Page 15 of The Devils of Saint City

Marking myself temporarily unavailable to talk, I pull out my phone and brace myself for the video I’m about to watch. I know how I am when I’m in the middle of an episode, so I’m prepared to see myself act like a needy little slut despite who I’m with — but what I’m not prepared for is the look on Asher’s face when he sinks inside of me.

There’s something there that doesn’t look like hatred or retribution at all.

He looks vulnerable.

The expression is only there for a moment, but the camera doesn’t lie. I can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. There’s a part of him, however small, that second guessed it.

Yet he did it anyway.

Knowing he fucked me and seeing him fuck me are two different things entirely. One is an abstract concept, one I can accept but mostly ignore. The other is dangerous and has my thighs clenching under the desk. Fuck, I shouldn’t be turned on by this. He’s my brother. But watching him grab me, bite me, split me in half... there’s a part ofme, however small, that wishes I would’ve been awake for it.

And then Manson joins in.

Here I was wondering which of them actually fucked me. Turns out it was both, in the same hole, at the same time. No fucking wonder my pussy hurt so bad this morning. I swear I can still feel them, even now. And god, I definitely wish I was awake. To feel that full, that surrounded, that cherished — because yes,as I focus on the two of them, the way they move, breathe, and speak, that’s exactly what they’re doing — it’s a shame I wasn’t cognizant of it at the time. They’ll never treat me that way when I’m awake. I can’t help but wonder if Asher knows what this video shows, or if he really thinks he kept a “fuck her” attitude through the whole thing. All it tells me is that I have more power here than I think, and when Manson tells Asher to come first so he can feel it, I also realize I’m sitting on a gold mine.

I already intended to upload it to the same site I use for all of my other sexsomnia episodes, but I didn’t expect it to be quite as hot as it really is. The way they move together, the moans they draw from me... the way Asher forces me to say I need them? I hate it, but my audience will pay out the ass for it. And if they catch me, I’ll probably end up with another video to sell. Win/win.

Once I fill out the details and start the upload process, I go on a hunt for the lock. I know Asher’s dumbass hid it somewhere, and this house isn’t that big. But I am a little shocked that it’s not under the sink like I thought it was. When we were younger and living together, he hid everything under the kitchen sink thinking no one would notice. Since I did all the cleaning back then too, I noticed. It seems he’s grown a little bit since then.

No problem. There are plenty of other hiding spots — the hall closet, the end table in the living room by the window, the storage ottoman, and under the couch, for starters. But the only things I find hidden are guns. Lots of guns. So many guns I can’t imagine why two people could ever need that many. I don’t know enough about them to call them anything but handguns, but it would take an idiot not to realize every single one of them is locked and loaded. I pointedly never asked the guys what they do for a living because there have been rumors about Asher being swept up with the wrong crowd, and this almost confirms it. Especially when I find bigger, scarier guns under his bed.

Still no lock.

The arsenal hidden in our house nearly makes me back off the search, but it’s clear that I need as much protection from them as I can get.

So I keep looking.

Under the bathroom sink, in his sock drawer, under the false floorboard by the window in his room. The stack of cash and passports make my blood run cold. Who the hell is he?

The same bastard he’s always been, just with weapons and an escape plan.

At least I know where to find ways to protect myself if it becomes necessary.

Moving on, I open his bedroom closet and roll my eyes clear to the moon when I find the bag with the lock in it sitting on top of the shelf. It’s not hidden at all. Obviously, he didn’t think I had the balls to even look for it.

Jokes on him.

Grabbing it, I head to the garage to grab some tools and install it on my door before taking another client. The shock bracelet is gone, my door is secure, and I’ll make sure neither of them can slip anything into my drink before bed. It’s the best I can do for myself.

And yet, I’m a little disappointed to know that it was a one-time thing. I hate them, but I want them, and beyond that... I want them to need it. Needme. Maybe that’s the only way to ever get myself out of this situation. Or maybe I’m already suffering the effects of fucking Stockholm Syndrome and I should seek fucking help.

It’s probably the latter.

Either way, for now, I’ve made myself as safe as I can — and as I go to bed without them ever coming home, I drift off to happy thoughts about them lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

If only I were that lucky.

7

Manson

None of this has gone the way I anticipated or wanted. I guess that isn’tentirelytrue. Rhea is ours, and a huge part of me doesn’t really give a fuck how we accomplished it. But I also might mourn what we could have had if it had gone differently.

I didn’t want to be just another monster to her. That’s how everyone sees me and Asher, and although he’ll never admit it, I know it bothers him too. We live a life that toes the line and we probably have more enemies than we know, so it would’ve been nice to have at least one person see us as human.

Guess I’ll never know.

I’m sitting here on the couch watching Ash fiddle with her new shock collar, and all I feel is arousal. Maybe I am a monster. Maybe it’s time I accept it like he has. “She’s not going to be happy.”

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