“Me too,” Cyrus grunts, his cock sliding alongside his brother’s inside me. “Going to fill her up until she can’t take any more.”
Their rhythm grows frantic, erratic, both of them pushing deeper with each thrust. The stretching sensation borders on pain, but I crave it—crave the way they claim every inch of me.
“Take our cum,” Cyrus demands, making one final shallow cut along my ribs before dropping the knife. “Take it all.”
“Please,” I beg, not recognizing my own voice. “Fill me. Breed me.”
Their bodies tense, and I feel the hot rush of their release—both of them pumping their seed deep inside me at the same time. The sensation of being marked so completely, inside and out, sends me into another violent orgasm.
“Ours,” Ace groans, giving one final thrust.
They withdraw slowly, carefully, and I feel empty in their absence. Cum immediately starts leaking from my stretched, swollen pussy, dripping down my thighs onto the metal table beneath me.
Cyrus and Ace stand back, eyes dark with satisfaction as they take in their handiwork—my body decorated with thin red lines, blood beading on my skin, their combined release flowing from between my legs.
“Look at you,” Cyrus whispers, voice filled with awe. “Marked inside and out.”
“Perfect,” Ace adds, tracing one finger through the mixture of blood and sweat on my stomach.
I lie there, catching my breath, feeling strangely powerful despite my vulnerability. Tonight will be my reckoning—facing the monster who stole my innocence and left me shattered. But I’m not that helpless girl anymore. I can confront my past because I have these two depraved, dangerous men by my side—men I’m falling for against all reason and sense.
29
ACE
Keira enters her dance studio on the security feed on my screen, her movements stiffer than usual. The cuts we left on her body must sting with every step, though we were careful to place them where clothing would cover. Cyrus and I insisted she stay home today, but she refused. “Normal,” she’d said. “I need something normal.”
Normal. As if that concept still exists for any of us.
“She shouldn’t be there,” Cyrus mutters, spreading maps of Henderson’s Boise property across our dining table. “Not after everything.”
“She’s trying to compartmentalize.” I zoom the camera view, studying Keira’s face as she greets her dancers. The mask she wears is flawless, but I can detect the cracks beneath. “It’s what we do, remember?”
Cyrus grunts, stabbing a red marker at the building’s rear entrance. “Extraction point. We’ll need a vehicle here.”
I split my attention between the maps and the live feed from the studio. Felix placed micro-cameras there last week—something Keira would eviscerate us for if she knew. On screen, she demonstrates a sequence, her movements technicallyperfect but lacking their usual fire. She stops mid-turn, seeming to forget what comes next.
“She’s breaking pattern,” I observe.
Cyrus glances up. “The confession cracked her open. Just like it did to us.”
I nod, remembering our own fractured revelations when we were fifteen. On screen, Marco approaches Keira, concern evident in his body language. His hand touches her shoulder. I feel my jaw tighten.
“That fucker’s getting handsy again,” Cyrus growls.
“Focus,” I remind him, though I feel the same territorial surge. “All that matters is tonight. When Henderson gets our full attention.”
We return to our planning, but my eyes drift repeatedly to the screen where Keira shakes her head at whatever Marco is asking. She tries again to demonstrate the sequence, but her movements remain disconnected, hollow.
“She needs this over with,” I murmur. “We take care of Henderson tonight, then she starts healing.”
“And we’ll be there for every second of it,” Cyrus adds, his voice carrying an unfamiliar gentleness.
I watch Keira on the screen, vulnerable yet determined, and my mind drifts to another type of vulnerability I’ve witnessed my entire life.
“Her revelation is particularly difficult for you,” I say, almost to myself.
My brother looks up from the maps, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”