Deception, p.23
Deception, page 23
I glower at him over her head, imploring him to move along with his little production. He basks in my annoyance for a beat longer before giving me a one-shouldered shrug.
“Her asshole father is going to be looking for her,” I remind him. “It won’t be long before he turns this entire city upside down.”
“Fuck,” Sparrow spits out. “He can’t get her back.”
“I’m not your problem,” Landry hisses. “Just a job, remember? Let us go. You won’t get into any trouble.”
Sparrow and I both flinch. Scout can’t keep his damn mouth shut.
“But I’ve already promised you a sleepover in my bed,” Scout reminds her.
“No,” Sparrow and I both bark out at once.
“I want to stay with Della,” Landry cries out. “Please.”
“No can do.” Scout shrugs. “And sorry, little bros, but you snooze, you lose. I called dibs first.”
For fuck’s sake. Why does he have to be such a tool?
“Please don’t make me go with him again,” Landry begs in a soft whisper only I can hear, burying her face against my chest. “Please, please, please.”
It makes me want to scoop her into my arms, carry her into my bedroom, and lock my brothers out forever. Which they won’t allow.
“It’ll be so entertaining,” Scout continues. “To see who snaps first. My bet is on Sparrow.”
Sparrow snaps all right. He starts for Scout, a murderous glint in his eyes, but is stopped by Landry’s voice.
“Della!”
The kid runs into the room, looks around confused, and then starts for me. She tugs on my shirt.
“So complicated,” Scout says in a deep voice as though he’s narrating. “The heroine wants to go with the princess, but the little princess wants the lion with the big heart to tuck her into bed.”
I grind my teeth together.
“You’re a dick,” Sparrow spits out.
“Sully,” Landry pleads.
“I’ll take care of Della,” I promise.
I can see it in her teary eyes. She knows being calm for Della is the best thing she can do right now.
“Is he going to hurt me?” Landry asks with a choked sob.
My chest tightens and my heart does a painful squeeze. “Honey—”
“He won’t hurt you,” Sparrow growls. “Will you?”
Scout shakes his head, an innocent smile on his face. “Never. I haven’t hurt her tonight and I had her pretty pussy naked and within reach. Didn’t I?”
“If she doesn’t want to be touched,” Sparrow hisses, “don’t touch her. Are we clear? And keep the door unlocked.”
Scout makes a motion of crossing his heart.
“You’re a psychopath,” she snaps. “I hate you.”
“Doesn’t change anything,” Scout says, rising to his feet. “Time for bed, Goldilocks.”
I run my palm over her back in what I hope is a reassuring manner. Based on her full-bodied shudder, I’d say she’s not at all reassured. It doesn’t matter. She’ll get there eventually.
We’ll make her get there. Because there’s no going back from this.
“I need to get Della to bed,” I murmur to her. “You’ve got this.”
I feel like an absolute dick, but what choice do we have right now? The last thing we need is a kid melting down on top of everything else.
Scout manhandles her until he has her locked in a bridal carry. She squirms and whimpers pitifully.
“If you force yourself on her,” Sparrow reminds him with a snarl. “It’ll be the last thing you do.”
Scout turns to face our brother and smirks. “Don’t worry. Everything I do to her, she’ll beg for.”
Chapter Three
Landry
The fear Scout evokes within me begins to transform. One second, I’m terrified, and the next, I want to kill him. His melted-chocolate eyes pin me, a knowing gleam in them.
He sees the transformation.
It excites him.
This just pisses me off more. I put every ounce of hatred I can into my glare, chasing away the lingering tendrils of fear with fiery anger.
With my father, I had to dance around the monster, playing a delicate game of pretend because I needed to distract him to protect Della.
This monster—all three of them—are different than Dad. Though I’m outnumbered, I don’t feel outmatched. They have weaknesses and I’ll uncover them.
Scout reaches his bed and his expression goes blank. Unease prickles through me pressing deep into my flesh, tearing through muscle, and scraping bone. He places me down on his bed with surprising gentleness that has my blood running cold, apprehension like freezing rain.
He turns and limps over to the door, closes it, and turns the lock. A tremor of fear surfaces and I’m disappointed at how easily my bravado runs off now that I’m alone with him. I attempt to harness the anger, but with him flicking the light off and prowling my way, it’s impossible.
I’m in fight-or-flight mode.
“Sparrow said not to lock it,” I choke out, gesturing for the door. “What if Della needs me?”
He pauses for a moment and then surprisingly turns the lock. I wish it made me breathe easier but it doesn’t.
The light from the bathroom allows me to see his approaching form, but much of his face is shadowed. It’s not until he puts one knee on the edge of his bed and it creaks with his weight that I attempt to flee.
Too late.
His hand snares my ankle, squeezing until I can’t slip away, and he drags me back to the center of the bed. A whimper crawls its way out of my throat as he pins my body with his solid, much stronger one.
“You can’t get away, so stop trying.” His gravelly words are warm as they’re whispered on my face but chill me to the bone. “You’re ours now.”
Flight failed.
Time to fight.
Desperately digging deep inside me, I hunt for my earlier rage and use the burst of fiery heat to lash out at him. My fingernails score his cheek, enough to draw blood, but then his massive hand has my wrist pinned to the bed. And the other one.
Trapped beneath a monster.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
I spit at him, satisfied when he closes his eyes against the sudden assault. Blood dots the scrape marks and saliva splatters his face.
I hope he gets infected and dies.
His eyes reopen and I’m trapped now, beneath the weight of his suffocating stare. Beneath his hard gaze, there’s a darkness I don’t want to get close to, much less explore. And though I want to escape it, I’m being sucked in.
Into the void.
Reeled into a black hole.
I gasp for air, certain I’m going to asphyxiate from the toxicity of his evilness. Closing my eyes, I attempt to retreat. It’s worked before when faced with nightmares come to life.
“What did he do to you?”
His velvety-smooth voice nearly feels like a caress against my face. I’m startled by the question, and even more so by the genuine curiosity pulsating from his words.
“Who?” I croak out.
He rubs his nose along mine. “Your daddy.”
Being trapped in Scout’s unyielding hold, I feel exposed. Cut open and laid bare. The rawness of this moment stinks of rotten despair and memories that infect my entire being. There are things I don’t want to remember, much less share with someone else. Especially not him. My newest monster.
“Fuck off.”
His lips brush over mine, and for a split second, I consider tilting my head to encourage a kiss so he won’t probe around in the depths of my carefully concealed misery.
“This is much more than a pretty pussy for me,” he murmurs, punctuating his words with a sensual grind of his hips that has my body flaring to life. “Much more.”
I attempt to wriggle free of his grasp, but he rocks his hips and shifts until he’s successfully between my thighs. I’m bare beneath this T-shirt, so I can feel every steel inch of his aroused cock.
“Tell me, prickly princess,” he croons, slowly rotating his hips, “what did the bad dad do to make you not only run away, but steal his kid, too. Because he hit you?”
This is too much.
It’s one thing being Scout’s captive, but being forced to tell the horrors of my past feels like the ultimate torture.
“No,” I spit out. “You don’t get to know anything about me.”
“It’s awful, isn’t it? More than just smacking around his little girl.” His eyes narrow. “You’d rather fuck than tell me, hmm?”
Actually, yes.
I attempt to shut him up by lifting my head, seeking out his mouth. Distraction is what I’m good at. Distraction works to my advantage. My lips fuse to his and I kiss him in a violently needy way. Anything to shut him up and his line of thinking.
His teeth nip at my bottom lip and then he sucks on my tongue. All while slowly rocking his hips. If he weren’t a psychopath who tricked me, I’d almost say this was…hot.
But he is and it’s not.
He drags my wrists higher up the bed, above my head, and uses one hand to grasp them both. My chest heaves with nervous pants. Now that he’s freed up a hand, he slides it between us and skims it up beneath my shirt. His warm touch over my ribs shouldn’t feel exhilarating. I hate myself—and him—that it does.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he murmurs, his palm covering my breast. “At least not yet.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip, my heart lodged in my throat. His words aren’t comforting because he’s staring at me in that penetrative way that says he’ll do whatever it takes to pull information out of me.
“Tell me what your daddy did to you and I’ll let you go.”
“You’ll let us leave?”
He chuckles, the vibrations of it quaking through me and shaking the bed. “I meant for the night.”
“No.”
“Ahh, so it’s worth more than temporary freedom.” He quirks a brow, reminding me of Sparrow. “What do you want, then, in exchange?”
He’s really bartering on my traumatic past?
“No one hurts Della. Ever.” Honestly, that’s all I care about at this point. Not me, not these terrible triplets, not my awful father. Just her.
“You’ll let us hurt you instead?” He’s teasing me, almost flirting, and I hate the way my body flushes at his playful words.
“It’s what I do, asshole.” I glower at him. “Always me over her. Always.”
His amusement fades and his brows furl together. He pinches my nipple beneath my shirt. “You have my solemn vow. No one hurts Della. Ever. Now tell me. Why are you running from your daddy?”
I swallow hard, hating that I’m going to have to voice something I really don’t want to talk about. But, if it means getting access to my sister, then it’s necessary.
“He’s abusive,” I murmur, shooting him a hard glare. “He’s cruel to Della. Targets her for being deaf. When at all possible, I try to be the barrier between them.”
His body is tight with tension and his grip on my wrists feels like it’s melting into iron, shackling to me in a way that can’t ever be broken. “So you provoke him to hit you instead?”
“Provoke him?” My words whip him in the face, furious and appalled. “Why would I provoke him?” I shake my head, hating that tears are forming. “It’s called protecting her.”
“So, he hits you instead?”
I try to shift under his weight but his body is too heavy. I’m stuck. Unable to move, unable to run from this prying line of questioning. “Sometimes. Mostly, I try to distract him.”
“How?”
My skin feels itchy and the blood in my veins is oily sludge. The bath from earlier seems eons away. I crave to take a hot shower, scrubbing at my skin until I’m clean again.
“Landry, how?”
The imploring, almost desperate tone of his voice imbeds itself in my bones. He shouldn’t care. Monsters don’t care. Especially not kidnapping monsters who force you to bathe with them and lie half-naked on the bed with them.
“How do you distract him?” His words are more demanding this time, laced with fiery threads of rage. “Tell me.”
I try to kiss him again, but he’s onto my games, pulling back just as our mouths graze. A pleading whimper escapes me.
“I see.” His lips harden to a grim line.
He sees?
He can’t see. No one can see.
“It’s not like that,” I rasp, needing for him to understand it’s not whatever he’s thinking.
What is he thinking?
That I’m sick.
He thinks I’m sick.
“I can see you judging me.” My tone is shrill. “Stop judging what you know nothing about.”
His head cocks to the side, studying me with more intensity than before. “Judging you?”
“It’s written all over your face. Like you have any room to judge me and my life. You’re a kidnapper and a liar.”
I shudder, not even a little repulsed, when his thumb slides over my nipple again. He plays with the hardened nub.
Shockingly, I don’t hate his touch.
“Did he…you know…” He trails off, his expression growing stormy.
“What?” I taunt. “Touch me?”
If only it were that simple.
Touch implies softness, exploration, a need to physically feel.
It was more than touch.
It was an invasion. A complete takeover. An infection I’ll never recover from.
“You’re angry,” he says, surprised. “Interesting.”
“My anger interests you?”
“It’s more appealing to me than your sadness.”
“So happy I can entertain you,” I snap. “Let me go.”
“Why? It won’t get you out of story time.”
“Scout. Let me go.”
“I’ll trade.”
Sickness roils in my gut. “Trade what?”
“Your shirt for your freedom.” He smirks. “Not complete freedom. Just freedom while in my bed.”
So I’ll be completely naked but he won’t hold me down. Not a fair trade, but it’s better than nothing. I’m practically naked anyway. At least now I’ll have my hands free.
“Fine,” I agree. “Now let go.”
He does let go, much to my surprise. And, true to my word, I pull off the shirt, tossing it away. He climbs off the bed and limps into the bathroom. I take the reprieve to burrow under the sheet and blanket to put a barrier between us. The bathroom light flicks off and I’m left in complete darkness.
His telling footsteps approach and then the bed creaks again with his weight. My heart is fluttering wildly in my chest. He slips beneath the covers, much to my annoyance, and then his hard, hot body sidles up next to mine.
Naked.
We’re both naked.
This fucked-up game he’s playing pisses me off. If he wants to have sex with me, I wish he’d do it already. I hate this anticipation of what he might do next. He keeps turning the tables and leaving me disoriented.
“How many times?” he asks, his voice a gravelly whisper as his hand seeks me out, settling on my lower stomach.
I fight not to think about it, but it’s hard when I’m bathed in darkness. My memories and thoughts are flickering in front of me, forcing me to watch it all on replay.
“Enough,” I rasp out.
Silence befalls us and I want to scream, interrupting it. I’m frozen, watching the horror show replaying in my mind over and over and over, a torture worse than anything Scout could ever dream up.
Pain. Horror. Disgust. Betrayal.
I can’t escape the onslaught of emotions battering against me. Cold, bone-deep shivers rack through me. It isn’t until my teeth start to chatter that Scout makes a move. He easily twists my body and pulls me to him.
Everything in me begs to resist, but his warm body and strong arms around me provide a solace from the storm I’m caught in. With tears soaking his chest, I cling to him. My silent sobs can be felt, shaking the bed, but not heard. This naked embrace with my captor is too intimate, but it’s the only thing providing me comfort in this moment.
You’re safe.
You’re not there. Home.
Finally, after several minutes, my tears stop leaking out and the sobs give way to soft hiccups and whimpers. I close my eyes, exhausted more from the past hour than from my trek through the city carrying a child.
“Thank you.” My voice cracks. It sounds stupid. I hate myself for even saying the words. They’re sincere though. He listened without judgment. Took in my pained words, both spoken and unspoken. Somehow, he understood the agony inside me and just held me through it. “Can I sleep now?”
“Yeah, prickly princess, you can sleep.”
Chapter Four
Sparrow
I wake in a panic, my skin clammy and the itchy crawlies all over me from being watched. I’m not sure what I expected—Heathen or Scout, maybe—but it’s not at all what I find staring at me curiously.
It’s the child.
Della.
She clutches a stuffed cat, hugging it to her chest while she peers down at me. It takes me a second to realize she’s sitting on the pillow next to my head and studying me intently.
Fuck.
Scout really got us into a mess. Not only are we having to deal with Landry being pissed and scared and betrayed, but now we have a confused kid who’s probably wondering how her teacher, Ford, is more than one person.
Her hand moves and I recognize it as sign language, though I have no idea what it means. I’m starting to feel like a dick for giving Sully so much shit for learning it. This kid is clearly wanting some answers, but I don’t know the question she’s asking.
Luckily, she doesn’t seem afraid which is good. The last thing we need is a crying, terrified kid in our apartment.
Since I can’t communicate with her, I shrug. I don’t know the answer and a shrug is interpreted the same way I’m sure. Her brows furl and she leans in closer. Where Landry’s eyes are blue—expressive and beautiful—Della’s are green. They glimmer with mischief which feels out of place considering her predicament. Slowly, she signs something even though I still don’t know what it means. I have the sinking suspicion she’s making fun of me.
