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“For what?” I ask as he palms my ass, running his fingers down the crevice. “You really think I have McKenna tucked up there?”
“A wire, a weapon,” Maddoc answers, his callused fingers moving over my body with a clinical thoroughness that makes me want to knee him in the balls the way I took care of that musclehead at the club the first time he cornered me.
“Do you see a fucking wire anywhere?” I grit out instead. “Jesus, this isn’tRed Sparrow.”
“No, I don’t see one,” he replies without any inflection, sliding his hands around my hips and cupping my pussy. He pushes two fingers into me. “That’s why I’ve got to check.”
No warning. No request. Just his thick fingers in my most intimate place.
My breath hitches, adrenaline bursting through my veins. I try not to move, but maybe Maddoc can see the way my legs are shaking, because he loops his free arm around my back, holding me against him as he presses his fingers deeper.
My arms are stiff at my sides, but my fingers curl and straighten as all the air in my lungs seems to get trapped there. I’m still a little sore from fucking Dante last night—he’s big, and it had been a while—so maybe that’s what makes my body respond the way it does.
Heat floods my lower half, my inner muscles clenching around Maddoc’s fingers before I can stop them. His head is tilted down, allowing him to watch my expression as he searches me, and I can’t help but notice the way his pupils widen and expand, turning his gray eyes even darker.
Can he tell I’m getting wet? Can he feel that?
His fingers press deeper, and maybe it’s an accident or maybe it’s not, but the heel of his hand grinds against my clit.
Fuck.
My fingers curl all the way into fists this time as I fight to suppress the shiver that tries to run through my body. Maddoc’s nostrils flare slightly, just the tiniest flicker.
Then, finally, he pulls his fingers out. “Turn around.”
“What?” I blink, the relief I was about to feel evaporating in an instant.
He doesn’t ask me again, just does it for me. He spins me in place where I stand, and suddenly his hard body is pressed against my back as I stare at Dante and Logan. The two of them watch as Maddoc cavity checks my ass, his fingers already slick and wet from being inside my pussy.
“Spread your legs,” Maddoc commands, his arm tightening around my waist to keep me in place. “Wider.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss, but I do it.
I wish I could close my eyes, but I can’t. It would be too much of a show of weakness, and besides, I’m afraid that if I cut off that sense, it would only heighten my other ones. So I stare defiantly back at Logan and Dante, doing my best not to think about what this must look like to them.
Logan’s face is impassive, his gaze cold as it burns into me, but there’s a slight flush high in his cheeks that matches the one I feel in my own. Dante, on the other hand, isn’t even trying to hide his reaction. His eyes are hooded and dark, roving over me with a possessive familiarity that makes my pulse race.
Maddoc only uses one finger instead of two, thank god, thrusting slowly in and out of a hole I’ve never let any man enter before. Twisting inside me to make sure I haven’t smuggled in some fucking C4 at West Point’s bidding or something. His arm is still around me, his fingers splayed over my ribs, and I can feel the roughness of his callouses as he adjusts his grip, holding me tighter as he presses his finger a little deeper.
“She’s clean,” he says after another moment, pulling his finger free and taking an abrupt step back.
I wobble, then lock my knees so I won’t collapse into a heap.
Maddoc walks around me and gathers up my clothes, then tugs my phone out of my jacket pocket.
“You’re dismissed,” he says, speaking to me without looking at me. “Logan, take her to her room.”
I’m still naked, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of fighting him about that when he’s already thoroughly humiliated me. But my phone? I need it, and not just because it’s my only link to a world where I’m not controlled by the whims of the Reapers. What if Chloe manages to reach out to me somehow?
“Wait. I need—”
My voice breaks off as Maddoc’s head jerks up and he finally meets my eyes. His expression tells me everything I need to know, and since I don’t actually have a death wish, I snap my mouth shut and follow Logan when he heads up the stairs.
The tall blond man doesn’t say a word, just leads me to a room on the second floor and gestures me inside, then closes it behind me with a soft finality that feels infinitely more frightening than if he’d thrown ten deadbolts.
There aren’t any, not on the door, but that doesn’t change anything. I press my naked back against it and wrap my arms around myself, thankful for the small mercy of being alone as the shakes set in.
I came to the Reapers for help for my sister, because she’s not in a position to help herself. Not as a prisoner of the sadistic head of the West Point Gang. But even without any locks on my door, I can’t escape the sickening dread that fills me at the thought that I might not be able to help her at all.
