Page 68 of Gambler's Fallacy

“You don’t want Havoc to carry you into my bedroom?” Caleb asks. “You don’t want me to crop your ass? You don’t want Havoc to choke you? You don’t want us to fuck you senseless?”

My breath catches, and I want to beg for those things and more, but they don’t really want it. They can’t look at me, with my face all blotchy and my eyes red and snot running down my face, and actually want me.

“We can also cuddle with you,” Havoc says. “If you’d rather do that. If we tell Vortex that you need hugs, he’ll come running, too.”

“I don’t want…” I hiccup. “Don’t want hugs.”

I don’t want to see Vortex. I don’t think I can face him.

I want what Caleb and Havoc offer, the violence and the pain.

“All right.” Caleb backs away. “Let’s go to my bedroom. I’ll give you the crop.”

“Thirty,” I plead. “Thirty.”

Thirty is enough.

I think.

Havoc lifts me up and carries me to Caleb’s bedroom. I cling to him even when he sets me down.

“Hey, we got you,” Havoc murmurs. “You’re fine. And you can always tell us to stop whenever, and if Caleb goes too far I’ll deck him, and?—”

I shake my head, trying to stop wheezing and crying, and croak, “Just hurt me.”

So I don’t have to do it to myself.

Havoc groans and squeezes my wrists to the point that I’m sure I’ll have bruises.

My breath catches, and I press myself closer to him, silently pleading for more.

“Don’t hold back,” I manage, blinking away tears as I try to meet his eyes. “Don’t hate… Don’t hate me. Don’t hate yourself. Hurt me.”

“I don’t hate you, Seven,” Havoc says fiercely. “Why would you think that? I?—”

Because Vortex probably does,I think, but I can’t say the words.

“I’m still here,” Caleb interrupts. “And I need access to Seven’s ass if I’m going to use the crop on him.”

I squirm, and Havoc lets go of me so I can shift on the bed, lying down with my head in his lap and my ass up in the air in anticipation for what Caleb’s promising.

These are tears I want to give him, tears that aren’t wrought of the pain inflicted by my own family.

Havoc pulls my jeans and underwear down to expose my bare ass.

“I’m not giving you thirty,” Caleb says. “Pick a better number.”

I whine. “That’s the only number.”

Anything less isn’t enough. Anything more is too much.

I needthirty.

“Thirty would destroy you, Seven.” Havoc strokes my ass. “I wouldn’t want thirty, and I get beat up regularly.”

I swallow hard, wiping at my eyes again — for all the good it does. “I deserve it,” I say. “Vortex isn’t gonna punish me. Soplease.”

“Pick a different number, Seven,” Caleb repeats, harsher this time. “Pick a numberyouwant, not the one you think you need to say.”

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