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I’m so fucked. So truly fucked, I have a feeling I’m going to pass on to the other side with cum leaking out of me.
* * *
I step into the kitchen with my hair twisted up into a damp bun, black yoga pants, a worn Marvel t-shirt. It’s the little comforts I benefit from, and this is one of them. A minute without having to worry about what I’m wearing or attempting to impress someone, whether I actually want to or not.
Maggie and Emily are dicing vegetables and salad ingredients on the table top, while a guy sits with his feet propped up on the table. I step closer, eyeing his cut, and hating once again that the Ruthless Brothers choose to not have their names on their leather. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier if they did.
Prospect is stitched in white thread, and I assume it’s the guy Emily mentioned earlier, which makes me assess him deeper. His blond hair almost grazes over his collarbone, tucked behind his ear to reveal his sharp jawline. He’s not as bulky as some of the other guys here, but the way he holds himself, even in this relaxed position, tells me there’s more than meets the eye with him.
“You must be Scarlett,” he states, announcing my arrival as he drops his boots to the floor but keeps his eyes fixed on me.
“And you are…”
“Duffer.” A knowing grin spreads across his face, and before I can stop myself, I repeat it back to him.
“Duffer?”
“Yeah.”
“Do I want to know?”
“You really don’t,” Emily mutters as Maggie smirks and the prospect's grin grows wider.
“It’s because I have two boys under the age of two, and two women carrying two girls in their last trimester.” And just in case he thinks I’m not catching on, he adds, "I spend far too much time getting everyone pregnant.”
I step back on instinct, like him merely saying it could be contagious. “On purpose?”
Maggie and Emily laugh louder from their spot as I take in the enigma before me. “Nope. I just have that strong jizz going on, I guess. I even wore a condom with one of them,” he says with a shrug.
“I mean at least the thought was there, I guess,” I mumble, at a complete loss for other words as the women cackle in the corner.
“You’re too much, Duffer.” Maggie wipes the tears from her eyes as she fights back her laughter. “But that’s enough of your awful storytelling for now. Go and give us women some peace and quiet for a bit,” she adds, waving her hand at him dismissively.
He glances around at the three of us for a second, before his eyes settle back on me. “Okay, but only because Scarlett’s here.” He rises to his feet without another word, but I point my finger at him before he can get past me.
“Because I’m here?”What the fuck does that mean?
“Yup.” Duffer nods like it all simply makes sense. “Emmett’s orders. Emily is safe with you.” He shrugs for good measure, before slipping past me and leaving the conversation at that.
Safe with me? How can he be sure she’s safe with me?
But more importantly, why the fuck does that make my heart race with a feeling I can’t quite decipher? Hope, appreciation, respect? Shit, I think I might be better off going back to my room and getting lost in another crime podcast so I don’t have to deal with my own thoughts, but it’s as if Maggie senses my uncertainty.
“Scarlett, be a doll and help marinate that meat, would you? It’s warm outside and I love any excuse to get the barbecue going. Especially after those assholes spoiled our fun last night.”
How was it only last night that the Devil’s Brutes showed up and caused havoc? If Emmett killed the guy firing the gun, then that means their sergeant at arms is dead. Good riddance. I fucking hated that guy, but it means they’re not done with us yet. Or the Ruthless Brothers more specifically. Maybe I need to figure out a way to not be here when they return.
My throat thickens, my ability to speak narrowing at the memory of the Brutes, of Kincaid, so I quickly nod and fall into step at the worktop to keep my mind distracted. I’m not going to be making some kind of grand escape today, not that I’m even sure I’m trapped here.
There are three bowls with marinades already prepared, so I go about adding the meats and covering them before reaching for another bowl and putting together my favorite seasoning. A good helping of cajun seasoning, garlic powder, paprika, a pinch of cinnamon and sugar, before finishing it off with salt, pepper, and olive oil. Neither Maggie or Emily seems to mind as I layer the bowl with chicken thighs and coat the meat all over. After covering it up like the rest, I rinse my hands at the sink.
It’s only when I’m done that I realize we’ve been working in complete silence. Maggie wasn’t kicking him out of the room for a gossip, it was for exactly what she said, and it makes me like her even more.
“Is there anything else you want me to do, or do you want me to carry the meat out to the grill?” I ask, and Maggie smiles as she finishes mixing together a chargrilled corn and tomato salad.
“We’ll all help, then we can come back for these bits too. I told Hope, Euro’s old lady, to bring the kids by later. She’ll tell a few of the other moms too, so no food will go to waste.”
“Like the brothers themselves couldn’t inhale it all anyway,” Emily says with an eye roll.
