Page 13 of Bounty

His hands run leisurely over my ribcage, as if he’s cataloging every inch, then down my hips until they land on my ass. His fingertips dig into my cheeks so hard I know they’ll leave bruises. I should yelp, demand he stop touching me. But I don’t. I just moan, silently begging him to be rougher. I crave his roughness, the way he’d use my body until I was utterly spent.

He backs me into the bathroom counter, lifting me up until I’m sitting on it with him between my legs. His hands white-knuckle the edge of the counter, and his arms bracket me in place. My breathing picks up as my traitorous heart hammers inside my chest. I shouldn’t let myself be so affected by one of the men who broke my heart.

“You can lie and say whatever shit you want, Wisteria Jean, but this–” he says as he puts his hand over my thumping heart, feeling its frantic rhythm, “And this—” he continues as he cups my pussy over the pajama bottoms I’m wearing, “Don’t lie.”

He smiles as he squeezes my sex gently. His traces my seam, and he raises a brow before dipping two fingers under my waistband. Before I can even react, they’re gliding through my wetness, between my pussy lips. Then circling my clit deviously slow.

“This pussy never lies to me,” he rasps as he pushes a finger inside me. “She knows she belongs to me. And so do you.” He kisses me, tangling our tongues together until I have no clue where he ends and I begin. He dominates me with a simple touch. Even though my hands are bunched in his shirt, I’m unable to push him away. This man makes me lose all my common sense. He always has.

“Good Lord, little flower, you drive me insane,” he groans my old nickname as he pulls away from me. “Come back to bed—you look exhausted. We’ll talk over an early Christmas Eve dinner.”

I sigh, coming back to my senses.What am I doing?Why did I let him anywhere near me? I should kick him in the nuts and run, fast and far until I can get help. That way, I can leave this place and start all over somewhere they’ll never find me. But my sense of self-preservation is failing me.

Is it nostalgia? Maybe I trust him, even after all the pain he caused me years ago. Maybe it’s knowing, deep down, that I don’t have a life to return to. I’m alone. Ever since my aunt and I drove past those iron gates, a little voice inside me screamed at me to return home.

“Maybe I want to go back to my house, a place I chose, a life I built without you,” I say in a last-ditch effort to leave.

The comment completely missed its mark. He isn’t hurt at all. Soft laughter spills from his lips, giving me pause.

“You just got fired from your job and can’t pay your bills. Your house—if it can even be called a house—is literally falling apart. You have no food in your home. All you do is cry at night. You didn’t even have a winter coat until I sent you one." He listsall my problems one by one like a shopping list, driving home the failure I’ve become since my aunt died. “Is that the life you want to live? Because I’m not letting you go back. You’re ours to take care of, little flower. ”

His words sink in for a minute, penetrating my whirling, anxious mind.He’s the one who’s been leaving the packages? He’s been watching me?I’m not sure whether to slap him or cry all over him. My body breaks down, deciding on the latter.

Colin holds me, wrapping me in his strong arms, holding me together as I fall apart. After I run out of tears, he takes my hand, leading me back to bed. Cain lays there half awake waiting for us. He yawns, patting the spot next to him in bed. Hesitantly, I climb in under the covers.

“You’ll see, baby girl. Everything is going to be okay,” he promises me.

I’m still furious with both of them, so I don’t respond. They cozy up to me, but instead of fighting them for space, I let them tangle their arms and legs with mine, like insidious vines in a garden. Cain and Colin trap me in bed as I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep. Something I haven't had in ages.

Chapter Six

CAIN

“How is she? Colin said you took her by force.” Jude’s voice is gruff and foreboding over the call.

He isn’t happy that I used chloroform to get her to comply, but he wasn’t there. He didn’t see the fear in her eyes or watch her bolt through the snow and wind, winding through the trees in her bare feet.

I sip my coffee. “She had to be subdued so she didn’t hurt herself,” is all I say in reply.

All Wisteria has done recently is hurt herself. She’s still just as beautiful as she was six years ago, but the dark circles under her eyes and the way she goes through the motions are evidence enough that she isn’t taking care of herself. She’s struggling—her job, the stress of having to make ends meet on her own, and her loneliness are all taking a toll on her.

“Does she understand why her circumstances have changed?”

“No, just that they have,” I pour myself another cup.

“Okay. For now keep it that way. We can explain an abridged version to her when she’s home, as a group.”

“We’re having an early dinner, then leaving.”

“I want her at the compound for Christmas tomorrow,” he reminds me.

“Trust me, Colin and I want her there just as badly.Together forever,” I recite in an effort to end the conversation early.

“We thrive,” he finishes before ending the call.

I truly hope that with Wisteria Jean in our lives again, we can truly thrive. Letting her leave was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. With the lifestyle I lead, that’s saying something. She took a piece of my heart with her, and I haven’t been whole since.

I spoon some sugar into another coffee, then add some cream, just like she took it back on the farm. The third cup for Colin is black. I bring the mugs to our room, wedging my foot in the cracked door and letting myself in.

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