The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3)

by Heather Knight

  The fact that Kent dared attack a larger settlement of cannibals out near Old Charlotte is testament to the fact that he is not afraid of war.

  Col. Wagner clears his throat. “With all due respect, I don’t think we should make any decisions until A, we know whether or not the general will recover, and B, we know who did this.”

  Kent’s lunch is all set up, and I take him his tea since it’ll just get cold sitting in the corner. Then I pick up a pitcher of water I spot and begin refilling their glasses.

  The conversation buzzes, but I concentrate on filling the glasses and on not tripping in my too-high heels.

  “You’re looking quite rosy today, Mrs. Barry.” I shoot Col. Wagner a wide-eyed look to see if he’s making fun of me, and catch him looking down the front of my dress. It’s Kent’s fault. He’s been feeding me, and I have more curves than muscle these days. For reasons of his own, he’s not letting me hide anymore.

  “Thank you.” I barely restrain myself from clasping the dress close to my chest.

  I study Kent to see if he noticed the colonel’s pervy behavior. His head is cocked to the side and his expression is soft, like he’s proud of me or something. Which, of course, completely unnerves me. I look away and move on to Nico. I reach for his glass.

  “What happened to your wrist?” he asks.

  For a moment I freeze, and then I resume filling his cup. I am uncomfortably aware that all eyes are on me, and there’s nothing I can do to tone down the mottled flush on my face. “I’m trying to practice my Wing Chun, but I’m a little rusty.”

  I avoid his eyes. Kent’s too, because all I can think of now is Nico’s comment about Kent being into BDSM. I know that’s what Nico’s thinking, but this was an accident. It was. A flash image of Kent in leather pants wielding a whip sends a giggle to my lips. Should I tell him what Nico said? I don’t really even know what BDSM is. Blindfolds. Handcuffs. Sex toys. Gross! No way. I’m not going to say a word. I’d die of embarrassment.

  I save Kent for last. “Is there anything I can have the staff bring you?”

  “No.” He traces his hand over my bruise and gives me a smoky look of promise. Then he takes my hand in a firm grip and smiles at me. “Thank you, Bianca.”

  Warmth rushes through me, especially that space around my heart. I struggle to keep the stupid puppy-dog look off my face, but I’m pretty sure I fail. I nod and duck my head.

  I move to the door, head high and shoulders back. Not a servant. Mrs. Barry.

  I will see him soon.

  Tonight.

  ~ ~ ~

  I smell like the devil’s armpit.

  I just finished doing an extra five miles on the treadmill, and I’ll need a shower before I can even think of going to dinner. Since Kent is still downstairs running the territory, I know the bathroom’s mine. I strip naked and toss my exercise clothes into the magic laundry basket. Magic because it’s always empty. Back in Knoxville, Tish and I had to carry our laundry to the basement, and although someone else did the wash, we had to put our own clean clothes away. We were also responsible for keeping our rooms clean the old-fashioned way—by doing it ourselves. The Barry’s are richer, more powerful, and have greater resources.

  I step into the hot shower and sigh. Whoever would have thought hot water could feel so sinfully good? I’m thinking about abandoning my morning baths permanently. We had hot water at home, but only because someone heated it over a fire and lugged buckets up to the bathroom we shared. We only had enough water to clean ourselves, and it was only warm enough that we could bathe without shivering. The Masons did not waste fuel or manpower. But this—it’s like getting a massage. I lose myself in pre-ash shampoo and homemade soap that smells like lemons.

  When I emerge, the bathroom’s steamy and I feel fresh and free. My hair is squeaky clean, and I think about that hot oil treatment Patricia mentioned. I dimly remember what it’s like to have conditioner, but I think even when I used it, my hair still tangled like crazy. I rub a dollop of that lotion into my palms and smooth it over the ends of my hair. It works for skin, right? So after I brush my teeth, moisturize my body, and tug a comb through my hair, I wrap myself in a towel and return to the bedroom. I have a closet. I’ve just never been in there. Every time I enter the room or come out of the shower, fresh clothing is laid out for me like some mystical genie granted a wish.

  This time, nothing. Patricia hasn’t been here yet. I get to choose my own outfit! I skip across the room toward the twin closets. The one on the right holds my things; the left belongs to Kent. I’m tempted to slip inside and touch his things and inhale his scent. I throb at the memory of him filling me, making me whole, and I want to wrap myself in him. I reach for the left door and turn the handle.

  I’m only two steps into the closet when I catch the scent of mildew, sweat, and old pee. The hair on the back of my neck goes stiff, but before I can retreat, an arm snakes out from behind Kent’s uniforms. It catches me about the waist and pulls me back against a hard body. A hand claps over my mouth, and even though I scream, the sound is muffled.

  “Well, look what I found.”

  My breaths come shallow and hard, and my heart flutters like a hummingbird’s wings as I struggle against the man who holds me. Oh God. Is this the man who shot Lawrence? Am I next? I scream again, and the hand that covers my mouth moves over my nose, cutting off my air.

  “You must be the wife,” he says as I struggle to free myself. Abruptly he shoves my head into the wall, and I see Cheerios. Little white circle-o’s against black. He grabs my hands and holds them up over my head and uses his body to pin me against the wall. Something cold and sharp connects with my neck.

  “Why are you doing this?” My body is trembling, and the fact that my towel dropped to the floor and I’m completely naked against this man puts my brain in near shutdown mode.

  “You people killed my family.” His fetid breath nearly makes me gag. Shaggy dark hair and several days’ stubble hide much of his features, but his eyes are the deepest chocolate brown. They blaze with hatred.

  “I don’t know your family,” I tell him, hoping to stall for time.

  “I don’t give a shit who you know!” The blade presses more firmly against my throat. “You people wiped out an entire village. Defenseless starving people. Everyone, down to the smallest child. My son!”

  I suck in a breath as horror spiders through my veins. “The cannibals!”

  “We do what we gotta do to survive. We don’t kill for meat. We eat what’s already dead. You are the murderers.”

  My gaze darts toward the bedroom, and I will someone to come through the door, to rescue me from this madman.

  “What…” My voice fails as terror threatens to erase my mind. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “I meant to kill that husband of yours. Carve him up into little pieces and take him away for meat. It’s what he deserves for what he’s done.” He leans in and inhales my scent. “But I have another idea now.”

  “Don’t,” I choke. I feel his erection rise against my belly, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Rivulets of tears escape out each corner. “I can’t! I just can’t.”

  Hands holding me down while a man in a gray hoodie spreads my legs and shoves at me hard. The agonizing split as he pushes through my virginity.

  “You won’t make a sound,” he says. “You make so much as a squeak and I’ll cut your throat. I’ll leave you here for your husband to find, minus a steak or two. You keep quiet, you cooperate, and all I’ll do is take a leg. I’ll even tie a tourniquet for you so you don’t bleed out. Who knows? You might even make it.”

  Oh God! Oh— “Kent!”

  It’s a primal cry, and it scrapes my throat raw. It’s all I have time for before my attacker releases my hands, seizes me by the neck, and slams me against the wall again.

  “Big mistake. Those guards of yours are dead. I shoved their bodies in the other closet—yours, I’m guessing. No one is coming for you.”

  His
hand tightens around my neck. He squeezes off my air and bares his teeth as he holds the weapon in front of my eyes. The first side of his knife looks the way I expect it to—a long, crisp-looking blade. The other side is set up in two sections, one with a serrated edge like you’d see on a bread knife and the lower with a row of hooks that could easily saw me in half. I let loose a muffled babble of pleas. Using his grip on my neck, he throws me to the floor, and just at that moment I hear the sound of splintering wood. I try to scream, but all that comes out are choked inarticulate cries as I try to crawl away from my attacker. He seizes me by the hair and drags me to my knees, but before he has time to do anything, Kent flies at him in a full tackle.

  I shake, and I can’t see. All I can hear are my own desperate sobs. The Cheerios have taken over my vision, and all I know is I need to get away. Away. Away.

  Someone throws a blanket over me. The unknown person wraps it around my nakedness before pulling me to my feet.

  I struggle against whoever it is, certain that at any minute those hooks will dig into my flesh.

  All I’ll do is take a leg.

  “Ma’am. Ma’am? It’s all right. You’re okay now.”

  Part of me registers that I am no longer under attack, but the Bianca inside me, the animal part, doesn’t believe it. I struggle free of the soldier and dash for the relative safety of the bathroom. I slam the door behind me and my fingers shake as I search for a lock, but there isn’t one. With another sob I sink to the floor and use the weight of my body to block it from opening.

  I’ll leave you here for your husband to find, minus a steak or two. I press my face to the floor and black out.

  “Bianca? Open the door.”

  It’s just Kent, but I can’t move. I can’t. I just want to lie here on the cold bathroom tiles where it’s safe.

  Voices murmur outside the door, and after a while scraping sounds reach me. Then the door is lifted aside, and a bloodied Kent scoops me up in his arms.

  “All of you, out!” Kent’s voice is cold, crisp.

  “Sir—”

  “And get that thing out of here!” He turns to me. “Look at me.”

  I shake my head.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “He was going to. He told me…”

  “He can’t do anything now. He’s dead.”

  Still my breath stutters, and I claw for a grip on his uniform.

  “Look at me, Bianca.” He sits on the toilet seat and secures me on his lap. He forces me to face him, tips my chin until there’s nowhere else to look. Savagery flickers in his eyes, and his scars seem particularly red.

  “I killed him.”

  I blink. I shudder. I avert my gaze.

  “Bianca!”

  It’s an order I cannot disobey. I meet his eyes.

  “He was a cannibal,” I tell him. “He was from that camp you just annihilated. He said you killed his family.”

  Kent blinks rapidly and looks away.

  “He came for you, but he said I’d do. He was only going to take a leg and leave the rest of me.” I squeeze my legs together, and a sob squeaks out of me. “He said he’d…just take a steak or two.” I tear my eyes away from his, so filled with disgust and fear that I want to escape being me.

  Kent smooths a hand over my hair. “Did he touch you?”

  I duck my head, and he seizes me by the shoulders. “Bianca, did he touch you?”

  Shame flips to rage, and I push at him. “Yes! With his knife! With his hands when he grabbed me by the throat and cut off my air. If you want to know if he raped me, no. Only with his words. If you think that makes everything okay, you know nothing about me.”

  I struggle to get up, but his arms are strong as tree trunks and he anchors me against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he mutters against my hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never should have let this happen.”

  “You said I was safe!” I give him one last shove before defeat overcomes me. I duck my head, and the sobs take over. “You said I was safe.”

  He holds me. Rocks me. Whispers to me. He presses me to his blood-soaked chest. “I killed him, sweetie. I killed him with my bare hands.”

  I’m cold. My body is racked with violent shivers. Kent leans over and turns on the water, holds his hand under it for a few minutes, then switches it to a soft spray.

  Without a word he lifts me high against his chest and steps into the glass-walled shower. He’s fully clothed, but he doesn’t seem to care. Hot water stings my flesh and stabs into my eyes. Kent sits down back against the wall and adjusts me so I’m seated between his legs, his arms about my waist. He pets me like I’m a cat. He soothes away my tremors until I finally relax against him, until I accept that he surrounds me like a concrete barrier.

  When the water grows cold, he lifts me out and dries me off. Still whispering soothing words, he carries me to the bed and tucks me under the covers. I stare at the closets. “The guards,” I whisper as he strokes my hair. “He said he killed them and stuffed them in my closet.”

  Kent places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “We know. Everything’s gone now.”

  I lay still as Kent strips free of the wet uniform and climbs into bed beside me. He pulls me securely against his body, wraps a leg over me, and rests his head on top of mine. “That will never happen again,” he says. “No one will ever touch you but me.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I wake up, a scream on my lips, but Kent is there. He brushes his lips over mine and silences me. He is big and he is warm and I need him.

  He strokes my still-damp hair before he runs a hand down the side of my body and over my stomach. His touch is so gentle, so assuring, and I relax into him.

  No one will ever touch you but me. At first the memory warms me, but then I remember that the intruder was in our home, right in our bedroom, and I stiffen. There’s no way he can keep me safe. Not really.

  Kent continues stroking my body, coaxing kisses from me, and soon I feel the familiar heat. I press into the hard length of his cock and rub myself against him.

  “Yeah,” he whispers, working his lips down to my breast. His tongue circles my nipple, bringing it erect and hard. He massages the tip with his tongue, and I gasp at the tingly surges that shoot down into my belly. I arch up to meet him. He rolls the other peak between his thumb and finger as he gives the first one a gentle suck. I can’t help moaning at the feel of it.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers, cupping my face in his hands.

  His eyes are filled with a mixture of lust and kindness, and a rush of tenderness comes over me. I trace over the burn scars and cup his cheek. His eyelids flutter shut, and he leans his face into my hand.

  His breathing quickens, and he rolls his hips against me.

  Kent’s heavy into BDSM. I kick the memory of Nico’s words aside and run my hands up his chest and pull him down to kiss me. I’m wet. So wet. I crave that feeling of fullness only he can give me.

  He slides a hand down between my legs. I catch my breath as he traces my juices up and over my clit and begins to tease me with gentle motions. My breasts feel so full and heavy, and I want to slide the tips against the crisp hairs on his chest. He pushes his finger into me.

  You keep quiet, you cooperate, and all I’ll do is take a leg.

  I suck in a breath and jerk.

  “Bianca?”

  I clap a hand over my mouth. “I can’t. I can’t. I—I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  I cover my face with both hands, humiliated and paralyzed by my reaction. But it’s true. I can’t.

  Kent eases on top of me and raises up on his elbows. “Look at me right now.”

  I suck in a breath and open to him.

  “I’m not letting that man take my wife away from me. Do you understand?”

  He doesn’t get it. I shake my head and look away. If he sticks himself inside me, I think I might scream.

  He grabs my hair and pulls my head back so I’m forced to look at him. “That man is not going to win. I won’t let him. A
nd I won’t let you lose all the ground you gained. You’re going to come tonight.”

  I gulp in breaths of air. “You just don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “No, I don’t,” he agrees. “But you can’t stop now. I won’t let you go back to fear. You have two options, babe. Relax and let me fuck you. If you can’t do that, you have to let me make you come another way. You choose.”

  The muscles inside me clench at his commanding tone, but the thought of him inside me makes me sick. I squeeze my eyes shut. “I think if you try to…” I swallow. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it.”

  I open my eyes, expecting anger, but he strokes my hair and kisses both cheeks, then places a soft butterfly kiss across my lips. “Thank you for being honest.”

  He slides down and rests his head between my breasts, and I’m grateful, damn grateful that he’s not going to push me. I’m no bargain. I know I’m not, and the fact that he’s been so patient with me makes me feel incredibly guilty.

  He nuzzles my breast, gently caresses and massages them both. His touch is soft, reverent, and I let him. When he tongues the tips, nips them lightly, and gently pulls and sucks, I am not afraid. He stays there, licking, sucking, and drawing on my nipples until they stand like rigid peaks. All the while he cups my breasts and sweeps his hands up and down my body. He releases my tits for another deep kiss that leaves me taut with yearning. When he dips lower, traces his lips down my torso, I feel nothing but his worship.

  He lowers himself and nuzzles just under my belly button. I’ve never felt so close to anyone in my life.