Page 14 of CurVy 13

Through the metallic mask, I see his eyes blaze, but he cools the flames inside them just as quickly.

“Do you want my brother to look after you?” His voice has an edge, moving around a deep resonance I don’t recognise from him. He is usually very impartial, steady, even.

She looks at me, so I nod to encourage the same response. “Go on.”

“Yes. I want him to look after me.” Her voice. Shit. Her voice is better than through the microphone, a sonata of husky arousal and trembling uncertainty; she’s an alto.

Elated, I look at Donnie, who flicks the cigarette to the floor and smashes it hard with his boot. He can’t deny me anything. “Fine.” The word is almost a punch. “Play with the puppy. I’ll go get your meds.”

He turns to leave but stops, saying over his shoulder. “If you fuck with Tyler’s emotions, I’ll make good on that new dark romance scene and shove a screwdriver into your brain, scramble it to doll-like perfection, then I’ll let him keep you like that. You understand, Pup?”

The blood leaves her cheeks.

I wouldn’t let him do that.

CHAPTER 5

VALLIE

Fucking lunatic.

The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen stare straight through me, a hummed lullaby leaves an adoring smile, and the utterly psychotic man who possesses both is sliding long tattooed fingers in and out of me.

I have snapped.

My knees are shaking. I suck sharp slices of air in, ignoring the burn, needing the oxygen for clarity.

You’re going to be okay.

I inhale deeply and force the air out slowly, gathering a sense of calm I do not truly feel.

I look down between my legs. The deep penetration of his fingers is disturbing, nauseating, and yet, gifts a gentleness my body seems desperate to embrace after being taken so roughly only moments ago.

Using this reprieve, one that seems still, I mentally sort through information.

I’ve already lost some detail to the shock of the past two hours: Donnie fucked me. I came, and so did he. Tyler is his fucking unhinged brother, and I have to make sure their other brother, Dexter, gets a not-guilty verdict.

Facts.

Those are the facts.

Details be gone.

“This is so lovely,” Tyler murmurs, dragging his tongue along his lower lip, moistening it.

I watch him touch me.

He’s not unattractive at all, though I wish he fucking was, but a tanned fallen angel sits with me in the shower. He is in his mid-twenties, with cheeks etched to the sheer lines of a diamond and blue eyes haloed by long dark strands of hair that skate the tops of his shoulders.

He’s fucking pretty, and I hate it.

But I know what to do.

I should have Stockholm syndrome—not actually have it, only pretend I do. These guys are clinically psychotic, there is no doubt, but neither seems unintelligent.

So, they’ll think I’m conditioned to them, and that they have won. I should act as if I’m falling in love and gain their trust. Try to get a photo or two—evidence. Be patient. I’ll wait until I know it’s safe, and I’ll be prepared. I’ll put all three brothers behind bars!

My heart beats strongly as I grip Tyler’s tattooed hand. He flinches when my fingers touch his knuckles. For a moment, I feel raised skin, uneven and strange, but I ignore it and focus, guiding his finger into me.

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