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He gets stuck again at Archie’s mouth, and I use Cyclone again. I tear through the tissues that connect Archie’s face to his bones and muscles, and look at this, the skin lifts.
Precious.
Deserving.
By the time we’re done, Archie’s screams have silenced. I put two fingers to his neck, feeling nothing.
“Only good thing he’s ever done.” I smile at Killian. “I can’t wait to go to Amara.”
“Me too. But first.” Killian lifts what’s left of Archie’s face and strikes the man with, well, with himself. Beats his face over his body.
Blood spurts on our clothes. Vomit and other bodily fluids trickle to the floor. Archie’s hollowed eyes stare back at us.
I grab the useless face from Killian, repeating what he did and slapping a dead Archie.
At that, I chuckle. A true, genuine laugh.
We both stand up, striding over to the other room where we can clean up and change for Amara.
Now we’re ready for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Amara
“Pet.” I hear a deep voice say somewhere around me.
At least I think I do.
Everything’s dark behind the silk blindfold Killian tied around my head.
He said to be a good girl and wait here for them, and I have.
But it’s been a while. I’ve been lost in space and time sitting on this leather chair, in this room with the faint hint of bleach scent.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
I could be hearing wrong.
“Beautiful girl.” A rough hand that smells of soap and not bleach cups my cheek. Killian. He’s here. “You haven’t moved an inch. Such a good girl.”
“He’s right. You have been good.” The knuckles of another soapy-smelling palm trail from my other cheek down to my chin. Carter. “Too bad it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” Every pore in my body begs to be punished. For them to tell me what a bad girl I’ve been.
After yesterday, I feel as if our connection has grown tenfold. So deep, it’s unbreakable. I need them like I need air. Every bit of them.
“You’ve been a brat.” Carter’s fingers, no longer tender, grip my chin and tilt my head up. “So this whole good, obedient girl act? Late. Too late.”
The way my breath hitches evokes two, angry, ravenous growls from them.
One hand curls around my wrist, a second around my other one. Both men guide my hands to their bodies, and I don’t argue. They hold my palms up in the air while I listen to belts unbuckling and zippers rolling down.
Then my hands press to either of their thick, silky cocks.
“Oh.” I sigh, gripping them tighter, getting more and more wet from their sounds of pleasure. “This, uh, this doesn’t feel like punishment.”
The second the words leave my mouth, both men push my hands off them.
