Page 32 of The Knucklebone Brothers

I was a mess. My hair was a tangled, frizzy mess, my face streaked with dirt and sweat. My hand was bruising, and my head was throbbing. I was breathing in ragged, painful gasps, my lungs burning, my body a symphony of aches and pains. They had me pinned, my face pressed into the dirty, wooden floor.

Their faces were inches from mine now. Maverick's jaw was tensed up. Blythe's mask was a haunting void. We were all breathing heavily, the air thick with sweat and tension.

Great, I'm fucked, I thought, my mind a frantic scramble of panic and despair. What do I do now?

Chapter 12

The shack was quiet now, save for our ragged breathing. I lay there, pinned against the floorboards, my body a map of bruises and throbbing pain. I could feel the damp cold seeping into my skin, the sweat drying on my back. I was done fighting. I was done running.

Maverick shifted his weight, the floorboards creaking under him. He didn't say anything for a long moment, just looked down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You're a bad girl, Aurora," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You shouldn't have run. You shouldn't have fought. You're gonna have to be punished."

Blythe, who had been silent, let out a low, rumbling laugh. "Yeah, she's a real brat," he agreed, his voice deep. "We'll have to teach you some manners."

I glared up at them, my eyes full of defiance. "Don't fucking touch me," I snarled. "I said don't fucking touch me."

"Oh, we will," Maverick reminded me. "You're ours now. And we're going to have a lot of fun with you."

They moved then, their hands grabbing me by the arms, pulling me up from the floor. I stumbled, my legs weak, but they didn't let me fall. They stripped me naked, my clothes torn and discarded in the corner of the room. I stood there, shivering, my body on display, my skin flushed and angry.

Blythe stepped closer, his eyes roaming over my body, his hand reaching out to trace the curve of my hip. Maverick walked over to a corner of the room and pulled out an old wooden stool. He brought it to the middle of the room and sat down, his legs spread, his hands resting on his knees. He stared up at me, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. He pulled his mask back on, the plastic covering his eyes and mouth, hiding his expression, but the smile was still visible.

"Welcome to the Fun House," he said, his voice muffled by the mask. "And the fun is just beginning."

He gestured to Blythe, who stepped closer, his hand wrapping around my arm, pulling me toward the center of the room. I was exposed, vulnerable, and at their mercy. I was ready for whatever they had in store for carnie games and twisted pleasures.

"Go to him," Blythe commanded, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. He jerked his head toward Maverick, who was sitting on the stool with that sickening mask. "Maverick's lap. Now."

I glared up at him, my defiance flaring hot and bright. "Fuck you," I spat, my voice shaking but fierce. "I'm not sitting on his lap. You're not touching me."

Blythe laughed, a dry, humorless sound. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vise. "You forgot who you're dealing with, didn’t you?"

He hauled me forward, forcing me to stumble toward Maverick. I kicked out, my heel connecting with his shin, but he didn't even flinch. He just grabbed me around the waist with his massive arms, lifting me effortlessly off the floor. I thrashed in his grip, my nails digging into his arms, my legs kicking uselessly. "Let me go! I said let me go!"

He didn't. He carried me over to the stool, then maneuvered me so that I was draped over Mavericks lap, my stomach pressed against his hard thighs, my chest hanging down toward the floor. I tried to sit up, to pull away, but he had me pinned. His hands were heavy on my hips, holding me in place, his fingers digging into my skin.

I could feel the heat of his body through his jeans, and I could feel the rough texture of the denim against my body. I was bent over his lap, my ass in the air. My pussy was exposed in the dim light. I could feel Maverick's hand moving down my back, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine, sending shivers down to my core.

I felt like a piece of meat, a prize to be claimed. And I hated it. I hated that I could feel the pressure of his cock heavy against my belly. I hated that my body was betraying me, reacting to his touch, even as my mind screamed against it. I was trapped, ready for whatever they wanted to do to me.

Blythe was behind me, a looming shadow that I couldn't see but could feel. I tried to shift, to pull away, but Maverick’s hand clamped onto my shoulder, his grip iron, stopping me dead. "Don't move," he rumbled, his voice a low vibration against my ear. "You're gonna to take what's comin’ to you."

Then I heard it. The sharp click of leather. The belt unbuckling.

A chill raced down my spine, and I tried to scramble up, but Maverick’s arm tightened, hauling me back down. "Hold still," he commanded.

Blythe’s voice was right there, right behind me, his southern drawl thick and dripping with that sick, twisted charm. "There now, pretty thing," he crooned, his hand running a rough path down my back, over my hips, cupping my ass. "You're so pretty when you're mad. But you're gonna be prettier when you learn to behave."

I gritted my teeth, my face hot. "You can go to hell," I hissed.

"Maverick," Blythe said, his tone shifting, the charm giving way to something darker. "Let's get started."

I felt the cold leather of the belt against my skin, tracing the curve of my ass, making me shiver. Then, CRACK.

The impact was sharp, stinging, and burned through me like fire. I gasped, a strangled sound tearing from my throat, my back arching instinctively.

"One," Maverick counted, his voice maddeningly calm, like he was playing a game. "Two."

CRACK.