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“If you ask questions, you’ll not make it through the night,” he warns, his gaze piercing me. It’s so harsh I’m bruised by the mere look he offers.
His words are a cold reminder he’s not my friend and I shouldn’t think he’s here to save me. He isn’t. He’s as much of a monster as the man who wants to hurt me.
He leaves the bucket on the floor of my room and pulls me up by my arm. Then, he shoves me in front of him and warns, “Behave, and you’ll get out alive.”
I don’t ask what he means. I don’t even look away from the path in front of me. Instead, I focus on each step I take. We silently make our way down a long, dark hallway.
At one point, he maneuvers his way in front of me to open a door. My eyes adjust to the darkness, but my tormentor is hidden in the shadows. His dark suit makes it difficult for me to see him, and when he comes to a stop, I slam into his solid back.
Muscles tighten and tense when I place my hands on his shoulders. Every inch of him taut with . . . Frustration? Anger?
“Get your hands off me,” he barks angrily, causing me to stumble backward.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” I mumble, dropping my gaze to the floor, but he can’t see me because the space we’re standing in is pitch black. It’s then a beep echoes around us, dinging loudly as a hiss of a door that’s been locked for some reason slides open.
Light streams from the entry, and music comes from the other side. There’s laughter traveling from where the muted yellow light is beckoning — men’s chuckling, which sets me on edge.
My tormentor hands me an object in the darkness, then leans in closer. “This is the only option you have. Use it, don’t use it. That’s all up to you,” he informs me.
When I turn to look at him, he’s gone.
Straightening my shoulders, I step through the doorway and gasp.
CHAPTER THREE
DRAKE
Shoving my bedroom door open, I enter, sighing when I see River on my bed. He’s lounging against the headboard, his body naked except for the small pair of blue boxer-briefs hugging his hips and thighs. My bedroom is stark, just like me. The dark space, with the white and silver paintings along the walls are almost clinical. I don’t like color. I don’t enjoy being outside. The sun is far too cheerful for me to endure. Thankfully with my natural tanned skin I don’t look like the walking dead.
His green gaze lifts to my blue one. Silence is heavy in the air as I shrug off my jacket. The clink of my gold, engraved cufflinks are the only sound when I drop them on my chest of drawers. Next are my slacks, then my shirt. When I’m in much the same attire as he is, I join him on the mattress.
“How is she?” he asks, knowing I’ve been in that hell all day. I want to tell him about her, about the feisty little girl.
“Malcolm isn’t going to be happy about her,” I inform him. “She’s far too fiery, and she’s not going to break easily.” My assumptions on Caia are strong. I’ve never seen such fight in a girl before.
“Perhaps she’ll be easier to break,” he suggests, pulling me closer, and I place my head on his chest. His heartbeat slowly thrums in my ear. It’s the only time I allow myself to not think about the dark. River is as broken as I am, and he understands there are times I just want silence.
“Dante is out with a girl,” he informs me, and I hear the agony in his tone. River and my brother have history. I have a feeling my best friend is in love with my brother, but he’s never said anything to me. Perhaps it’s because I fuck River as well.
“Good for him,” I respond, placing my hand on his soft cock, hoping to wake it up and have him forget Dante for a moment.
“You can’t do that, you know,” River smirks. I hear it in his words.
I don’t look up at him, but question, “What?”
“Fuck me to make me think about you instead.” Pulling my hand from his bulge, I sigh and push off the bed. Padding barefoot into the adjoining bathroom, I turn the shower on and shove my boxers down.
Under the spray, I close my eyes and imagine Caia. Her slim body, those big eyes filled with fight and innocence. I want to steal it. To fucking take everything from her so my father can’t.
My cock jolts when I remind myself of her slight frame in my arms. She was so delicate, so fucking soft. Fisting my dick, I stroke it slowly, taunting myself with images of her, of what I could do to her.
