Page 10 of Tempted to Rebel

Thanatos, the sharp motherfucker that he is, notices my discomfort and gives me a pitying look. “The people we love are the ones who hurt us the most.”

Sadly, that’s the lesson we keep learning over and over and over again, the spiral of agony continuing until we’re addicted not only to the pleasure, but also the pain.

Celia ignores me when I return to the apartment, choosing to stare at the ceiling rather than watch me cross the room into the kitchen. She’s lying on her back on the padded bench I provided, with her knees drawn up and her arms crossed over her stomach. I can’t see much of her on account of the blanket covering damn near her entire body, but the clothes she wore earlier today are still in a pile on the floor. At least she knows not to push her boundariestoomuch.

Ignoring me, however, will not go uncorrected. We haven’t set any rules for her behavior while she’s on a tight leash, but that changes tonight. She isn’t going to sit there looking pretty all damn day and night.

She’s going to learn how to greet—and serve—her future husband.

While I roll up my shirtsleeves and wash my hands in the kitchen sink, there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of dinner. “Rebel,” I call out, “get that.” I glance over my shoulderto gauge Celia’s interest in either my arrival or the mystery knock, but she doesn’t so much as look in either direction.

I suppose exchanging pleasantries would be too normal for people like us.

Rebel’s the one who breaks the relative silence in the room, padding to the door and swinging it open for Dmitri, the club’s head chef, to deliver our meals. He pushes the cart through the door but doesn’t step inside the apartment.

No one enters except for us.

Dmitri, having been on our payroll for over a decade, knows better than to ask questions. He merely glances between Celia’s cage, Rebel’s total nudity, and my casual monitoring of it all with a nod of his head before turning on his heel and retreating to the back elevator to return downstairs.

“Thank God,” Rebel moans, lifting a gleaming silver cloche to reveal a thick ribeye cooked to perfection. “I’m fuckingstarving.” He grabs the plate and abandons the cart, stumbling to one of the bar stools and plopping down with enough force to rock the chair. Grabbing the steak with his bare hands, he tears into it with his teeth and swallows a bite whole. Blood drips down his fingers and wrists as he devours another bite and groans. “That’s the fucking spot.”

I’d normally tear my brother a new one for sitting on the furniture naked, but every lick of his lips piques Celia’s interest. She watches the occasional drip from Rebel’s steak land on his chest and trail down his abs.

If I listen closely enough, I can hear her stomach growl.

I hand Rebel a spoon for the mashed potatoes and leave him to scarf down his meal. There are three remaining steak dinners, a basket of fresh bread, and a chilled bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket waiting for me. I help myself to one of the dinner plates and stand across the island from Rebel so that I can keep an eye on Celia.

Will she beg for her meal?

The stench of alcohol cuts through the pleasant aroma of bread and charred meat, the offense wafting off of Rebel like he’s bathed in vodka all afternoon. “Have you been drinking?” I clench my jaw tightly. He was supposed to watch Celia while I was gone—not get shitfaced for the hell of it. Not to mention, he has clients tonight, and they won’t tip nearly as well if he reeks of booze and his performance suffers because of it. “Your shift starts in an hour. Go wash it off.”

With a sarcastic salute, he takes a huge, messy bite of uncut steak, slips off the stool, and starts walking back toward his room, still chewing loudly enough to grate on my nerves. When he walks past Celia, he pauses to look at her.

She ignores him, which shouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as it is.

At least she’s being a bitch toallof us.

Rebel scowls, taking another monstrous bite as soon as he’s swallowed the first.

Celia’s stomach suddenly growls, and I catch Rebel smirking at the sound. The steak melts in your mouth, so pulling a piece off to dangle it in front of her is easy. “Want some meat, baby?” His dick twitches close to her face, doubling in size in record time as he gets a half-chub.

I watch the display with curiosity. Rebel excels in choosing unorthodox methods just to fuck with people. He likes chaos, feeding off of it like a leech while the rest of us suffer.

Whatever he’s doing works, getting our girl’s attention more than ignoring her has. Celia sits up on the bench and swings her legs around, straddling the seat to face Rebel. She stares curiously at his dick for a moment before lifting her gaze to his face. “If that’s supposed to tempt me, you’re going to have to try harder.” Lifting her hand, she pretends to measure his dick with her forefinger and thumb. “Seems a little small.”

The smirk on Rebel’s face freezes. “You won’t think it’s small the next time you’re choking on it.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “What makes you think there will be a next time?”

“There’salwaysa next time.”

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her tits up beautifully. “Be a good boy and listen to your big brother. You smell like a cheap bar.”

Rebel, undeterred, bites back. “Wonder whose fault that is.”

“I didn’t hand you the bottle, Rebel.”

He tosses the strip of steak pinched between his fingers through the side of the cage, glaring as it lands on her cleavage. Itplops, leaving a bloody smear.

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