naked thighs, wandering higher, higher. “Like.” Higher. “This?” When his fingers tease the hem of my panties, Griff grunts and grinds into my back again. I try to hide the disgust from my face, but Adam’s crooked smile twitches, and I know I’ve failed.
I narrow my eyes and stare him down. “Yes,” I finally manage, then add a sultry edge to my voice when I repeat, “Just like that.”
Adam’s eyes fall shut, and he lets out a husky groan, the sexy sound sending goose bumps down my arms. His fingers squeeze my upper thighs as he leans into me again, then nips my earlobe. I gasp, and he grabs my hair, tugs my head back with one rough move. My head spins as tingles flutter across my scalp.
“Bullshit.”
It’s one word, two syllables, and spoken in such a soft whisper only I can hear it. But it may as well be a slap to my face with the truth it reveals. My eyes widen, but I don’t say a word.
I’m too afraid my shaky voice will be my confession.
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”
—Robert Frost
I’ve never actually heard a switchblade whipped open, but it turns out the sharp whisper of the movement pierces through a silent room with the magnitude of a gun being cocked. My breathing hitches as I glance toward the sound. Toward Adam.
He’s distanced himself from me, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily flicking the weapon open and closed. His movements are so fluid, so casual, it’s like the knife is more than a tool. It’s part of him, an extension of his limbs. My spine tingles as I watch him. His expression is thoughtful, broad shoulders relaxed.
The silver blade draws my focus. It’s longer than I expected. Sharpened to perfection. Deadly.
My stomach knots as my eyes—still drooping as though my lashes are made of bricks—flick to him. I swallow through my dry throat. “What’s that for?”
One eyebrow quirks, then his gaze falls to the knife as though noticing it for the first time.
Ignoring me, he drops his arm and nods toward Griff, whose hands unfreeze before he proceeds to grope me. He cups one breast with his left hand and chokes me with his right. I sputter, my mouth gaping as I struggle to swallow air.
Jesus. There’s nothing sensual about Griff’s movements. He’s a freaking machine, inhuman and mechanical.
The hand on my breast slips downward until he’s cupping me between my thighs instead. He lifts me off the ground and grinds his erection against my ass.
My face reddens as I grasp onto the slivers of air I manage to gulp down between squeezes. I stare at Adam in bewilderment, though I only have myself to blame. I don’t know what I expected from him.
Adam examines every inch of me. He folds his arms over his chest, rubs the side of his jaw with his thumb, tilts his head. “Who are you, Emmy Highland?”
Griff’s hold on my neck loosens just enough for me to answer. Once the thumping in my chest evens out, I bring my wide eyes to Adam. “Wh-what do you mean? You know who I am.” I blink to clear my doubling vision. “You just said it—Emmy Highland.”
Griff’s fingers wander from between my thighs to my ass. He pulls my panties to the side once more, his breathing turning into loud, heavy pants against my shoulder.
I close my eyes for only a second, swallowing thickly.
Adam shakes his head. “Who are you?”
When Griff jabs the tip of one dry finger between my cheeks, I bite my tongue hard enough to taste metal. Pain slices through me as he shoves in a little farther, and my eyes water.
A deep craving to hurt the son of a bitch climbs up my throat. Even in this drugged state I want to whirl around and dig my sharp fingernails into his balls.
Instead, I remind myself why I’m here and grit out my answer. “Twenty years old. Just a girl.” I pause, concentrating on stringing my words together so I’ll stop slurring. “A waitress. A nobody—”
“You’re wasting your breath.” Adam’s dark eyes sharpen on me as he works his jaw. “There’s nothing more dishonest than words.”
With a heavy grunt, Griff licks the back of my ear as he wiggles his finger in deeper. My legs snap shut, and a sweat breaks out on my forehead. The only thing getting me through the burning pain is envisioning all the ways I want to hurt him, scratch him, claw him, until red clouds my vision. And Adam’s pointless, insistent question as he watches it all happen only makes my anger blaze hotter.
“Wh-what do you want from m-me?” I barely manage, keeping my eyes locked on his.
He takes a step forward. Then another. His hair skims my forehead when he leans in and gently says, “What do I want?” His fingers slowly brush the curve of my neck. “I want you to show me. Show me who you are, little mouse.”
Without warning, Griff plunges his finger farther into me, then pulls out in one movement. Suppressing a shudder, I don’t look back when the asshole grips either side of my shoulders, his blunt nails pressing into my collarbones.
His possessive hold sinks into my pores, and something small inside me withers away.
In this moment, he owns me.
They all do.
The crack of my last thread of control snapping in half is a thousand times worse than any physical damage Griff can do to me in this room. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, swirling so fast I’m spinning with them, and I may as well be hanging off the roof of one of New York’s finest skyscrapers by my pinky.
My sister’s wide, brown eyes float into my mind. Her contagious smile. Loud laughter that turns heads. Floral shampoo reminiscent of wild gardens in the spring. A dull ache burrows its way into my racing chest.
As I watch Adam, I know what I have to do. There’s one way to show him and his brothers I want this. It’s either him or Griff, and there’s no way I’m about to do this with the latter.
Shrugging out of Griff’s hold, I keep my eyes on Adam’s and drop to my knees. I sway for a second, placing one hand on the floor before finding my balance. Once I’m steady, I straighten and deliberately lick my lips, hoping my seductive side will appeal to him. His brows furrow, but he says nothing. I raise my heavy arms to his belt, undoing it with quivering hands. I’ve done this enough times before, but never in a room full of observing men.
Never to a man like this one.
I fumble with unclasping his belt, then lower his zipper. I hear a low whistle from the middle of the room, where Raife sits. My breathing quickens, nerves tightening my stomach until I feel sick. Just as I start to slip my fingers into Adam’s pants, his strong hand curls around my wrist, stopping me.
I glance up at him, my lips parted in a silent question.
This is what he wants, isn’t it?
When I try again, his grip tightens painfully. He grinds his teeth, gives a slight, barely noticeable shake of his head that feels a lot like a warning. “Who. Are. You.”
It’s then that I notice the tip of a black handle protruding from his pants pocket, mere inches from my fingers. My gaze darts back to his, the pounding in my chest quickening. His grip stays firm, but his eyes dance with a challenge.
He knows exactly what I saw. What’s within my reach.
My throat constricts when Griff kneels behind me, sidling his stomach against my back. “You wanna watch Adam while I’m inside you? Is that it?” He presses his chin into my scalp and slides his sweaty hands to my outer thighs, rubbing up and down. “Mmm. You’re gonna beg for it when I fuck you, aren’t you?” His voice is low, thick, and crazed, like a man possessed, and I’m relieved I can’t see the look in his eyes right now. “Down on your knees just like this, your mouth wide open for me.”
Blood boils beneath my skin. Images of what I’d really like to do to his dick resurface and make my lip curl. If he ever laid a hand on Frankie . . . A ringing stirs in my ears, and I wonder if it’s from the drugs or the rage building inside me.
Adam cocks a brow, dark amusement flitting through his eyes as he takes in my expression. My gaze drifts back to his pocket, my fingers burning with an itch I can’t explain. Would Adam really let me grab the weapon? Or is this part of the test? I angle my wrist toward the knife to test him, and his hold loosens, barely.
A rush of air escapes my lips.
Griff slides his slippery tongue from my shoulder to my ear. “I wonder how fast I can get you to scream.” His words are muddled between heavy breaths. “Minutes? Seconds?”
He frees one leg from his grasp. The sharp buzz of a zipper hits my ears. His thumb slips beneath my panties, yanks until the material digs into my skin, and rips them off me. I suck in a sharp breath, unable to tear my eyes from the black handle that teases me.
I’ve never held a knife as a weapon before. With the intention to do harm. To see actual blood spill. But when Griff’s hands grab my hips, knocking me backward and positioning me over his lap like the doll I’m meant to be, the urge seeps steadily into my veins.
I can’t go through with it, can’t risk losing the only lead to my sister. But I can certainly imagine it, as vividly as the ink splattered across my paintings.
My veins turn to ice when I feel it—Griff’s erection stroking my sore ass, then dipping between my cheeks. He adjusts me so my legs are spread over his wide lap, my weight resting on my wobbling knees instead of on him, and shoves my back so I lurch forward. I barely catch myself by my hands around Adam’s ankles before my face hits the ground.
Black dots cloud my focus, blurring together then scattering apart, and my noodle-like elbows almost buckle.
Raife’s snicker echoes in the otherwise silent room. When I glance around, Felix has already left. Too boring an evening for him, I suppose.
I struggle to lift my head, finding Adam in time to see him casually tuck his hands into his pockets, then he’s inching the knife higher little by little. I drag my narrowed eyes to his face, and the handsome bastard’s lips twitch. He truly believes I’ll go for the knife before going through with this.
As Griff realigns my hips, I give Adam one final, half-as
sed glare then inhale deeply and brace myself.
Griff leans over me, his giant shoulders warming my back, his teeth finding my ear as he sniffs me. “You know,” he groans through a broken grunt, sliding in just enough to make my eyes squeeze shut at the threat of tearing. “I fucking hate the way you smell. What is it with our recent hires smelling like this?” He pauses to wrap a hand around my throat, and I open my eyes.
Waiting for the rest of the pain to hit me.
Ready as I’ll ever be.
I lift my chin, ensuring Adam sees all of me. My unflinching expression. Just how breakable I really am.
Adam’s jaw ticks, any amusement wiped clean from his face. His nostrils flare as he looks from Griff to me and back again, as though only now realizing I’m not going to stop his brother. That I really am about to be, literally and figuratively, fucked.
“Hate your black hair, your starry eyes, and now that fucking smell,” Griff repeats, choking me just enough to make my lungs tighten at the threat of losing air. “Like some kinda hippy, flowery shit—”
The heavy thumping in my ears drowns out his voice, waves of manic energy vibrating from my fingertips to my toes.
Flowery.
He mutters something else as he digs into my throat until any trace of feeling drains from my face, but that particular scent being uttered by his spine-tingling voice is all I can hear on repeat.
Frankie’s scent.
I hardly notice the rush of fresh air pouring into my lungs, the sweaty grip suddenly gone from my neck, before I’m rising up and my hand is curling around the warm handle in Adam’s pocket. Shit, my muscles are mush under my weight, and my vision blurs through the rage and drugs. But I flip the knife so its sharp point is aimed behind me and slice blindly where Griff’s body heat touches my back.
A garbled noise sounds from over my shoulder. I take a few deep breaths but give up when they fail to calm my frantic heart rate.
Finally, I look back.