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They would offer themselves in my place.
How many times have they been forced into this bargain? With how many women? How young were they when it began?
Denver strips his clothes. Then he bends Wolf over the side of the bed, presses him across my spread legs, and holds his face inches from my center.
“Breathe her in, my beautiful boy.” Denver folds himself over Wolf’s back and puts his mouth against Wolf’s ear. “Do you smell her?”
Trembling, Wolf closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Yes.”
“Good boy.” With those two depraved words, Denver thrusts.
There are different kinds of evil.
Organized evil, found in gangs and criminal syndicates.
Foolish evil, because humans are idiots.
Justified evil, where morals are abandoned under the guise of righteousness. Case in point, Hitler. And coming soon…Me.
And the purest form of all, demonic evil. Calculating. Emotionless. Immoral for his own sake. Denver.
He resides in a group reserved for serial killers, psychopaths, and fathers who rape their children.
I don’t know if he and Wolf are blood-related, but I don’t give a fuck. Denver raised him as his own. He has a responsibility to love and protect Wolf, not…this.
Anything but this.
The sounds of Denver’s assault—the grunting, bed creaking, bodies slapping—stuff the room with shivers and shadows.
In all my vile imaginings, I didn’t see this coming. It never even occurred to me. Denver has made no secret about his love and devotion for his boys, but he’s never looked at them in an unfatherly, sexual way. No lingering glances. No inappropriate touches. Not in front of me.
What about Leo and Kody? Does Denver abuse them, too?
As he drives his hips against Wolf’s backside, my brain rejects the image of Leo or Kody in this position. They’re too strong, too virile, too dominant.
They would never surrender.
Then again, I would’ve thought the same thing about Wolf.
His eyes remain closed as his hand creeps forward and finds my thigh. Fingernails dig in, drawing blood, and I welcome the pain. I would take all the hurt from him if I could.
It goes on too long, and Denver shows no sign of slowing.
I refuse to look at his face, at the pleasure writhing there. So I focus on the gunshot wound on his leg, the damage from the bear on his arm, and the myriad of other pocks, gnarly scars, and blemishes left by toil and strife. Seeing the evidence of a hard life on his body gives me sick satisfaction. His pain fuels my rancor. I cling to it.
Until my gaze lowers to his feet.
He’s wearing Monty’s slippers.
Of all the things to break me, that’s what does it.
The sight of something so familiar, something stolen from my life, something that doesn’t belong here, doesn’t belong to him, it splits the walls of my chest and cleaves me open.
My pulse detonates, and pressure builds behind my eyes. I shut them, trying to rein in my breakdown.
Don’t cry. Please, make it stop. Make it stop.
The hand on my thigh clenches, demanding my attention.
I open my eyes and find Wolf staring back, his eyelashes thick and black and wet with tears. In that moment, there is only this. Only a girl and her wolf, restrained together, howling without sound, and breaking as one.
This moment, between him and me, it goes beyond present and future. It buries itself deep and seals an indestructible connection that will live forever.
The shattered look in his eyes takes me under, robs my air, holds me down, and unleashes my agony.
The tears come, a torrent of them, rupturing from me. They run hot and fast down my cheeks and catch at the edges of the gag. Sobs follow, terrible, aching, muffled sounds that pummel me from every direction.
“Frankie.” Wolf’s strained whisper cracks my soul.
I can’t see him through the tears, but I feel him, his hand gripping my leg, his thumb gliding, comforting me the only way he can.
If only I could reciprocate. I can’t give him words or protection or relief. All I have is tears.
Maybe that’s enough.
Restrained to the bed, with my legs pinned beneath his chest, I cry until Denver’s groans of pleasure fall silent. I cry until he finishes his assault and pulls on his clothes. I cry until there’s nothing left but rage.
Wolf doesn’t move, his weight heavy on my legs and eyes unblinking, staring at nothing.
“Enjoy her.” Dressed, Denver leans over him and drops a kiss on his nape. “You earned it.” Then his demon eyes lift, imprisoning mine. “This will be his first time with a woman. Make it memorable.”
Only slivers of a heart remain in my chest, and holy fuck, they’re stabby.
This disgusting bargain isn’t finished. Apparently, it ends with a reward. And that reward is me.
Denver leaves the room, but the nightmare remains. I’m still tied to the bed, lying beneath a damaged man, with my body spread like an offering.
