Page 83 of Along for the Ride

“Selfish,” Karson clips.

“Yeah, sometimes.” Gentry’s fingertips brush the hair from my cheek as he looks into my eyes. “She’s my breedable little wanderer,” he says, and fuck if it doesn’t make me throb. “Mine.”

“Ours,” Karson corrects as he smacks my ass. “There’s a reason she won’t choose between us. You like how webothuse you, huh, little thief? You like how Gentry fucks you like he loves you and I fuck you like I hate you.”

“Yes,” I whimper.

It’s true. Karson is fucked beyond comprehension, and yet my body still craves his harsh, feral touch. Almost as much as I crave the protective, loving hand that belongs to Gentry. And I won’t choose. Not now. Not after we’ve clawed our way to this moment.

“Do you want both holes filled?” Karson asks as he puts one hand on my hip and the other on my shoulder, but he doesn’t wait for my response. It was never a question.

He fucks me harder and faster, the hollow pain of his dick pulsing through me. I moan, loving the friction as their cocks collide within me. It’s sick and twisted, but that’s what I’ve become.

And what they’ve always been.

Karson slows the hard thrusts that pound against the backs of my thighs.

“I’m going to fill you, thief. Officially claim this tight little ass of yours,” he growls as his hips stutter, and with a groan that sends shivers up my spine, he comes.

Sweat slicks my body as Gentry’s hands rove over me, playing with my nipples as we all gasp for air. I’m fucked and filled, and they’re empty and satiated. The heat of their bodies presses against me until I feel like we’re one. I’m sore and used, yet I’m more content than I’ve ever been. More free than I’ve ever felt.

I lean down and kiss Gentry, the man who will protect what’s his at any cost. Karson grips my hair and pulls me toward him, and I kiss him too. The man who will take what he wants, regardless of the repercussions.

And then there’s me. Right in the middle, where I belong.

Epilogue

One Year Later

Gentry

The smell of blood is nearly overbearing. Not in an unpleasant way, but the way something too sweet can almost make you feel sick. Tonight was such a sloppy kill—bloody as fuck, with the perfect amount of torture for Karson. Even though Leana still hasn’t taken the kill shot since her ex, she takes part in the torture when she feels like the victim deserves it. Which is cute because she was once so insistent that no one deserves death. Plenty of people deserve death, but fewer deserve life. I certainly don’t. Especially notthislife with her and my fucking brother.

And Sam. He greets us at the door as we enter the apartment, happy to sniff at the blood on our bodies. We take him along on the kills sometimes—the murder mutt is a Kursicki, through and through—but we left him to guard the apartment tonight.

The only downside to this life is having to share Leana. I hate handing her off to Karson because I want her for myself, butshewants both of us, and she gets whatever she wants. If she doesn’t want to choose between us, I won’t make her. Neither of us will.

As we shed our clothes, Karson turns to me with a grin. “I heard about a way we might make a little side money,” he says. “There’s this fighter named Ambrose not far from here, and he’s making waves in the ring. We can fight on the weekends when we aren’t busy. There’s good money if we win.”

“I’m not kicking your ass for money,” I say as I pull off my shirt. “I’ll do that for free.”

Leana stands naked in front of the bathroom door and waves us toward her. “Stop the competitive shit and let’s get clean.”

We shed the rest of our clothes, and all three of us are naked by the time we get to the shower. High on the endorphins from the kill, we drag her in and close the door. The spray sends blood-tinged water toward the drain, cleansing us of our sins.

Until next time, that is.

“My thief,” Karson whispers as he kisses the back of her neck.

“Will you ever stop calling me that?” she asks. “I stole one car.”

So mouthy. As usual.

“You’ve stolen more than that,” Karson says through a laugh.

I cock my head at him. If he says some Hallmark shit like, “She stole my heart,” I will shoot him in it. Even if it’s kinda true. I call her wanderer because she’s taken me to places within me that I’d never have gone into alone, and she’s definitely a thief for stealing both of our hearts. She’s also force-fed humanity down our throats. But the sweet shit? That’s my half of the fucked-up equation. I’m the sap. I would put a knife through my own chest for her. I love her more than I love killing, and I never thought that would be a thing for me. She even makes me love my brother again, as an extension of her.

“I love you, wanderer,” I say as I pull her into me and kiss her.

---