#dark!curtis everett

Being here at Rogers Academy, again, was bad enough—a nightmare, actually—but when you’d learned Mr. Everett was your adviser this term, your heart had sunk even lower. You knew there wasn’t a good option, but as far as you were concerned, Mr. Everett was maybe the worst. Your previous classmates would say you were crazy. They’d say that of course your last adviser, Mr. Hansen, was so much worse. But just because Everett wasn’t as loud as Hansen, that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as cruel, maybe even worse. He had the hardest eyes you’d ever seen, unyielding. And he used silence in a way you could feel. Plus, perhaps most importantly, he’d never liked you. Last term, his classes had been the ones you’d dreaded the most. He made you uneasy in a way you couldn’t quite explain. But whenever you were in his vicinity, you could feel his cold eyes on you. Unrelenting. And the more you felt his attention on you, the more nervous you got, the more mistakes you made, and the more you disappointed him. You couldn’t win with him. And now he was your adviser.

There was nothing you wanted to do less than go into this office. But you knew the longer you left it, especially if you were late, the worse it would get. So, you raised a shaky hand and knocked on the door.

“In,” a gruff voiced called from inside. So, you turned the knob and forced yourself into the office, shutting the door behind you.

You only took a few steps in, stopping next to one of the chairs in front of his desk. You didn’t take a seat. You didn’t look around. You just stood with your head down and waited.

He didn’t acknowledge you. You could hear him typing. Working on something more important. You took a deep breath to try to steady yourself, hopefully not too loudly.

Finally, the typing stopped. Silence descended over the room. You didn’t look up. You didn’t dare to. But you could feel his eyes boring into you. It took everything in you not to fidget. Your nerves went up with every minute he didn’t say anything.

It was an age before he finally spoke.  “So,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain, “you’re back.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, loud enough to be heard, but not so loud you’d call attention to yourself. You let your eyes drift up from the floor to his top shirt button, but no higher. Eye contact without permission wouldn’t be rewarded. And you were too afraid to meet his eyes anyway.

He leaned forward in his chair. He still hadn’t given you permission to sit. “You actually gonna try this time?”

“I tried last time,” you said meekly, defending yourself even though you knew it was useless.

“You did?” he asked, full of mocking surprise. “You tried so hard you failed?”

“Mr. Barber’s the hardest grader–“ you started but were quickly cut off.

“No, don’t do that. Barber had nothing to do with it. You failed because you’re too stupid and lazy to pass a simple test. And now we have to deal with you again.”

It wasn’t like you wanted to be here again. Between him and your brother, everyone acted like this was your choice. But you’d been automatically re-enrolled the moment you’d failed your exam without anyone asking what you thought about that. Your brother had been furious with you. Your failure had messed up all the arrangements he’d been trying to make for you. And now he had to pay for another term here. At a discounted rate, but still. You’d never hear the end of it until you were settled in someone else’s home as their obedient wife. At least you wouldn’t be here.

“I talked to Barber about your final,” Curtis continued. “He said your meal was atrocious. Remind me, who teaches Kitchen Skills here?”

You swallowed hard. Shit. “You do, sir.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, I do, don’t I? So, you gonna try to blame me next? Did I not teach you well enough?”

There was a dangerous edge to his voice that you weren’t sure how to navigate. You couldn’t say that he made you so nervous it was hard to pay attention in his class. You couldn’t say that Mr. Barber had inspected your food so fiercely that you weren’t sure how anyone would pass. You couldn’t say that you just weren’t good at it and were afraid that nothing would change that.

All you were left with was “I did try, sir.”

He scoffed loudly and stood up, walking around his desk to you. “Sure. And how about today? Did you try today?” Then he blatantly looked you up and down in a way that made you shiver.

“Yes, sir,” you said, proud of yourself that you didn’t flinch back as he took another step forward so that he was right in front of you. So that there was barely any space in between you.

“Hmm,” he hummed. Then he abruptly bent down and tugged on the bottom of your skirt, hard. “Your hem is uneven.” He kicked at one of your feet, causing you to wobble dangerously in your heels. “That shoe is scuffed.” Then he grabbed your face with one hand, pressing his thumb into your lips. “And this,” he said, disgusted, as he swiped his thumb to the side, smearing your lipstick across your cheek, “is too dark. You look like a whore.” He took a step back to lean on the edge of his desk. “You’re a fucking mess. But I’m supposed to believe that you tried.”

You tried to hold yourself together. You knew you shouldn’t let the rough handling get to you. But you couldn’t help yourself. As much as you tried to blink them away, you felt the tears fall down your face.

He rolled his eyes. “And here come the crocodile tears,” he sneered. “Right on schedule.” You ducked your head as your face heated up. You tried to surreptitiously wipe both the tears and lipstick off your face, but he halted you with a firm “Stop.” He sighed as he shifted his weight to fully sit on the edge of his desk. He wiped one hand over his mouth. “God, what the fuck are we supposed to do with you? Huh? We both know you won’t pass this time either, so what’s the fucking point?”

You swallowed nervously. As awful as it was to be here, not being here would be worse. If all you had on your record was a failure, then if your brother was even able to find a match for you, it’d be without a doubt worse than if you’d never been enrolled here to begin with. More likely, he wouldn’t be able to find anyone to take you off his hands, and if he let you stay, he’d only grow to resent you as he got his own well-behaved wife and began to grow his family. And if he didn’t, if he kicked you out, well. You’d need to figure out how to fend for yourself. And you shuddered to think what that might entail.

“I can pass this time, Sir.” It came out as a whisper, without nearly as much conviction as you wanted. Because you didn’t have any. Only desperation.

He let out a loud, joyless, mean laugh. “Really? You think so? After you’ve just tried to convince me that you already tried your hardest last year? How exactly are you going to do that?” And then he fixed you with a look so intense, so demanding, so cruel, that the only thing you could do was drop your gaze to the floor. “Pumpkin,” he called to you, but you still didn’t look up. “Why did you fail your final exam?”

“Um…” You swallowed again, hands twitching at your sides, “Mr. Barber-“

“No,” he cut you off, stern. “Why did you fail your final?”

“I- um, I- I don’t know.”

“Pumpkin, why did you fail your final exam?”

His voice was so insistent, you felt like it was rattling around inside your head. At the sound of it, something that had been coiled tight inside of you ever since you’d gotten your results finally released. “Because I wasn’t good enough,” you answered, voice so small. “Because I’m not good enough.”

Curtis stood up, standing so close to you again. You flinched when he raised his hand, but he only wiped away a tear. “That’s right, Pumpkin. That’s exactly right. You aren’t good enough. And every single person here knows it. I’m glad you finally do too. So, what are we going to do about it?”

“I- I want to pass.”

“Oh, I know, Pumpkin. And, despite my better instincts, I’m gonna help you do it. I just need you to do one thing for me first.”

“What, sir?” you asked, finally daring to meet his eyes.

You only had half a second to register the smirk on his face before he said, “Beg me to help you.”

Your heart dropped in humiliation, but still, you didn’t hesitate. You’d do anything not to get kicked out of your brother’s house. “Please. Please, sir, I need you to help me.”

“Pumpkin,” he warned. “You know that’s not how good girls beg.”

You dropped to your knees so fast, there was an audible thud. You felt it in your knees. With your eyes fixed on Curtis’s shoes, you started, “Please–“ But before you could continue, his hand fisted in your hair and your head was yanked up so that you had to look at him. You swallowed anxiously at the look on his face but kept going. “Please. Please, sir. I need your help. Please help me. I–“ You’d been punished by him enough times before that you knew what he liked, what he wanted. What he expected. “I’m too much of a stupid slut to do this on my own. Please. Please help me. Please.”

The hand in your hair pulled your head back even harder before suddenly releasing. “You are a very stupid slut,” he said seriously, “but I’m going to help you anyway.” Your body flooded with relief as he leaned back on his desk again. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to meet with all of your instructors at least once a week to find out what kind of progress you’re making. If I hear anything disappointing, there will be consequences. You and I will also be meeting,” he tilted his head to the side briefly, in thought, “three times a week, to start with, I think, for private tutoring as you can’t seem to understand any of these concepts without it. But I expect you to pay full attention and make an effort. If you don’t, we’ll have a problem. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you nodded quickly, still kneeling in front of him.

“And I’m not going to see you in the bottom half of the weekly rankings even once, am I? That should be impossible, seeing as you’ve already done this all before, right? But if you do, you won’t just have to deal with the normal consequences. No, there will be special ones, just between you and me. And I guarantee you won’t like them.”

You gulped. You didn’t doubt him for a moment. “Yes, sir,” you said as clearly as you could manage.

He stood up again, just taking one long stride before his hand was tangled in your hair again, pulling up so hard your back bowed. “And you’re not going to fail again. You will not embarrass me. If you do, you won’t just be expelled,” his grasp in your hair got tighter and he pulled you up even higher, and his voice dropped an octave, “you will have to deal with me personally.”

A wave of terror washed over you. This was why he was scarier than Hansen. He made everything personal. “I’ll pass, sir,” you whispered. “I will.” He let go of you and you fell backwards, then scrambled to get back into position.

“Yeah?” he sneered at you, still standing so close. “Sounds like I’ll be taking lots of time out of my busy schedule to make sure you do. You better be ready to show me some gratitude.”

You gulped. Of course. You should have been expecting this. You could do it. You learned last term that you could do a lot of things that you hadn’t thought before. With shaky hands, you reached for his belt buckle. But to your surprise, he slapped your hands away.

“No, you fucking slut. You haven’t earned my cock yet. But we can check your form, can’t we? See if you’re ready.” With that, he roughly grabbed the back of your head and with his other hand pressed two thick fingers against your lips. You opened your mouth for him immediately. “See?” He asked in a smooth, honeyed tone. “You aren’t too stupid to be a good girl after all.”

He pushed his fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue until saliva pooled. Then he began thrusting them slowly and methodically at first. You closed your lips around him, tucking them over your teeth, moved your tongue along the underside of his fingers. You tried to treat them like a cock, tried to make it good like you’d been taught. To prove to him that you could do this. You could be good. He didn’t need to punish you. Your eyes were glued to him, but his face was impassive, his eyes intense. You couldn’t tell if we was happy.

His thrusts got rougher and faster as he went. He hit the back of your throat, and you couldn’t stop yourself from gagging. He hummed in surprise. “Huh, would have thought Hansen would’ve gotten rid of your gag reflex last year. Well. Another thing to work on.” He pulled his hand away, saliva stretching from your mouth to his fingers. He wiped them off briskly on your cheek, adding to the mess of the lipstick, your mascara, and your tears.

“It’s lunchtime,” he said, going back to his desk. “But you need to go clean up first. Look at you. You’re a fucking disaster. You better do it fast if you want time to eat before your grooming evaluation with Hansen.” His face broke into a wide smile. “I know he’s going to be thrilled to see you.”

Your stomach dropped. Just because you were most scared of Curtis, that didn’t mean you weren’t also afraid of Mr. Hansen. Especially now that he had such a big reason to be upset with you.

Still kneeling on the floor, you tried to take a moment to gather your strength, your bravery, before you faced the rest of your day. But Curtis let out a loud “Out!” that had you racing to get off the floor and out of his office.

Once you were on the other side of his closed door, you leaned against the wall to take a breath. But then one of the hall monitors, Colin, walked by. “No loitering,” he called to you as he passed. And then he turned, so that he walked backwards, and looked you up and down, taking in your disheveled state. “Nice to see you again, Pumpkin. You better get cleaned up, don’t wanna get in trouble for a uniform violation.” He turned back around, but his laughter echoed down the hall as you rushed back to your room.

Last year, you would have sworn that things at Roger’s Academy couldn’t get any worse. You really were stupid, you thought, as you realized just how wrong you’d been.

Tag List

Your stomach is a siren, crying out for anything. You listen to that, not your conscience. When it boils down to it, ethics are as much a commodity as a gold watch or designer purse.

Confidence is key. Not real confidence, just the appearance of. People only notice what you let them notice.

It's dark. Late. You move between the shadows of house, trailing behind the bumpers of pickups, stopping to stand on tiptoe and peek in the beds. Empty bottles won't even get you a return anymore. Fucking pricks in their suits, writing down new rules for everyone but themselves.

Just a small thing. Nothing that's too much. If they can afford them, they can afford to replace them, surely.

You stop and rub your eyes. The streetlights soften the edges. You see something further down a lot.

The long drive is full up. Three pick ups, an outdated corvette, and a couple bikes near the unlit garage with four doors. You weave between, pausing to test the handles and peek through the windows.

Huh. One's unlocked. You find greasy receipts for a burger place this end of town and coupons for more. Jesus. Fat fuck.

You keep on towards the bikes. Usually, you don't get much off of them. You might manage to twist off a mirror or couple pieces of metal to sell at the scrapper.

You check the first. Nothing. The second turns up a couple pills tucked inside the handlebar. If they're any good, you can get a decent profit. You don't touch the shit. Makes you an easy target, even if it would ease the ache in your gut.

The third bike is nice. The silver cobra painted on the matte grey tank catches a glimmer of moonlight. You feel around slowly.

There's a leather pouch right behind the seat. Someone must've been distracted. You unbuckle it, the metal clinking louder than you like, and sift around blindly.

You take out the only object inside. A folding knife. You'll be lucky to take ten from the pawnshop. They have a whole fucking bucket of knives.

A click makes you clumsy. The knife falls between your feet and you stand sttaight. Stiff. The gravel mulches behind you.

"Hands up." The grizzly voice sneers.

Fucker. You raise your hands. The man comes close and kicks the knife under the bike and you hear it skitter to the other side.

"You law?" You ask.

"Shut up." He growls.

You sigh and stay as you are. His body heat clouds around you as he pokes you with the barrel. You huff.

"Keep your hands up and turn around." He commands.

"I'm just hungry--" you say.

"Yeah? Bet those pills are real filling." He jabs the gun deeper between your shoulder blades. "Turn the fuck around."

You close your eyes and deflate. You face the man and look. He's just a black silhouette but you can tell he isn't with the force. You stare at him, bracing for something, anything.

"You know what I do with thieves?"

"I can guess," your fingers droop weakly.

"Don't you know where the fuck you are?" He steps closer and angles the barrel under your chin. The silver glow of the moon limns his long nose and lights his grey blue irises.

"Somewhere I shouldn't be."

"You're goddamn fucking right." He pushes until your jaw aches.

He glares at you as the shadows coil like a basilisk. He drags the gun along your cheek and presses against your temple. He hooks his finger in the top of your hoodie and tugs it away from your neck. He scoffs.

"Listen to every fucking word I say and I might let you limp out of here."

You sniff and shake your head. "What the hell am I gonna do?"

He clicks his tongue. "Turn around. Walk up to that wall. Put your palms flat." He gestures with the barrel.

You obey and march stiffly up to the front of the garage. He follows you. You stare at the obscure siding and resign yourself to whatever comes next.

"Pay for what you took and we're even."

"You think I'm out hear stealing cause I got money--“

His knuckles snap against the back of your skull.

"Point is you took what's mine. You owe me." He shifts behind you. "I didn't say nothing about money."

He kicks your heels.

"Pull your jeans down."

Your body locks up and your fingers curl to fists. You swallow dryly. You reach down.

“Ah, move slow. I’m still being nice.” He warns. “You still got all your fingers.”

You ease your motion. You don’t bother with your fly. You slip your thumbs under the denim and elastic and shove your jeans down. You stop just at the midpoint of your thighs.

A gristly hum climbs up his throat. You flinch as his hot hand spreads across one side of your ass. From that alone, you’re assured that it’s not just the darkness playing tricks. He is indeed a very formidable man.

“Stay like that. Don’t make a noise.” He drawls.

You don’t move. You dip your head forward and lock your legs. You’re terrified but you know better than to show it. Even if you’re not bawling and begging, you’re sure he knows.

He grabs your wrists and guides your arms up. He forces your hands against the side of the garage. He lets go and you stay as he put you.

You close your eyes as something clinks. His belt buckle. A thick breath chafe and his zipper cuts through the still night. You bite down until your jaw throbs.

He grabs your hips and guides your feet back, just a little. With a heavy boot, he moves your legs further apart. He squeezes and tilts your lower back. He traces his fingertips across the top of your ass.

“Be nice, still, and quiet for me.” He rasps.

He steps close, pumping himself slowly. His knuckles brush the curve of your backside. He smells the crown of your head and his hot breath puffs into your hair. His large hand frames your hip as he trails his tip beneath your as and along your thigh.

He rubs up along your cunt as he bends his knees. You clench and clamp your eyes tight. He pushes against you. His slow deliberate intrusion burns. The resistance of your body makes it worse and when he slips inside, you grunt. Just his tip has you trembling.

He brings his other hand to your hip. He grips you tight as he tilts his pelvis up, splitting you with each inch. A long groan grinds from you as you push your hands hard against the wall. You lean your head on the side as you gnash your teeth.

When you think he’s done, he jerks his hips and plunges even deeper. You cry out and he hushes you, digging his nails into your skin. You quiver and nod. You swallow down the pain.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

He stays buried in you as he drags his touch up your sides. One hand slips under your hoodie and the crumpled shirt beneath. He cups your tit as his other arm hooks around your neck. His squeeze just under your jaw and he pushes his head next to yours, his cheek against your temple.

He slides out of you until just his tip. He urges back in and you chuff out another tight breath through your nose. He rolls into you, over and over. Each thrust is long and measured. Torturous.

He turns so his nose presses your temple. His breath dampens your skin. He rams into you harder. Your feet arch so you're on your toes. He bends you until you’re crushed between him and the garage wall.

He snarls as his hand snakes down your stomach and a thick finger delves between your lips. You gasp and gulp, bracing the crook of his arm as your nerves spark. You moan and shake your head. He curls his arm until your knuckles are against your neck and you can’t breathe.

“I said be quiet.” He sneers as he snaps his hips meanly. “You wanna take from me?” He ruts up into you harshly. You keep an elbow against the wall as you clutch at his arm with both hands. “You’re gonna take all of me.” 

He hammers against your ass mercilessly, flesh slapping between your stifled whimpers. Your head hangs over his thick arm as his leather coat opens around you, tickling your sides as his tempo picks up with each tilt. He growls and nips your ear.

His hands came together in a slow, sarcastic applause with a smile of pure venom on his face. His suit was wrinkled from a long night in the club. His eyes raked across your naked body with a newfound sense of ownership that made your skin crawl and bile rise in your throat. You instinctively went to cover yourself, hands coming up to cover your breasts, dropping the glass Ari had handed to you. The liquid splashed against your feet as you drew your legs up.

"Well, well, well," Pete drawled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Didn't actually think I'd catch you red-handed, Sugar. But here we are."

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you tried to scramble off of Ari’s lap, but his hands tightened around you, holding you in place. You twisted to look at him, searching his face for a shared confusion, for anger, anything, something— but all you found was a cold, detached calm.

"Ari?" Your voice cracked. "What—"

"Relax," Ari said quietly, his tone flat. He didn’t spare you so much as a glance. His eyes were locked on Pete’s with a knowing glint.

Relax.

Relax?

You stared at his face, slowly mapping out his features before you looked at Pete and let out a shocked sigh when your stomach dropped as you put together the similarities and wondered how you could’ve been so blind as not to have seen it sooner.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, sweetheart," Pete said, a mocking sweetness laced in his tone as he stepped closer. The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting his face in a way that made him look grotesque. "You didn't really notice the family resemblance?”

“Family.” You said bluntly. “Brothers?”

“My uncle,” Ari explained simply.

“Did you think you were getting away with it? All those private dances, all that cash you've been pocketing without telling me? You thought I wouldn't find out?" Pete asked as he stalked closer.

Your mouth opened, but the sound failed to make an appearance. Your brain was scrambling as it tried to piece together what was happening, as if you were trying to hold water in your hands—everything was slipping through as you tried to make sense of how Pete had found out.

"I—" you started to explain, but Pete cut you off with a sharp laugh.

"Save it,” He sneered. “I know everything. Every client you propositioned. Every dollar you didn't report. Every lie you told." He stopped a few feet away from the couch, arms crossed over his chest as he bent at the middle, towering over you with a triumphant grin, "And you know what the best part is? You walked right into it."

Your eyes darted back to Ari. He was still holding you, still calm, and then realization hit you like a freight train.

He knew.

He was part of this.

"No," you whispered, shaking your head. "No, you—"

"I what?" Ari's voice was cold, detached. He finally looked at you, not as a woman he’d just spent the last hour methodically taking apart, but as a piece of evidence, or a chore he’d finally completed. There was nothing in his eyes. No warmth. No affection. Just... nothing. Not a single ounce of semblance of the man you had grown an affection for over the past few weeks. "Thought I liked you? Thought this was real?"

His words were like a knife to the gut. You couldn’t stop the tears welling in your eyes.

“He was the bait, Sugar,” Pete said coolly, almost cheerfully. “And you took it, hook, line, and sinker. He did his job, got you here, and now…” He trailed off as he gestured around the room, at the manor, at the trap you had fallen into. “You’re all mine… Well, ours.”

Your hands shook, sending a tremble that took over your entire body. You once again attempted to free yourself from Ari, and this time he did let you go. You slip off the couch, your legs shaking, and head past Pete to grab your clothes, the warmth of the fireplace flickering across your skin. As you bend down, Pete’s voice stops you.

“I wouldn’t bother with those.”

You freeze, halfway bent to gather the sorry excuse of a dress.

“You’re not going anywhere, and we’ve both already seen what you’ve got to offer, Sugar. Why hide it now?”

The fear wracking your bones crystallized into something else; something hotter. It floods through your veins like gasoline meeting a lit match. You look at the dress, then back at Ari, who is putting his jeans back on. You waited for him to turn and look at you, but instead, he opted to look out the window as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

You snatch the dress from the floor, turning your attention back to Pete.

“Fuck you,” You spat, wringing out the dress and stepping into it. You heard Ari laugh shortly followed by the click of his lighter as you pulled up the dress and let the straps snap sharply on your shoulders before grabbing your bag. “I’m leaving. Right fucking now.”

Pete’s smile widens, and your stomach turns.

He’s on you within seconds, knocking your bag, the contents flying all over the floor. He grabs your wrist with one hand when they fly up to push him away, and hooks fingers of the other hand under the straps of your dress and snaps them with ease.  He grabbed you roughly, forcing you to lock your eyes with his fiery gaze; his fingers digging into the meat of your upper arms, making you wince and pull away from his grip.

‘’Do you have any idea how much you owe me, Rory? It adds up to a very pretty, very large sum of money that you simply do not have.’’ Pete snarled, venomous and rattling.  

‘’I have it,’’ You pleaded, ‘’It’s at the hotel. You can have it. Just let me go.’’

Pete didn’t answer you. His expression snapped in an instant, switching from a delighted amusement to a cold, hard stare.

He simply whirled you around, pulling your back flush against his chest and bruisingly working his hands against the fabric of your dress to work it down your body until it pooled around your bare ankles. Shakes wracked through your body as a sea formed in your eyes, a devastating storm of hopelessness as an anchor hit the bottom of your gut, rooting you to the mansion floor. Pete turned and shoved you towards where Ari was now on his feet, snapping the band of his boxers against his hips before leaning down to gather his jeans, shaking them out.

Your gaze darted between them as your footsteps faltered, your ankles wanting to give way as Pete began to stalk closer to you again. Your blood turned to ice as he backed you towards the couch. Your eyes darted around the room, seeking an exit; any exit. Instead, you wound up back on the couch, pulling your legs up as Pete loomed over you; his eyes black and vacant.

Ari gave you a passive glance as he lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag as he decided the darkness outside the manor windows was a better view than the debt perched on cold leather.

‘’Here’s how this is going to work, Sugar,’’ Pete says pointedly. ‘’My nephews are going to come through those doors any moment… They’re gonna drop that bag of money you’ve been hiding in that piss-poor hovel of yours at my feet. We’re gonna count it, and we’re gonna calculate the interest–’’

‘’What interest? You have it! You’ll have it–’’

Pete’s hand swung out, and you instinctively curled into yourself, but the blow never came. You peered up to find Ari’s large hand wrapped around Pete’s wrist; not hard enough to cause any damage, but enough to send a message. Your chest heaved as you watched them; it looked like Pete wanted to fight it, but something passed between them– maybe Ari’s size, maybe a respect… You weren't sure. Pete yanked his hand away and let out a defeated huff.

‘’I’ll handle it,’’ Ari claimed, holding up a finger; a warning.

‘’Then handle it,’’ Pete dismissed with a wave of his hand and sulked towards the bar.

Ari took in a deep sigh, finished the last couple of drags of his cigarette, and then planted himself back beside you. He stared into the open space of the living room before dragging a hand down his face, scrubbing at his beard, and taking in a sharp breath before finally looking at you.

‘’Ari, I can’t pay–’’

‘’I know you can’t,’’ Ari cut in. ‘’Which is why you’re going to work it off. Here. With us.’’

Your stomach lurched. ‘’What?’’

‘’There are two options on the table, Sugar,’’ Ari began to explain, monotone and blunt. Option one: You stay here and work on a schedule. Me on Mondays, Curt has Tuesdays, Steve on Wednesdays, Jake on Thursdays, Pete on Fridays, Lloyd on Saturdays.’’ He pauses, letting the words sink into your bones. ‘’Sunday’s… You get to rest.’’

Your vision blurred, ringing overtook your ears, and your chest constricted.  

‘’Option two,’’ Ari continues. ‘’We sell you.’’

‘’Sell me?’’ You whisper, eyes wide.

Ari nods. To one of Pete’s clients. The kind of men who don’t ask for permission, the ones who won’t give you a rest day.’’

A sudden rage blooms, courses through your blood, and explodes.

"No." Your voice is sharp, loud, cutting through the room like a whip. "Absolutely fucking not. You're both insane if you think I'm going to—"

"You don't have a choice!" Pete snaps sharply from across the room, glass thudding against the bar, the liquid sloshing violently. ‘’Unless you want me to make a call and have you shipped off and kept in a fucking cage for the rest of your life. Either fucking way, you are paying me back every fucking cent!’’

‘’I earned it!’’ You fired back. ‘’It’s mine, and you can have it! I don’t fucking need to stay here!’’

“Yours? Yours?!” He sneered, his voice a lethal weapon pointed at you from across the vast living room. “Everything in that club is mine. The floor you walk on, the pole you stumble around on, the laps you keep warm— the fucking air you breathe, the drinks you swallow, and most fucking certainly the clients you’ve been stealing from under my fucking nose, Sugar. I fucking own you. You didn’t earn a fucking dime. It was theft. Plain and fucking simple. You used my establishment to run your own little business and thought you could get away with it…” He trailed off to let out a long sigh after his rant, his expression softening a little. “But, lucky for you… I’ve always had a soft spot for a pretty face.”

Pete stalked towards you once again, but this time Ari made no effort to shield you from him. Pete leaned over you, and the leather creaked as he placed his hand on the couch behind your head. The smell of whisky on his breath made your stomach turn, and his voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper that made your skin crawl.

“My family is a very close-knit group, Sugar. We share everything… And since you've spent so long taking from me— from us, it's only fair that you start giving back. So, I think the choice has been made for you.”

‘’No,’’ You said firmly, sucking in a sharp breath as Ari let out a slow breath.

He stared down at you with a look of cold, almost clinical evaluation. He leaned in closer, his presence oppressive and dangerous, the air between you both feeling thick with a threat that had no need to be voiced. He didn’t seem offended by your outburst; if anything, he once again looked thoroughly amused, as if your defiance was nothing more than a puppy daring to bark at a wolf.

“See, that’s the thing about the word “no”, Sugar. In your situation, it has no place in this house. It’s a word you get to use when you don’t have a debt to pay. It’s for guests. You’re not a guest. You’re a piece of property with a very high interest rate.” Pete leaned in closer, his voice dipping to a soft, terrifying purr beside your ear. “I’m a businessman, Sugar. I’m not gonna drag you kicking and screaming by your hair to a bed. No one’s gonna hold you down and make you do a single thing. It’s boring. It’s predictable. It’s what you expect to happen. I prefer incentives.”

Pete stepped back abruptly, arms flaring out to gesture to the opulent surroundings of the manor.  

“You can fight it. You can scream, you can refuse, and cry and beg. You can be the brave little pup trapped in a wolf’s den, but every day that you refuse to give us what we want, every moment you make us wait… The higher the interest climbs and the longer you stay.”

You opened your mouth to fight back, plead your case, attempt to find any string of words that could wake you from the grim nightmare you had found yourself in– or rather, been lured into; however, the tension in the room was snapped by the sound of the front doors being opened once again. Dread washed over you as Ari stood and stepped towards the windows and stared down the dim hallway. A second later, Ari let out a small bark of a laugh, and a grin broke out on his face.

“Damn, her leaving you hit you hard,” Ari mocked, playful and light with what seemed like a genuine grin towards the footsteps in the hall. ‘’Look at that fuckin’ bush on your face, man.’’

“Yeah? Look who’s talking, “ The voice responded. It wasn’t as deep as Ari’s, and the man who emerged almost took your breath.

He wasn’t as tall as Ari, although not far off. Dirty blonde hair and a thick beard that put Ari’s to shame a little. He looked as if he’d taken a mental beating or two, eyes wary and shoulders tense. The brown leather jacket clung to his large shoulders, the white tee stretched over his chest, and his large hands clutched car keys; the bend in his arms showing off the power in his arms. Under any other circumstances, just like Ari, you could happily find yourself staring at a man like him all day long. The half-smile on his face fell fast and far once he laid eyes on you, before his face scrunched up in a disgust that made you find the floor more interesting.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he spat.

“Steve—“ Pete spoke before being abruptly cut off.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Steve chastised as his feet thundered across the floor.

You instinctively peered up, finding him coming towards you as he stripped off his light brown jacket and quickly laid it around your shoulders, offering a small, tight smile before both of your gazes turned to Ari, who offered nothing but a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Ari chuckled shortly, pointing a finger. “You still showed up.”

“You said she’d have a choice,” Steve shot at him, eyes hardening and fist clenching at his side. “Shaking and crying on the couch— naked!” Steve punctuated with a sharp point towards you. “Isn’t a fucking choice!”

“She was given a choice,” Pete dismissed, as if he were referring to you simply picking what to have for dinner. “I’m still waiting to hear what she’s decided.”

“What choice did you give her? Here or there? Us or some sick fuck that’ll turn her out?”

“Better the ones she knows, hmm?” Ari tried to reason.

“Out of your minds,” Steve laughed, hollow and ludicrous, a hand smoothing over his hair as he let out a rough, angered sigh.

“You still showed,” Ari pointed out, parroting his words from before. “Let’s step off the high horse.”

Steve opened his mouth to fire back at Ari, but the sound of the oak doors opening once again drew everyone into a silence until it was broken by two disembodied voices, lazily sharing a conversation as they stepped closer to the living room. One had an impossibly deep gravel to his tone; the other light, almost boyish— like the world hasn’t hit him hard enough just yet.

“When does Lloyd get here?” One asked.

“Saturday,” the other answered bluntly, closing the door and coughing softly. “Hate how this fucking house smells.”

“It is Saturday,” The first one pointed out.

“Next Saturday, numbnuts.”

“You can’t let him near her,” Steve agonized towards Ari, like he almost feared the voice himself.

“I told you telling him was a bad idea,” Ari groaned, letting out an exasperated laugh. “Always gotta act as the sun shines out of your ass. Why the fuck are you here?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Steve fired, eyes blazing and body tense as he pointed out to the hallway where the footsteps drew closer. “To stop him, because you fucking idiots don’t see how fucking unstable—“

“Don’t let who near who?”

It was like another version of Ari had stepped into the room. Instead of the full beard, thick locks, and tanned skin, it was replaced by harsh stubble, a buzz cut, and ink covering every inch. Behind him was a smaller version of Steve, grinning from ear to ear  with an almost childish charm as he nodded at his brothers.

“Hi,” The tattooed version of Ari drawled, mouth ticked up in a predatory smirk as his eyes wandered your body, not taking them off you, had he held out the black duffle bag in his hand— the very same that had been hidden under your hotel room— and passed it off to Pete. “I’m Curtis.”

“Great, she can go,” Steve said directly, moving back towards you with a hand held out.

“Go?” Ari scoffed, stepping closer as well.

You looked between them, unsure of your next move. You desperately wanted to take the hand of the only man who saw sense and wanted to take you out of there, while fearing the repercussions of the man who wanted you to stay; the one who you were still trying to piece together in your head.

“You have it, she can go,” Steve replied, looking down at you with a nod towards his outstretched hand.

“Interest, Steve,” Ari pointed out sharply, knocking his hand away from you before you could even lift your own to take Steve’s. “Please tell me that losing her made you lose all your brain cells as well.”

“Are you all done squabbling?” Pete asked them both, only turning back to Curtis when they both stood down and averted their gazes from one another. “How much is in here?” Pete followed up, tugging the straps, letting the bag bounce.

“Take a look for yourself,” Curtis replied, his eyes glued on you.

You held your breath, refusing to be the first one to break as you heard Pete sigh, followed by the sound of the bag thudding against the leather chair and the agonizingly slow sound of the zipper being pulled. Curtis’ eyes lit up when Pete let out an appalled gasp.

“You scheming little brat,” Pete said, dangerous and slow.

“What?” You asked breathlessly, finally losing the battle, as you looked over to where Pete was standing over the open bag, with a horrified expression.

“How much? I want you to tell me how much is in this fucking bag,” Pete said lowly, fists balling up by his side.

“Around thirty thousand, just a little under. I don’t keep—“

“Do not fucking lie to me!” Pete seethed, and within a flash, he was thundering towards you.

You instinctively curled yourself back against the couch; however, Pete didn’t get far because both Steve and Ari shielded you against the couch, making Pete stop dead.

“Sugar. How much is in there?” Ari asked calmly.

“I just told you!” You cried out, hands thumping heavily in your lap as you squeezed your eyes shut to stop a fresh wave of tears from falling. Your fists found the fabric of Steve’s jacket, clutching it tight to your bare skin and sinking back into the leather of the couch.

Ari let out a breath before walking over and peering into the bag himself. He paused for a moment, shook his head, and then hauled the bag up and brought it over to you, opening it wide to show the stacks of bills— more than what you’d ever placed inside them. Your eyes widened as your pulse kicked up speed and your lungs refused to expand the way they should.

“No— This… This isn’t all mine. There’s no way,” You whispered frantically, shaking your head before swallowing the lump that formed in your throat. Your eyes darted between the men occupying the space in front of you. “Please, this isn’t mine,” You whined desperately. “Yes, I was working on the side. Yes, I was doing it with club clients. Yes, I shouldn’t have done it, but I have not made the amount that’s in here. This isn’t all mine.”

“Oh, so the money fairy came and put it in there while you were being screwed by my nephew,” Pete scoffed.

“It’s not mine!” You cried.

“How much do you think?” Pete asked, his attention back on Curtis as if you’d simply ceased to exist.

“Hundred thousand, easy. Want me to count it?” Curtis pointed towards the bag in Ari’s hands.

“Go.” Pete nodded towards another room.

“Ari, please, you have to believe me,” You begged, trying to find some semblance of the man you knew just a few hours before.

“I don’t have to believe anything.” Ari zipped up the bag and passed it off to Curtis, who threw it back over to Pete. “It’s above my pay grade.”

Curtis left the room for a moment, disappearing into a side door and returning with a money counter. You kept your gaze on Ari as the clunk of the machine hitting the table was followed by the whirring of money being funneled through the machine. The room was suffocating, and everyone stood in silence as Curtis loaded stack after stack onto the machine. Your stomach turned as the amount rose higher and higher. Your mind switched channel upon channel, trying to figure out just how a half-empty bag was suddenly bursting at the seams.

Had Pete set it up? Had Ari? Did one of the girls know? Was it a client? Who knew where you stayed? How did this happen?

“One hundred thousand…” Curtis began to read out, and a wave of cold nausea washed over you with every word. “Four hundred and thirty-two dollars.”

Pete whistled, followed it up with a short bark of a laugh, and downed the rest of the liquid in his glass, grimacing and shaking his head.

“Well, hasn’t someone been a busy little lamb, hmm?” Curtis taunted.

“And you said you didn’t fuck ‘em,” Ari scoffed bitterly, turning his nose up at you.  “Who’s the liar now?”

“I didn’t—“ You insisted.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me,” Ari shot back.

“Some of them were generous! I didn’t do anything like that!”

“Yeah, bet you were too,” Ari huffed, shaking his head with a tense smile.

“Stop!” Steve barked.

“She good?” Curtis prodded towards Ari with a sick smirk as he began to load the remainder of the cash back into the bag.

“Not bad,” Ari shrugged.

“Talking about me like I’m a toy. I’m right here!” You cracked, fire bubbling out of your throat.

“That’s what you are now,” Curtis scoffed, glancing at his brothers like what you had said was ridiculous. “S’all you are, baby. A shiny new toy for me to break and you’re here for a while, Sugar, a lot of time to find all the ways you can break.”

“I’ll find a way—“ You attempted to plead with Pete. “You have the money, please. I can figure it—“

“Nope! You won’t— You can’t!” Pete cut off dramatically, leaning against the bar and giving you that sick, sly grin. “So, once again, the choice: I can either line up a buyer, hand you over and you can pray to see next month, or you can stay here and work it off by keeping us all company, however we see fit.”

“Be trafficked or be a communal fleshlight— Wow, incredible options she has—“ Steve mocked, shaking his head.

“Why the fuck would you put it like that?” The youngest one laughed, face scrunching up as they paced in front of the fireplace. “That sounds—“

“Wrong?!” Steve thundered, earning dismissive smirks and choked back laughs from his brothers. “Disgusting? Because that’s what this is, Jake!”

“She doesn’t have to do anything,” Ari attempted to sway, laughing it off like Steve was overreacting. “But the longer she doesn’t, the longer she stays and the higher the debt climbs.”

“That isn’t a choice—“ Steve let out a vexed growl, throwing his hands up before he headed towards the hallway, your eyes following his every move with a voice in the back of your head begging him to stay.  “Fuck it! I’m done! I’m leaving, I can’t be a part of this—“

“Go ahead,” Pete dismissed. “Oh,” He said sharply, holding up a finger. “But, who’s gonna clean up Curtis’ mess?” Pete pointed out, stopping Steve in his tracks. “That’s why you’re here and everything.”

“See you Tuesday, Sugar,” Curtis drawled provocatively, making your face scrunch up and turn away from the shitshow before you. “Aw, the shy little baby,” Curtis mocked, honeyed and low, making your hands fist up and tremble. “Fucking adorable.”

“He won’t give her a choice,” Steve pleaded to Ari.

“That’s why you’re needed,” Ari stressed, standing and making his way over to Steve, hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady in place. “Your day counts no matter what she does. Fuck her, sing her a lullaby— who fucking cares? That’s the point. It’s up to us how it’s paid, and if she refuses then… Guess she’s got another day of the week to make it up—“

“What day is mine?” Jake piped up.

“Thursday,” Pete replied.

“Cool. I’ll leave you all to argue,” Jake said coolly, as if he’d simply asked when dinner was going to be ready and didn’t spare you a second glance as he made his way around the back of the couch and his footsteps faded with each step on the stairs.

“What’s the total with interest?” Ari asked, turning his attention to Pete.

Pete pondered for a moment, lips twitching from side to side as he calculated the sum in his head.

“Half a mil,” Pete said simply, turning to you with a cold glint in his eyes and a mocking smile. “Maybe just a little under.”

“And per shift?” Ari quizzed.

“Waiting for Lloyd to get back to me,” Pete answered. “But, I think it’s based on what you think she’s earned. He’s just gonna put a cap on it. She hasn’t actually decided yet what she’s doing.”

“What’s it gonna be, Sugar?” Curtis piped up. “Sold or stay?”

“You have the money,” You protested with a whine, letting out a huff and twisting your face up as you planted your feet against the floor and leaped up off the couch. Steve’s jacket grazed your mid-thigh as you clutched it closed against your chest. “I’m not staying here,” You bit out, eyes blazing and staring Pete dead in the eye. “I’m not being sold. I’m not being passed around. I’m not doing any of this. You can all go fuck yourselves.”

Pete’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes— amusement, maybe; perhaps interest, you weren’t sure, but you were sure of the fact you weren't staying with him for any longer than you needed to. You needed to find a way out– quickly.

“Brave,” Pete mused softly as he stepped closer to you. “Stupid, but brave. It’s a shame brave won’t serve you well here, Sugar. Submission? That’ll get you really far.”

"And just so we're clear," Pete adds, leaning in close enough that you can smell the whiskey on his breath, "the longer you fight this, the longer you stay. Every time you refuse, every time you make this difficult, you add time to your debt. It could be weeks. It could be months. It could be years. Up to you."

"Then I'll fight for years," you snarl. "I'm not doing this."

‘’She’s a fiery one,’’ Curtis laughed, a low, ugly sound. ‘’I like that. You’ll be more fun to break, Sugar.’’

‘’Take her upstairs,’’ Pete ordered Ari. ‘’Get her settled. You’ll like your room, Sugar. A helluva’ lot better than that hole you slept in.’’

‘’I’m not fucking staying here!’’ You cried out.

‘’You can get up, or I can get you up,’’ Ari said darkly, towering over you from the side of the couch, hands at the ready.

“You heard your man, Sugar. The choice is yours. You can walk out of here on your own two feet, or he can carry you out kicking and screaming.”

Pete stood aside and let Ari take his place, looming over you, his large shoulders blocking the view of the vast living room. He didn’t say a word, just stared down at you, with an expression that made your heart sink. He was actually enjoying this. He liked you trembling, cold, and scared. Ari’s hands flexed at his side, head tilted as he waited, just waited… as if he was waiting for the moment the reality of the situation burned out the fire inside of you and you were left with nothing but a crushed spirit— or, for the sick thrill he’d get hauling you, wailing, up the manor stairs and into the dark.

“Ari, please,” You whispered. “Just tell me this is a joke.”

“Why would we joke about this?” Ari’s voice was flat, devoid of empathy or regret.

He didn’t even blink; he just looked at you as if you weren’t a woman, but as an object that had been successfully delivered to its rightful owners. The silence that followed his words was a desolate suffocation, punctuated by the distant, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the manor. The betrayal was absolute. The man who you thought had seen you as you saw him was now looking at you as nothing more than a dollar sign.

‘’I thought…’’ Your voice wavered as you spoke. ‘’Oh, fuck.’’

“Oh, look at that,” Pete drawled, his voice dropping to a mocking cop. “You’ve broken her heart, Ari.” He let out a soft, sharp titter. “It’s a shame, really. Maybe we’re on the way to losing that spark that would’ve been so fun to snuff out of you.”

“I’d get all those pretty tears out now, Sugar… Before Lloyd gets home,” Curtis spoke, an ominous ring to his comment.

“Plus, tears don’t pay off the debt. Neither does disappointment,” Pete added.

“Well, there’ll be a good payment for Lloyd. He loves it when they cry,” Ari shrugged, his voice devoid of any warmth.

The comment was delivered with such a casual indifference that it felt more like a physical blow. Ari wasn’t just betraying you; he was willing to hand you over to someone who sounded far worse than himself, Pete— even Curtis. You prayed silently to never meet the man behind the name, but you knew it was feeble, inevitable. Ari gestured to stand with a crook of his neck, acting as the gatekeeper to a grim future you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Ari stepped back just an inch as you hesitantly braced yourself to stand, his gaze remained fixed on you; expectant and patience waning. The luxury of the manor—the fire, the velvet of the curtains, the ornate rugs, and the expensive leather — felt more like a gilded cage. Every extra second you spent hesitating felt like a gamble with a debt that was already spiraling out of your control.

“How could you do this?” You whispered as you looked up at him.

“I’m a professional,” Ari offered, his gaze cold and his voice flat.

“You’re an asshole,” You corrected.

Ari didn’t flinch, didn’t show any offense; no malice, no amusement. The man who had just been whispering filth in your ear and pulling you into his chest was gone, replaced by a cruel stranger who looked at you as if you were nothing more than a piece of furniture he was getting ready to move. He shifted his weight with a heavy sigh, crossed his massive arms over his chest, biceps flexing as he created a wall of muscle that felt absolute, impenetrable. “You were a job,” Ari informed. “A way to bring you in without causing a scene, to stop you running. Please don’t mistake a few weeks of scattered pleasure for a friendship, a relationship. We don’t do that here. It doesn’t work. I’m getting tired, and you need to move.”

You let out a shaky sob, fingers flexing against the leather seat, and before you could even attempt to move yourself, Ari’s patience snapped. Hands grab you, rough and bruising, and you explode into motion. With a cry, you twisted and kicked in his grip as he spun you and hauled you up against his chest. You kicked into the open space as Ari began to walk you towards the stairs. You clawed at his forearms, nails raking across the skin, pebbles of red blooming in their wake, causing him to swear viciously.

“Fucking bitch—“

You screamed; a raw, primal sound, a sound torn from somewhere deep in your chest, pulled from the depths of your soul. You thrashed against his grip, bare feet kicking at his shins, hands slapping the meat of his arms. You fought with everything you had, but it’s no use. His grip tightened as he took the first step. You crane your head back, and your eyes lock with Steve’s. His face was pale, a hopeless worry creased into his forehead, his hands clenched tightly at his side; it looked like he could be sick, but he made no attempt to help you.

No one came to help you.

“Let me go! Let me fucking go!” You screamed.

Ari’s fingers dug into your side with enough pressure to leave bruises. You planted your feet against a higher step, attempting to anchor yourself to the cold marble slabs as you twisted your head, teeth gunning for his arms, but he jerked you sharply with a snarl.

“Fuck you!” You wailed, thrashing harder. “Fuck all of you!”

“Stop fucking fighting.” His voice was an eerie calm. “You’re only gonna make it worse.”

With a grunt of effort, Ari lifted you higher, your feet dangled in the air as you were manhandled up the rest of the stairs. You didn’t stop fighting. With each agonizing step, you screamed until your throat was raw, kicked until your legs ached, twisted your body until your muscles burned; screamed, cried, and wailed out every curse your tongue had memorized, but it’s no use. By the time you reached the second floor, you were gasping for breath, your body trembled with exhaustion and fury.

You were carried through the dark of the hallway, portraits watched you with judgmental eyes, and a row of doors taunted you as you passed each one. Ari didn’t say another word through your continued struggle, each moment making your bones scream, and your lungs beg for mercy. The silence from him was a wall, unclimbable; inescapable.

He stopped at the end of the hall, double doors towering above you both. He managed to keep a tight grip on you as he reached for the handles and pushed them open, revealing a bedroom that was staggeringly opulent. A luxurious space with a massive canopy bed with silk sheets, detailed dressers, ornate chairs, and gold accents peppered around the room. Any other time, the sight would’ve been welcomed, but the sight made you sick. He kicked the doors closed behind you with a loud thud and dropped you to the floor.

“Jacket,” He ordered with a snap of his finger and a held-out hand.

You clutched it tight around you as you scrambled to your feet and put as much distance between you both as you could; Ari was left standing at the door while you shrank yourself into the shadows of the towering windows.

“Steve gave it to me,” You sniffled. “How could you do this to me? You can’t do this to me!”

“I can, and I am,” He replied, an exasperated huff expelling from his chest, as if dealing with you was a chore he’d rather forget.

“You liked me, you did… I know you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” He said with a grim smile. “I like obedience. Give me the jacket, Sugar.”

“No!” You cried. “Fuck you! We had something, we were going to have something, you know it!”

A flicker of boredom flashes across Ari’s eyes. He made no attempt to move; he simply watched you with a detached curiosity, as if you were attempting to explain a concept that sounded deranged and tedious. The massive scale of his frame seemed to shrink the room around you as you waited for him to break his slice, like he was the only thing your mind could focus on. He didn’t look at you with hatred, that would’ve required an emotion he wasn’t willing to spare, but you had a clawing need to drag it out of him anyway.

He shifted his weight, the fabric of his shirt straining against the same shoulders you had clung to hours before. The silence, however, was broken, but not by Ari, but by the boisterous laughter of the family in the den below; a muffled reminder that your life had been meticulously, and maliciously partitioned into days of the week.

“Why are you all like this?” You whispered.

“Like what?” Ari challenged, his expression remaining flat.

It seemed like, to Ari, that the question seemed entirely illogical, as if you were asking why the rain was wet or why a predator hunted its prey. There was no guilt, no empathy, nothing in his eyes; no flicker of regret for the way he had used your body to bridge the gap between your trust and your capture.

“Twisted,” You spat. “Wrong.”

He took slow, calculated steps forward, his feet padding against the thick, piled carpet, the distance between you closing at an agonizing pace. His shadow swallowed you whole as you backed into the wall between the windows, trapped in the darkness. He didn’t touch you, but the heat radiating from him was palpable, a warning of the strength he could use to crush you if he ever decided to stop being patient.

‘’The world is twisted, Sugar. It’s how it works. We just know how to navigate the curves. You take what you can, and when you can’t take anymore… You pay the price. You thought you were playing a game with the house, and the house always wins, baby. That’s not twisted, it’s not wrong… It’s just math.’’ Ari paused for a moment, his eyes landed on your trembling lips as his words twisted around your throat, something flickered in his expression– not pity, but perhaps the ghost of a memory, something human– before the stone mask slammed back down. ‘’Now, give me the jacket.’’

‘’No, you said firmly.

‘’Sugar–’’

‘’If it's okay for you to take, why can't I?’’

Ari’s eyes narrowed slightly, a genuine amusement finding its way into them as he let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, though his face remained devoid of any real humor.

‘’Because you’re weak,’’ Ari answered. ‘’You thought you were playing the game. You thought you were clever, stealing pennies from a mountain. You thought you could get away with it. We know we can.’’

Your bottom lip trembled as Ari brought up a hand to cup your cheek.

“Now, stop trying to argue. I don’t know what gave you the idea that you’re even in a position to object, because the only position you’re in right now…” Ari trailed off, sliding a hand to the nape of your neck and then suddenly sliding it up to seize a sharp handful of your hair by your crown. “Is to obey.”

He gave a quick tug, forcing you closer to him; the sounds of your cries fell on deaf ears.

‘’You think I get to say ‘no’? ‘Sorry, Pete. Sorry, Lloyd, I don’t feel like doing that shit today, I’d rather go and… Bask in the sunshine, or whatever the fuck normal people do? We’re all stuck, Sugar, just some more than others. Get used to it.” His eyes shifted from yours to the leather that encased your frame. “Jacket. Off. I’m not asking again, and I’m really starting to lose my patience.”

The sounds of the ruffling leather were loud in the grim silence of the room. The clink of the zipper and the shaky breaths mixed together in a symphony of misery. Your fingers shook violently as you pulled the jacket sleeves and slipped it off your shoulders, exposing the pale, wavering skin that Ari had fraudulently worshipped.

It was only when you stood bare, completely exposed, your vulnerability stark against the backdrop of the room's calculated luxury, and held out the jacket in the space between you both that Ari released the harsh grip on your hair and snatched the jacket from your hands.

His gaze scanned your body with a cold, professional detachment; almost as if he was inspecting a new piece of inventory. He made no move to touch you, nor did his eyes show any sign of the hunger that had once pooled there. He wasn’t looking at you for pleasure; he was ensuring the total erasure of your old life. You tried to cover yourself under his intense stare, boredom settling in the deep blues, as if modesty to him wasn’t a virtue or a boundary; it was inefficiency. A delay in the process that the men of the manor had set forth.

Ari reached out, large fingers gripping your wrist and pulling it from your body; firm and capable, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

“You don’t have a right to privacy anymore, Sugar. Everything you are, every inch of this skin, belongs to the house now.”

Ari shoved your arm back at you before turning, jacket clutched in his hand along with the rest of your dignity, and walked towards the doors. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the handle, and with a beep, the lock clicked. You stared after him, unable to move as he opened the door. He paused for a moment, his silhouette blotting out the light from the corridor, and then looked back at you— naked, shivering, and wide-eyed.

The dynamic between you both had shifted completely; no longer potential lovers, but a stripped-down object at the mercy of its master.

“Get in the bed. Stay there. Someone will bring you breakfast in the morning.”

“As long as it’s not you,” You threw at him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I won’t ever sleep with you again. I hope you know that. I’ll go to each one of them, but never, ever you.”

Ari’s hand freezes on the handle of the door. You can see the slight tension pull tight across his back and pinch at his jaw. The silence that enveloped you afterward was heavy, stretching out until the only sound was your own frantic heartbeat. The air thickened, and for the first time since you’d learned your fate, Ari’s composure cracked. He doesn’t turn, but his hand grips the handle of the door tightly, and a rumble, almost a growl, settles deep in his chest.

“Fine by me,” Ari spat back at you.

Then he stepped over the threshold, and without a second glance, he slammed the door shut, and the lock clicked.

For a moment, you just stood there; chest heaving, hands shaking, quick shuddering breaths before a white-hot fire ran through your veins, which made you lunge at the doors, slamming your fists against the wood.

“Ari! Let me out! You can’t do this! Let me the fuck out.”

You pounded until your hands ached, until your knuckles were raw and droplets of blood mocked your feeble attempt. You screamed until your voice cracked, until your throat felt like you had swallowed glass. You kicked, threw your weight, and pried at the seam, but it didn’t budge. You moved to the window next; the grounds were lit by scattered lampposts, intricate and dim. The round driveway beckoned you, the gates in the distance called your name, and the trees in the small woodland waved you over.

Freedom was right there, so close that you could almost taste it.

You didn’t bother trying the handles; instead, you grabbed the edge of the window frame and pulled, trying to pull it open from the hinges, but the nails didn't budge. You let out a growl as your hands slapped your bare sides before your eyes darted around the room searching for something— anything— to use as a lever. You moved quickly, pulling open drawers, looking under furniture, and finding bolts to keep them secured to the floor.

You grabbed a small wooden chair by the vanity, ignoring the panicked woman in the reflection, and moved to swing it at the window. The impact sent a jolt up your arms, but the glass remained intact; the reinforced glass wobbling as a middle finger to your efforts. You swung again, and again, and again. Until your arms were shaking and the chair legs cut into your hands.

You drop the chair, depleted, and sink to the floor, hiding in the shadows once again. You backed against the wall, the cool brick sending a shiver through you as you pulled your knees to your chest. Your whole body was trembling— rage, fear, exhaustion crashing over you in a series of waves that threatened to pull you under.

But you’re not done. Just resting. You’ll figure it out… You have to figure it out.

You let your forehead rest on your knees, taking a few deep breaths and exhaling slowly. When you bring your head back up to find your next plan, you spot two divots in the light that shines through under the door. You stared for a moment until you saw the shadows shuffle, and you sprang into action, practically flying across the room and slamming your hand against the wood of the double doors.

“Ari?!” You called out, pausing to press your ear against the door. “Ari, is that you?! Please, I’m sorry, please open the door!”

You waited for a response, but got nothing.

“Ari, please, please listen—“ You hesitated, pressing your ear against the door again, and listening closely. The shoes shuffle against the carpet, but not like Ari’s would. Ari’s heavy boots, his feet, crushed the piles under the sheer weight he carried; this was lighter, more careful…

It had to be Steve.

“Steve?” You asked softly, “Is that you? Please let me out. You know this is wrong, please, please, Steve, please.”

You hear him beyond the wood, a deep breath and a long exhale. You wait, and you hope, but nothing comes.

No words.

No movement from the handle.

No click.

No light.

Nothing.

“Steve!” You shout, slamming your hand against the door. “Open the door!”

But he doesn’t. He just stands there for a few more seconds, and then the shadows from his footsteps retreat from the light and leave you alone in the dark.

The morning came slowly.

Light filtered through the tall windows, casting amber and pink along the cream carpet. You hadn’t moved from the space between, back against the wall, arms hugged around your bare legs. Each time you closed your eyes, you saw Pete’s face, heard Curtis’s voice, and felt the vacant stare of Ari. Sleep wasn’t an option, and not something you wanted anyway.

The door’s lock clicking open rang out like someone pulling a pin from a grenade, and when it opened, Jake appeared. He was carrying a tray—eggs, toast, orange juice—and set it down on the dresser with a smile that made your skin crawl. His eyes were downcast on the tray as he ensured he settled it correctly before dusting his hands.

He was dressed in grey sweats and a black shirt that stretched across his frame. He wasn’t as big as the others, sure, but nothing to scoff at. His blond hair was tussled from sleep, and mismatched socks padded towards you.

“Morning,” Jake chirped brightly, like the morning routine was perfectly normal to him. “Thought you might be hungry…” He trailed off, and his face fell slightly as he finally laid eyes on you. “You know there’s clothes in here, right?”

You make no attempt to reply, no muscle twitches to move, your face set in stone, and your eyes boring into his.

“Come on,” He attempted to coax, waving a hand to get you to stand. “Let’s find something for you to wear, and then you need to eat.”

“Get. Out,” You bite out, voice hoarse from the screaming.

Jake’s smile fell slightly, but his tone didn’t “You should really—“

“I said get out.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes didn’t harden the way Ari’s would’ve, he didn’t make a move to pull you off the floor; he simply shrugged and turned to walk back towards the door.

“Suit yourself,” He said calmly and left.

You sat there, eyes glued to the wood grain, and let out a long breath. You made no move to grab the tray. Not out of fear— out of defiance. The only power you had left was to refuse whatever they brought through that door, and you were going to use it until you couldn’t anymore.

The morning dragged on.

Muffled footsteps came and went, voices drifted from the rooms surrounding, you’d hear the occasional slamming of the door, and piece by piece you were gathering together the rhythms of the house— who’s where, when, and how often. Pete was downstairs most of the time, choosing to waste his day in the living room. Curtis and Ari came and went, taking it in turns to call out to each other to hurry up  and Steve… Steve was harder to track, quieter, almost as if he was hiding.

Sleep was pulling at your eyelids, settling heavy in your bones. Your eyes fell on the silk sheets, and you let out a groan as you pushed yourself up from the floor. You walked to the dresser and found neat stacks of soft shirts and shorts, and picked the first set, slipping them on before trudging over to the bed. You pulled back the sheets and climbed in before lying down, facing the door.

You told yourself that you’d just have a rest, ten minutes, but a few hours later, the sun was setting heavy in the sky, and you awoke to the sound of the lock disengaging and the door swinging open. Your eyes slowly peeled open, and you found Jake, once again, standing in the doorway, with that wide, beaming smile and another tray of food in his hands.

“Oh! “Shit,” he cursed apologetically, “Were you sleeping?” I’m so sorry.”

He stepped further into the room, letting the door swing shut, and brought over the tray, pausing at the edge of the bed. His expression was open and friendly, which only made the whole situation feel more surreal and terrifying. He set the tray on the nightstand and looked down at you, and a grin of surprise set on his lips.

“And you’re dressed! Do you feel better? Is the bed comfy?”

Jake didn’t seem to possess the malice of the other men, or he was just more inclined to keep it well hidden. You shuffled yourself up, leaning back against the headboard as you simply stared at him, only giving a quick glance at the cup of steaming coffee on the tray. He grabbed the cup as he sat himself down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He held out the mug and gave you a small smile as you cautiously took it from him.

As you took a sip, he reached out, and you flinched back, earning a tut and a shake of his head as he ignored the action and flicked away a stray hair from your tear-stained cheek, catching the scent of citrus and expensive soap stuck to his skin as he tucked it behind your ear gently.

“You really need to eat, or Pete’s gonna come in here, and neither of us wants that, right?” Jake attempted to appeal as he leaned to pluck up the plate of pastries and place them on your lap. “I made sure they got the almond croissants; they’re stupidly good. I’d eat the whole box if Lloyd let me.”

Jake’s demeanor was an unsettling contrast to the horrors of the previous night. His eyes didn’t possess the predatory hunger of Pete’s, the manic intensity of Curtis’, or the coldness of Ari’s, but as he watched you, his gaze didn’t stop at your face. It drifted down slowly, lingering on the band in your shorts and the way the shirt clung to your frame. The kindness was there, but it was wrapped in the same possessive entitlement as the rest of the family.

“Can you stop staring before I lose my appetite, before I even get the chance to have one in the first place?”

Jake blinked, paused, and then let out a loud, delighted laugh, leaning back slightly with his hands raised.

“There she is!” He grinned. “I was wondering when some of that fire would come back. Welcome home, Sugar!”

Jake didn’t look offended, far from it. The snap of your tone acted like a spark, bringing a glimmer of genuine amusement to his expression. He didn’t rush to calm his gaze or apologize, though; instead, he looked at you with a renewed curiosity, as if you’d just performed a clever trick. It seemed as though, at least to Jake, that the more stubborn aspects of your personality, your defiance, weren’t just a boundary— it was entertainment.

“Sorry, Sugar,” he apologized sweetly, light and playful, as you reached for a pastry and inspected it. “It’s just… You’re really something. Most girls are just shaking and crying by the time they wake up here. You’ve still got a little bite to you. I really like that.”

Your head snapped up.

“Most girls?” You questioned. “As in… You’ve done this before?”

Jake’s smile didn’t waver, not even for a second, as he shrugged with a casual ease.

“Well, yeah?” He laughed. “You don’t pick up a new hobby like this overnight, right? Now, come on, you really need to eat.”

“I will— I just can’t right now.” You dropped the pastry back onto the plate and stared at his smile. “So, I’m not the first to stay here?”

“To stay?” He confirmed your questioning. “Yeah, like to actually stay, and be with us, but the girls who pissed Pete off tend to spend a night or two before whoever picks them up. Curt or Ari would give them a taste of what they’re in for, though—“

“Oh my God,” You groaned as your stomach lurched.

Jake’s admissions were delivered with a lightness that was bone-chilling. He revealed family secrets, their sordid activities, as if he were talking about nothing more than a mundane family tradition, like Sunday dinners or holiday gatherings. There wasn’t an ounce of shame in the voice, no hesitation. It seemed like, at least to him, that the cycle of bringing in women to the manor, stripping them of their lives and using them to pay off fabricated— or real— debts was simply the way the world functioned and you couldn’t help but hear Ari’s words from the night before, providing his notion about how this is how the world is was a shared delusion to all of them.

“Hey, Ari’s only following orders,” Jake attempted to fix. “He hasn’t done that in a long time, " he said. He was supposed to bring you in straight away and didn’t— Do you need me to grab the trash can?”

You shook your head and swallowed the lump in your throat before chasing it with the hot coffee.

“Why didn’t he?” You asked. “Bring me in right away?”

“Guess he liked you,” Jake replied, and you got the sense that Jake’s honesty got him in trouble a lot. “Said you were different. I just thought his head was like, all messed up from the divorce, but nope. Here you are, and he was right.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jake got there quicker.

“Hey, what did you say to Ari last night? He’s been in a mood all morning—“

“I want Steve,” You cut in.

“Is that what you said to him?”

“No, Jake,” You sighed as you pitched the bridge of your nose. “I want you to go and get Steve.”

“Oh,” Jake replied, sounding slightly wounded. His face fell slightly, and he nodded slowly as he got to his feet. “Yeah, sure, okay, I’ll… I’ll go do that.”

Without another word, he left. He closed the door firmly behind him, and the lock immediately engaged with a definitive click. The room fell silent again, save for the faint sounds of Jake’s retreating footsteps in the hall. You placed the plate and mug back onto the tray and smoothed down the sheets whilst staring at the door. You sat there for a while, waiting for the lock to click open again, but nothing— no one— came.

You sighed, threw back the covers, and crossed the room quickly. Your hand closed around the cold metal of the door handle. You twisted and pulled, but it still doesn’t budge. The lock held a firm, silent, unyielding reminder of your captivity.

You were well and truly sealed in. No matter how much you tried to be anything else.

You pressed your ear against the cool wood, straining to hear, but there was nothing but the heavy silence of the manor. Not footsteps, no voices, no slamming of the doors. You turned and placed your back against the wood and stared out the window, watching as the afternoon light set in. You stayed there, watching the trees and passing cars in the distance, until the sound of footsteps traveled up the hall.

The footsteps, cautious and familiar, paused just outside your door, and for a moment, you thought they’d disappear again; instead, a soft, hesitant knock followed. The sound was so surreal in a house of men that had shown in the short time you’d spent there that they’d found no need to knock. You edged away from the door, stepping back slightly as the lock clicked and the door cracked open gently.

Steve stepped into the room, eyes widening at the sight of you standing there, before what seemed like guilt settled heavily in the sea-blues of his eyes. He was dressed in simple, dark trousers and a soft grey sweater, his face etched with genuine concern, and he had shaved, which made him look years younger. His posture was slightly slumped as he closed the door and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking less like the usual predators that lurked in the doorway and more like a man who had been sent to clean up a mess he felt guilty about.

“Jake said you asked for me,” Steve said, voice soft and gentle. “I know apologies must mean nothing to you right now, but I am… I am so sorry. I tried to talk them out of it, but when Pete and Lloyd make a decision, they follow. No questions, no push back. I’m so sorry.”

Steve looked around the room, his eyes falling on the full trays.

“Have you eaten?” He asked. You shook your head, and he sighed. “You’ve had a really long night. You should try to eat something.”

He took another steady step forward, his eyes searching yours. He looked genuinely pained by your obvious fear, his brow furrowed with concern. He was a stark contrast to the brutal honesty of Ari, the upbeat chipper of Jake, and the cold calculation of Pete. He stood there, watching, waiting, his shoulders relaxing slightly as you nodded and moved towards the bed, and relief washed over his face as you took a small bite of the pastry.

Steve shifted his weight, his gaze dropping to the floor for a second before he looked back at you.

“You shaved,” You stated, really looking at him as you pulled a piece away from the pastry. “You look better without it.”

He gave a shy smile and a small nod.

“I know you hate all of us right now,” He shared quietly. “And you’ve every right in the world to, but… I want you to know that not everything here has to be a fight.”

“How can it not be?” You challenged.

Steve’s shoulders tense again, the weight of your question seeming to push down on him. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, a gesture that looked tired, almost defeated.

“What am I supposed to do? Just let you all use me?” You fired at him.

“Hey, I have no intention—“

“Would you do that? Would you just accept it? Well, I guess I have the answer to that, considering you're the ones whose finger works on that damn lock. And I'm the one stuck in the room.”

You threw the pastry back onto the plate and sat yourself down on the edge of the bed as Steve flinched, as if you’d struck him. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, unable to hold your gaze. The quiet of the manor felt louder now, pressing down on both of you. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing before he looked at you again. His voice was low and strained as he spoke.

“You think I like being the one who facilitates this? You think I enjoy this?” He gestured vaguely around the room, his hand trembling, eyes shadowed with a conflict you had seen the others possess. “I don’t like this, Sugar. I didn’t want this for you.”

“Then help me leave.”

Steve’s expression tightened, a war playing out behind his eyes. His gaze shifted between you and the locked door, his face a mask of conflicted agony, and you wondered if, and when, the kindness he showed was fragile. He shook his head, took a half step back as if physically recoiling from your plea.

“I... I owe them. Just like you. I can't just.. let you go. It's not my place to do so.” His voice was barely above a whisper, strained and heavy.

He looked down at his hands, his expression hardening further with a resolve that seemed to cost him something. “Look, Sugar,” He sighed heavily. “I know none of this is fair, but if you just… Cooperate, it’ll be easier. I'll make sure your time with me is easy; I’ll take care of you. If you wanna stay in here on Wednesdays and not see me at all, we can do that. I can offer you space, but that’s about it. At least, for right now.”

“I don't wanna be here. I didn't... Not all of that money was mine. You have to believe me,” You plead.

His face softened, giving a small nod, but it’s a sad, weary kind of softness.

“I believe you, Sugar, I do. But it doesn’t matter. If Pete believes it, then that’s the only truth that counts here. The numbers are whatever he says they are. Arguing about it will only make Pete and Lloyd dig their heels in deeper.” He stepped closer to you, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze, intense and pleading. “Please, just… let me... let me try to make your time with me as painless as I can. That's the only power I have right now.”

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you searched his eyes for a shred of trust to hold on to; a hopeful solace in a house of horrors.

“Just give me some time to figure the rest out, okay?”

He said the last part with a grimace, as if the advice left a sour taste in his mouth. He looked down at his hands and then back at you, his face twisted with a mixture of guilt and a desperate need for you to understand the precariousness of your situation.

“Ari and Jake... they won't force you into anything you don't wanna do. Not really. Curtis and Lloyd... you're best just playing along with them. I know it'll be hard, but it'll keep you safe. And with Pete... he sighs, rubbing his temples, just grit your teeth and bear it. It'll be over quicker. It's easier to do than the others. Just get through it, the best you can.”

He looked at you with a pleading in his eyes, begging you to absorb his words, to understand that it was the only lifeline he could offer. The weight of his own powerlessness seemed to settle on him, making him appear older than his years; the youth that you had found on his face when he first came in seemed to vanish.

“Someone…” You started, hesitating for a moment. “Someone was outside my door last night. After Ari left. Was it you?”

His expression became unreadable for a moment, flickers of emotions scattering across his features until he settled into a weary resignation. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation.

“Last night?” He asked, voice low and cautious, before he shook his head. “No, Sugar, it wasn’t me. Maybe Ari felt bad—“

“It wasn’t Ari.”

“Pete, maybe,” He offered, scuffing a hand through the back of his hair and rubbing at the back of his neck. “He probably did the rounds, made sure the door was locked.”

He said the last words with a clear distaste, his jaw tightening, the muscle jumping under the skin. The admission hung heavy in the air, confirming your fears that your privacy here was simply an illusion, that you were constantly being watched.

“Definitely wasn’t Pete. No one tried the handle. They just stood there.”

“I don’t know then.” His eyes scanned your face, seeming to be choosing his next words carefully, almost weighing them. “Why don’t you—“

“I’ve been through so much shit in not even twenty-four hours. Please don’t lie to me,” You attempted to appeal.

The causal weariness dropped from his posture, replaced by a sudden sharp tension. His eyes darted from the door and then back to you before landing on the floor. You caught a flicker of alarm in his deep blues. He took in a slow breath, as if steadying himself.

The air in the room seemed to grow colder. Steve lifted his head, and his gaze had intensified; the previous softness had hardened into something more guarded. He studied you, as if reassessing you entirely. The fact that you could distinguish the footfalls of the various predators of the manor marked you as more observant, more attuned to your environment than he had perhaps presumed.

“You heard me screaming... And did nothing. And you come in here, being nice and giving me advice, and you do nothing to help me. When you had the opportunity to do so, and then you lied to me after spewing bullshit about wanting this to be painless.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air, sharp and absolute. Steve didn’t flinch, but the color drained from his face. The carefully constructed mask seemed to shatter, leaving behind the raw truth. For the first time, there’s no apology in his eyes; only a bleak, chilling acknowledgment.

His voice was flat, stripped of all pretense.

“You’re right.”

He made no attempt to justify it. He didn’t look away. He stood there, accepting the weight of your words, and the silence that followed was heavier than any that had come before, filled with the unspoken horror of what his inaction meant. He took a slight step backward, rocking slightly on his feet.

“I heard you, and I did nothing,” He admitted sullenly. “Because helping you was the one thing that could’ve gotten you hurt more… Worse, even. They wouldn’t have taken that out on me… It would’ve been you, and I won’t be the reason, I won’t give them a reason, for you to be hurt. I will not do it. You need to trust me, as hard as that will be, and trust that I want to help.”

You ponder for a moment, unable to find any more lies in his eyes. The longer you look at him, the more you wonder how a man like Steve could end up in a family like this, how a seemingly gentle soul wound up in a den of wolves. You relent, giving a small nod, needing to find something— someone— to hold on to in order to keep yourself sane, and Steve seemed to be the safest option next to Jake.

“Alright,” You agreed.

“Is there anything I can do? Get for you?”

You shook your head despite your stomach growling, protesting the lack of food in your system. It must have been loud because Steve’s eyebrow ticked up and he offered a small, knowing smile.

“I’ll grab you something light. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, looked around the room, eyes falling on a small table by the window, and opted to take a seat, leaning back in your chair as Steve left. The afternoon light was slowly beginning to fade, casting long shadows across the carpet, the breeze outside picking up, causing the trees to sway; birds danced in the sky, and you envied their wings, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Steve envied them too.

It wasn’t long before he returned, a bowl balanced in his palm on top of a cloth, steam rising and releasing a rich, savory scent of soup. He walked over and placed the bowl carefully in front of you, revealing a simple, clear broth with a few pieces of chicken and vegetables. It looks plain, simple— honest.  He reached into his back pocket to present and offer a spoon.

“Hopefully, this will be easier on your stomach. Eat what you can, and then I’ll find you something else later— Well, if you want,” Steve offered, tone light.

He stood back, hands hiding in his pockets again, and watched you with an expression that read as a mix of guilt and a grim sense of family duty.

“Thanks.” You smiled and took the spoon, sipping a little; the soup was surprisingly comforting.

Steve pulled out the chair across from you, the very same one you had attempted to break the window with, and sat down heavily, his gaze drifting out of the window to the manicured grounds below. For a long moment, neither of you spoke; the only sound was the mixture of your breaths and the clink of the spoon against the bowl.

“Jake said Ari was married.”

Steve’s gaze snapped back from the window and fell on you, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. He seemed thrown by the sudden breaking of the silence and the shift in conversation, especially by your chosen subject. He leaned back in his chair, a conflict pulling at his brows as if he was weighing how much he wanted, or could, share.

“Yeah,” He answered, letting out a slow breath. “He was. For a few years. His wife… She left, took the kid with her.” He looked down at his hands, folded on the table. His voice was low and tinged with something that didn’t seem like sympathy, more like a general weariness with the family’s dramas. “It’s part of why he’s… Well, why is he the way he is now? Closed off. He thinks he can’t trust anyone anymore. Thinks caring about someone just gives them a weapon to use against you later. Fails to see the part he played in it all.”

Steve nodded to himself, his eyes stuck on his hands. The admission hung heavy in the air, and you couldn’t quite find the words to reply as he shared a rare moment of candidness about the family’s grip on its members; the fading light cast long shadows across his face, emphasizing the lines of tension there.

“She wanted him out,” he continued to share. “To leave this all behind, but… I guess he was in too deep. I think we probably all are.”

He finally looked up at you, his blue eyes holding yours with a stark, unvarnished honesty, showing he was just a man who acknowledged he was trapped in the same cage you were.

“So, I take it that the club and trafficking girls is only the tip of the iceberg…” You attempted to pry.

Steve’s whole body seemed to tighten as he glanced around the room, as if checking for peering eyes and perked up ears. He rubbed at the back of his neck before his voice dropped quietly.

“The clubs the public face. Almost legitimate. Everything else happens elsewhere.”

“Everything else?” You probed, scooping up another spoonful of soup.

“If you can think of it, we’re in it,” Steve answered ambiguously. “If there’s a way to make a dirty dollar, we’ve got a hand in it. Pete’s Place is just… The prettiest part of the machine. Don’t ask me anything else, and don’t you even think about asking any of them, or you’ll really end up stuck here.”

Steve looked as if he had already shared too much; his shoulders tensed as he tried to lean back as far as the chair would allow, putting distance between you both. The brief moment of shared confidence was over.

“You don’t seem the type,” You said. “To do such things.”

Steve gave a small, wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked down at his hands, turning them over as if inspecting them for stains.

“I’m not,” He said quietly. “Not really. I— I have… I have a knack for finding things. I guess. Information, mostly. People, sometimes… but, my hands tend to stay… relatively clean.”

He let out a breath, his smile fading. His eyes drifted back to the window, the gold light of the fading daylight bled into the blue.

“Were you following me?” You asked bluntly, dropping the spoon into the bowl. “Is that how they knew?”

The question hung heavy in the air, sharp and direct. Steve’s posture seemed stiffened immediately, and for a moment, it didn’t look like he was going to acknowledge your questions, but he eventually met your gaze, the blue holding something complex, kind of like relief; as if he could finally give an honest, full answer. He shook his head, voice firm as he spoke.

“No, I wasn’t following you, Sugar. I’ve been… away for a while. Dealing with my own shit. I had no need to find you; Pete had already done that. He’d had his eyes on you from the start. He let you believe you were getting away with it, he let the debt build and waited for the right moment to call it in.”

He leaned forward slightly, expression earnest, as if willing you to believe this particular truth, which you did. The confession about his absence seemed to carry its own weight, a private burden he wasn’t ready to unpack.

“Do you promise that you’ll never ask me…” You paused, struggling to find the words. “That you’ll never want me like that? Like how they do?”

The question caught Steve off guard. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the weariness in his eyes seemed to deepen. He didn’t answer straight away, perhaps weighing the truth of his own desires against the promise you were desperately asking for— hoping for. His gaze softened, but it was a sad, resigned kind of softness, as you let out a breath of relief.

“Had this been any other situation,” He started, voice sounding sincere and soft. “In a bar, or a coffee shop— Hell, even the club…. I would’ve been trying every single shitty technique in the book to get you to come home with me. But this?” He gestured vaguely to the room around you. “This? I don’t want you like this. I won’t try a single thing. I swear to you.”

You pause for a moment, searching his face, his eyes, everything about him to try and find a shred of dishonesty; there isn’t any, or at least there doesn’t seem to be any. How you got lucky to find a bear in a wolf’s den you’d never know, but how grateful you were to have done so. You knew he couldn’t be there to keep them at bay, but he could be there to undo the damage and offer you rest in a house that was determined to keep you running.

“How do I deal with Curtis? With Lloyd? I know you already said to give in, but how? How do I give in to that? I can handle Pete; I’ve been doing that for months. Jake seems… Fine? I guess, if you can call it that. Ari’s an asshole, but again, easy to deal with. You were so upset about them, I—“

“Hey, hey,” Steve cut in, hand reaching out for yours hesitantly, and despite the pull for comfort, you slid your hand back. “Lloyd won’t force you. Not physically. But, he’ll make you feel like you wish he had. It’s a game to him. He wants to see you break, to give in because you want it all to stop. Just… Don’t cry. It spurs him on.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the advice clearly costing him parts of his sanity. “Curt… He’s a blunt instrument. That's the best way I can put it. He doesn’t play games the way Lloyd does. Don’t fight him; it’ll only excite him. The best thing to do is to give in and let him get bored. I’ll be there at his door wanting, and I’ll help you, I’ll care for you. It’s gonna be hard, and it’s gonna suck…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if he couldn’t find the words to finish explaining. “I don’t know what else I can do or say to prepare you.”

You nodded, unable to do anything else as you let the grim advice sink in. The soup sat unfinished between you both, growing cold along with your souls. Steve checked his watch as the sun dipped lower before he reached across the table and moved the bowl away from you. His movements were careful, like he was afraid that any sudden motion could shatter the fragile truce between you.

“Is there… Is there anything I can do for you?” Steve asked. “A bath, maybe? Let you clean up before… everything starts?”

“Ari’s fucking dreaming if he thinks I’m ever sleeping with him again.”

A short laugh escaped Steve, the corner of your own mouth ticking up slightly, a sound that surprised you both. It’s devoid of any real humor, more of a release of tension that you both desperately needed. He shook his head, an almost pitying smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, to relax then.”

He glanced towards the en-suite bathroom door, then back at you; a mixture of genuine concern and the grim understanding of what’s to come. “A hot bath might help? I mean, it’s better than just sitting here… waiting, and then you could try and get some more sleep.”

You nodded, knowing he was right, and drifting in hot water didn’t sound awful.

“A bath sounds good,” You agreed.

Steve nodded and got to his feet, the chair moving softly against the carpet. He crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom, and soon after, you heard the faucet turn on, and the sound of running water filled the room. He returned a moment later, leaning against the doorframe and drying his hands on a small hand towel. He beckoned you over with a flick of his head and a small smile.

“It’s running, I’ll give you some privacy. I can leave—“

“Can you stay? Just for a bit longer?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll be right here. Call me if you need anything.”

You got to your feet and made your way across the room. Steve stepped aside to let you pass. You paused for a moment, staring up at him, and a sudden need for comfort clawed at your gut, but you pushed it down.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Steve replied, and stepped further into the bedroom.

You closed the bathroom door behind you with a parting smile. It was spacious, done up in the same gold and cream tones as the bedroom, with marble countertops and a deep, freestanding tub that sent over a luring scent of lavender as the bubbles inside climbed higher. The air grew warm and humid as you began to undress, realizing the smell of Ari and the sticky sickliness of the club still clung to your skin— a sordid mix of cologne, sweat, and smoke. You catch your reflection in the mirror; hair tangled and eyes wide with a mixture of fear, desolation, and the smoldering flame of your waning defiance.

You averted your gaze and stepped into the water, the heat a shocking comfort against your tense muscles. The cuts on your hands stung as they hit the water, acting as a harsh reminder that you were still here, still stuck. The steam rose around you, and for a few precious moments, the water washed away the grime of the club, the touches from Ari, and let you forget your cage. You leaned your head back against the cool porcelain, let your eyes fall closed, and allowed yourself to enjoy these last few moments of peace before the storm closed in.

You stayed submerged until the warmth had seeped deep into your bones, offering a temporary numbness. The water had begun to cool, and you reluctantly pulled yourself out; the air felt cool against your skin, making you shiver.er. You stepped out and reached for a thick, plush power and quickly dried yourself before plucking a robe hanging from the door. It swallowed you, sitting heavy on your shoulders and smelling faintly of clean linen.

As you stepped back into the bedroom, you found the space transformed. The trays of food had gone, the room was tidy, the bed neatly made up; the corner of the covers pulled back slightly to welcome you inside. Steve was perched on the window ledge, one knee drawn up; fingers clapped over his knee as he stared out at the darkening grounds. He turned as you entered, a soft smile touched his lips as he studied you.

“Feeling better?” He sought out. He nodded towards the nightstand, drawing your attention to a tall glass of water that now sat next to a small, wrapped chocolate. It was a small, almost childish gesture of care, starkly out of place. “Figured you might be thirsty.”

You nodded and grabbed the glass before sitting down on the edge of the bed. You drank the water slowly, the cool liquid a sharp contrast to the bath’s warmth. You felt Steve’s eyes on you from across the room. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable; it was the quiet of two people, both trapped in the same terrible situation, who had hoped to find a temporary peace. You heard Steve get to his feet as you placed the glass down, and you turned your head to meet his eyes as he walked around the bed's frame and came before you.ou. He offered out a hand, which you cautiously took, finding it warm and surprisingly gentle. He guided you up and led you a few steps back from the bed, his movement careful, almost reverent. He pulled back the heavy duvet and crisp sheets further.

He doesn’t say a word as he helps you into the bed, pulling up the covers as you slip underneath. He tucked the duvet around your shoulders, his touch lingering for a brief second before he pulled away.

“So?” He asked softly.

You wondered for a moment before realizing you hadn’t answered his previous question.

“Oh, um…” Your nose scrunched up as you offered an apologetic smile. “No, not really. Maybe for a moment.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, voice a soft murmur. “Get some rest. I’ll come check on you before… well, you know.”

He gave you one last, long look— pity, guilt, and something else you couldn’t quite name— before he turned and walked to the door. He paused at the threshold, hand on the handle until it clicked open, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the wood. Without turning back, he opened the door, stepped through, and pulled it shut; the sound was softer this time, almost an apology in and of itself.  

You were left alone in the vast, silent room. The only light came from the moon outside the window and the short glare from under the door. The bed's comfort felt like a mockery. You closed your eyes despite sleep feeling like a distant country; the sounds of your own breathing and the creeping dread of what was to come were your only comfort, and as much as the logical side of you warned you to be careful, a deeper need begged for Steve to return quickly.

When your eyes next opened, the room was enveloped in darkness, and you found yourself lost in the time you fell asleep; however, where there should be silence, the sound of crisp burning filled your ears. You sat up, eyes darting to the corner of the room where you found Ari standing by the open window, smoke drifting around him.

“Get out,” You bit out.

Ari huffed out a laugh, almost coughing as he exhaled the smoke from his lungs.

“S’after midnight, Sugar,” Ari informed you smugly.

“I don’t care. I told you last night. I’m not giving you anything—“

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” He continued, as if you didn’t speak. “Fighting, screaming, attempting to starve yourself. All you’re doing is making it worse.”

"Then let me go."

"You know I can't do that."

"You mean you won't."

Ari’s jaw tightened as he took one last drag of his cigarette and threw the stub out of the window before pulling a small key from his pocket and shutting the window and locking it shut.

"You owe Pete. You broke the rules. This is the consequence,” He tried to embed, and you wondered if he was trying to convince you or himself.

"This is kidnapping," you spat. "This is—"

"This is survival," Ari interrupted,his voice hard. "Yours and mine. You think I want to be here? You think I want to do this?" He stepped closer to the bed, and you pressed yourself back against the headboard. "But I don't have a choice. And neither do you."

"There's always a choice."

"Not for you. Not anymore." He crouched down beside the bed so he was at eye level with you. His expression was cold. "You can keep fighting. Keep refusing. Keep making this difficult. And every time you do, Lloyd will add time to your debt. Every time you scream, every time you refuse to eat, every time you make Curtis or Pete or any of us work harder to keep you in line—you stay longer."

Your chest tightened.

"Or," Ari continued, rising up slowly to his feet, "you can accept it. Play along. Do what you're told. And maybe—maybe—you get out of here in a few months instead of a few years."

"I'm not going to—"

"Yes, you are." His voice is flat, harsh, and final. "Because the alternative is worse. Trust me. Today, you're mine— Whether you like it or not. And if you keep fighting me?" He leaned down towards the bed, fists pushing into the mattress as he glared over at you, something dark in his eyes. "You'll regret it."

And for the first time, the full weight of your situation crashed down on you like it hadn’t before. It sat deep in your chest and snaked around your throat. You weren't getting out; not by fighting, not by screaming, not by pleading. They had thought of everything. Every possible play you thought you had was already meticulously mapped out.

You found Ari was right about one thing:

"Hey, Honey," he smiles back, returning the hug. "Sorry I didn't warn you I wouldn't be in. Something came up with work."

"Bah, don't worry about it," you say with a squeeze. "I didn't give you warning when I was recovering from my breakup so why should you need to give me warning about work?"

"It was a breakup?" his smile drops, concern written all over his face.

"An embarrassing breakup that I really don't want to talk about, but that I am doing much better from."

He smiles softly, "message received. I'll be here if you want to talk, though."

"Thanks Curtis. I really appreciate that "

The rest of your shift at the shelter goes smoothly. It really does help to have someone so big and bulky as Curtis to move things around and take care of the biggest dogs. Especially when those same dogs constantly want hugs. Or pull on their leash during a walk because they saw a squirrel.

Things start to wind down and it's about time to close up. You triple check all the dogs, looking for empty water bowls or accidents that need cleaning.

When you start locking up you also start yawning. With work at the coffee shop being so draining you've been needing more sleep.

"You doing ok?" Curtis pipes up. "Been yawning more than usual."

"Hm? Oh yeah, just...work stuff, you know?"

He nods with a small smile. "How about I give you a ride home? That way you don't have to worry about missing your bus stop and you can get to sleep faster."

"Thanks, Curtis," you chirp. "I really appreciate that. I can give you some gas money since you're saving me bus fare."

"Don't worry about that," he waves off the offer. "It's the least I can do for someone as sweet as you." Heat rushes to your cheeks as you wonder if Curtis is just being nice or is flirting with you. "I'll wait right outside in the parking lot for you, okay?"

"Okay!"

The rest of the routine feels somehow both too slow and too fast. Butterflies are fluttering in your stomach as you think about the possibility of flirting with Curtis. If he treated you half as good as the dogs he takes care of, he'd be such an upgrade from that cheating jackass.

As he promised, Curtis is in his car, waiting for you and you happy hop into the passenger seat.

"Ok, Honey, let me get your address plugged into the GPS and we can get going."

"Thanks, again, for doing this, Curtis. I can't believe how tired I am!"

"You know what? I've got some soda in the backseat. How about cracking one of them open so you've got the energy to chat with me on the drive?"

"Ooo, yes! Thanks!" you beam as you reach behind you while giving Curtis your address.

When you're settled and buckled in you start sipping on the soda, grateful for the sugar and caffeine. You don't want to fall asleep on him and have him think you're rude.

The chatter flows easily between the two of you for half the drive. You must have been more tired than you thought because you're struggling to keep your eyes open. You try to hide it but not very well because Curtis smiles and tells you he'll wake you up when you get home.

Too tired to argue you let yourself fall asleep.

You're woken up by Curtis gently shaking you. Your eyelids are still so heavy you have to blink a few times and rub your eyes.

"Wow, sorry about that," you yawn. "Didn't realize I was so--"

You stop short when you take in your surroundings. Instead of your apartment building surrounded by busy streets, you're looking at a log cabin in a clearing in the woods. Instead of the usual bustle of pedestrians, you see Bucky stepping out of the cabin, a big smile on his face, as Precious follows him out.

"Curtis, where are we?" you ask trying to keep the fear from your voice

"We're home," he answers too cheerfully for you. "Before today is it was just a house. But now that you're here, it's finally home."

Bucky opens up the passenger side door and holds out his hand expectantly. Unsure what else to do, you take his hand and let him help you out of the car.

Precious is immediately loving on you and you scritch her ears on instinct.

"Thought she might be a good way to help you acclimate," Bucky answers one of your unspoken questions. "She's quite a pleasure to have around. Even gets along with my cat, Alpine. You'll meet her later."

"Why am I here?"

"Because we want you," Curtis admits nonchalantly as he gets out of the car.

"We each fell pretty hard for you, Honey," Bucky adds. "Imagine our surprise when we found out we were interested in the same girl."

"So sweet, patient, caring," Curtis continues.

"While also being so witty and charming," Bucky nods.

The two men start leading you to the cabin and you realize how big they truly are. You'd ogled Curtis' muscles before but you're realizing Bucky is also well built. You can try to fight, try to run, but you're certain you won't get far.

"I think you'll like what we've done with the place," Bucky tells you. "We made sure it's got all the things you like but we didn't know your opinions on everything so we had to do some guess work."

"There's plenty of space, inside and out, if you want to adopt another dog or two," Curtis adds. "Plus a rather large catio in case you want more cats."

As you get to the door, Bucky waves his watch in front of where a doorbell would be and you hear a click.

"We went all out on the security measures, too," he explains.

"To keep me locked in there?" you rasp as you freeze at the doorway.

Curtis stands behind you, blocking your exit, and gently wraps his arms around you.

"You won't be locked inside the cabin so long as you're good," he sternly informs you.

He takes one of your arms and holds it out for Bucky who pulls out a watch similar to the one he used to unlock the door.

As he fits it to your wrists he adds to Curtis' warning. "This wristband will let you all over the cabin and the property. That's several miles of forest that you're free to wander around in."

"So long as the thing is on my arm, you can find me," you murmur.

"Correct," Bucky nods. "And your wristband is specifically designed to never come off."

"And it can't be broken?"

"If it does, we get notified," Curtis warns, still not letting you go.

Bucky gently caresses your cheek. "We know this is scary. We're willing to work with you until you get acclimated. We've waited a long time for you, we can control ourselves for a while longer "

"Why?" you breathe, unable to get your brain wrapped around this problem.

"Because you're you," Curtis coos with a gentle kiss to your hair.

"If you're wondering why the cloak and dagger, it's because we need people to think you're missing," Bucky adds. "We work for Nick Fowler." He notes the recognition in your eyes before continuing. "If his enemies learn we have someone we care about, that puts you in danger."

"And if you're in danger, we can't think straight," Curtis explains, nuzzling his beard against your scalp.

"And if we can't think straight, Nick might lose some of his hold over the territory," Bucky adds. "So we take you away, people think you're missing, and we never have to worry about you being at risk."

"I don't have a choice," you whimper, tears forming.

"You do have a choice, Honey," Bucky counters. "You can choose to be good and have your every want and need met. Or you can choose to be bad and find yourself locked up in a kennel."

A tear rolls down your face as you take your first steps into your new home.

Next

A year ago, as the army of his raiders first started reaping through the king’s lands. Green Cave was a business, officially with the loyalties to the good king, but pragmatic in the safe approach of not denying the thirsty warriors.

It was better to serve them mead, food, and naked entertainment, than have them burn the place down and rape the women anyway.

Men could be as cruel when women climbed their laps willingly as when they denied it, but the chances for harmless treatment rose when they were treated with respect shown to other customers. It was one of the reasons you didn’t dare to fight when the Skull General pointed his finger at you. 

However, you’d be lying if you claimed you went to him every other time he visited merely out of fear. 

There was something in him that scared you to the bone, but lured you into his blood splattered darkness. The way his gaze was so intense on you, devouring every flicker of pleasure on your face. The way he held and directed your body, skillful in his demands. How different it was to submit your body to a monster who never took off his armor.

The skull mask always stayed on his face, covering the upper half and throwing a creepy shadow over his lips and jaw. A chiseled, bearded jaw. The heavy armour of metal, leather and bones stayed on, as well. Only his breeches open and pulled down enough for you to sink your cunt on his thick cock. 

He liked to wrap his large hand around your throat, leather underlayer soft against your skin while the steel covering ground when he clenched his fingers tighter. 

As he did now, pressing on the sides of your neck and cutting off the flow of lifeforce into your head. 

The sounds of music, laughter and other people’s coupling faded as the hum in your head increased. Your own heart’s echo combining with the rough pounding splitting your pussy in two. 

Your fingers grasped at his shoulders as you continued to ride him. Your green dress had enough slits for the fabric to part in a way that allowed your customer to see how his dick speared in and out of your wet heat. While the Skull General liked to watch the first slide of his fat cock into your tight cunt, he preferred watching your face throughout the rest of the act. 

No matter how many times he took you. 

So you held his gaze - those eerie blue eyes staring into your glazed over eyes. Your eyelids fluttered close when he squeezed your throat tighter. Chest burning with the lack of air, muscles growing tense, you hated and loved the sensation. 

Your pussy clenched around him as your whole body constricted on the brink of little death. 

Then all returned in a rush - air flooding your lungs, blood flowing through your limbs and into your dizzy head, low dark chuckle resounding in your ear - when he loosened his grip on your throat. 

You fell forward, not only leaning on his massive form but willingly giving your throat into his threatening hold. 

“M-my lord,” you gasped, “I’m going to come.”

It wasn’t a ploy of an experienced courtesan, though in the past you’ve used that on many customers. No, with the Skull General there was no faking or hiding your responses. He couldn’t be deceived and he slashed through each with brutality that left you a breathless mess.

“Come, my little whore.” He rumbled, driving his hips upward and bouncing your spent body to his amusement. “Cream all over my cock.”

His fingers clenched on your throat again, stealing away your breath. Your pupils widened as the pleasure of climax continued to tease at the tips of your fingers, at the tip of your tongue. Sizzling and bubbling, tempting with the molasses sweet drowning, but refusing to let you fall into it. 

The General’s lips curled in a smirk as he held you on the edge. He fucked into you harder as croaked whimpers spilled from your mouth. 

Then he pulled you close, until your forehead was pressed to the skull mask and your lips brushed against his. Your vision blurred at the edges, but your pussy spasmed in excitement. 

Two heartbeats later his grip mercifully eased and the orgasm flushed you. A wild, full-body trembling wave that interrupted your scream of pleasure with desperate gulps for air. 

“My lord, my lord-” you muttered feverishly against his cruel mouth. 

You weren’t fully down from your floaty high when the colors and light shifted around you. The Skull General lifted you up and deposited you on a wooden table. Chalices and plates were knocked down. A spilt of sweet mead formed a halo around your head. 

He braced your ankles on his shoulders, and thrust back into your fluttering pussy. His fingers returned to your throat, but he wasn’t squeezing anymore. Only marking his undisputed ownership of your pathetic, dripping form. 

Towering over you, in his full armour and the skull mask on his face, he posed the most vivid nightmare of your life. But one that had the power to make the journey to hell exciting. 

“Your kingdom has fallen. A new rule takes over.” He growled with triumph, conquering your body in a reflection of how he took over the country. “I’m not going to venture every winter night into the outskirts to fuck this sweet pussy. I’m taking my favorite whore with me.” 

A wicked grin displayed beneath the skull’s deadly smile.

“Thank your general, my little whore. Thank your lord. Your new king.” His thrust turned harder, jerking you across the table like a rag doll. His grip on your throat tightened. 

You opened the shades to try and coax some heat into the trailer from the morning sun, although you weren't sure how much of a difference it would make. A bump alerted you to Mary waking up. You scrambled to try and find something to give her for breakfast, besides the cereal that was probably a little stale. You gave a little fist pump when you found something frozen fruit in the back of the freezer and tossed it in the blender.

Mary followed the buzzing to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. "Where's Frank?" The poor kid loved her uncle, and he did everything he could for her, but he had been awful with money lately. You knew you needed to have a conversation with him, but were dreading the argument that would follow.

"I think he's still in bed," You gestured to the hallway, "Why don't you go brush teeth and get dressed, and I'll go wake him up so he can take you to school?"

"With all that racket, he's gonna be pissed." You heard Mary's mumble, which you were sure she meant for you to. Pursing your lips, you knew better than to react. Frank had been clear, you were not her parent. 

You followed Mary's path and made a bee-line to yours and Frank's shared room. He was passed out still, the stale smell of beer and cigarette smoke hung in the air, despite him doing neither in the trailer last night. You held your breath as you nudged him awake, "Frank? Honey, you gotta get up, it's almost time to take Mary to school." 

He let out a groan and buried his head under the pillow, "Ugh, already? I feel like I just fell asleep." His voice held the rasp of sleep, but also the dregs of a hangover. You massaged his shoulders gently before placing a kiss on his spine.

"I've got breakfast almost ready, want me to put some coffee on?" You murmured against his skin. He grunted a yes, and you stood to leave. "And take a shower before she smells you, its disgusting in here."

You huffed and pulled your makeshift shawl tighter around you as you made your way back to the kitchen. Mary was already sitting at the table, eating her cereal. You poured the blended fruit into a bowl and passed her a new spoon just in case. 

"What is this?" Mary's nose wrinkled, you couldn't really blame her.

"We only had frozen fruit left, I'm going to the store later. Make sure you put what you want on the list before you leave, okay?" The coffee maker groaned away on the counter, and Frank finally made his appearance.

Mary's nose wrinkled again as Frank passed her, "You smell like crap." He glared at her, but ignored her in favour of coffee. 

"Come on, Mary we're gonna be late." He filled a thermos with his coffee, and the two of them gathered their things to leave. Mary raced to his truck, yelling something about starting a new science experiment.

Frank wrapped his arms around you from behind. "I've got a few jobs lined up for today, I'll probably be home late." He placed a delicate kiss on the top of your head, and squeezed you once more.

You sighed as you settled into his embrace, soaking up his warmth. "I'm off today, so I'll grab some groceries and pick up Mary." 

He hummed behind you, swaying you together. The quiet moment was only broken by the blaring of the horn from the truck and Mary yelling about being late. You chuckled and turned to Frank, "Don't keep her waiting, she'll kick your ass later."

Frank sighed and slipped some cash into your hand, your eyes growing wide. Before you could ask where he got the money, he gave you a long, slow kiss, that had your knees going weak. He squeezed you once more, and was out the door before you could ask anymore questions. 

You stared around the now quiet and empty kitchen for a moment, deciding you could clean up the dishes later. You went to your room and stripped the bed, god booze must have been seeping from his pores. You were tempted to grab tongs to just put everything in the laundry bag. Gathering up the rest of the laundry from the bedroom, you made your way to Mary's room to gather hers, but a sound outside stopped you in your tracks. 

There was a squeak of brakes that had you pausing. Frank's truck was loud, and he said he had jobs lined up. There was no way he was back already. As you made your way to the kitchen to investigate there was several loud bangs on the front door that had you jumping. 

You took a moment to collect yourself before opening the door. When you did, any words of greeting left your mind immediately. Stood before you was a hard looking man. He had a shaved head and was thickly built. His cold blue eyes met yours, before peering over your shoulder subtly. 

"This Frank Adler's place?" His voice was rough, like he didn't speak much. But his question had your stomach dropping. What had Frank done?

"Umm, sorry, but who are you?" You tried your best at firm, but it came out far weaker than you had intended, and you kicked yourself for that. Glancing past the man at your front door you saw a black SUV, with several other men standing around it. 

"Everett." He said simply, as if that would answer all of your questions. 

"Right," You said slowly, "And why are you looking for Frank?"

It seems your words were all the confirmation he needed, and before you could do anything he was pushing you back into the trailer, a hand over your mouth catching the scream before it could escape your throat. You struggled against him as he used his other arm to guide you back, his foot kicking the door closed. 

"Hey!" His voice was low, almost more a growl, "I'm gonna move my hand now." His eyes, which has been so cold and lifeless before, burned with an intensity that had you standing stock still. "And I'm gonna ask you some questions, you're gonna answer, and then I'm gonna leave. Understood?"

You blinked at him slowly, still clearly in shock. He loosened his grip minutely, and you nodded slowly. "Good." His slowly withdrew his hand from your mouth, not travelling far though to grip at the crook of your jaw.

"Is Frank home?" You shook your head.

"Do you know where he is?" You shook your head again, and his grip tightened on your jaw, causing you to whine. 

"No. He takes odd jobs, said he had a bunch today." Tears were welling in your eyes. You fought to keep them back, your last sign of defiance to the man who was holding your life in his hands. Just over Everett's shoulder you saw the landline, wishing you were closer. 

Everett grunted, his head swivelled to where your gaze was locked. "You know what, that's a great idea. Why don't we give the man a call." You shook your head and batted at his arms as he dragged you across the room to the phone. Dread pooling in your stomach, what if he killed Frank?

You must have said the words aloud because Everett chuckled behind you now. His arms wrapped around you in a sick mirror of the way Frank had held you just before he left. His breath tickled your neck as he whispered his instructions. "Give him a call, tell him to come home. I won't kill him, he won't be able to get me my money then."

Your hands shook as you reached for the phone, nearly dropping it. Everett tsk'd behind you, his grip on your waist tightened. "Shhhh, just calm down and dial the number. Tell him there's an emergency and he needs to come home. Now." He smoothed your hair, in what would be a calming gesture, but just felt more threatening.

You dialled the number quickly, the tension coming off the man behind you telling you more than his softly spoken words. After a couple rings, Franks annoyed voice came across the line. "Babe, what's up? I told you I have couple jobs lined up. Drop off with Mary took longer than normal, so I'm already running late."

Even though his tone was cross, comfort flooded through you at his voice. "I.." you gulped trying to get the words out. You felt the man behind you squeeze again in warning. "You need to come home." You could hear the tears in your voice. The panic in your breathing. You were praying Frank heard it too.

"Babe? What happened?" You heard Frank's truck roar as he pressed the accelerator. 

"Please, just come home." You gave up and let yourself sob into the line.

"I'm coming, okay? Don't hang up." You could hear the panic set into Frank's voice now. "I'm not far, ten minutes." 

Before you could sob out a response, Everett yanked the phone away from your ear. A shrill scream of "FRANK" left your lips before his hand was back over your mouth, dulling the sound. Something about this attack, and Frank's imminent approach had you fighting against your attacker. You bit down hard on the hand covering your mouth. Your hands scratching and hitting every inch you could reach. He grunted before finally throwing you over his shoulder, and marching towards the bedroom. 

He tossed you on the bed, grabbing a pair of your panties from the laundry bag and shoving them in your mouth. He held his hand over top before securing your wrists with one Frank's belts. It was then you saw the gun on his hip, and the flash of a blade in his hand. Your movements instantly stopped, tear tracks lining your face. Everett chuckled before clapping your cheek with the hand you had bitten, his blood mixing with your tears. 

"Be quiet." The words were whispered hoarsely, his nose nearly touching yours as he moved into your personal space. His minty breath ghosting over your face. "We're gonna sit here and wait for the man of the house to get home."

You shivered at the thought of this man being close to you, maintaining some kind of intimacy with you. He patted your cheek one last time and climbed on the bed behind you, scooting you back until he rested on the headboard. His one arm draped across yous stomach, while the other pulled the gun from his hip. You couldn't stop the whimper that bubbled in your throat.

"Don't worry, we're just gonna scare him a little." His lips grazed your cheek, the sharp stubble of his beard painful to your tear swollen cheek. 

The two of you sat in silence waiting for Frank. Everett making sure to keep the gun in your sight line at all times. As each moment dragged on you felt your anxiety build until you felt like you were ready to burst. Just as you felt a new wave of tears building, you heard the road of Frank's truck and it skid to a stop outside the trailer. 

You heard him yelling your name as the front door slammed open. You sucked in a breath and heard the man behind you shush. Despite his warning a sob ripped through you, which had Frank running to the room. Everett raised the gun to point directly at Frank's chest, and you sobbed harder. A warning squeeze around your middle had you quieting down.

Frank's hands immediately shot up, "Everett. What- she's got nothing to do with this." Frank was looking past you to the man behind you. You felt him shrug casually, his thumb stroking the exposed skin between your shirt and your sweatpants. "I told you, I'll have the money soon. With interest."

You blanched at Frank's words. The cash he had slipped you this morning, it was still in your pants pocket. 

Everett hummed, "That's why you took another loan last night?" Your vision swam with anger now. How could he have not told you. You could have gotten a second job, picked up more shifts, anything would have been better than this. "You're lucky, it was one of the new kids working. But I think you knew that."

He abruptly swung the gun under your chin, and your sob echoed around the trailer. "Here's what's gonna happen." His face was pressed close to yours again and you squeezed your eyes shut, "I'll be back tomorrow, and you're gonna pay me $500."

Frank stuttered out excuses across the room. Everett stood from behind you, and you watched as he crossed the room to Frank. "$500." He tapped the barrel of the gun against Franks chin and glanced back at you. 

Everett stalked toward the front door, leaving you and Frank staring at each other from across the room. Once the door slammed close, he was dashing to you. He undid the belt around your wrists, and gingerly pulled the underwear from your mouth. You sobbed as everything that had happened hit you. He pulled you into his lap and you buried your face in his neck.

Frank whispered to you, his tone soft and soothing. It felt like hours before you could calm yourself down enough to let him go. He left the room for only a few moments and returned with a washcloth and a glass of water. He cleaned the tears and blood from your swollen cheeks. 

You gripped the front of his shirt, your eyes pleading. "Frank, you need to tell me the truth." He hung his head unable to meet your eyes. "How much?" 

You whispered the words, but with the silence in the room, you knew he heard you. "Five grand."

You sucked in a breath. A few extra shifts would never cover that. "Okay." You stood and grabbed a towel from the laundry bag. "Mary can't know about this. I'll take her out tomorrow, and you call me once he's gone."

You turned to Frank, his soulful eyes pleading with you. "I don't want to be around that man ever again."

"I'm so sorry babe." He held a hand out to you as he stood and you fell into his arms. Your own falling to his waist.

"You tell me when it's bad Frank. Or this doesn't work." You whispered the words as you laid your head on his shoulder. "We'll find a way to get the money, and then we'll leave."

Frank nodded above you, his arms wound tightly around you. You pulled out the bills he had handed you this morning, and peeled out just enough for groceries and handed him the rest back. "You go, work on your jobs. I'm gonna go hang out with Roberta until you get home."

He pulled you back, his hands on your shoulders, crouching slightly to get on your level. "Are you sure?"

You could see the sincerity in his eyes. The worry, the shame, the guilt, they were all there. You cupped his cheek and stroked his beard with your thumb. "We need the money."

***

It was ironic and yet fateful. 

The house that the shadowy man had broken in to rob wasn't even yours.  

You had just been a friend who was there for a sleepover. 

Your eyes widen and you freeze in your spot between the double doors of the fridge when you hear a click from the kitchen backdoor that opens into the yard behind the house. Either you were too caught up in your rummaging of the contents inside the appliance to find something to snack on, or whoever it was that was slowly entering the dimly lit room with soft thuds of their boots now was such a professional that they hadn't required any prior tampering with the mechanism before easing it open, because you hadn't heard anything until the door was being noiselessly pulled open. 

Your head whips to your sides frantically as you panic, unable to decide a course of action that feels right. 

It is when the footsteps become louder and louder that you drop to your knees with your ears flaming hot and you crawl to the kitchen island and grab the first thing that you can reach; which is a rolling pin for whatever reason. 

Clutching your weapon close to your chest, you bite your lip to try and champion your panting as you move to your feet but remain ducking behind the island, vigilant eyes scanning your surroundings. Whoever it is has most probably figured out that they aren't alone due to how the refrigerator light had been illuminating the otherwise mostly dark room, the thumping close of the magnetized doors only further damning you. 

You tightly chew on your bottom lip as you slowly move around the counter, eyeing the kitchen door while the footsteps circle the workspace in the same fashion.

Your eyebrows furrow when they abruptly come to a halt and everything goes dead silent again. You take a few moments before raising your head and peeking over the marble top to check the intruder's position. 

But no one is there. 

Self doubt suddenly grips at you and you wonder if you hallucinated or misperceived something else for a creep but then–

"Boo~" a deep whisper sounds right beside your ear and your eyes widen as you spin so fast you can barely comprehend anything. The way in which the stranger suspends your rushed attack by wrapping his rough fingers around your weapon bearing band and depriving it of any and all liberty while his other hand flies to your throat to walk you back into a wall is all too quick for you to register until after it's happened. 

"Woah, now. What do we think we are doing?"

Okay, he is a professional. 

Your eyes that can rival saucers instantly fill with tears as the man gathers your other hand along with the one that had meant him offense above your head. He easily snatches the rolling pin from you before looking around and then tossing it in a basket that holds various kitchen cloths in it. 

The harsh blue of his eyes is so bright that you can make it out even in the liminal lighting. "Now, where were we?" As his amused gaze now trails over your barely clad body, you realize that burglary is no longer the center of his focus, for a deep pink tongue reveals itself from his bearded mouth and licks a long stripe of his chapped bottom lip. Since one of his arms is half raised to keep you locked in place, the heavy scent of what can only be described as raw manliness wafts to your nostrils and lingers in the air all around you. His pale face is dirty and stern, cheeks scarred in some places under the thick mat of his dark beard.  

The stranger does not muffle your mouth but you're far too petrified to attempt anything unwise. He does not need to press a weapon to your skin to ensure meekness either, for his bruised and naked lethal fists are threatening enough. 

So you let out the only thing anyone in your situation would in their helplessness. "P- Please." 

"Hm" his eyes lower to scan your erect nipples that push against the sheer fabric of your tank top, his pearly whites -that are in a stark contrast to the rest of the darkness- flash as he smirks when he locates the spot that your natural moisture has caused in your fluffy cotton panties. "Gotta make sure you don't have any more surprises for me first" and then you're whipped around before his free hand is all over you, the coarse pads of his fingers roaming over every bump and crevice of your form. 

You let out an audible gasp when his palm brushes against your breasts -that he had neglected along with your intimates during the initial frisk- and he lets it circle the shape before taking a proper squeeze. You wince and your body responds to the pain by making your muscles twitch. Your back arches as a result and your ass bounces up to collide with his own privates and then the man has no choice but to look down with a grunt at the assaulter. 

The sight that his cruel blue eyes meet with pulls his lips wider and his expression deepens into a grin. "Jeez" a small patch of fuzzy little threads resembling a bunny tail stands erect an inch or two above your covered pucker. 

What? 

You like cute things and so you reward yourself with them every once in a while. 

The realization that you are wearing that underwear claws at your throat and cheeks alike and you can't help but flush even in this depraved situation. 

"Didn't know I had myself a bunny here" your thumping heart begins to thunder when you feel his hand toy with the 'tail' for a few moments before he flicks it. You are on the verge of letting out a peep but he suddenly snatches your throat back into his grasp and sandwiches your body between his hard one and the wall you're facing. 

"Tell me" his beard scratches against the shell of your ear from behind and you tremble in fear. Your legs try to press together to try and cover yourself in any way you can but the stranger ruthlessly worms one of his feet between yours and roughly pushes them apart. The action causes you to lose your balance and your legs go to split but the knee he props up in the middle catches you just in time. "Do you like to breed like one too?" He doesn't care for the frantic shaking of your head and instead caresses your nether regions with the intruder he has pushed between them. 

"Plea–"

"I think you do" he decides for the two of you and marches you into the pantry closet before pushing you over a big carton that stands in the center. The stranger easily manhandles you and before you can try your luck even in vain, he grabs an apple from one of many baskets lined along the edge of a table before pushing it in your mouth. Your teeth dig into it and your jaw locks in place due to its size, your head having no choice but to lay against the box sideways as your eyes release stinging tears all the while. 

The man seems to be in a rut as he does not bother with ridding you of what little covers you have on, instead only roughly pulling down your panties before grunting at the sight of your sex that glistens even in the small light that shines in the dark closet from the kitchen. A calloused palm lands on your ass and makes you jump up with a whimper, your bloodshot eyes unable to see much even though they frantically dart about futilely in every direction they can. 

The man does not waste another second and aligns his rock hard cock along your entrance and pushes in within the next moment, groaning at the balmy tightness of your soft walls. "Fuck, bunny" while one of his coarse hands keep your wrists arrested above your ass, the other squeezes at your hip before steeling you in place. "Trying to shake your head no but makin' a mess inside those cute little bunny panties like it's your job" he jerks the rest of his seemingly never ending length deep up your cavern. 

Your pussy has had to expand so much to accompany him that you can feel a very obvious and painful strain in the band of your opening, the ache causing you to fear that you might rip. Your mouth is full of apple juice as you blink away your tears, face scrunched in discomfort as you stare at the wine rack in front of you. 

The man pulls back almost all the way out only to plunge his cock deeper and harder up your hot channel now. Your head spins and can tell that his unforgiving size has already located your sensitive bundle of nerves within the first few thrusts. 

His stiff and thick tip is unrelenting after that as he just keeps on increasing his speed, his heavy balls slapping your sore ass as they try to push their own way in with each push of his hips. The man grunts, curses, gropes, squeezes, spanks and somewhere along the way even leans down to bite at your tear stained cheeks, licking them in long stripes and twitching at the taste while the box below you violently shakes and threatens to come undone by how roughly it is being rocked back and forth. 

"You like that, huh, bunny?" He has realized that each time he spanks you or pulsates inside you, you clench sensitively with a moan. And so he has been doing that for the past couple pounds. "Like getting fucked like the little breeding bunny that you are?" His face is next to yours as you sob into the apple, forcing yourself to keep your eyes trained on the wine bottles as he glowers down on you while pistoning himself in and out of you like you're nothing but a toy meant for relief of the depraved sorts.

"What is with the crying, huh?" His hips snap against yours so hard that your aching ass and even pucker shake with each thrust. "You finally have what you always wanted; a man to breed you full and swell like the dirty little bunny that you are" his deep voice is now even more hoarse due to his irregular breathing. "Isn't that why you saunter around other people's houses in nothing but slutty little underwear? So someone can come along and take you for the breeding bunny that you are?" Your eyes move from their position for the first time in a while.

How does he know that it's not your house? 

"You don't have to worry about anything now" he wraps your hair around his hand before roughly pulling at it to withstand the force of his orgasm that shoots up your cavity. "Except. For. Bearing. Me. A. Healthy. Fuckin'. Fluffle." Your body naturally reacts to the overwhelming stimulation as he gives you a jab with each word, fucking his hot seed deeper and deeper up your womb, causing your hips to tighten and pussy to milk him as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you fall. 

Your owner takes his sweet time fucking his orgasm out and into you as you spasm against the carton helplessly, drowning in a numbing combination of myopia and vertigo of your forced ecstacy, thighs quivering violently. 

"Now," the stranger lets up only when he is fully satisfied… for now. Pulling himself out of your abused channel with a wince, he fixes himself up after letting your arms fall limp at your sides. "Oh– there, there" he abruptly halts whatever it is that he's doing behind you to pull up your panties when his seed threatens to spill out of your stuffed slit. "Can't let it go to waste now, can we?" He snickers to himself before appropriating the rest of his condition.

"Now, let's get you to your burrow" you are manhandled up to your malfunctioning feet by your nape and a wet cloth presses to your nose before your eyes can even adjust to the sudden burst of light that shines in from behind his towering form. His face is the last thing you can make out before your knees finally give out and you go to fall on your back but he catches you in one of his hard arms. 

"There, there, bunny" his voice echoes in your head as the world around you starts to melt. "I've got you" you feel him remove the apple from your now slack jaw before he lumps you on one of his shoulders. 

And then your consciousness fades into an unfathomable abyss. 

It wasn't that you didn't want to be at the gym. You really loved working there. It had its perks like free workouts and being close to some of your favorite spots. But it was getting to be more and more stressful going into work each day. All thanks to Curtis Everett.

The boxer with a mean right hook, buzzed hair and a beard as dark as coal, and eyes as cold as ice. For whatever reason set his sights on you the second he joined the gym. Maybe because you smiled at him. You really didn’t know. But it didn't take long for his workout schedule to conveniently match the days you were working. If he had a question or issue, you were the only one who could help him. Even if you were busy helping someone else, he’d wait. Your boss didn’t seem to care when you made a comment in passing one day since he was a “customer” and it was expected of you to provide the best service.

Curtis seemed to always be where you were, too, which wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't so imposing. If you were in a certain area, cleaning machines or setting anything up, he was suddenly there like a shadow casting darkness over you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe with him so close. He even left when you did some nights, keeping only a small distance while you went to your car and not walking on until you got in safely. You always locked the door quickly just to be on the safe side.

Some days he didn't say much to you. Just grunted or stared, or glared at anyone who spoke to you. The last guy who tried to flirt with you ended up with a broken jaw when Curtis offered to do a practice round with him. And while the guy was on the ground in pain, Curtis looked over at you. The expression “blood ran cold” was a real thing because you immediately trembled under his gaze.

It was just getting to be too much.

“Have a good night,” Steve said when he walked by.

You looked away from the computer and nodded. Steve Rogers was one of the best boxers around, and one of the kindest. He was also good looking. The entire package. “You, too, Steve.”

He stopped, his brows pinching when he took in your expression. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. “Steve was a good guy. If you said someone was bothering you, he would've stepped in and helped. You couldn't ask that of him. This was your problem to deal with. “Thanks.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said, flashing that kind smile of his.

“I appreciate it,” you smiled back. Your shoulders slumped when he walked out. He was one of the last guys to leave. Oh, god. That meant the only person left was-

“It makes my blood boil every time I see you talking to him.”

The bass of Curtis’s voice made you jump. You hated how easily he scared you. “Curtis, you shouldn’t be behind the counter,” you chastised, closing out the schedule.

“And you shouldn’t be flirting with Rogers, but here we are,” he said, gripping your shoulder and spinning you around to face him. His nostrils flared as he towered over you, and you feared he might strike you. Your eyes rounded at the thought, your back hitting the counter when you backed up. “Were you smiling that sweet smile that should only be for me?”

“I-I wasn’t,” you promised, shaking when he brought a calloused hand to your cheek. He wouldn’t try anything, right? Not out there in the open. And it wasn’t like the security cameras would catch anything. Your boss said they went out recently and he had to get them fixed. “Curtis, please.”

“You think I’m going to hurt you?” The ice in his eyes melted only a little as he closed the distance, his lips ghosting yours. “I would never, ever hurt you.”

You trembled, wanting so badly to believe him. “What do you want from me?” you asked, hating how small your voice sounded.

“I want you to finish up work and tell me where you’re planning to go on your trip,” he answered, chuckling at your expression. “You think I didn’t know? Of course I knew. And I’m going with you.”

He might as well have punched you with how winded you suddenly felt. “Go with me? But-”

“And Rogers might not go down as easily as that other prick, but I’ll wreck him if I catch you flirting with him again and I’ll give him a lot worse than a broken jaw. That’s a promise,” he said, brushing his nose against yours before he pulled away. You had to reach behind you and grab the counter to keep from falling. “Let’s go. We need to figure out the details for our trip.”

Tears blurred your vision. “Curtis-”

“Just nowhere cold,” he interrupted, his icy blue eyes on you like always. “I hate the cold.”

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