Page 31 of Breaker

I’m theirs. I belong, in every sense of the word, to four controlling men, hellbent on getting revenge on my father. And I will do as they tell me or pay for it.

Like right now. They warned me they would tie me up if I tried to leave. Warned me that I would receive a punishment if I disobeyed. And here I am, suffering the consequences of my own actions while Cora suffers because of everyone else’s.

Tears prick at my eyes. I grind my teeth, annoyed by their appearance yet again. Crying won’t help, yet I’ve never felt so helpless. So useless. Even in the weeks here, before I knew them, I only felt this utterly powerless exactly two times, and that was from a lack of control over my body.

This time I’m powerless to do anything to help Cora, and it makes my heart clench with anguish. And in the back of my mind, there’s that slight fear staining every thought. What if they never plan to get her back?

God. They better not be lying.

Any of them.

Reaper’s ominous words echo in my head, reminding me they have a plan for me.Yet.That’s what Reaper said. I can’t go backyet. That means he plans to send me back to Rune armed with knowledge and…

I don’t know. But I focus on the single word.Yet.If I cooperate, give them what they want, I’ll be sent back. Then I can get to Cora, make sure she’s safe, force Rune to call off the marriage, and then I’ll deal with the lodge.

Or maybe I’ll just go back, snatch her up and run. Back here? My mind instantly conjures up this mansion as our destination and maybe it’s because I know we’ll be safe with the four men who claimed us. I don’t know if I’m ready to admit that this deep longing wrapping around my ribs, taking control of all my senses when they’re near means I want to be here.

Before I can delve too deeply into that line of thinking, the door opens and Viper’s imposing figure fills the space, a dark and lethal energy exuding from him. He’s not as tall as Breakeror Reaper, maybe even an inch or two shorter than Striker, but he takes up just as much space. Possibly even more.

My gaze devours him, taking in every detail. His skull mask with the fangs that seem so fitting now. The tight black shirt and how it looks like it was poured over him, outlining every chiseled muscle. My eyes trail to the fatigues, straining along his thighs and bunching at his black boots, hugging his thick calves. As he saunters forward, with so much arrogance in each step, I remember I’m pissed at him.

All of them.

Except Breaker.

“Still thinking about running, Sweetheart?” he asks, stopping next to the bed and looking down at me with those eyes that seem to shift with his every emotion. He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and my eyes snag on his erection pinned to his thigh, trapped under his tight pants.

Between my legs throbs at the sight and I know they’ve claimed my mind and body. I’m bound to a bed, and my only thought is how it would feel to have Viper slide my dress up and slip a hand between my legs. Shove his thick, delicious dick in my mouth while he fingers me.

“Oh Sweetheart, you have that look,” Viper murmurs seductively, trailing a finger along my stomach.

The last time I was alone with Viper…

Shit.The knife. The one I stole from him.

“Ah, there it is,” Viper says with a chuckle. “Our little thief just realized she was caught.”

I gasp as he grips my throat, leaning over me. That throbbing doesn’t stop. It intensities.

“Do you know what we do to thieves?” he asks, mouth so close to mine I wish he didn’t have his mask on so our lips would brush.

“Tie them up?” I guess. My heart races as Viper’s grip tightens around my throat, his hot breath brushing against my face. Citrusy and clean, yet lined with fire.

Something dangerous, completely untamed, glimmers in his eyes. “We cut off their hands.”

I feel the color drain from my face.

“But our pretty girl needs both her hands,” he continues, standing upright and slipping his palm down my belly, letting it trail over my mound to my thigh, then down to my knee and lower to my boot. “She has four cocks to tend to.”

My cheeks flame, which is absurd considering, but I can’t help but feel not exactly embarrassed, but like it wasn’t exactly me. It was some other version of me with them. That feral woman who got so caught up in their promises and emotions she thinks I belong to them, and more importantly, wants to be theirs.

Wants to feel safe and secure.

Wants that dark, heady feeling of being the objects of their desire.

“You never gave me my knife back,” I tell him, my tone snarky, defensive, as if this alone excuses my thievery.

He doesn’t respond, just inhales deeply and retrieves a key from his pocket. The metal clinks as he unlocks it and I sit upright, rubbing my wrist, eyeing him warily.

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