Page 13 of Their Dark Rose

My breaths, though, they can’t be silenced. And I’m breathing hard right now. So hard.

“Stop wasting time, flower.” Mason joins Falk’s threats.

I guess it’s my lucky day because even his cold tone is a little rougher around the edges.

Wildfire spreads in my bloodstream, running through my veins.

I press my forehead to the door. Getting closer to them. As close as I’ll ever be, anyway.

“Flower,” Mason commands my attention when I don’t answer.

My nickname again. They gave me those as a way of alerting me to which one of them was calling me. But since he said it twice…

How I hate to hope.

How I need it. For once in my eighteen years of life, I really need it.

Which is why I stay. Pretending to be immersed in another, darker, sexier version of my reality.

Let them hear my labored breaths. Let them listen to my choked moans.

Let them.

The risk twists my stomach in a delicious, painful knot, and I don’t move away from the door.

“We’ll meet you downstairs, little rose.” Finn’s teasing yet threatening order sends shivers down my spine. He’s talking about seeing me off before he and Mason go to the office. They do this every day, so I’d have a sense of normalcy. Despite, of course, hating me.

“Don’t make us wait.”

Unlike every other day, the authority in his tone doesn’t annoy me.

Nothing has the power to burst through the strong emotions that have landed on me unexpectedly today.

Nothing.

Harsh breaths burst out of my throat. They’re out there, regardless of how hard I bite my lower lip.

A reckless sense rushes through me, causing me to stand upright.

I could be the owner of my reality. I could pull this door open right now, let them do what they will.

“Briar Rose Nightingale,” Mason drawls. I can’t tell if he heard me. I’m not sure I want to know. “Did you hear Finn?”

I ignore him. My adrenaline-fueled brain is laser-beam focused on the what-ifs.

One option is they’d reject me. Spin on their heels and walk off. Humiliate me for even suggesting they look at my naked body.

Or they would pounce on me. Mason would grip my hips from behind, orchestrating the whole thing. Falk would unleash his evil side, biting my nipples until I bled. And Finn would lick me from head to toe. He’d tease me, edge me toward an orgasm he’d never let me have.

They’d unleash their years-long pent-up anger on me. Finally punish my parents by torturing me like they’ve surely planned to.

Dread slithers through my lust. Dark and ominous. Neither option would bode well for me.

No.

I’ll never offer myself up to them as a punching bag.

I like the concept of pain. Being a doormat or ridiculed, that’s far less appealing to me.

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