Page 26 of Yule Tied Up

“Yes, good idea,” Tino says.

I widen my eyes at him. What the fuck? What’s Tino thinking? In there, we’re at a bigger risk than out here. Less room to maneuver and no easy weapons to grab, like the big branches and logs that scatter the land outside.

Maybe he’s worried about Mackenzie getting hypothermia or something, but I feel like we have bigger things to worry about.

We all march inside, tracking snow in with us, and I glance at Tino. His face is oddly calm. When we step in, the warmth is heavenly. The fire is roaring and the candles flicker, giving the scene a pretty glow.

Tino glances at me, and then flicks his eyes to the fire and the candles.

Oh, okay. I get it.

“You like public sex so much, well, now you do it on our terms and give us a show,” the driver says, interrupting my thoughts. “Then we’ll leave you good folk alone to enjoy your depravity.”

“How do we know you won’t kill us anyway?” Kirill juts his jaw, his eyes like ice. “I say we don’t do one more fucking thing you demand.”

“We have morals, and our word is our bond,” Fake Santa says. “Isn’t that right, Rory?”

I almost snort at the idea of this son of a bitch having morals after what he just did.

They aren’t going to let us live. Fake Santa used his brother’s name, and we already know Rory is the wagon driver. Within thirty minutes of them leaving, we could be at the police station in town. They’ve got to assume we’ll go straight to the law.

I take a huge risk. “We won’t go to the police,” I say. “We can’t.”

“Oh, and why’s that?” Rory asks, his smirk annoying as fuck.

“Because we’re not exactly legit businessmen.”

His smile falters. It’s good to see him afraid for a brief moment. I don’t want him too scared, though, because then he’ll kill us from fear of us hurting him, rather than fear we will go to the police. He takes me in, and then Kirill and Dom. I see him mentally adding things up.

His eyes narrow. “What are you? Mafia or something?”

“Or something,” I reply. “And our word is our bond, too, so how about this? We agree to give you a show if you don’t touch our girl, and after, you just leave?”

“Just leave? Just like that?”

I shrug. “You have the guns. I assume your car isn’t really broken down. Shoot our tires and we can’t come after you, even if we find our car keys. So yeah, it seems to me that you guys call the shots here. We want to live, you want a show … so we all get what we want, no?”

“Fuck no,” Kirill shouts.

I try to convey with my gaze to shut the hell up, I’ve got this, but his eyes are wild. I understand. He and Mack have been through hell, and he must be getting flashbacks to what happened before, but we can’t do anything right now. They have guns. They have the upper hand, but get them worked up, unfocused, horny as hell… well, they aren’t going to be thinking as clearly. Or at least, I hope not.

Rory’s jaw works. His gaze skitters to the door, and he half looks like he’s going to bolt, which would be great, but he’s also got a huge erection in his pants, clear as day. He and his brother might be all about telling us they’re punishing us for our sins, but they’re just dirty fucking weirdos who want to see some hot sex.

I’m hopeful they won’t touch our girl. After all, if they want to fuck Mackenzie, they can only have one gun on us at a time. Can’t fuck and aim at the same time—or at least, not well. We already took Fake Santa down when it was only him. It leaves them too vulnerable. So, that means they must console themselves with merely watching.

I have offered to do what they say because I need them distracted, and secondly, I don’t want Mack to have to do something sexual for them on her own again. If we’re all involved, then we all carry the shame. Not that we should feel any; it’s these sick fucks who should.

“Where do you want us?” Tino asks. “Can we stay near the fire if we’re getting naked, because it’s warm.”

“Yes, by the fire is good,” Rory grunts. He looks at his brother. “Eric, what do you want?”

“I want to see her treated like the whore she is. Get her naked and fill all her holes.”

Mack’s face twists, but I walk over to her. I grip her arm, hard enough to look painful, but not enough to hurt.

Whispering as quietly as I can, I say, “Trust me, baby.”

Her murmured, “Always,” is all the answer I need.

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