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“You want cooperation? Use some goddamn lube. If you don’t, I swear to God, I will wail and kick and rip off your fucking dick.”
His laughter is a thing of nightmares as he leans over me and licks my cheek. “You’re absolutely delicious.”
I should be relieved he doesn’t kiss my mouth. The intimacy of that hell would send me over the edge. As it is, I’m one lick away from changing my mind.
“Lube.” I fist the bedding and hold my breath.
He retreats.
From the nightstand, he removes a tube and squirts out the contents.
Then he works himself inside my ass.
No preamble.
No preparation.
It’s excruciating.
I enjoyed anal with Monty countless times, but I was always ready for it—relaxed, desperate, mindlessly aroused. Arousal is crucial to doing this without pain, and Monty knows how to satisfy a woman.
Denver simply doesn’t care. This is for him. His entertainment. His pleasure.
“Such a sweet little girl.” With each thrust, his fingers dig harder into my hipbones, bruising and restraining. “So tiny and tight. You take your daddy’s dick so good.”
Don’t listen. Don’t look. Don’t think about it.
As more atrocious words come, I close my eyes and try to focus on the long game.
Behind my eyelids, I see the instrument panel in the plane. So many gauges and levers. I need a picture to study. Then we can take out Denver and escape.
It’s the best plan I have, but I doubt we can pull it off before winter. We’ll be snowed in soon.
That means I have six long months of this.
It’ll feel like forever.
Much like the speed in which it takes him to finish.
I can no longer distract myself. Every despicable word, groaning breath, skin-crawling touch, grinding thrust, and stretching invasion forces itself upon me.
My eyes ache with unshed tears. My chest burns with rising bile. My skin pebbles with permanent chills. And I endure it, because I know it’s not in vain.
His sons will never have to hurt again.
The rhythm of his assault changes, growing erratic, reaching the end. He pulls out, adjusts, and shoves himself into my cunt.
God forbid he wastes his seed.
His hands land on the bed above my shoulders, propping up his body. He drives his hips with purpose now.
In and out.
In and out.
No sounds.
All business.
And I take it.
It’s worth it. No matter how many times he forces this upon me, it’s worth it. I will never regret protecting his sons.
At last, he hurries toward his sick inner journey.
Releases.
Withdraws.
Retreats.
Rezippers.
It’s over.
When he disappears into the attached bathroom, the shivers recede, and all that remains of me is a shadow.
44
Kodiak
—
Loud, short exhales pierce my lips as I descend the final snow-covered embankment. Leo and I have been hiking at a grueling pace, anxious to return to Hoss.
We’ve been gone for three weeks.
Three weeks too long.
The good news? We found a herd of caribou and even took down a moose.
The bad news? We couldn’t transport all the meat back to Hoss. Rather than letting it go to waste, we stayed at the hunting cabin for an extra week to dress out and dry the meat, pound it into powder, render the fat into tallow, and mix it all into calorie-rich pemmican bars that will last years if needed.
It was Leo’s idea to leave the pemmican at the cabin. A reserve of food that Denver doesn’t need to know about. Just in case.
If Denver asks why we were gone so long, I’ll blame my wounded hand. In reality, the injury didn’t slow us down. Or rather, it didn’t slow Leo down from picking up my slack.
I would never admit this aloud, but my brother is a goddamn machine.
“What are you looking at?” He breezes past me as if he isn’t post-holing in thigh-deep snow while rucking half his body weight in gear and caribou meat.
“Show-off.”
“Got places to be.”
I feel the same urgency and double down to match his strides.
The deep, velvety darkness of polar night shrouds the morning landscape. The icy sting of frost on my lips carries a nostalgic taste. The chill penetrates every layer of clothing and bites at my skin, the air dry and crisp, almost brittle. But it’s beautiful. Ice crystals glisten in the starlight. The hush of the snow-covered terrain absorbs all noise, creating a profound silence.
Until something disturbs the stillness.
“Did you hear that?” I pause, holding out a hand to quiet him.
A clap of distant sound echoes across the barren tundra.
“No.” He bends at the waist and braces his hands on his knees, panting. “What is it?”
Another crack, coming from the direction of Hoss.
“Gunfire.” The vein in my temple throbs. “Let’s go.”
Leo shoots off, sprinting the final stretch. I may be bigger and stronger, but I don’t have his endurance. By the time I catch up, my legs burn. My stomach cramps, and my lungs can’t pull enough air.
The back side of the cabin looms ahead, the amber glow of its lights seeping through frosted windows, guiding our way.
