Make Me Yours (Top Shelf Romance Book 4)

by Devney Perry

  I pull away, or rather he lets me go. Stepping backward, my hand comes to my throat, massaging where his hand was just a second ago.

  Kyrin comes around the corner, his eyes swinging around the group. “What’d I miss?”

  We all make our way back into the tent when Delila pulls me behind a curtain and shoves a new outfit in my hands. “Change.”

  I take them from her, yanking off my clothes and King’s shirt. “What is he going to make me do?”

  I peek my head out of the hole and catch Delila watching me. “Anything he wants. Killian is a show all on his own, but he’s also fascinated by you.”

  “Why me?”

  Delila smirks, tossing me her lipstick. I pull it open and swipe the bright red balm over my lips. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, but for now, just go with it.”

  “What’s after Killian’s show?”

  “The girls have theirs. The acrobats, the aerials, and the hoops with the bikes, and then Kyrin plays fire. The next time you’ll be up is the closing act.”

  “Closing act?” I ask, eyebrow raised as I watch her in the mirror.

  She smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. It’s a smile that you give someone when you know something they don’t. Which she does. “Yes.” She looks over her shoulder and grins, just before she disappears. “Did I mention that this show is rated R?”

  Fuck.

  King

  Past

  Dad locked his door when he got home from work later that night, a cigar hanging from between his teeth. He was agitated more than usual. My father was a sinner, and he did it well, but something was annoying him even more. Enough for me to pick it up as he stumbled through the house. He never stumbled. Ever the calm and collected muse for any mobster, his steps were always calculated and were never taken without him knowing the next twenty he was going to take after that. For all of my fourteen years, I had known that this day was coming. I sensed it in the water like a shark would blood, because that’s how I was trained. With my senses and not so much my words.

  I padded through the hallway of our mansion, passing the perfectly painted family portraits of us. My father, my mother, and I. They always said that one kid was enough for them and that they never needed two. Whatever the fuck that meant. My hand came to the golden handle of his office, and I pressed it down, shoving the door open. It was dark, as dark as his mahogany office desk that sat perfectly in the middle. Bookcases filled the walls, from the floor to the ceiling, and the only form of light that was pouring in came from the full moon, beaconing through the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the front of our plantation-style home.

  “Dad…”

  “Sit.” His voice was low, sounding as though he had swallowed a handful of gravel before saying it. Unlike me, Father was good with his words. He had to be.

  I took a few more steps in until I was dropping down onto the chair that was tucked underneath his desk.

  “Este timpul, son.” It’s time, son.

  I shook my head. “I’m not ready.”

  His head, that was bowed between his shoulder blades, raised, his eyes connecting with mine. “You’re ready, son. The only reason why you think you’re not is because I’m here.”

  I scratched over my heart, where my Sons of Kiznitch tattoo was stamped. His eyes followed the movement, a smirk touching the corners of his mouth. My father spoke fluent English, but Romanian was his first language, because it’s the land of our family. We moved between Greek and Latin, but Latin was the language we mostly used, with it being the original language of our country. Of us. “You need to rise. You need to gather your brothers and begin your journey.”

  “I’m fourteen,” I blurted out through my amateur mouth. Of all the things I could’ve thought of, ‘I’m fourteen’ was the first thing that came spewing out of my mouth. Like it mattered. Like the fact I was fourteen had stopped me from committing the most heinous crimes. Like the fact when I was sixteen, I killed for the first time. Or the fact when I was but a child, I became so obsessed with someone who would later become a pawn on my chessboard. That I would eventually do anything to be near her—even if that meant breaking her in the process, because breaking her only meant that I was close enough to her to do it.

  Dad sank back in his chair, opening a drawer and slapping down a manila folder. “Delila needs you. All of you. Whether you think you’re ready or not, King, it’s time for you to do what you’ve been training your whole life to do. We’ve done our rounds. It’s time for you to start yours.”

  “But you, Uncle Kratos, and—”

  “They all agree.” He brought his eyes to mine, pinning me with his stare. “It is time, Kingston. You need to reign. You need to fulfill all that I have left for you to do.”

  I paused, thinking over his words. I knew who he was talking about before he even had to say her name. Her. The girl who had a broken smile and bright eyes. The one I hadn’t spoken to, but I knew exactly the way her tongue would move around each alphabetical syllable. I’d never touched her teenage skin, but I knew how she would feel beneath the palm of my hand. I was engineered to hate her, but my humanity wanted her. I couldn’t fucking want her.

  My cock swelled in my pants, and I coughed, shuffling in my seat.

  A moment passed between us before I opened my mouth. “Are you sure you can trust me with that?”

  My father, Kauis, the great terror of them all, stared me right in the eye. A man who was intimidating to most but had been nothing but a comfort to me. The edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Yes, son. I trust that you are well-equipped with enough power and sense to take it now.”

  I slouched in my seat, bringing my hands to my mouth. “She reminds me of her.”

  Dad chuckled. It’s the type of chuckle that put the fear of God into every single person who had met the receiving end of his blade. “A bit weak, don’t you think?” His eyes darkened. “Push her harder.”

  Dove

  I learned that between Midnights scenes, there are also others who have small acts. I don’t learn too much about theirs, mainly because it goes for so long. Every show is for three hours, with a forty-minute intermission for people to go to the bar, grab a snack, and get entertained by everyone walking around. I caught Killian chatting to the same three dudes as before, only they had a girl with pink hair with them now. I dashed away from them all before they saw me, afraid that King would think I was stalking his friends now. After watching some of the show from backstage, I dip back into the cubicle. The next scene is Killian’s before the final, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. I am. Very. I know what Killian is capable of and I know I can’t trust them.

  I swipe my sweaty palms down the side of my thighs when Delila interrupts me, swiping the curtain to the side. “Killian is going to introduce what will be your act. We’ve had a change. Though he can persuade you to do whatever he wants, they all can, what he wants is going to be your act.”

  “Wait!” I whisper-yell. “What do you mean?” I’m confused. Yet again. I have to wonder whether they do this with all of their new acts, though I’m pretty sure Rose knew at least a little bit of what was going on during hers, since she had to actually perform.

  Delila exhales, massaging her temples. “Pay attention, Little Bird. You need your own act, but Killian is going to introduce you. That’s all you need to know.”

  If that was all I needed to know, then why am I asking more questions?

  The curtain spreads open, and Delila is suddenly on the other side of the tent, walking down the stairs with the mic in her hand. “Our next act is by one of our very favorite Brothers.”

  She lands on the bottom step and makes her way toward us. By this point, the crowd is so drunk that everyone is losing their shit by the sound of it. Thanks to the open bar they provide each person. “Sic ’em, boy.”

  Killian smirks, his clown grin teasing me. He brings his mic up to his lips. “Come here.”

  Again, my legs move
without me entrusting them to do so. I don’t know what it is that Killian does, and I’m not sure I really want to know, but I’m intrigued. Intrigued because I’ve never felt so completely out of control before.

  I’m face-to-face with him, the audience quiet while the spotlight beams on both of us. He licks his soft lips before I feel his arm wrap around my back, pulling me into his body.

  He moves the mic away from his mouth and whispers into my ear, “Do you trust me?”

  “No,” I answer instantly.

  He comes back to standing, his grin deepening. “Good. You shouldn’t.” The mic is back at his mouth. “Play ‘Two Weeks’ by FKA Twigs.” I want to break eye contact to find the sound booth that I know he’s talking with on top of the audience. But he grins at me, yanking me back into his body. “Dance.” He releases me, pushing me onto the center stage. I curve my body around the sounds that are coming out, losing myself in the movements. My mouth curls around the lyrics, my arms flying up to entice the audience. The song ends, and when I turn around, Killian is perched on a chair, smirking. Beside him are Kingston and Kyrin. They’re all wearing no shirts and a skull bandana tied around their neck. That mixed with the sick clown makeup is too much.

  The crowd laughs as Killian stands from his chair and circles me like a shark. I suddenly feel exposed, raw, here for everyone’s entertainment. Is Killian the equivalent to a crazy clown? If the clown was ridiculously hot, of course. He would fit the suit, though. The jokester, the funny one.

  He continues to circle me, and when the mic comes to his mouth, I know I’m in trouble. “Who wants to see just what this little bird can do?” The crowd erupts, but before I can see, Killian’s next words throw me off. “I know King does.” I fight against my impulse to check to see what King is doing. Killian tilts his head. “Play Marilyn Manson.” Oh no. Killian smirks. “‘Third Day of a Seven Day Binge’” He drops the mic, and I feel his arm wrap around me again as he pulls me into his chest, his lips brushing against my ears. “I don’t even have to pretend to the audience that you’re doing as I tell you, do I?” My brain is a haze as he shoves me onto Kingston’s lap.

  Kingston’s hand sprawls out over my lower stomach, his lips now touching my neck. “Strip, Little Bird. Show us what you’ve got,” King whispers, just as he shoves me back to my feet. “Dance like you fuck. Like exactly how you taste.” Does King have this power, too?

  My hands go up above my head, my eyelids heavy. I roll my body against Killian, dropping to my knees in front of him. He glares down at me, his hand coming to the back of my hair where he wraps it in his fist. Just as he yanks my neck back, King’s hand comes to my throat from behind, and he’s pulling me backward until my head is in his lap, and I’m looking up at him from a bent, and very fucking uncomfortable position. “Don’t push me, Little Bird.”

  His words spark a fire inside of me. Something I didn’t know I had, or maybe something that someone has never had the power to ignite before.

  I stand back to my feet, just as “Coming Undone” by Korn mixes in. I slowly unzip the front of my crop top, flinging it at King as I turn back to face him. The chorus starts, and I drop down, with Killian behind me, flinging my hair and twisting my body around, grinding my ass into Kingston’s lap. I feel him against my ass, and it only intensifies the power I think I have. Killian grabs my hand and shoves me into his chest, turning me around to face the audience—not that I can notice anything right now—as he bends me over, his hands on my hips. Just as I’m about to continue dancing, Killian’s gone and Kingston is in front of me with Kyrin right beside him. Before I can understand what’s going on, “Toxicity” by System of a Down has started playing and a cage is being dropped around us. This one is square. Locked. Nowhere to run. What the fuck do they do for the final act?

  “This show is rated R …”

  I look around at all three of them, wondering where the fuck Keaton is. Of course, only I would wonder where Keaton is, not why the hell I’m being locked in a cage with three possible undiagnosed psychopaths.

  Killian brings the mic to his mouth. “Now, I don’t know if you know this, but Little Bird is new. This is the first time she’ll be participating in the final act. If you’ve been to one of our shows before, you know what is about to happen.” He pauses, and it’s right then that I realize I’m probably going to get fucked by all of them—bar Keaton.

  Right now.

  In this cage.

  In front of an audience. I don’t know why I assume that right away. Maybe it’s the setting, or maybe it’s because I’m locked in a damn cage with all of them. And they look hungry. Starving.

  The crowd is roaring with praise. Oh good. They totally support this.

  I try not to look panicked. I don’t want to give them any more power than they already have, and something tells me that if they knew they had my fear, they’d only use it as a snack.

  I don’t want to look anywhere, so I straighten my shoulders, close my eyes, and take my mind back to the place where it always goes when I need to be surrounded by something dark. To remind myself why I’m so lucky to be bathing in this light. The Shadow.

  Killian’s voice comes through my ear. “Do you want this? Or are we all wrong to think you can handle it?”

  I lick my lips, bringing my hand to the back of his neck. Right now, I still have the power. I can feel it. He hasn’t told me what to do; he’s merely asked me a question. I can do this, but only if it’s on my terms. I yank his head into my space, whispering into his hair, “Play ‘Breathe’ by Mako, and don’t fucking use your juju on me. I’ll do whatever the fuck I’m supposed to do without it.”

  He pauses, and then leans back, bringing the mic to his mouth, repeating my song choice. It starts, and I begin slowly dancing around them, focusing on Killian. I force his face to mine. When I feel his lips close, he pushes me backward until I’m falling onto a lap. The electricity that explodes around me is a dead giveaway that it’s King’s lap I’m on.

  I moan softly, not wanting to be here right now. Killian is easy because there’s no big bang. No feelings. No… King.

  He doesn’t touch me, so I turn in his lap, straddling him. Running my fingers through my hair, I roll my body over him, reaching behind his head to untie the bandana that’s covering his mouth. What’s with the bandanas? His eyes drift to the crowd slightly before coming back to mine.

  King is still not touching me, so I turn in his lap, ready to go to Kyrin, when he grips onto the back of my shorts and tugs me back down.

  Kyrin, who has stayed in the background throughout the whole thing, hooks his finger around the belt loop of my shorts and yanks me into him. He leans down and whispers into my ear, “Is that all you’ve got? Gotta say, I’m pretty disappointed.”

  My stomach sinks. I hate disappointing people, and I’m well aware that this feeling probably stems from feeling as though I’ve always failed my parents.

  Angry and annoyed, I turn in his grasp, reach up on my tippy toes, and bring my mouth to his. I stare right through him. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “Pretty sure we know everything about you.”

  “Carousel” by Melanie Martinez stars playing loudly, igniting my reckless soul.

  Fine.

  Another arm grips around my waist, and I turn in King’s grasp. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s almost like there’s a battle happening on the floor, and I don’t know if it has anything to do with me or not.

  Kingston squeezes me into his chest. I grind my ass against his crotch, dropping to the floor. When Kyrin goes to step backward, I reach for the waistband of his pants and yank him forward. Kyrin is strong, but he doesn’t fight me, stepping so close that my face is directly in front of his crotch.

  To the beat of the song, I wave my torso around as my fingers inch up to his zipper. I reach for it, just as King yanks my head back by my long hair. I’m staring up at him upside down when his jaw clenches.

  “What?” I smirk
. “I thought this was Midnight Mayhem?” I’m bluffing. I had no idea prior to tonight what the fuck this group did.

  King bares his teeth, hissing, before shoving my face away from him and into Kyrin’s crotch.

  Asshole.

  I yank Kyrin’s pants down and his cock springs free. I don’t have any want or need, just anger. I grip his long, thick shaft in my hand and tug on it lightly. I lick my lips, and Kyrin steps backward, his face coming to mine. “You really want to suck my dick, Little Bird?”

  I smile up at him sweetly. “Yes.” I have no idea.

  He shoves his thumb into my mouth, pressing it down onto my tongue. “My cock is worth dying over?”

  I shrug. “Don’t care.” The song changes, but I’m lost. I turn my head around to see Maya walking in with no shirt on and holding a plate of what looks like weed. She’s wearing no bra—her tits out—and has on tiny basketball shorts. A red bandana is tied around the front of her head, her long straight hair falling down to her butt.

  She winks at me again and then blazes a joint, sucking on it. I watch as she lowers herself to Val, who is waiting. Maya blows a cloud of smoke into Val’s mouth, and then slowly licks her from her chin to the tip of her nose.

  Jesus fuck!

  I shake off my nerves and stand, gaining false confidence from Maya and Val and whoever else is in here now. I get it. This crew is fucked up. I have to learn how to swim, or I’m going to drown.

  The cage slowly lifts, and Maya slips down behind me, her hand going to King. I squash the jealousy that roars in my chest as best I can, but when he touches the back of her thigh, the jealousy knocks the breath out of me. I feel as though I’m choking on air.

  Maya turns over her shoulder, her lips touching my ear. “Go with it, Dove. Would you rather me or Val?”