Page 9 of Reckless Hearts

I’m comfortable.

I’m alive.

And I'm… naked.

Why am I naked?

I scan the room for my clothes, but instead, I see two identical shadows looming at the foot of the bed. Their masked faces are fixed on me, as if they’ve been waiting for me to wake up—just standing there, silently observing.

“Welcome back, dead girl,” Wes says, his voice dripping with mirth, as if I can sense the smirk behind his mask. “How’s it feel to be back in the land of the living?”

He circles one side of the bed while Trick moves around the other, handing me a glass of clear liquid. I take it hesitantly, eyeing the swirling contents.

“Relax, it’s just water,” Wes adds, his tone still laced with that mocking edge.

I sip it, relieved when it actually tastes like water. Each swallow scratches my throat, but it’s a small comfort against the dryness.

“You looked so pretty passed out. So peaceful,” Wes says, his fingers gently stroking my hair.

“What happened?” I ask, struggling to piece together foggy memories, aware that whatever they drugged me with is still lingering.

“All in due time,” Wes replies with a casual shrug.

I turn to Trick. “You’ve done this before.” It’s not a question—more of a statement.

“Only when it’s strictly consensual,” Wes chimes in, answering for Trick.

And there’s my answer.

It’s ridiculous, but I can’t ignore the gut-clenching pang of jealousy that hits me. Ridiculous, because I’ve known them for barely a few minutes. Of course they’ve done this before—I only need to look at how well-rehearsed they are to know that.

I should’ve seen this coming. I always get too attached and fall way too fast. Maybe it’s because, despite all the messed-up stuff that’s happened, I actually feel kind of safe. Or maybe it’s just the drugs they’ve pumped into me.

Frustrated, I try to get up, pushing through the pain in my hip. As I clamber onto the bed like a newborn deer, I collapse almost immediately.

“Easy,” Wes says, grabbing hold of my arm. I ignore him and scramble to kneel on the bed. “Tatum? Slow down. The drugs need time to wear off.”

This was supposed to be fun, and I honestly don’t know why I’m suddenly throwing a weird, jealous tantrum.

Well, that’s the second rule broken.

“I’m fine, I just... I feel like shit,” I slur.

My head spins. My body shakes, brimming with nausea. I close my eyes to stem the feeling.

“Shit,” Wes says. “It was never meant to make you feel like that.” He grips my chin with a gloved hand, forcing my gaze to the blurry black holes of his mask. “We just wanted you to feel good, baby. We can stop this right now. Just say the word. I promise we’ll stop if you need us to.”

Ugh, why does he have to be sonice? It’s probably the nausea making me feel icky, but why does he have to focus on my needs and feelings? Whatever was in that magic drug has triggered some strange sensations, conjuring up emotions that I usually keep buried. Hell, if my therapist can’t even dig that deep, there’s no hope for anyone else. I can’t afford to catch feelings for someone who hasn’t even made me come yet.

“No.” I shake myself from his hold, but all I can do is flop back down onto the pillow. “I want...” My vision blackens. “Let’s just...” My limbs feel heavy as I slip away, again.

I want this.

6

Igasp for breath, sharp and violent as I jolt awake, my body lurching forward. The sheets cling to my sweaty skin, binding me to the bed.

“Hello, Tatum,” Wes says, tilting his head to the side in true slasher-movie fashion. “Sleep well?”

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