Page 54 of Wallflower

Quick as a pit viper, Brad flicks open a knife, holding the blade precariously close to my eye. One fucking slip and he could enucleate me.

I hope he doesn’t spasm like he’s being electrocuted when he cums.

Sam freezes mid-step, watching the scene unfold before him. “What the fuck?” he snarls.

Brad’s head falls back in pleasure, other fist entangled in my hair.

“Rosie?” Sam croaks a pathetic sound. Does he think I want this? That I willingly dropped to my knees for my sister’s attacker?

Not a fucking chance.

While still half-sedated, he pulled me from the warm blankets and bound my hands behind my back, injured wrist throbbing in protest as he ripped off the supportive brace I’ve been wearing.

Brad gave one slap to wake me up, and one for every time I didn’t confess to saving him only to hold it over his head. The delusional fuck thinks I jumped into shark infested waters, while profusely bleeding, in order to extort something from him later. Like a fucked up reverse ‘I owe you’.

He’s threatening to come back daily until I tell the truth.

I have.

By the fifth slap I was screaming it.

That I dove in without thinking.

That it was the right thing to do.

I even yelled his words back at him. Wailing until I was hoarse that we had to show up together or risk a torturous existence.

He doesn’t believe me.

I’d give him what he wants, say the words he’s convinced are true, if I thought he wouldn’t kill me once I uttered them.

“Heard some crazed yelling coming from the blue wing the other day,” Brad says through a groan. “Know anything about that?”

Sam’s lip curls. “No.”

“Aww, come on now, don’t lie to us. What was her name?” His hand leaves my face, fingers tapping against his chin in a mock ponder. Soft rose light glints off the sharp steel blade, and I hope he pokes his own eye out. “Cindy…Cynthia?” Brad’s thrusts are slow, dragging out every second Sam has to witness this. “Rachel? No…that was the last one. God, you’ve had so many, buddy. I can’t keep them straight, sorry.”

Looking to me, Sam’s depthless blue eyes are pleading. I know he thinks I care, and maybe I did a week ago when the spark was fresh, exciting, and new. Now, I couldn’t care less. But I’ll play it up if it gets Chels and I the hell out of here.

A mirthless smile pulls across Brad’s lips as he gazes down upon me. Rocking his hips, he whispers, “This is what he does, red. He gets hooked on a girl, vows to get her out, but only until the next gorgeous one comes along. Isn’t that right, Sammy boy?” Looking to Sam, halfway between us and the door, Brad winks. Sam doesn’t respond, proving my assaulter’s words honest.

He punches his hips forward, making me gag. “Does whatever Maximus demands, just as long as he keeps Sam’s current infatuation at Bleakcrest.” Brad directs back to me.

Sam might be more twisted than Brad. He’s definitely more manipulative. At least with Brad you get the trauma up front, once he drops the flirty bartender act. With Sam, his lingers in the darkness, the truth masked by pretty words and meaningless promises.

Brad slips his cock from between my lips, saliva stringing us together.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sam growls, finally speaking up.

Brad strokes himself languidly. “Keep your mouth open, red. Tongue out.”

I comply. Partially because I don’t want to know what Brad will do if I don’t, but also as a ‘fuck you’ to Sam.

“Get the fuck out of this room. Now!” Maximus’s irate voice booms through the speaker, echoing around the small space.

Both men jump from being caught off-guard, then snap to attention immediately.

“Don’t you even think about finishing, Bradley.”