Page 102 of Their Dark Rose

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“For Christ’s sake, just do it already!” Mallie’s croaky scream infiltrates the deep, heavy sleep I’ve been forced into.

“Sorry for not being able to get it up with you over there,” Thorn grits out in his weird-ass voice from somewhere on top of me.

He almost sounds like he laments she’s far. No, that’s not it. It can’t be. The drug he sedated me with earlier must still have some sort of effect on me that I’m reading him wrong.

In fact, I’m positive I’m partially under because of the waves of nausea assaulting me.

“Mother,” Thorn adds.

No, this is more than the drug. My step-cousin’s nasty breath on my nose makes me want to fucking puke. I swallow the bile down.

It wouldn’t do me any good to vomit into the cloth they use for gagging me now. To choke on my own breakfast while this pathetic excuse for a man is all over me.

“Surely you don’t expect me to wait outside in the snow,” Mallie counters, her voice distant. She’s not looking at us, I bet. Is she ashamed of how her stepson touches me? “I’d have gone to our connecting room. If you’d have booked us one.”

I keep pretending I’m out, refusing to look this monster in the eye before I have a plan set in place. Rummaging through my head, I try to conjure my own rescue plan.

A way out of the fucked-up mess I put myself in.

Because I’m to blame for this. Only me.

Jesus, Thorn was right. I’m stupid. So stupid.

Don’t you ever let me hear you say those words, flower. Mason’s voice echoes in my head.

These motherfuckers are the only ones to blame. Falk’s vehement growl comes next. And they’ll die for it.

Fuck them up, little rose. Fuck them up until we find you and do it for you. Finn’s smirk-laced command encourages me to return to my task.

He’s right. I have this.

I just need to figure out what to do.

First, I have to do a mental body check.

And that check-up alone makes me want to throw up even harder than before.

I’m completely naked, lying on my back on a cheap, creaking bed. A rope has been tied around my wrists and my ankles. Thorn continues to hump me and with each restricted movement, I realize I’ve been bound to the bed.

With a man who’s neither Mason, Falk, nor Finn, lowering himself on top of me.

I’m grossed out when I learn I’m wet down there.

Wait. My pussy isn’t wet. Just my clit.

This doesn’t feel like my arousal does.

The fucker spit on me.

I’m going to fucking slaughter his ass.

I swear to God I will.

“Then go to the bathroom.” Thorn presses his limp dick to my clit.

He’s small and soft, starting to grind on me again and again.

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