Page 3 of Mischief Mayhem

“I’m still the handsome twin, and that’s all that matters.” Pollux grinned as Castor scoffed and took up the spot behind the wheelchair, playfully pulling our brother back to tip him over.

“How are you feeling?” I walked closer, examining the circles under his eyes and the sunken cheekbones. He’d lost at least thirty pounds since being stuck here, and the sooner I could get him home to stuff him full of cheap beer and pizza, the better.

“Same ole, same old.” Pollux flashed a grin as Castor pushed him into the hall. “Did I tell you the nurse gave me her number?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I bet.”

“I’m serious.” He laughed and held up his phone to prove it.

“Did you tell her you’re a virgin?” Castor teased.

“No, but I told her you’re into cake-sitting,” Pollux joked. “Too bad for you, that’s not her thing.”

Castor threw his head back and guffawed. “Don’t yuck my yum, brother.”

“You’re both disgusting,” I cut in, knowing none of their insults were true, that they just liked to razz each other with the most degrading shit they could think of. I’d never disparage a person for their kink, even if they got off on the thought of watching people sit on cakes.

“Yeah, you’re the one to talk,” Pollux said, “Mistress Mayhem.”

Despite crossing a few boundaries, both Castor and Pollux had been there that night at the Beacon. Most of the club had. They’d heard about my domme impact play performance, and they knew what I did for my side hustle. It wasn’t like I kept it a secret, but it did make me pause when my family brought it up.

“You sound jealous,” I said. “Do you want me to tell you how I get men to give me money to treat them like I treat you two idiots?”

“No thanks,” Castor started.

“I’m good,” Pollux finished.

Twins ran in our family. Castor and Pollux were identical, whereas our cousins, KC and Selene, were fraternal, born a few years before them. My brothers had the same dark curly hair and brown eyes as Bear. Their facial features were more like mine and our father’s, and Bear looked so much like my mom, it hurt sometimes to see the similarity.

We walked for another half an hour, gossiping about our family and what Pollux wanted to do when he finally got the go-ahead to leave.

“Throw a big fucking party,” he said, wheeling his chair back into his room. “This summer, I want to ride to California and back.”

“Fuck yeah,” Castor said, giving the injured brother a high five. “You and me and the wide open road.”

I watched the two of them daydream about the future with whimsy in my gut, hoping they’d get to see it. Promising to stop by the next day, I said my goodbyes, met up with Wheels, and headed to Crimson headquarters to start my shoot for the day.

I’d never set out to be a professional domme, nor had I ever thought I’d make it this far in life. Losing my mother so young had instilled within me deep-seated anger issues I’d never fully work out. I used to take that fury out on myself and everyone around me, the scars on my wrists and inner thighs only hinting at the extent of it. It was the worst kind of sadness, the kind that ran bone deep and threatened to boil over every second of every day. During my darkest moments, I struggled to get out of bed, much less get dressed and go to school.

Dad had taken me to a number of therapists, but it wasn’t like I could tell them my father’s enemies had blown up my mother and they might do it to me so what was the fucking point in living? Everything seemed so meaningless, so mundane. Why even bother? Meds and yoga saved me. I learned how to redirect my thoughts, how to find an inner peace, an inner safe place where my demons couldn’t find me. It was only a bandage, of course. Depression was a disease that never went away, not really.

After high school, I’d wanted go to New York City, study art, and become the next Frida Kahlo. I’d gotten accepted to the prestigious program at New York College in Manhattan, but my father, king of the alpha assholes, refused to let me live so far away from home.

“We have enemies everywhere,” he’d said. “You won’t be safe.”

I, being a pigheaded stubborn shit, hadn’t listened to him. Against every argument he’d thrown my way, I’d gone to the big city on my own, and after a few months away from home, I quickly realized I had champagne tastes on a beer budget. I was trapped in an overpopulated city with no real career prospects, an expensive nicotine addiction, and a dream every other eighteen-year-old art major shared.

I’d been desperate for a long time . . . so desperate, in fact, that when one of my roommates told me she dominated men at a local dungeon for money and asked if I’d be interested, I couldn’t find any good reason to say no. I grew up around three brothers and a gang of bikers—I’d seen my fair share of dicks and men pulling on them.

One of my first clients had been a man named Curtis, some down-on-his-luck investment banker that loved for me to humiliate him. Admittedly, the work made me feel alive again. It made me want to see tomorrow in a way that meds and yoga never had, never could. In a world where nothing felt like it was in my control, this one thing was, and I lived for that high.

I found out everything I could about the kink lifestyle, particularly about sex work within the community. After a few months, I went full time at the dungeon. When I wasn’t in school, I moonlighted as a professional domme and a bartender, and between those two things, I worked my way up. By the time I graduated, I’d been offered the general manager spot by the owners, but things with Curtis turned ugly.

He’d gotten possessive and jealous, and he wanted me to stop seeing all my other clients, to come live with him and be his full-time dominant. I didn’t love him, and aside from our kink relationship, I didn’t want any other kind with him. He’d started to stalk me, showing up at the dungeon during my shifts, only to hang out until I left so he could follow me home.

One night, he lost control and broke into my apartment. He beat me and nearly abducted me, and if I hadn’t stabbed him in the leg and ran, I could only imagine what would have happened. I couldn’t go back to that life afterward because he’d never leave me alone. Just because I was more dominant sexually didn’t mean he operated that way outside of kink. He was bigger and stronger in every sense, and I’d gotten away with my life by the skin of my teeth.

Wheels pulled up outside Crimson headquarters and parked next to Saint’s pickup. I spotted KC’s truck on the other side.

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