Page 77 of The Knucklebone Brothers

I stared at the record player, the music a strange, jarring sound. It was a song that said I was dangerous, that I was powerful, that I was theirs. And it was all creepy as fuck.

"Dance, pretty thing," Maverick said, his voice a low, drawlin' purr that seemed to cut right through the music.

I didn't want to. I wanted to say no, to scream, to run. But I couldn't. I was a Knucklebone now. So I started to move.

At first, it was just a sway, a slow, hesitant movement of my hips. But then the music took over, and I was lost in it. I closed my eyes, and I was just a girl again, dancin' in her room, the music a sweet song in her ears. I danced for the boys, for the family, for the dead, but mostly, I danced for myself. I danced for the girl I used to be, the girl who loved to dance, the girl who was free.

Maverick leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes takin' in every dip, every sway, every turn. He wasn't just watchin'; he was consumin' me, his gaze a physical thing, a touch that made my skin tingle and my blood run hot. Blythe was still, a statue carved from shadow and muscle, but his eyes were just as intense, just as hungry. He watched me like I was a creature of beauty and danger that he was determined to understand, to possess. They were both watchin' me, their eyes takin' me in, their bodies a silent, unspoken promise of the life we would have together, a life of blood and passion, of pain, of a darkness so deep it was almost a comfort.

The music swelled, and I twirled. I was breathing heavily, my heart poundin' in my chest. I opened my eyes, and they were all watchin' me, their faces a mixture of awe and desire. I had performed for them, and they had liked it. And in that moment, I felt a strange, twisted sense of pride. I was a Knucklebone now. And I was a performer.

The fog was a white, ghostly curtain that swallowed the audience whole. It swirled around the stage, mixin' with the dim red light, and for a moment, it was like the world had narrowed down to just me, the music, and the two men. I couldn't see the faces of the dead or the livin' out there in the dark. It was just me and them, and the air was electric, heavy with the scent of pine and fear.

The music played on, the beat drivin' a rhythm in my blood. I started to move between them, my body a fluid, graceful thing, a dark jewel in the gloom. I danced in front of Maverick, then spun and dipped low, dodgin' a hand reachin' out to grab me, only to find myself face-to-face with Blythe on the other side. He watchin' every move I made.

I danced between them, my hips swayin'. I moved with a slow, sensual grace, my arms up, my head back, my body a dark, mysterious thing in the dim light. I felt free, liberated, a wild, untamed creature that had finally found its home.

Then, Blythe reached down and grabbed each foot, one by one, and pulled my boots off. My feet were bare, the cool wood a shock against my skin, and I had to lean over him to keep my balance. My chest pressed against his face, my breasts in his face, and he inhaled deeply, a ragged, loud breath that seemed to shake the very air around us.

I was on my tip toes now, dancing barefoot. I could still feel the heat of his hands on my ankles. The music was faster, more frantic, and I moved more sexually, my body aching with a need to be touched, to be possessed. I could feel their eyes on me, burning through my skin, and I felt like a woman, a beautiful creature of the dark.

The fog swirled around us, and for a second, it felt like we were the only ones in the world. Then Maverick pulled out a knife. He held it out, a glint of cold, sharp steel in the dim, red light, and then he crooked his finger, a silent, commandin' gesture for me to come to him.

I did. I walked over to him, my body still hummin' with the music.

"On your knees," he said, his voice a low purr that seemed to vibrate right through me.

I got on my knees in front of him, the wood hard and unforgivin' against my skin. He leaned forward, his body a solid, warm presence, and reached behind me, his fingers fumbling with the laces of my corset. Then, with a sharp, sudden motion, he cut a few of the strong, thick laces, the blade slicin' through them like they were nothing. The corset went loose, a sudden, shockin' release of pressure that made me gasp.

"Continue dancin'," he said, his voice a low, possessive command.

I stood up, my body a little unsteady, the corset now loose and floppy against my skin. I started to dance, my movements a little slower, a little more hesitant. I moved with a grace I didn't know I still had, my body a fluid, expressive thing, a story in motion.

Then the boys stood up, their movements a silent, unspoken signal. Blythe pointed out to the crowd, his hand a deliberate gesture. And then, one by one, the livin' members of the family started to leave. They stood up, their bodies a slow, silent procession, and walked out of the tent. It was just me, the boys, and the dead.

The fog swirled around us, a ghostly, white curtain that seemed to swallow the edges of the stage, isolating us in a tight, charged circle. I was dancing, my body a vessel for the rhythm, but I wasn't just movin' to the beat. I was movin' against them. I'd press my back against Maverick's chest, feelin' the hard ridges of him and the heat radiatin' off him, then spin into Blythe, rubbin' my hips against the hard muscle of his thighs.

Their hands were always near, their fingers grazin' my skin, their touch electric. Maverick's hand would tilt my chin up, his knuckles brushin' against my lips, his eyes dark and hungry. Blythe's hand would rest on my waist, his thumb diggin' into the soft flesh just above my hip bone, his breath hot on my neck. They were inches from my face, their eyes locked on mine, takin' in every curve, every gasp, every shiver I gave. The air was thick, electric, charged with somethin' wild and untamed, somethin' that felt like it was about to snap.

Then Blythe pulled a knife. He didn't say a word. He just reached out, his hand steady, and began to slice through the remaining laces of my corset. The fabric gave way with a soft tear, fallin' away to reveal my breasts, bare and pale. My nipples instantly hardened, tight little pebbles.

Maverick didn't wait. He grabbed one, his mouth closing over it, his tongue swirling around the metal, a sharp, electric shock that felt so good. Then Blythe took the other, his lips warm and wet, his tongue tracing the same pattern, sending jolts of pure pleasure straight to my core. They took turns, tag-teamin' me, their hands and mouths working in perfect rhythm, a dark, twisted symphony that had me moanin', lost in the haze of the fog and the music.

I was lost in them, in the feel of their mouths, their hands, their bodies. Then, as if on a silent, unspoken cue, they both pulled back. They still each had a knife in their hand.

They didn't say a word. They just moved, their bodies a silent, predatory grace. They each took a side of my shorts, their fingers hookin' into the worn lace, their knuckles brushin' against my hips. Then, with a sharp, sudden motion, they sliced up the fabric, the blades tearin' through the material like it was nothin'. The sound was a sharp, ragged tear.

They tossed the ruined shorts off the stage, a scrap of lace lost in the fog. I stood there, bare and exposed, my body a canvas for their desire. They looked at me, their eyes dark and hungry, their bodies a silent, unspoken promise of the pleasure, and the pain, that was yet to come.

They moved in, their mouths claimin' mine, Maverick's rough, demanding lips plunderin' my mouth while Blythe's hands moved with a desperate, aggressive need. His large palms flattened against my stomach, his fingers digging in, his grip tight, pullin' me flush against his hard body. He grabbed my hips, his thumbs pressin' into my skin, his grip so strong I knew it would leave marks. From behind, I could feel the heat of his skin, the rock hard ridge of his erection pressin' against my ass. He was holdin' me against him, his hands wanderin' to cup my breasts, his fingers pinchin' and twistin' my nipples.

Maverick, standin' in front of me, had his hands on my waist, yankin' me forward. He pressed his body against mine, his hard cock grindin' into my stomach, his hands movin' up to my back, his fingers tangled in my hair, pullin' my head back to expose my neck. He bit down on the skin of my throat, his teeth grazin' the vein, his tongue lickin' the sting. His hands roamed over my body, his fingers diggin' into my thighs, his grip so hard I could feel the bone beneath the skin.

Maverick grabbed me, his arms a steel cage around my waist, liftin' me off the ground with a sudden, violent strength that made my breath hitch. He carried me to a heavy wooden table nearby, settin' me down on the rough surface with a possessive shove. He leaned over me, his body a heavy weight pressin' me into the wood, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. He kissed, his lips warm and wet, and then he bit down, sharp and sudden, a little nip that made me gasp.

He didn't stop there. He moved lower, his mouth seekin' out the sensitive skin of my breast, his tongue swirling around the metal. He bit down on the nipple, a sharp, electric shock that made my back arch off the table. Then he moved lower still, his mouth on my stomach, his tongue tracing the line of my hip bone, his teeth graze the skin there. My thighs were next, deep and erotic bites.

He was marking me, claimin' me, takin' a piece of me for himself. He looked up at me, his eyes dark and hungry, and said, "I want to consume you. Of all the human flesh in this world, yours is the sweetest."