Page 25 of Better Watch Out

“Whatever,” I mutter, but my shoulders fall and I reach out, grabbing for one of the fleece blankets on the bed, only for Fletcher to grab my wrist.

“I definitely didn’t give you permission to do that. You should be grateful I’m letting you do this”—he gestures to the way I’m sitting so I’m covering as much of my nudity as possible—“instead of tying your hands behind your back so you can’t do anything at all.” There’s a seriousness in his gaze that unnerves me, and I look away from him to glare up at Boone, who snorts and rolls his eyes.

“You’re only doing that because you’re afraid of him,” he points out. Boone’s not wrong, but I don’t admit it. Instead I swat at Fletcher’s hand as I pull my own back, intentionally missing. I don’t respond to Boone’s verbal jab, and instead shake my head.

“The shed thing. But you know that, so I’ll move on. You were both mean as fuck to me in high school. Like, you just changed all of a sudden. We went from being siblings to you two acting like you wanted me dead.” God, I’m so uncomfortable, and it’s hard to stay still on the bed. My temper rises as I talk, until I finally have the nerve to glare at Fletcher. “Then,then, you found out about the boy who I had a crush on and that it was mutual. You found that out before I did and you broke his leg! He was a soccer player, and you broke his leg! What the hell were you two thinking?”

It’s interesting and unnerving how Fletcher’s expression never changes. As if he’s interested but uncaring, like this isn’t about him. “Then I find out you were stalking me after I left? And let’s not forget how you two treated me after the day I walked in on him blowing you.” I jerk my chin toward Boone.

“Well, I told you that you could join in.” Boone doesn’t bother to sound apologetic. “I’m not sure why it was a bad thing.”

“And then, to top it all off, the two of you set this all up. You stalked me up here, and left me pictures of a murder you committed. But you didn’t just murder those people, did you?” I jerk forward, closing in on Fletcher’s space in a way I know he’ll hate. But this time I don’t stop myself, even at the flash of warning in his eyes. “Youtorturedthem. Why? Why would you?—”

“God, you’re so childish.” His words are smooth, interrupting me, and Fletcher reaches up as if to push me away like I expect. But instead he stands, jerking me up with him by his grip on my throat. “You know what I think?” he murmurs in a mild voice, though he continues before I have a chance to respond. “I think your dad indulged you way too much when we were kids. He was always scared of pushing you away, so you could whine and bitch and never get in trouble. Like a spoiled little brat.”

His words send a rush of heat through me and I want to lash out at him. But worse, deep down, I know he isn’t wrong. And when I was younger, I’d known it too. I’d exploited it during my teenage years, which is something I’d rather die than admit to. But I can’t hold his gaze, so I look away, once more glaring at Boone as I cover my chest with one arm and press the other over my clenched thighs.

“Is this how you still handle your problems? You’re twenty-three, and you still think these tantrums of yours are acceptable? It’s embarrassing. You’re like a child who thinks they’re welcome to physically lash out, who never learned not to bite out of fear of the other person biting back. Your dad did you a real disservice, princess.”

His voice changes, dropping, and I turn to look at him with a sudden nervousness, unsure of where this is going. “Fletcher, I—” His fingers tighten and I shut up.

“So let me do you a favor.” This time he steps closer, his other hand coming out to brush my damp hair back from my face. “Let me do whatdaddydidn’t and teach you how to behave. And to do that, I’m going to show you there are consequences to your actions.”

I don’t get to ask him what he means, or snap back with some stupid retort. He shoves me back, forcing me to fall back onto the bed with my arms out to catch myself, instead of being able to use them to cover myself.

As if there’s some unspoken, pre-planned agreement between them, Boone is quick to pounce. I try to grapple with him, but it doesn’t last long. He’s physically stronger than me, and he has the advantage of not being taken by surprise. In seconds he has me shoved down over Fletcher’s lap, who sits on the edge of the bed with his arms back to brace himself on.

“Let go of me!” I demand, snarling and shoving my hands against his thighs, trying and failing to sit up. It’s hard to thinkabout how embarrassing and revealing this position is, with my heart racing rabbit-fast in my chest and the way I feel like a bunny caught in a trap.

Snow bunnysuddenly feels like a very apt nickname when I’m caught between two killers who have no remorse for what they’ve done.

“No, babygirl.” Fletcher reaches out to thread his fingers through my hair, and seconds later Boone shifts to sit on my calves, one hand gripping my wrists and keeping them behind me. I still can’t sit up, a fact that Fletcher ensures by keeping his left hand tangled in my hair. Every time I try to buck up he pushes me back down against his thigh, not allowing me to move more than a few inches. Hell, he doesn’t even seem to be struggling to keep me here, making me feel incredibly weak. “We can wait,” he adds as I let out a frustrated snarl against his thigh. “You just let us know when you’re done.”

Just to prove a point I continue to fight them, until finally I really don’t have a choice but to give up, body sagging as I lean my upper body over Fletcher’s lap. “Just…tell me what the hell you’re trying to do here,” I demand, realizing I’m trembling from humiliation and rage. “Do you want an apology? Is that it?”

“Yes. But not right now. I don’t want this kind of apology, the kind you only want to give us to get free.” His other hand brushes down my spine, making my shoulders tense. “Here’s how this will go. I’m going to punish you with Boone’s help. Because you really just don’t know when to quit.”

“You’re going to?—”

“Quiet.” His voice is soft but firm, and I can’t help but shut my mouth when he sounds like that. “Good girl.” Boone’s hand rests on my hip at Fletcher’s praise, stroking his fingers over my hip bone approvingly. “I know you can learn, Conor. I know it’ll just take the proper…incentive. Or punishment, I suppose. As I was saying.” he pauses, as if giving me a chance to pushmy luck further. “We’ve been telling you since we got here to stop pushing it, that you’re begging for a punishment. But we’re happy to give it to you, since you want it so badly. I’m going to treat you like the child you’re trying so hard to be, and when I’m satisfied you’ve learned your lesson…” he trails off, thoughtful.

“Well, I guess what happens depends on how you take it.”

“I’m…” I turn my head on his leg, only able to glare at the television as it shows the details of whatever playlist Boone has on. “Please don’t do this, Fletcher,” I say finally, the humiliation of my position setting in and making me close my eyes hard. “I’ll say whatever you want, and I won’t hit Boone again.” That’s probably a lie. “Just let me up, okay? I don’t like this.”

Fletcher’s chuckle is soft and not very friendly. “Oh, but that’s the point, princess,” he coos softly. “You’re not supposed to like the punishment.” His hand continues to drift down my spine, until he can cup my ass, kneading his fingers into my flesh. I stiffen in response, mouth open to say something or swear at him, but his hand disappears, only to come back with acrackas he slaps me.

“What—What the fuck?!” I scream, bucking up against his and Boone’s grip. “Fletcher howdare you—Did you just—?!” My words are cut off when he does it again, this time on the other side. It pulls a yelp of surprise and pain from my lips, and heat spreads across my skin, up my thighs and tickling along my lower back from the sting.

“Stop—Fletcher—” He pulls his hand away and I flinch in anticipation, only for his hand to come back down to gently stroke over my skin. For a moment, anyway. Until he feels me relax just a little bit under him. That’s when he swats me again, not pausing between hits until my ass is burning and I’m sure my face is on fire with the embarrassment of beingspankedlike achild.

“Fletcher…” This time my voice is a whine, and I’m shaking under him, my heart pounding. I wince when I feel his fingers on my skin, cool compared to the way my flesh burns under his touch.

“You want me to stop?” he asks mockingly, and I can imagine a not-so-friendly smile on his face. His fingers dig into my thigh as he waits for me to reply, massaging my tight muscles painfully.

“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse, my breathing harsh. “Yeah, I think it’s pretty obvious I really want you to stop.”

“Sure, princess. I’ll stop.” He shifts his hand to the other side, running his fingers over that thigh as well. “All you have to do is beg.”

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