Page 24 of The Knucklebone Brothers

Blythe's hands moved down my back, over the swell of my ass, his touch possessive. He gave one cheek a firm squeeze. "Solid," he grunted. "Nothin' soft here."

His fingers traced down the curve of my ass, dipping lower. He hooked a finger between my thighs, right at the tattoo inked there—a thick, jagged band of barbed wire wrapping under the cheek.

"Got a little cage for yourself, don't you, girl?" Blythe murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear.

I could feel the goosebumps all over my body. It was the tension, the overwhelming intimacy of their inspection, the way they were claiming every inch of me with their hands and eyes. I was giving them an attitude with my glare, but my body was betraying me, responding to their touch with a warmth I tried to deny.

Maverick crouched down in front of me, his eyes now level with my hips. His hands ran down my thighs, his fingers tracing the faint lines of old scars. He lifted one of my legs, propping my foot on his knee. He ran his thumb along the arch of my foot, and I almost jerked it back, a ticklish jolt shooting up my leg. "Ticklish, are we?" he chuckled. He examined my ankle, my calf, his touch methodical and thorough.

Then his gaze dropped lower, his mask froze as he stopped right at my now exposed cunt. He didn't touch me immediately. Instead, he leaned in closer, his face inches away. He let out a low, appreciative hum that seemed to vibrate right through me.

"Smells like honey and rain," he murmured, his voice still taunting. He looked up at me, his eyes locking with mine. "I been waitin' to be this close." He reached out with one finger, tracing the skin next to my lips, his touch feather-light. "So pretty. I can't wait to feel it wrapped around my cock."

I gasped, jerking away from him. "You're crazy," I breathed out.

"Maybe," he said, "But I know what I want."

Blythe was still behind me, his hands now running up the back of my legs, from my ankles to the back of my knees. His touch was firm, a slow, deliberate caress that made my legs feel weak.

They were everywhere, in front and behind, their hands and eyes covering every part of me. It was a violation, a thorough, humiliating inspection. The tension in the room was so thick I could feel it pressing in on me, a heavy, electric blanket. I was standing there, letting them look, letting them touch, hating every second of it and hating myself even more for the traitorous warmth that was spreading through my body.

Finally, they both stepped back, breaking the spell. I was left standing there, naked and shaking, the air feeling cold on my skin where their hands had just been.

"Well," Maverick said, his voice breaking the silence. "She checks out. Healthy as a horse."

I let out a shaky breath, thinking it was over. I started to reach for my dress, but Blythe's voice stopped me cold.

"Now for the deeper inspection," he rumbled, his large frame still blocking most of the light.

I froze, my hand hovering in the air. I shot a venomous glare between the two of them. "That wasn't it?" I snarled, my voice dripping with disbelief. "What now? You gonna take my blood? Draw my brain fluid?"

Maverick just pointed a finger toward the rusted, duct-taped table. "Climb on up," he said, his tone unnervingly cheerful. "Up, up you go."

Every instinct screamed at me to run. "No," I said, my voice firm. "No fucking way. I'm not getting on that thing."

"Come on now, Rory," Blythe sighed, like he was dealing with a stubborn child. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"It'll be quick," Maverick added, stepping closer, his painted grin seeming to widen. "We just gotta be thorough. You might even enjoy it."

The suggestion in his voice made my skin crawl. "I doubt that," I spat, taking a step back, but the chain stopped me, pulling taut against Blythe's hold.

They were on me in an instant. Not violent, but unmovable. Blythe took my arm, his grip like iron, and Maverick moved to my other side. "Just get on the table, Rory," Blythe said, his voice a low warning. "We ain't askin' again."

Defeated, I let them guide me toward the table. The vinyl was cold and cracked under my hands as I hoisted myself up. I lay back, looking around the room trying to put it all together. Blythe produced a small, worn key and leaned over me. The smell of damp earth and clean linen filled my senses as he worked the key into the lock on my wrist cuff. There was a soft click, and the cuff fell away, followed by the other. My hands were free, but the freedom was short-lived.

Before I could even think to move, they were strapping me down. Maverick grabbed one canvas strap and Blythe the other, their movements practiced and efficient. They buckled them over my newly freed wrists, pulling them tight above my head. Next came my ankles, and then they were spreading my legs apart, securing them to the corners of the table. The final strap went across my thighs. I was completely exposed, completely vulnerable, trussed up like a holiday turkey.

I lay there, staring up at the water-stained ceiling, trying to control my breathing. "Luckily the day has warmed up," I said, my voice tight with sarcasm, "or I'd be freezing."

"See? We thought of that," Maverick said, his voice suddenly close to my ear. I flinched as he draped a clean, surprisingly soft wool blanket over my torso, covering my stomach but leaving everything else visible. "Told you we'd take care of you."

Oddly enough, the table wasn't as uncomfortable as it looked. The blanket under me provided a thin layer of cushioning. It was a small, bizarre comfort in the midst of this complete madness. They had prepared for this. For me. The thought was both terrifying and, in a way I hated to admit, a little reassuring.

Blythe reached into a small, battered plastic bin on the table and pulled out a fresh box of latex gloves. He lifted his mask, tore it open with his teeth and pulled out a pair, his large hands sliding into the black rubber. The snap of the latex was loud in the quiet room.

"What the fuck is going on, guys?" I demanded, my voice trembling slightly. "Are you going to cut me open? Is this some kind of weird surgery?"

Blythe didn't answer immediately. He picked up a small, metal instrument from the tray next to him. It was long, cylindrical, and made of some kind of smooth, polished glass or plastic. He held it up, turning it in the dim light. "We're gonna open you up a little bit, Rory," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Make sure everything back there is healthy and good. You know... your lady parts."