Blood drips down her neck—Henderson’s. The copper scent fills my nostrils, primal and intoxicating. Her savagery awakened something in us both. Something we’ve kept contained even from each other.
Cyrus catches my eye over Keira’s shoulder, his pupils blown wide with the same hunger consuming me. We’ve shared women before, countless times, but never like this. Never with this raw, visceral connection that transcends flesh.
“She’s perfect,” Cyrus growls, his rhythm faltering as Keira clenches around us.
I feel the moment Keira looks back at Henderson, her body suddenly tightening around both our cocks. The knowledge that her abuser is bleeding out and watching her take both of us—that he’s witnessing her strength, her sexual power—drives her higher. Her inner walls grip us like a vice, the slick heat pulsing with each beat of her racing heart.
“You feel that?” I murmur against her ear, biting the lobe hard enough to draw blood. “The power shift while you show your abuser just how strong you are. He never broke you.”
Henderson makes a gurgling sound from across the room. Blood bubbles from his lips as he watches with fading eyes.
The sight of him dying while watching us fuck his victim, our Keira, pushes me dangerously close to the edge. I’ve killed countless men, but this is different.
Cyrus’s cock throbs against mine inside her, and I almost lose control. We move faster now, our bodies slapping against Keira’s as Henderson’s breathing becomes more labored, his life fading with each thrust we take into the woman he once victimized.
My release hits violently, emptying into Keira alongside my brother. Our groans echo off the basement walls, the sound primitive and raw. For a moment, there’s nothing but the three of us locked together, blood-smeared and panting.
Then reality crashes back like a tactical flashbang—disorienting and harsh.
We’re in a suburban basement in Boise. Henderson’s barely conscious form slumps against the restraints, blood pooling beneath the chair. The metallic scent hangs heavy in the air. Keira’s body trembles between us as we carefully separate ourselves from her.
“Ten minutes,” I say, my voice returning to its usual controlled cadence. “Then we clean and move.”
Cyrus nods. I check Henderson’s pulse. Weak but present. Perfect.
“Felix has the disposal site prepared?” I ask Cyrus.
“Abandoned mine shaft. Twenty miles out.”
I move to the duffel bag we brought, retrieving bleach, tarps, and the specialized chemicals that will dissolve DNA evidence. My mind moves through each necessary step with precision.
“We need to be airborne by 4:30 AM,” I say, checking my watch. “That gives us three hours to complete cleanup and disposal.”
Keira watches us, her expression shifting from post-orgasmic haze to dark realization.
“What do you need me to do?” she asks.
I hand her a pair of latex gloves. “Remove anything you touched and wipe down surfaces.”
Cyrus wraps Henderson in plastic, securing the bundle while avoiding additional blood spatter. I prepare the chemical solution for the basement floor.
“His wife returns tomorrow afternoon,” I remind them. “By then, he’ll be three hundred feet underground, and this house will show no trace of our presence.”
“Rope, Ace?” Cyrus asks.
I toss him the coil from our bag.
While Cyrus is grinning with the savage satisfaction of what we’ve accomplished, I notice the change in Keira. The trembling starts in her hands first, then spreads to her shoulders. I recognize the signs immediately; she’s experiencing an adrenaline crash. Her body is coming down from the intense high.
“Cy,” I say quietly. “Protocol six.”
My brother’s eyes clear, shifting from euphoria to focus. He understands instantly. We’ve done this enough times that our procedures are automatic. Protocol six means he handles the disposal while I manage any civilians.
Except Keira isn’t a civilian. She’s ours.
I take a clean cloth from our supplies and wet it with bottled water, then gently begin wiping the blood from Keira’s face and hands. Her skin feels cold beneath my touch.
“Arms up,” I instruct softly, helping her into her shirt. She complies mechanically, her movements robotic. Behind us, I hear Cyrus efficiently securing Henderson for transport. The plastic wrap crinkles as he works.
