Page 48 of Drowning Her

“What do you want?” Bambi asked, her voice muffled by the barrier.

I pulled out my wallet, hoping that she could see me through the peephole. Finally, the door cracked open, the door guard’s chain hanging down, holding it together. I offered her all the money that I had. She took the money, then glared at me, eyeing the blood on my clothes. A man was lying on the bed behind her, watching television. There was a chance that Bambi had been helping her pimp steal from the farm. There was even a good chance that she had disrespected us, but that didn’t matter. Neither did the money they stole. Only murder mattered.

And Maisie.

“What do you want?” Bambi repeated. She wrinkled her nose. I glared at the man one more time, his eyes glued to the screen, his posture relaxed. He wasn’t a threat to her.

I headed back to the car.

“Hey!” Bambi said. “Wait?—”

By the time I was reversing out of my spot, Bambi’s door was completely open. She gawked at me as I drove off. I couldn’t let myself think about it. I had done what Maisie had asked; that was all it was.

Forrest stood in the parking area when I arrived. I slammed on my brakes, almost hitting him.

“You gave me no time to congratulate you,” he said.

I grunted, then headed toward the Calving Barn. I wanted to get home to see Maisie, but I didn’t want my father around when I did. I didn’t want him to know anything about us. I saw the new hay bales in a stack by the office door. I moved the tractor out of the way. Forrest followed behind me.

“Congratulations on the second kill,” he said, his tone stiff. “You’ll get your final kill soon.”

“Looking forward to it,” I said. I kept working.

“Are you ready for the Offering to prove your loyalty to the family?” Forrest put a hand on my shoulder. “You know what I had to give up to make sure that our family’s business prospered.”

My mother.

But if I won the farm, then I wasn’t going to do anything to let Maisie out of my hands.

Was I ready for the Offering? To take it down, to show Forrest exactly what I thought of our family’s rituals?

“Yes,” I said.

Another wide-spreading grin filled his face. He rambled about Sawyer’s progress, how we were both on our final kills, and how that meant that we would compete for our last kills at the same time. And that thrilled Forrest. I tuned him out. I had done my part, and when the time came to take the last person, I would do what needed to be done.

Once Forrest left the barn, I immediately dismissed my crew and headed to the house. The couch where I usually found Maisie was empty. I went to our bedroom—she wasn’t there either.

She emerged from her old bedroom wearing one of myflannel shirts, unbuttoned, loose on her frame, the fabric brushing against her nipples. Her lips were dark, her cheeks flushed. With her hands clasped behind her, she arched her back, pushing her breasts forward. I licked my lips.

“Bear with me,” she said. My brows twitched, and she smiled. “Don’t hate me for this, okay?”

She took her hands out from behind her back: a pair of handcuffs hung from her finger, the metal chain gleaming in the light.

“Hear me out,” she said. She stepped closer, dragging a hand along my chest. “You’re afraid of losing control with me, right?” She tilted her head, then pointed into her old room. A metal folding chair rested in front of the bed. She had been planning this, then. “I could handcuff you. Then I would be in control. You wouldn’t be able to hurt me.”

My lips turned up.

She wanted to be in control of a beast.

“They’re handcuffs,” she continued. “There’s no way you’re getting out of locking metal.”

My eyes traced her neck, the bare skin between her breasts, her soft stomach, down to the feathered hair covering her pussy. My cock swelled.

I didn’t have to get out of the restraints, as long as I had her.

I took three large steps forward. Undressed. Leaned back in the chair. Maisie circled me, swaying her hips like she had to work to entice me, when she already had me ensnared. Her odor filled my nostrils: that musk, her natural scent, so damn intoxicating. Her breasts hung down as she cuffed my hands in front of me. The links clicked into place, resting against my wrists. She must have thought she had so much power right then. That I was vulnerable for once. But I knew what I wanted. My eyes focused on her.

She left the room, my cock straining for her. A few seconds later, she returned with a bucket in her hands. She set it down beside me. Pouted her dark lips. Then straddled my thighs, easing my cock inside of her. Slow. Agonizing. Gasping at my size. Already wet for me. I clenched my jaw, keeping myself in check. This was her time. She bent down—my cock throbbing inside of her for more—then she grabbed the bucket and poured it over our heads. The cool water splashed over our bodies and I pulled at the restraints, but once my eyes focused on her, I held still. Water beaded her skin, my shirt drenched and clinging to her, her nipples erect. She licked her lips, staring down at mine.

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