Page 9 of Boneyard HEA

“You can, but I will then say I discovered your crime, and I will report you, and hold you for them even.”

That’s a killer exit clause.

He places his index finger under his nose, evenly dividing his mouth. “I need a test first. I need to see you can obey me. Considering what you’ve already done for money, for strangers on the internet, this should be easy. Untie her ankles, Tomás.”

He walks around me and studies me for a few seconds. I’m holding my breath. Aaron is weird, and I cannot figure him out, but this man…he is dangerous. He also has a hard-on under those pants that’s almost in my face. A black pocket-knife appears in his hand that he clicks open. The blade shines.

I shrink backward.

Without saying a word, he bends over and kisses my forehead then goes to one knee. While holding each ankle in turn, maybe to stop me kicking him, he cuts the zip ties. The grip of his hand about each ankle echoes on my skin like a ghost hand even after he’s climbed to his feet.

By the time he returns to his place behind me, I swear my blood pressure has risen to the skies.

“Spread your legs wide, girl,” Aaron says.

4

Juniper

Girl. Is that a demotion? Open my legs. He said I’ve already done this for strangers on the internet, so he knows my secret. My other secret. What doesn’t he know about me?

I guess this is like OnlyFans but with less money.

And more murder. I do still want to see Nathan’s friends dead.

“Juniper.” He prompts, and I straighten my mouth.

Except it’s not the same. This is too intimate—that’s the problem. The internet cannot tie you up. Or touch you.

I stare at him. He stares back. Then Tomás grasps my hair and winds it around his fist. The belt at my neck is also pulled tighter. Not that tight, but again, it screams threat. Aaron flicks his gaze to his friend and says nothing more.

The tingles spreading through me have everything to do with this whole fucked-up situation and I’m terribly aware of the belt, the cuffs, the two men watching me, and that hand painfully twisting my hair.

A whimper escapes as Tomás twists his hand, making my hair roots scream, and I’m panting, flexing against the cuffs. It’s the pain making me react. Only that.

When I rise onto my toes and arch to try to lessen the strain on my scalp and throat, Tomás quietly chuckles.

Understanding clicks in and I gasp out, “This is blackmail!”

“Of course it is,” Loxland says. “And you’re a murderer. Now. Open. Your legs.”

I won’t hurt you irreversibly unless you ask me for it. Fuck, though, I’m lying to myself. Why is this turning me on? Two men manhandling me, and that instruction is so utterly sexual. I want to spit on them both, yet I’m swelling below, the wetness gathering. And the tightness in my throat isn’t just from the belt.

I won’t hurt you.

I can back out. And lose every chance of killing those men.

Tomás must have brought the belt to the fist holding my hair, for he cradles the front of my neck in the other hand, his fingers settle there, gently, one by one, and I’m forced to look up at him.

My feet press to the floor.

To spit or not to spit?

He caresses my throat.

Slowly, I open my legs, and equally slowly Tomás lets go of my hair and the belt. He leans over me and gathers my skirt high then he hooks his fingers in my panties and cuts the sides, pulls the cloth from under me, revealing what lies between my legs. He slaps one inner thigh.

Shocked at the stinging pain, I grasp what he wants me to do and open my legs further.