Page 12 of Auctioned to her Stepbrothers

A man repeating the phrase that his violent father used over and over when he wanted to make sure that no one dared defy his wishes or break from his control. A man with the same walk, the same piercing gaze, the same lips that linger between smiling and sneering as his cruel father.

So many similarities that I didn't truly see until now.

When I glance over my shoulders, Kylian's face is slack, and I'm unsure if it's from release or shock. Did he hear me?

He pulls out, leaving an emptiness in his wake that is more than just physical. "How do you know my name?" he hisses, tucking himself away with so much control that there's no evidence of the release he just had or the exertion it took to get there. How is that possible when my body feels wrung out with pleasure and nervous exhaustion?

I want to tell him it's not just his name that I know. The man who used my mouth and the man who took my virginity are my stepbrothers too. Lyle and Nate. Can it really be them?

Of course, it is.

Now that I see it, I don't know how I didn't realize it before.

But through my anxiousness, the pain, and the pleasure, it’s taken me too long to find the truth.

I sold myself to three men who once upon a time were my stepbrothers, but what they've just taken from me, no brother should take from a sister.

And I don't know what to do. Our shared history barrels through my mind. The days we spent running through the grounds playing hide and seek, the nights we'd spent crashing out in the family room watching kid's shows on the big TV. Kylian and his brothers were my friends and playmates. For a time, they became the only siblings I ever had.

Until I had to leave with mom.

I missed them so much during the first few months that my pillow was always wet before falling asleep. Even though I was young, I knew what was happening in the house. Not only to mymom but to the boys too. I knew that without mom there, the violence and anger their father rained down on them would only get worse.

Kylian, in particular, suffered at the hands of his father. Maybe because he was the eldest, or maybe because he was the one who continued to hold his head up and meet the enraged Dick Aston, even when it was the thing that escalated the anger.

He was a fearless child when I last saw him.

Now he's a man with eyes that blaze behind his mask with the same look I saw a thousand times before.

My breathing is short and sharp, my mind spinning and overwhelmed because I should feel disgusted and I should feel regret, but I don't feel any of those things.

Kylian, Nate, and Lyle are here. They're real and whole, strong men with bodies made for sin. Their father might have tried to intimidate them and beat them until they were crushed, but he failed.

That fire inside them that spilled out over my skin, bruising, and burning with intensity, has healed a part of me that has always been raw. It's a part that I'd tried to bury because facing up to the reality of the situation that they were left in feels too difficult to bear.

Kylian takes a step closer, his eyes sweeping over my disheveled hair and ravaged body, finally spearing into my wide gaze as I stare at him in disbelief. "Who are you?" he hisses. "What kind of game are you playing?"

The suspicion that rages in his expression is what pulls me out of my stunned silence.

"Honor," I say softly, my throat closing as my name spills from my mouth. "I'm Honor, Kylian."

As soon as my words register, Kylian staggers back. It's a fleeting moment where he seems totally undone. His chest rises and falls with two deep breaths, and his hands flex at his sides. Then, as though he's pushed down all his feelings into a box and slammed the lid shut, his posture straightens, and his face forms an impassive mask.

"Honor," he spits, as though my name tastes foul in his mouth. As though he believes that I have no honor at all. He takes a step forward, and I slide back against the bed, using my hands to put some distance between us, but for every inch that I shift, he moves forward until his hands are braced on either side of me on the bed.

He's so different. Time has sharpened his jaw and strengthened his brow. His shoulders are broad, and his arms corded with muscle. All the boyishness has left him, and in its place is an imposing masculinity and coiled savagery, a rumbling fury and resentment held behind a careful veneer.

"I should have seen it." One hand rises to touch the ends of my hair as he studies it. "I should have noticed your hair." His fingers drift behind my head, and he begins to undo the ribbon that fastens my lace mask.

My heart is thudding against my chest, but I try to keep my breathing under control. If there's one thing I learned living with Kylian's father; fear is like pouring kerosene on fire for men whoneed to dominate. Did I imagine that Kylian would be so much like his father? Definitely not. He was never cruel. He was never brutal. Serious maybe, and angry because of his situation. That was understandable. But using his dad's cruel words? That's something new.

As the mask slips, Kylian searches my exposed face. Recognition is just a flicker in his eyes.

I know I look like my mother. Maybe for him, it's like staring at a person who disappeared from his past. "Honor," he says quietly, and for just a second, he's like the Kylian I knew before. The boy who used to read me bedtime stories when I couldn't sleep. The boy who stood in front of me more than once to divert his father's attention. Then all of that is gone.

I want to cover my body so it's shielded from his intense gaze, but I'm lying on top of the sheets, so there's nothing to hand. He's seen everything that there is to see, but that doesn't make being naked in front of him any easier. The mask is gone. He knows me. Not just what it's like to push deep inside my body but what it's like to laugh and cry with me. We shared so much in the year we spent together, and it's all there hanging between us like tiny filaments, connections that could so easily be brushed away.

"I didn't know," I say before he has a chance to ask.

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