Page 4 of Brothers' Brat

The chill seeps through the rink, an icy caress against my skin as I weave the strand of Christmas lights around Leila's slender wrists. She squirms, her eyes wide with something that could be fear or fury—I can't quite tell anymore.

With deliberate movements, Hudson and I wrap Leila in the glowing strands, and she puts up a fight, calling us every dirty word her pretty little mouth can muster. I'm growing impatient, and this game isn't as fun as I thought it would be when I set it all up. I'm becoming growly and annoyed. All I want is her in bed, sandwiched between us, where we can take turns having our fill of her sweet, supple body.

"Stay still," I growl, pulling the lights tighter, enough to hold but not to harm. Hudson watches me, his eyes glinting like polished ice in the dim light. He nods once, and I know he approves.

"Let's see if you've got the spirit, Leila," Hudson says, his voice mocking yet edged with something darker that I feel in my soul. "Tell us you want to spend Christmas with your loving brothers."

"I'd rather die," she spits the words, glaring at us, and rage rips through my entire body.

"Shut the fuck up," I snarl, feeling her skin cold to the touch under my fingers as I cup her chin firmly, making her look at me.

"Admit you want to spend Christmas with us," I taunt, stepping back to stand with Hudson. We watch her lying there, tangled in the pretty lights in nothing but her skirt and knee socks. Her ripped shirt and blazer are open, and her nipples are so hard, I almost fall to my knees just to take one in my mouth.

I can't let her know how much power she has over us, so instead, I stomp across the ice, grab the two sticks I left out, and toss one to Hudson before throwing the puck on the ice toward him. I see the realization in his eyes. He glares at me, slapping the puck with his stick toward me. He won't go first? Fine. I will. I swing my stick back and send the puck sailing past Leila. I watch as she closes her eyes and gasps for air.

I toss another puck to Hudson and try to get him amped up. "She'd rather die than admit she wants us? Might as well make it a memorable death."

That's all it takes to get him on board, and we're shooting pucks around her bound form. Each shot is precise, calculated—never meant to hurt, only to intimidate. The fear in her eyes is real. She has stopped thrashing, lying still in resignation or defeat—I can't tell which. A pang of guilt gnaws at me, unexpected and unwelcome. I shake it off, hardening my resolve. She made us angry, and this is the price she's paying. We could already be at the cabin, balls deep inside her, but she chose the hard way.

"Enough," Hudson finally says, his voice cutting through the tension. "We've got to get going."

He's right. It's time to end this twisted game, at least for now. But the thrill of it, the dark pleasure of having Leila at our mercy—it's a feeling I'm not ready to let go of, not yet.

CHAPTER 4

HAYDEN

Snowflakes dance in the chilled air and cling to the rich fabric of my coat, melting almost as quickly as they land. Hudson's strides beside me are long and confident, his boots crunching the thin layer of frost that has started to blanket the parking lot. His shoulders are bunched with tension, and I know he's feeling bad about what we just did to our sister.

"Come on, slowpoke," I call over my shoulder, Leila's unwilling hand in mine.

Leila's eyes are on the ground as her feet scuffle against the icy surface in a desperate attempt to keep up. I can almost feel her frustration bouncing off her like sparks off flint.

"Wait," she gasps out, but neither Hudson nor I heed her plea.

Then it happens. It's a slight slip of her foot, a soft yelp muffled by the snowfall, and she's going down. Instinctively, I pivot on my heel and yank her up before she can hit the ground. My arms wrap around her waist, lifting her with ease. She's light as a feather and somehow feels fragile despite how feisty she's been tonight.

"I've got you," I mutter, though she stiffens in my grasp like a deer stunned in the middle of a busy highway. "Relax."

"Relax?" Hudson snorts, unlocking our black Jeep with a beep that cuts through the quiet. "What do you expect? We made her think we were going to use her as target practice."

His words are dry, but the edges are sharp enough to slice through the thick tension between us. I hate how she recoils from my touch. Sometimes, I thrive on her fear, love it even. Now is not one of those times.

I glare at my brother, my jaw flexing as I adjust Leila in my arms and stride toward the vehicle. Her body remains rigid, a silent rebellion against the comfort I'm trying to offer. I want to shake her, to force some sense into her that all I want from her is her attention. Her affection maybe? I don't fucking know anymore what it is. I just want her.

"She'll bounce back. She always does," Hudson says, but there's no humor in his voice. It's just another barb in a long line of them, another reminder of the screwed-up dynamic we've trapped ourselves in.

I slide into the passenger seat, careful not to jostle Leila more than necessary. The chill of her body seeps into mine, and I think in this moment, it finally hits me just how rough we are on her. I need her to see how much I need this closeness with her, even if it's forced.

"We're sorry we scared you," I admit to her quietly, barely audible above the hum of the Jeep's engine coming to life. I can speak for Hudson, just like he can speak for me. I know what he's feeling right now, and by the way he side-eyes me, I know he's feeling the regret rolling off of me.

"Right," Leila replies, her tone laced with disbelief and something else. Resignation, maybe, or just fatigue from fighting with us all night.

"Believe what you want," I say, a little harsher than intended. I'm tired of this game, tired of the push and pull. But most of all, I'm just tired of her hiding from us. "You don't have to believe what we say, but deep down, you know no one will ever love you the way we do," I add, feeling the warmth slowly returning to her thighs under my palms.

"Should've listened to me about leaving sooner," Hudson grumbles, flipping switches, the dashboard lighting up like a Christmas tree, like it's going to somehow help him see the road better.

I stifle the urge to snap back. Instead, my hands take on a life of their own, sliding along Leila's thighs, seeking to ignite warmth where she's frozen because of us. My fingers are large and rough against the smooth skin of her legs, my touch deliberate, trying to will heat into her skin.

---