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That was not what I wanted to hear.
I stop moving. She stops breathing altogether as she looks at each of us. I see it again, the battle in her eyes. The conflict. It’s growing bigger and uglier, darker as the shame threatens to overtake her and win. “Ariana,” I try to soothe her, moving my fingers again.
She whimpers but ultimately pulls back, a shameful blush crossing her face as she struggles to regain her self-control. “What do you think I am?” Ariana asks, anger slowly taking over. “What kind of slut do you think I am?”
“That’s not what we think at all,” I say.
“I’m not your whore. I’m not your old lady. I’m not some piece of ass that you get to play with while doing whatever it is you’re trying to do against my father,” Ariana says. “I’m not your entertainment, either. I’ll just sit here and mind my own fucking business from now on, and I would appreciate it if the three of you would get the fuck out of my room.”
“Ariana—” I try again.
“Get out!”
She’s shaking like a leaf, her eyes rapidly filling with tears as she turns away from us. This definitely didn’t go the way I’d hoped. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe we should’ve eased her into it more slowly. Raylan’s hesitance in their dynamic is understandable. The last time we tried to build an actual relationship with a woman, it didn’t end well.
The silence that lingers between us feels heavy and unpleasant. I can only respect her wishes and give her space for the remainder of the evening. We’ll start anew tomorrow. We’ll have a conversation in a different, calmer setting. The uncertainty between us is heavily influenced by the fact that she is still our prisoner, technically speaking.
We leave Ariana in her room, and as soon as I close and lock the door behind her, I hear her sobs as she settles by the window.
“Dammit, man,” Kendric whispers.
“I know. We’ll fix it,” I tell him.
Raylan lets a subtle groan out of his throat. “I think it’s on me.”
13
Ariana
I’d been thinking about it for a while, being shared by these strangely entrancing men. My guilty, dirty little thoughts. Why couldn’t I bring myself to admit it? Why did I have to be so abrasive and so aggressive in my response? They came to me willingly, determined to make that crazy fantasy come true. So why did I react the way I did?
Maybe it’s for the best.
I suppose some things are simply not meant for me to experience. I never imagined I’d be kidnapped, yet here I am. And I certainly never imagined I’d end up in bed with not one but two of them while also yearning for the third.
Getting it on with all three of them sounds incredibly appealing. It also sounds scandalous, decadent, and wrong.
But it doesn’t feel wrong.
Every fiber in my body was calling out to them, burning with desire, yearning for that kind of intimacy. The four of us unraveling through the night while the rest of the world slept. But I couldn’t bring myself to say yes. I couldn’t. Yet I’m not proud of my reaction, either.
I guess that whole scenario is out the window now.
“I can’t stay here a second longer,” I tell myself as I wipe my tears and wash my face with cold water. It’s the truth, though. The shame is too much to bear. I pushed them away, and I’m pretty sure that’s the end of it.
I have become complacent as a captive. I stopped fighting for my freedom. Maybe that’s why I reacted the way I did. They didn’t demand anything; I must be fair in my judgment. They didn’t tell me anything I didn’t want to hear, didn’t offer me anything I hadn’t already fantasized about. God, I can’t stay here. This needs to end, and I cannot let myself get dragged in any deeper.
My father must be going out of his mind. For all his faults, I know he loves me. I also know he’s trying to keep his political career intact. Whatever bone the Steel Knights have to pick with him, it’s theirs, not mine. I shouldn’t be involved in it in any way. The more I sit here, the more determined I am to leave.
I take my faithful screw out of my pocket and get to work on the window again. I’ve actually gotten somewhere with my tedious work—the outer screw on the frame is finally beginning to budge. I’m getting dangerously close to being able to unscrew it with my bare hands.
“Holy shit,” I mumble when it finally comes off. “One down, three to go.”
A few hours pass in eerie silence. The clubhouse is closed, and everyone has gone to sleep. The customers have long since gone home, leaving the parking lot in heavy darkness and tomblike silence.
The wall clock tells me it’s almost two in the morning. By the third screw, my confidence grows.
My heart jumps with excitement, my stomach tight with anticipation as I’m left with a single screw to take out.
