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The word left Smoke’s mouth heavy as an anvil dropped. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t need to. It was a command, not a suggestion.

Stack let out a low laugh that had no humor in it, tilting his head like he couldn’t quite believe what he heard. “You think you my daddy, nigga? Fuck I look like sittin’ ‘cause you said to sit.” His voice was a rough whisper, harsh but careful, mindful of Sera’s sleeping form a few feet away.

Smoke’s jaw worked, muscles ticking under his skin. He sat down in one of the velvet chairs with a grace that only highlighted the weight behind him. Then he lifted his boot and kicked the opposite chair out so that it struck Stack’s knees with a thud. “You gon’ keep actin’ like a bitch or have a conversation with me like a real man?”

The chair’s edge digging into Stack’s knees had him twitching with that dangerous flash in his eyes that usually preceded fists. His hands hovered at his sides for a beat too long before he unstrapped his shoulder holsters, setting both pistols on the table between them. The sound was a promise. A warning. He dropped into the chair across from Smoke, leaning back as though to say he wasn’t pressed, though his chest rose with sharp breaths.

Smoke’s gaze didn’t waver. His fingers tapped once against the armrest, then stilled. “We need rules. Not for the streets, not for business. For her.” His head tilted toward the cot where Sera was still curled up, oblivious.

Stack’s brow arched. “Rules? You serious right now? After all we done been through, you sittin’ here tryna make a fuckin’ handbook ‘bout lovin’ a woman?”

Smoke’s stare hardened. “This ain’t like the others. She ain’t just some plaything we gon’ toss to the curb when we tired. She ours. You hear me? Ours. If things go the way I’m thinkin’, she gon’ be our wife an wives don’t get broken for sport.”

Stack shifted in his chair, drumming his fingers against the wood. He tilted his head, gold tooth glinting faint in the dim light. “So what, we ‘posed to walk on eggshells ‘round her? She tougher than you givin’ her credit for, Smoke. She took what I gave her last night an still breathin’, ain’t she?”

Smoke leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, voice like iron dragged across stone. “Barely. You lost yaself’ last night. Don’t even try to deny it. I saw the way ya’ eyes went glassy, the way you pressed her harder ‘cause you liked seein’ her cry. That’s the same look you used to get in Harlem, back when we was runnin’ dolls into the ground with no mercy. You ‘member what happened then?”

Stack’s smirk faltered, his jaw tightening.

Smoke pressed on, his tone sharp, each word measured. “We learned how to thrive in chaos back then. Brothels, bootlegging, gambling… we kept order ‘cause we had no choice. But that same chaos? It destroyed them women. I ain’t lettin’ that happen to her. Not Seraphim.”

Stack exhaled through his nose, leaning back deeper into the chair, eyes darting to the cot. For a moment, he stayed quiet.

Smoke’s voice softened, though the authority stayed. “We need a safeword. One for her, so she knows she can stop us if she’s at her edge. An one for us, so we can pull each other back when the heat gets too heavy. You call me out when I go too far, I call you out when you do. Ain’t no shame in it. That’s the only way this gon’ work.”

Stack scoffed lightly, but it lacked real fire. “So now you preachin’ rules like you the head nigga in charge. Sound like you tryna control how I show her love.”

Smoke shook his head, fatigue weighing down his features. “I ain’t tryna control you, Elias. I’m tryin’ to keep us from destroyin’ the best thing that ever landed in our arms. You know how we are… How we can get... We different as night an’ day when it comes to women. You love watchin’ ‘em break from too much pleasure. I… I hold back. But both them extremes gon’ tear her apart if we don’t keep ourselves in check.”

Silence stretched, heavy but not empty. Stack glanced at Sera again, her unconscious body curled into itself, a soft snore slipping out. She looked untouched by the firestorm she had ignited, peaceful in a way that almost mocked them.

Finally, Stack dragged a hand down his face, muttering under his breath before meeting Smoke’s eyes. “You always gotta make shit complicated. But…” he hesitated, licking his lips, “you right. I know how I get when I make a woman cry. I don’t think. I just… want more of it.” His voice dipped low, shame and hunger all twisted together.

Smoke sat back, shoulders slumping, exhaustion carving lines into his face. “That’s why I need you to pull me back too. We gon’ be stronger if we protect her together, not fight over who get to show it his way.”

Stack exhaled, shaking his head before cracking a grin that was more resigned than amused. “Fuckin’ hypocrite… But fine. Safeword for her, safeword for us. I’ll play by ya’ rules. For now.”

Smoke gave a curt nod, the tension in his jaw easing just slightly. “Not just for now. From here on out. Chicago ain’t gon’ be easy. If we ain’t unified, she gon’ be the one who pays the price.”

The brothers sat in silence after that, the sound of Sera’s soft snores filling the air. Stack rubbed his palms over his thighs, restless. “So what we usin’ then? Somethin’ simple enough she remember even when she half gone with her head rollin’ back.”

Smoke’s gaze cut to the cot, watching Sera stir in her sleep, her curls tumbling across her face. “For her… she say ‘mercy,’ we stop. No matter what. You hear it, I hear it, don’t matter if she beggin’ us not to stop after. She say it once, we stop.”

Stack tilted his head, thinking. The gold tooth flashed when he finally spoke. “Mercy, huh. Got a nice ring to it. Don’t sound weak neither.”

Smoke gave a slight nod, the decision final. Then his eyes hardened again as they returned to Stack. “An for us? We need one too. Somethin’ short. Somethin’ that cut through even when we half feral.”

Stack chewed on the inside of his cheek, then let a smirk creep back. “Cain.”

Smoke arched a brow.

Stack leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice quiet but sharp. “You say ‘Cain,’ I know I crossed the line. I say it, you know you losin’ ya’ grip. Cain killed Abel, right? Brothers destroyin’ each other ‘stead of watchin’ out. That what you don’t want, right?”

Smoke’s jaw worked, the weight of the name settling in. He hated how fitting it was. But it was sharp enough, biblical enough, and it would stick. He finally gave a firm nod. “Cain it is.”

The finality in his tone hung in the room, heavy as the silence that followed. Smoke let his eyes linger on Sera again, her chest rising and falling steady, the faint crease between her brows, her knuckles curled near her mouth like a child hugging a dream. Then his eyes slid back to Stack, all sharp again.

“You want to do the honors of givin’ her the letter,” Smoke asked low, “or you want me to hand it over?”

Stack leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against his thigh while he thought. The question wasn’t light. Smoke’s face told him this was one of those things they couldn’t afford to fumble. Finally, he sighed through his nose and tilted his head. “I’ll give it to her. I fucked up last night. Owe her the apology. Owe her the truth. Might as well come from me.”

Smoke gave a slow nod, accepting it without fight. He stood from the chair, broad frame moving with that calm finality he carried when his mind was set. At his trunk, he crouched, the hinges groaning when he pried it open. His hand went straight to the folded envelope tucked safe beneath shirts and a spare belt. His fingers dragged over the paper like he wanted to crush it.

“Wish I could kill that nigga a million times over,” he muttered through his teeth, voice dark as tar. “Ain’t enough bullets in the world for what he done. But she need to read this ‘fore we step foot in Chicago. This letter gon’ be the final nail in Clarksdale’s coffin. Break whatever hold that bastard still got on her.”

Stack shifted forward in his seat, catching the intensity in his brother’s voice. He didn’t joke this time, didn’t smile. He just nodded once, a hard, silent understanding. “Then I’ll do it right.”

But because Stack could never hold his tongue for long, he leaned back with a crooked grin spreading anyway. “Still, after that, we gon’ have to train her up better. Can’t have her usin’ words like ‘thingy’ or ‘that funny feelin’ in her stomach’ while she sittin’ between us. We grown men, she in grown business now. Gotta learn how to talk like it.”

Smoke gave him a flat look at first, like he wasn’t in the mood. But then one corner of his mouth tugged, reluctant amusement leaking through. “She’s still learnin’. Ain’t no need to rush her. She got time.”

Stack barked out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Time? Nigga, I damn near lost it last night when she called our peckers a ‘thingy.’ Almost killed the whole mood. Had me ready to pack it up an go to sleep.”

Smoke chuckled, the sound rare and short. “That’s a damn lie. Nothin’ that girl could say gon’ make either one of us go soft.”

Stack smirked, flashing gold. “Maybe not you. But me? I like my women with a dirty mouth. Somethin’ ‘bout her innocence just… throw me off balance sometimes.”

Smoke slipped the letter into Stack’s hand and let his gaze flicker back to Sera, still dead to the world in the cot, soft snores filling the cabin like a lullaby. His face softened. “Give her the letter. Help her burn the last of Clarksdale out her chest. Then we’ll worry ‘bout trainin’ her tongue.”

Stack stared at his twin for a long moment, then nodded, the grin fading to something steadier. His thumb brushed over the sealed edge of the envelope, the weight of the paper suddenly heavier than lead. He looked toward Sera, imagining her waking, blinking at him with those wide, doe-like eyes when he pressed it into her hand.

Flashback

The north field had been transformed into something almost idyllic. Sera laid tangled in a bed of blankets, her curls loose against the pillow, her skin flushed with the afterglow of yet another climax coaxed from her trembling body. Smoke’s muscular frame stretched beside her, his heavy palm resting over her ribs like a shield, while Stack had just finished feeding her spoonfuls of stewed meat until her lashes grew too heavy to hold open.

By the time her breathing evened into the fragile rhythm of sleep, the twins exchanged a look that spoke louder than any words. The tenderness vanished. Their faces hardened, their shoulders straightened, and without a whisper of hesitation, they left her to rest.

The walk to the old smokehouse behind Pastor Samuel’s home was deliberate, their boots kicking up dry dust from the earth as if the land itself recoiled from their purpose. The structure loomed ahead like a coffin standing upright, its planks rotting, its iron hinges screaming each time they wrenched the door wide. Inside, the air was thick with damp wood, sweat, and the sour copper tang of blood.

Pastor Samuel was slumped against the wall, his arms bound high with rusted chains that bit into his wrists, his body a canvas of violence. One eye was swollen completely shut, the other glared weakly, still carrying the pride of a man who once held a pulpit and thought himself untouchable. His mouth, though—shredded lips, missing teeth, blood crusting over—told the truth of his suffering.

Smoke was the first to move, his fist colliding with Samuel’s jaw so hard the man’s head cracked against the wall behind him. A sharp grunt tore out of Samuel’s throat, a wet cough following, and blood sprayed across his torn shirt. Smoke didn’t stop. He hit again. And again. Each strike more measured than the last, not with the intent to kill but to keep him tethered cruelly close to death.

“You thought you could break her,” Smoke’s voice was a low snarl, words punctuated by another bone-cracking blow to Samuel’s cheek. “You thought scripture gave you the right to strip her down to nothin’ but obedience. But all you did was make her ours. Every tear you wrung outta her, every sermon you spat… she gon’ unlearn it with us.”

While Smoke’s fists painted Samuel’s face into an unrecognizable mask, Stack knelt at his side, a wicked glint in his gold tooth catching the lantern light. In his hand was a knife, sharp and steady. He pressed the point into Samuel’s ribs and began to carve, not quick slashes, but deliberate etchings. Letters. Words. Whole verses. Blood welled up in fine lines as he carved: “Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing.”

Samuel screamed, the sound raw, high-pitched, almost inhuman. Stack only chuckled and whispered like a psychopath that was finally let off a leash. “That verse? You preached it a hundred times, didn’t ya? Shoutin’ down every man who didn’t wear ya’ cloth. But you the wolf. You the fuckin’ liar. You the filth that needed exposin’.”

He pushed deeper, dragging the knife across Samuel’s chest until the skin split wide and slick red poured free. The blade traced the words into flesh as carefully as a scribe to parchment. “She ya’ daughter, an you made her believe she was the sin. Now you her punishment.”

Samuel coughed, choked, whispered prayers through broken teeth. “Lord… smite… smite them…”

Smoke laughed, dark and humorless, standing over him with blood dripping from his knuckles. “Ain’t no God gon’ save you here. Only thing holy in this room is the justice we givin’ her.”

Every day it went like this. Smoke battering him until his face swelled beyond recognition, bones breaking one by one. Stack cutting scripture into his flesh, leaving verses carved into his arms, chest, and thighs like grotesque tattoos. They let him bleed, then stopped the bleeding, just enough to keep him alive. They fed him scraps like a dog, water poured down his throat only when they wanted him lucid enough to feel the next round of agony.

And each night, when Sera was asleep in their arms, peaceful and adored, the twins returned to the smokehouse to remind Samuel of the hell he had built for her and the hell they would keep him in until his body gave out.

“Every bruise on you,” Smoke growled one night, his fist buried deep in Samuel’s gut, “is one less bruise she ever gon’ carry again.”

Stack pressed his bloody knife flat against Samuel’s throat, leaning close enough for his hot breath to sear the man’s ear. “You took her voice. You made her small. Now we gon’ make sure you die rememberin’ how big she is.”

And Samuel? Samuel prayed for death. He prayed for the Lord to take his spirit while he slept, but the twins, psychopaths through and through, never let him sleep long enough. They dragged him back from the edge, day after day, savoring the torment. Because to them, this was devotion. This was love, twisted and merciless, and carried out in Sera’s name.

It was the night before departure, the last night they would spend in Clarksdale before Chicago swallowed them whole. Sera had long since drifted off to sleep, curled into a safe bundle, her breaths soft and even as though the horrors of her past never existed. Smoke had tucked the cover snug against her shoulders, his hand lingering on the slope of her hip until he was certain she wouldn’t stir. Stack brushed her curls off her forehead, watching her lashes flutter before giving his brother a single nod.

The brothers slipped from the room with a silence that came from years of practice, their boots whispering against the wooden floorboards, the night air swallowing them whole as they cut across the yard. The stars above glimmered, indifferent, while the smokehouse squatted in the dark like a beast waiting for them. Inside, the stench hit hard. Blood, sweat, and rotting scabs thickened the air. Pastor Samuel hung where they had left him, slumped against the chains, his chest shuddering in shallow bursts. His body was a canvas painted in bruises and open wounds, his skin torn and welted with scripture carved by Stack’s merciless hand. His eye sockets were swollen, one was still completely sealed, the other a narrow slit of bloodshot white. He barely looked human anymore.

But tonight was different.

Smoke didn’t swing his fists the moment the door shut. Stack didn’t bring the knife to Samuel’s flesh. Instead, Smoke grabbed a dented bucket filled with cold water and hurled it against the man’s body. Samuel’s head jerked upright as the icy wave slapped his skin. He sputtered, coughed, and dragged in a wet breath like a drowning man gasping for air. His cracked lips moved wordlessly before a rasp broke free that was a mixture of half prayer and half sob.

Stack tossed a bundle onto the dirt at his feet. A neatly pressed suit. Crisp shirt. Tie. Shined shoes. The same outfit Samuel had worn to his pulpit every Sunday. The scent of starch clung to the cloth.

“Get dressed,” Smoke ordered, his tone flat, his eyes colder than the water dripping down Samuel’s battered frame.

For a long moment, Samuel didn’t believe it. His heart stuttered in his chest. The Lord had heard him… or so he thought… the week of agony was over. He blinked through the haze of one ruined eye and fell to his knees with a sound like broken timber. It took him over an hour to piece the clothes onto his mangled body. His fingers, swollen and fractured, fumbled with buttons until his nails tore away and blood stained the cuffs. His legs quivered as he pulled the trousers up over blistered and carved thighs. His breath rattled with each tug of fabric, and still he persisted, because this… this had to be deliverance.

At last, he stood hunched and trembling, the preacher reborn in the garments of his old life. The shirt clung wet to his frame, streaked with both blood and water. He swayed, leaning against the wall for support, whispering thanks to the God he believed had finally freed him.

The twins said nothing. They only motioned for him to follow.

The walk back to the house felt endless. Samuel limped, dragging one foot like a corpse already in its grave. When they crossed the threshold into his kitchen, the memory of a month ago burned behind their eyes. The night he had welcomed devils into his home, smug in his authority, blind to the reckoning he had called down upon himself.

On the table sat a single sheet of paper, a fountain pen, and the weight of judgment.

Smoke shoved Samuel into the head chair with no ceremony, the old wood creaking under his collapsing body. A pistol landed on the table beside the page with a thud that silenced the room. Smoke leaned forward, his gaze a knife pressed against Samuel’s last thread of hope.

“Tomorrow,” Smoke said, every word deliberate, “me an my brother takin’ Seraphim to Chicago. You ain’t never gon’ see her again. But before we go, you gon’ write her a letter. You gon’ tell her you sorry for bein’ a pitiful excuse for a father. You gon’ put it down in ink, so she read it with her own eyes.”

Samuel’s single working eye welled with tears. He nodded, frantic, desperate, convinced that this was the price of his freedom. His chest heaved as he reached for the pen with trembling fingers, the bones in his hand clicking and grinding as he forced them to move. He bent over the page, his vision swimming, his body aching with every line.

The words came halting at first, then rushed in a stream as his soul poured out through the ink. He wrote of failures. Of harsh words and heavy hands. Of sermons twisted into shackles. He begged forgiveness, not just from God, but from his daughter, the one he had shackled with his cruelty. Blood from his split knuckles smeared the paper. Tears dripped down, mixing with crimson into rust-colored stains along the margins.

Stack stood behind him the whole time, arms crossed, a predator watching prey. Smoke leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowed, his silence heavier than a sermon.

An eternity later, Samuel pushed the letter across the table. His chest heaved, his face streaked with salt and blood. He lowered his head and whispered, “This… this the end, ain’t it?”

Smoke’s jaw tightened. He gave a single nod.

Samuel’s shoulders sagged, but his eye… half closed and bloodshot found Smoke’s across the table. “I was a terrible man… I know it. But she… she deserves happiness. Y’all… y’all give her that. Do right by her. Please.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Stack growled, pressing the barrel of his pistol against the back of Samuel’s skull. The metallic click filled the air.

Samuel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t look away from Smoke, though. His ruined eye stayed fixed, wide with a desperate glimmer of something fragile. “Do right by her,” he croaked again. “Tell her… tell her her daddy asked forgiveness.” His voice broke into a ramble, words spilling too fast, half incoherent, like a drowning man grasping at the air. “Tell her I prayed for her… tell her I… I…”

“Enough.” Smoke said, his tone final, his face unreadable. He locked eyes with his twin, gave a single nod.

The crack of the gunshot was deafening in the small kitchen. Samuel’s body jolted, then slumped forward, his skull crashing against the table with a sickening thud. Blood spread in a dark pool across the wood, crawling toward the edges. The twins stood in silence. Stack lowered his pistol. Smoke pulled the folded letter from his jacket pocket, checked it once more, and slid it back inside. Without a word, they turned and walked out of the house, shoes echoing against the floorboards.

Behind them, Samuel’s lifeless form remained slumped in the chair where he had once sat with pride, the same chair where devils had come calling. And outside, under the watch of the stars, the twins walked back to the north field, back to their sleeping woman, carrying her future in Smoke’s pocket as though nothing at all had happened.

Present Time

The train rattled across the tracks with a rhythm that seemed almost obscene in how steady it carried them away from Mississippi. A few hours had slipped by since dawn, and Sera finally stirred, lashes fluttering as her eyes opened to the faint golden spill of morning light seeping through the window. She sat up drowsily, sheets tumbling from her shoulders, baring skin still branded in proof of the night before. Hickies and faint bite marks decorated the curve of her throat, the dip of her breasts, the swell of her thighs, each mark a stamp of possession.

Stack’s gaze caught her immediately. He bit down against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening hard enough to ache. His eyes swept across every inch of her bare form, a greedy need clawed through him, but beneath it all was the sting of memories from last night. Her tears, her cries and the way he had pushed her further than what she was ready for. His tongue darted over his gold tooth as he tried to disguise the groan that threatened to slip out.

“Maybe,” he rasped, voice lower than he intended, “me an Smoke oughta give you a wash in the basin ‘fore we hit Chicago. Clean our girl up proper, keep her fresh till we get you in a real tub tonight.”

Sera rubbed her eyes like a child, soft knuckles pressing against her lashes. She blinked up at him, and for a moment, silence stretched taut. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her stare lingered, heavy and thoughtful like she was replaying the night in fragments, reliving the way he had forced her into sensations she hadn’t understood. Something uncertain shadowed her features, the first tendrils of doubt beginning to grow.

Before it could settle, Smoke’s voice cut across the space, calm but edged with command. “Nightgown first. Food ‘fore anythin’ else. Bath after.” His tone left no room for argument.

Sera gave a hesitant nod, fingers fumbling as she pulled the thin garment over her skin. The cotton clung to damp patches where sweat still lingered from her dreams. She perched at the edge of the cot, her gaze unwavering, still fixed on Stack.

The silence gnawed at him. It ate at his gut, made his chest feel like it was caving in. He cleared his throat, forcing his body into motion, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor as he crossed the space. He crouched in front of her, tall frame folding down until he was beneath her line of sight.

She didn’t move. Her eyes tracked every gesture as he reached for her hands. He caught them gently, calloused fingers curling around her gentle ones, and lowered his mouth to her skin. Kiss after kiss fell against her knuckles, her wrist, a trail of contrition pressed into the places where her pulse beat weakly beneath.

His head tilted up, and for once, Stack didn’t grin. His voice was hushed, stripped of bravado. “I’m sorry, sunshine. Pushed you too far, too fast. Shouldn’t’ve let it get away from me.”

Something softened in her then. Her shoulders eased, her lashes lowered, and she let him continue. More kisses dotted her hands, featherlight, almost reverent.

“I liked it,” she whispered, and the confession landed like thunder. Her voice trembled, but not with fear. “The way you made my head feel last night… it was like my body wasn’t mine no more. I… I liked that feelin’ an… I… I want it again.”

Stack froze, staring up at her like she had grown wings. Bewilderment flashed across his face, his mouth parting in disbelief. Behind him, Smoke paused mid-sip of his coffee, the porcelain cup hovering just below his mouth as his brow furrowed in something rare… pure confusion.

She thought she had ruined everything. Their silence felt like condemnation. Her lips moved quickly, words spilling out in nervous stammers. “I—I didn’t mean nothin’ wrong. Don’t stop touchin’ me. I don’t care if I cry. I know I acted like a baby but I’m grown, I can take it, I swear I can handle what y’all give me.”

Her voice cracked, panic creeping in, and before her rambling could spiral further, Stack surged forward. His mouth caught hers, silencing every apology. The kiss was tender, achingly so, but threaded with a hunger that burned beneath his skin. Sera whimpered against him, her hands twitching in his grip as he breathed words into her mouth. “Perfect… you so perfect when you cry, Seraphim… everythin’ you do is so fuckin’ perfect…”

Stack tried, he really did try to hold himself back, but his body betrayed him. His palms slid higher, pushing beneath her nightgown. His fingers brushed against slick heat, against the swollen nub that throbbed with need. He teased her once. Twice. A third time, each flick making her hips jolt, her breath quicken.

His lips dragged along the slope of her neck, leaving heat in their wake. “I can give it to you again, doll,” he muttered against her skin, voice ragged now, frayed by need. “Make that sweet head of yours feel like it ain’t yours no more.”

His hand moved lower, one finger pressing inside, snug and greedy, the tightness making him groan into her throat. She gasped, thighs tensing around his wrist, the nightgown riding higher as her body welcomed him. He wanted more. He wanted everything. His restraint was unraveling, and just as his thumb circled her clit and his teeth grazed her collarbone—

“Cain.”

Smoke’s voice cracked the air like a whip. Not raised, not angry, but solid enough to freeze him in place.

Stack’s chest heaved as he tore his mouth away from her skin, his hand trembling where it rested against her heat. Smoke lowered his cup to the table, his stare cutting sharp across the room. “She need to eat,” he said evenly. “An there’s things need discussin’.”

The command and safeword rooted him back to reality. Stack swallowed hard, pulling his hand from between her thighs, his fingertips glistening. He pressed one last kiss to her temple, softer than the first, before forcing himself to rise. The hunger didn’t fade. If anything, it thickened in the air, clinging to the walls of the train car like smoke.

The train continued to clatter steadily across the tracks, its rhythm drumming in the walls and floorboards, a ceaseless beat that underscored everything. Sera was nestled in Stack’s lap now, a plate balanced at the edge of the small table, the morning light slanting through the window painted her mahogany skin gold. She squirmed slightly as he guided a fork to her lips, coaxing her to take each bite. His voice was lighter than the tension brimming in his chest, pitched playful, teasing her with small remarks about how he could get used to this. But his body betrayed him, every shift of her hips pressed her against the part of him that ached for more, every little wiggle sending sparks up his spine.

When she settled fully, directly where he needed her least, a sharp hiss escaped his teeth before he leaned his head back. He shut his eyes tight and dragged air into his chest like a drowning man desperate for one more breath. His lips moved faintly in a whispered plea, almost a prayer, begging the Lord for patience.

When he opened his eyes again, the hunger hadn’t left, but control had been wrestled back into place. His grip on her waist tightened, firm, grounding, his voice dropping lower as he spoke into her ear. “From here on out, little dove, we usin’ safewords when we touch you. No exceptions.”

Sera blinked at him, confusion shadowing her delicate features. Her brows pinched, lips parting like she might ask what he meant, but Smoke, seated across with his black coffee, filled the silence before she could.

“Our ways ain’t normal, girl,” Smoke said evenly, his eyes steady, his words carrying that weight that always left no room for doubt. “Not traditional, not clean cut. You dealin’ with two men, not one. An we both been used to handlin’ our women how we saw fit. We come from places where what we wanted, we took. Pleasure with us runs hotter, rougher, heavier… If we gave you all of it raw, you’d break.” His gaze lingered on her, steady and unflinching. “So we need a way to make sure we never take you further than you can handle… even when you think you’re ready.”

Her lips trembled faintly, eyes darting from Stack back to Smoke as she absorbed every word.

“Your word is ‘mercy’,” Smoke continued, his voice softer but still anchored with steel. “Say it once, an whatever we doin’ to you stops. Doesn’t matter what mood we in. Doesn’t matter if you cryin’, laughin’, or beggin’ for more. You say that one word, we stop. Clear?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, then she gave a small nod.

Smoke watched her carefully, ensuring she understood. When her eyes didn’t waver, when her small nod grew firmer, he leaned back. His mouth curved faintly, not in humor, but in a dangerous promise. “Good. Now… ‘cause I know you… we gon’ have to break you of this shy tongue of yours. Ain’t no sense keepin’ you proper when you got two men draggin’ you through sin.”

Her eyes widened, her lips pressing into a faint pout. “It’s unladylike,” she whispered. “To say things like… like… you know… ‘thingy’ works just fine.”

Stack narrowed his eyes, teeth flashing faintly with the gleam of his gold. His silence was sharp, edged, waiting. Smoke chuckled low in his throat, the sound curling through the cramped compartment.

“You think ‘thingy’ gon’ cut it?” His tone dipped lower, every word meant to rot through her little shield of naivety. “Listen close, little girl. Me an Stack gon’ manhandle that body till it ain’t yours no more. We gon’ hook them thick ass thighs over our shoulders an keep ya’ pussy stretched raw, poundin’ it so deep you swear we done rearranged ya’ guts. Then we gon’ flip you… an spread that country fed ass open wide ‘fore one of us drive dick right into that tight back hole while the other one’s still fuckin’ ya’ pussy.”

“An I been lettin’ you off easy but we gon’ pin that throat down, hold ya’ jaw open till it lock, an use ya’ pretty mouth like it’s just another hole made for us. Spit, drool, gaggin’… don’t matter, we’ll keep stuffin’ dick in till you choke on it or say ya’ safeword. We gon’ bend you over tables, drill you into the bed… won’t matter where… we gon’ bury ourselves in every inch of you. Over an’ over, till ya’ body ain’t nothin’ but holes stuffed with grown man nut, stomach bloated with it, skin sticky with it. You gon’ be so full of our cum drippin’ out every fuckin’ place, you won’t never remember what it was like to walk around empty.”

Smoke’s words lingered heavy in the air, thick and blasphemous, a kind of wicked prayer that curled around her ears until her chest ached from holding it all inside. He had been filthy with her before, rough with his tongue and unholy with his touch, but never had he painted her so vividly with his voice, never had he dragged her so naked into the filth without lifting a finger. She caught the shift of his body beneath the table, the subtle roll of his hips, the way his trousers tightened when his hand adjusted himself slow, like he wanted her to notice.

A pitiful little whimper escaped her before she could catch it, a sound that slipped from her throat and quivered in the quiet, and her thighs shifted helplessly where she sat on Stack’s lap. The smallest movement made his jaw tense, his breath press sharp through his nose, and he groaned faintly as though caught between fury and hunger. His hand spread wide across her hip, fingers pressing her down hard, keeping her still when all she wanted was to wriggle and move. “Sit still, sunshine,” he said, his voice taut, the restraint in it rough like rope pulled too tight.

Her hands flew to her face, both palms pressing against hot cheeks, muffling the breathless giggle that tumbled out despite her best attempt to swallow it. The sound came out muffled, trembling, her words broken and sweet with flustered delight. “Smoke… that’s too dirty. It’s too much.”

“Get used to it,” he said, his tone flat and unshaken, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him, tugging upward with a shadow of dark amusement that made her belly twist with something she could not name.

Stack let them banter, his jaw flexing, his hands steady against her waist. Bite by bite, he continued to feed her while ignoring the heat of her weight pressing against him. When the plate was empty, he set it aside and leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead. A soft kiss, almost fatherly, but the way his grip on her hips tightened betrayed how much fire still ran beneath his skin.

Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, worn at the edges, faint dark stains marking its corner. He held it out to her. “This for you.”

Curiosity flared across her face. She took it gingerly, unfolding the paper. The stains… red-brown… old blood… caught her eye, but she said nothing, choosing instead to trace the shaky letters with her gaze.

Her father’s words bled from the page:

My Dearest Seraphim,

I was a hard man to you. Too hard. I used harsh words where I should’ve spoken gentle. I used heavy hands when I should’ve opened my arms. I twisted sermons into shackles and bound you with chains that had no place in the house of the Lord.

I ask not only forgiveness from God, but forgiveness from you. For every time I called you weak when you were strong, for every time I looked at you as temptation instead of a blessing, for every time I turned my back when I should’ve stood beside you.

Clarksdale ain’t your home no more. The Lord has seen fit to send you elsewhere, to a life I could never give you. May you find joy in Chicago. May you find peace. May you find love, the kind I never knew how to show but always carried in me for you.

I have always loved you, Seraphim. I was just too much of a coward to love you the right way.

—Your Father, Samuel

The words on the page dissolved beneath the shimmer of her tears, the black ink bleeding into itself like bruises blooming across a surface too fragile to withstand the truth. Her fingers trembled harder now, not from cold or nerves but from something that had been buried beneath years of scripture and silence. The letter felt heavier than any book she had ever held in her lap, heavier than her father’s voice, heavier than the shame he dressed her in since she was old enough to read his face. The parchment crackled as her grip tightened, her knuckles blanching beneath the strain, and then it buckled, folding against her palm as the first sob tore from her throat.

The sound wasn’t soft. It was raw and jagged, like a body being broken open from the inside. She collapsed forward into Stack’s chest, the letter bending between them as her body gave up its weight. The tears fell with abandon, soaking through the fabric of his shirt until it clung to her cheek. Her frame shuddered with the sobs, each one worse than the last, like she was coughing up every lie she had ever been told about love and forgiveness.

Stack didn’t stir with the lust that usually coiled beneath his ribs when he saw her tears fall. There was no hunger in the press of his hands against her back, no satisfaction in her surrender. Just the full weight of a man who meant to keep her from crumbling further. His arms circled her as if to hold her bones in place, as if to keep her from vanishing. His hand slid across her coily scalp, not light but firm, grounding her as his lips sank into the softest part of her crown.

Smoke rose from his seat like the storm after the hush, his presence heavier than thunder, his footfalls vibrating against the boards beneath them. He didn’t speak until he had crouched beside them, one knee pressed to the floor, his hand taking its place against her spine. His palm dragged in careful lines, his warmth seeping through the cotton of her nightgown. His mouth found her temple, the brush of his lips more command than comfort. He kissed her again, this time at her hairline, and once more at the soaked edge of her lashes.

“You ain’t alone no more, Seraphim,” he said, voice low and thick like molasses boiled down too long. “Ain’t nothin’ back there but ghosts an dirt an a name that don’t hold weight no more. We yours now, an you ours. Every breath you take we responsible for. We gon’ protect you. We gon’ take care of you. We gon’ love you so deep that you forget what it felt like to be unloved.”

She whimpered at that, another sob pushing through her throat. Stack tightened his hold. Smoke kissed her again. The train groaned beneath them, dragging them farther from Clarksdale, its iron heart beating faster as the countryside blurred past the window. Inside the small compartment, she was surrounded. Stack’s body a wall of heat and muscle, Smoke’s voice a binding spell in the air.

Her hand loosened around the letter, and it fell against her thigh, the bottom corner stained with blood. Her father’s blood. The proof of his brokenness. The proof of the penance the twins had carved into his flesh.

Smoke’s fingers brushed the back of her hand and lifted the letter again, tapping it once against her thigh like punctuation. “You read every word of this,” he said, his tone still quiet but harder now, edged with something that pressed into her chest like a knife without breaking skin. “You let it soak into your spirit. That man wanted you shackled, baby. He used God’s name to chain you, to bend you into what he thought a woman oughta be. But we know better. We know what you really are. You a woman built from fire. You just never been lit proper.”

Sera whimpered into Stack’s shoulder, the sound frail but aching. Stack dipped his head lower and spoke against her ear, his voice a velvet hook designed to curl around the fragile place she still kept hidden. “You feelin’ it now, ain’t you?” he whispered against the shell of her ear, his voice low and warm and thick. “That burn in ya’ chest, that ache in ya’ belly, that’s freedom, sunshine. It hurts when it first wakes up, hurts like hell, but you gotta let it spread, you gotta let it move through you till it eats up all that fear.”

Sera breathed in shakily and stayed pressed to him, the paper softening in her grip, the edges whispering against her nightgown. Smoke’s palm traced a patient path between her shoulder blades, steady circles that kept her tethered to the room, to the rattle of the rails, to the heat of both men bracing her.

Stack let the quiet settle, then he drew in air like a man choosing his next step carefully, and his mouth tilted near her hairline. “Ain’t no easy road to it,” he said, each word landing heavy. “Me an Elijah… we know somethin’ ‘bout losin’ a father. Folks said he was a hard man, said he made us, said we owed him. Truth is, he taught us to survive an he hurt what he was ‘posed to protect. Took me a long time to accept the kind of freedom that come after that sort of loss.”

Smoke’s hand slowed, just a fraction, and his eyes met his twin’s over Sera’s head. It was a long look, the kind that carried whole histories, and in it lived an old night that neither of them liked to name. Smoke saw the old bruises that used to shadow Stack’s ribs, Stack saw the blood on a floor that should have been mopped clean years ago, and in the small space between their gazes lived the memory that Smoke was the one who ended it. The strike. The silence after. The way Stack had looked at him like a stranger for years because pain wears pride like armor and calls it truth.

Stack’s jaw moved and then he kept going, voice rough around the edges but sure. “I held onto somethin’ ugly for a long time. I kept sayin’ I was the one hurt, so I got to be angry forever. I told myself I wasn’t no victim but I was owed, and I pushed my brother away for doin’ what I couldn’t bring myself to do. Took years for me to see it proper. Love come in all kinds of shapes. Sometimes it look like a hand that pull you out the river. Sometimes it look like a bullet that ends what been drownin’ you. I ain’t proud of how long it took me to understand, but when I did, I started seein’ the whole world different.”

Smoke’s circles faltered again. Just a breath. Just long enough for Sera to feel it. A sliver of nervousness edged his stillness, thin as wire, there and gone, then there again. He did not lift his hand but the rhythm wavered like a man who suddenly feared the price of honesty. The thought flickered through him that she might come to hate him later when the dust settled, that once her grief cooled and her mind counted the miles left behind, she would look at him and see only the finality of a door he had closed forever.

Sera felt it, that tiny change, the hush inside his touch. Without saying a word she reached back, found his wrist, and drew his hand down to her thigh. She set his palm there, warm and heavy, and pressed into it as if to tell him without language, keep going, do not let go, I am still here. Smoke’s fingers spread across the softness of her leg, and his gaze, darker now, softened at the edges as if she had pulled him from a ledge he would never admit existed.

She did not say the word death, she did not say father, she did not say gone. She kept her eyes on Stack’s shirt, saw nothing and everything at once, and the letter lay open against her lap with that rusty bloom near the bottom corner that did not need explanation. Her voice finally came, quiet as the space between rails. “Was it… peaceful…?” she asked, the word barely shaped, as if she were stepping around a well and did not want to look down.

Smoke’s thumb moved once upon her thigh, a small stroke that tried to give comfort and came out true. “He had his dignity when he wrote you,” he said, steady now. “He put down what mattered. He said goodbye proper.” The rest stayed in the room without sound, the truth they were not naming seated beside them like a patient guest.

Sera nodded, a bare tilt that was more feeling than movement. She did not ask anything else, and that said enough for all three of them. The train kept its rhythm, the wheels chattered through curves, and light slipped across the room in thin gold bands that climbed and fell with the sway.

Smoke cleared his throat and the smallest hesitation roughened the question he had not planned to ask. “You still… feel safe with us?” he asked, and it was not commanded, it was only a man who had done terrible things for the sake of love asking if the love would still be received.

Sera lifted her face. She did not reach for words she could not hold. She turned first to Smoke and touched his temple with her fingertips, then leaned close and kissed him on the center of his forehead, soft and lingering, like she knew exactly where to press to quiet a storm. She turned in Stack’s lap and did the same to him, a second blessing, just as careful, just as sure. She did not say yes, and she did not need to. Her mouth had answered. Her hands had answered. The way she settled back into them like a tide returning to shore had answered.

Stack exhaled like a man given back his breath. He gathered her tighter and tucked her close, his chin resting near her crown, eyes closing for a heartbeat as if he was storing the moment somewhere safe. “Good,” he said, low and husky. “That’s real good...”

Smoke let his palm resume its circles, this time on her thigh where she had placed him, slow arcs that kept her present while they all listened to the long song of the rails. He watched her face shift from raw grief to something quieter, watched the set of her mouth loosen, watched the heat in her eyes cool to embers that would not burn her anymore.

Stack lifted the letter with his free hand and folded it neat. He slid it back into his pocket as if setting it inside a locket. “I’ll keep it here for now,” he said, voice gentle. “Later we put it where you can reach it if you want, or we burn it if you don’t.”

Smoke’s mouth curved, not a smile, not yet, but a line that hinted at one. “Chicago comin’ on,” he said, the certainty back in him. “New bed. New bath. New rules. We done the buryin’. Now we do the buildin’.”

Sera let her head rest on Stack’s shoulder again and reached back to catch Smoke’s fingers, threading them with her own for a beat before letting go. The compartment breathed with them, warm and close, and the world outside spun by in fields and whistle posts and distant farmhouses that would not remember their names.

Stack dipped his head and spoke near her temple, tone a shade brighter, a shade possessive. “We gon’ make you a cup of tea. Then a wash. Then you lay down ‘tween us an you sleep till the city. We handle the rest.”

Smoke’s thumb traced one last circle on her thigh, then another, then stilled there as if to claim the ground. “You with us now,” he said. “Say it.”

Sera closed her eyes and breathed the words like a vow. “I’m with y’all till the end.”

The train took a bend, the wheels sang, the light shifted, and the three of them held their places, a new shape forming out of old hurts, a home built out of arms and vows and the stubborn promise that nothing behind them would ever reach forward again.

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Author’s Note: Damn… they really are about to be in Chicago the next chapter… my little angel is about to get turned every way but loose.

Taglist:

It was a family friendly event, complete with music and games, dancing, a costume contest and, of course, books. Tons and tons of books. Talk about a perfect way to spend your Halloween. And you couldn’t have been more pleased with the turnout. 

Which was why, after numerous requests, you were already planning on doing the same thing again next year. Matter of fact, you two are so excited by the prospect, that you’re already discussing ideas when Ari walks in. 

“So, word on the street is that tonight was a smashing success.” You immediately perk up at the sound of him joining you in your office. “Not that I expected anything less from the Wicked Witch of the West and Cleopatra.” The handsome bounty hunter tosses a wink your way. 

“Actually, I’m dressed as Nefertiti.” Marisol corrects him with a smile.

“My mistake.” He amends before reaching for your hand to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Eh, no biggie. I gave up trying to explain it to people about an hour into the party anyway.” She tells him with a shrug. “Hey, chica. Should we go check to make sure we got everything out of your car?”

“Yeah.” You sigh before standing up and offering Ari your chair. 

“Need some help, ladies?”  

“Nah. We got it.” You reassure him, rising on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Just keep my seat warm for me, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gifts you with a lazy smile as he slides into your chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Hurry back now."

After triple checking that you’ve gotten everything out of your vehicle, you and Marisol return to the warmth and comfort of Baubles & Quills. Still riding the high of tonight’s success, you’re actually in the middle of showing off a new display when you hear the chime of your front door opening behind you. 

“Sorry, but we’re closed. Come back tomorrow…” The words die on your lips the moment you see who the hell just waltzed into your shop holding a bulging pillowcase. 

Although you’re not exactly sure who you were expecting, it was safe to say that this was the last person you wanted to see – especially on a night like tonight. Because standing before you is a man by the name of Dale Edwards.

And it becomes alarmingly clear that he’s drunk as fucking skunk.

“Dale.” You begin, keeping your voice calm and even. “We’re closed right now. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Hell naw.” The pudgy man slurs. “I–I…drove all the way here to deal with your ass now.” His murky gaze strays over Marisol, as if he just realized that you weren’t alone. “And when I’m done with you, I’ma call immigration on Gaudilupe here. Let ‘em know they might want to stop by for a visit.”

Your mouth falls open in shock as Marisol audibly gasps. Even though she spoke with a hint of an accent, the woman was as much of a citizen as you were. Not that she owed anyone an explanation.

Least of all him.

“Get out or I’m calling the cops.” You threaten, wishing you were standing near your panic button.

“Go ahead.” Dale snarls, spittle flying from his mouth. “And I’ll tell ‘em that I wanna press charges against the bitches who tried to corrupt my daughters by giving them pornography!”

“Now that is an absolute lie, Mr. Edwards!” The sweet librarian exclaims. “We would never do something like that.”

“Yeah? Well, I…” He shakes his head in an effort to regroup. “I went through their rooms. Got all the evi–evidence right here.” The man shakes the bag. “And I know you tried it again tonight. With families!” His voice grows louder with each word. “Offering candy like you ain’t just invited 'em to dance with the Devil!”

Oh good God, this was not going well.

“Marisol.” You whisper as you look around for a weapon. “There should be a phone right there next to the register. Grab it and call 911.” 

Unfortunately for you, you make the mistake of taking your eyes off the man for two seconds. Which is why you miss the moment Dale reaches his hand into his bag before throwing the contents in your direction.

Drunk or not, the man proves to have good aim. Which is something you find out the hard way when several pieces of hard candy manage to graze your left cheek, making you scream.

Thankfully, it doesn’t hurt. Much.

Momentarily stunned, all you can do is stare back at him, mouth open, as you try to process what the hell had just happened. 

Because had this man really just thrown a fistful of candy at you? At ten o’clock on Halloween night?

“What the actual fuck–?” Is all you can manage before turning your head to look at Marisol’s equally shocked expression.  

“Um, Dale…I mean Mr. Edwards…I think it’s time you went home now.” The sweet librarian tries, holding the phone tighter to her chest. 

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He snarls at the same time as one of his pudgy hands grabs ahold of your discount book rack, knocking it over, sending almost two dozen of your precious books crashing to the ground. “In fact, I think it’s high time someone put the fear of God into you two bitch–” Dale falters suddenly, his spine going ramrod straight at the sound of another man’s voice joining the fray. 

A voice that belonged to Ari.

In all the commotion, you’d completely forgotten that he was here – peacefully minding his business while he waited for you to join him in the back of your shop. 

“Just what in the hell is goin’ on out here?” You find yourself breathing a sigh of relief as your bounty hunter’s deep baritone washes over you like a balm.

“D-Dale was just leaving.” You tell him, sparing a quick glance over your shoulder to offer up a reassuring smile.

“Of course he was.” Ari agrees, jamming his hands into the pockets of jeans. “And as soon as he cleans up his mess, Mr. Edwards can be on his way.”

“I ain’t doin’ shit!” The angry man hisses at the same time as you eek out the nervous “that’s okay”.

Unfortunately, Ari doesn’t really seem all that in the mood to listen. Not after what he just witnessed before you realized he was standing there. In fact, the only reason he hadn’t already personally introduced this drunken asshole to every goddamned wall in your store was because he didn’t want to cause anymore unnecessary damage.

But that also didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

He’s by your side in seconds, his eyes never once leaving the other male’s disgruntled form as his long legs eat up the space between you. 

“You okay, Marisol?” He asks, not bothering to hide the tick in his jaw. 

“I–I’m fine, Mr. Levinson.” 

“Glad to hear it, darlin’.” The bounty hunter takes a second to roll his shoulders, cracking his neck as he does. “Do me a favor. Take that box to the back and ring Bell’s Creek PD for me, would ya? Tell ‘em we’ve got a buddy here waiting for pick up. Go on, now.” He tacks on the last bit when he notices the young librarian hesitate briefly.

She hustles away with a nod. And although she tries to hide it, Ari doesn’t miss the way her lower lip starts to tremble as she makes her way to safety. Shit sets his teeth on edge. So much so, that he doesn’t speak again until he’s confident she’s out of earshot.

“Gotta be honest, fella, I’m about two seconds from breaking your fuckin’ jaw.”

“It’s okay, Ari. Really.” You try once more, bending your knees so you can begin collecting the candy littering your floor. “I can…I’ll tidy this up.”

“Baby.” The danger laced in his silky tone has you halting your movements almost immediately. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” Once he’s confident he’s gotten your attention, he returns his attention back to the man at the heart of this disruption. 

“You know what I hate, Dale?” The man at your side grunts, pushing up the sleeves of his thermal to reveal his brawny forearms. 

“This here ain’t none of your business, Levinson.” Your aggressor hisses, spittle flying from his lips. “Hell! This ain’t even your town.”

“Men who act like bullies once they’ve got a little drink in ‘em.” Ari shrugs, continuing on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Especially with women. Really pisses me the fuck off.” 

It’s only then that one of his hands goes to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his stormy gaze. While he was almost certain that you weren’t hurt, you knew there was a part of him that needed to see for himself. And although it’s hard, you manage to resist the urge to lean into his touch. 

“I run my house, okay? I–” Dale wobbles to the left before finding his balance. “I am the king of my goddamned castle and I don’t want my family readin’ any of the trash these two like to peddle.” He rails, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Have you seen ‘em, Levinson? We’re talkin’ stories about women openly fornicatin’ with all kinds of creatures! Demons and vampires, an-and werewolves. Why, they might as well be…be…layin’ with dogs!” 

“Oh go to hell!” You snort, unable to catch the words before they come tumbling out of your mouth. “You seriously just insulted the entire genre of paranormal romance!”

“Easy, Bird.” Ari murmurs, even as you bristle.

 “You and Guadalupe over there are out here promotin’ beastiality. I’ve seen it on the cover of those damned books. The same ones I caught my girls readin’!”

Gritting your teeth, you close your eyes and force yourself to take a deep breath. It’s not like you’d forced those books on his girls, both of whom were 19 and 22 respectively. They were romance novel junkies, just like you. And you couldn’t be more proud that you’d turned them onto authors like Kresley Cole, Jeaniene Frost, and Nalini Singh.

But deep down you also knew there was no use in arguing with this man. All you really wanted was him out of your store so you could finally lock-up and go home. 

“Look Dale, you’re drunk. I can see it and I can most definitely smell it.” Your fingers come up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “If you leave now, I promise I won’t press charges.” 

Which means your poor wife won’t be stuck bailing you out of jail. Again. Although you’re smart enough to leave that last part unsaid.

“I ain’t leavin’ until I’ve made my point.” Dale grunts, kicking at one of your fallen books. You grimace when you notice the way his boot rips the cover, nearly tearing it in half. “This filth ain’t welcome in my town.”  

“Jesus Christ, you moron - the police are already on their fucking way so it’s your goddamned funeral!” You screech, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“How ‘bout you shut your whore mouth before I –” Unfortunately for him, Dale doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. 

Moving with a speed that belies his size, you can only watch in what feels like slow motion your bounty hunter strikes. Slapping the other man dead in his mouth with enough force to send him staggering backwards. 

“Let that be the last time I hear you disrespect this young lady.” Ari rumbles, the fierce sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. “And her shop.”

“I think you cracked my tooth!” He wails, clutching at his injured jaw. “And all over this bitch and her—ah fuck!” You can’t help but wince when his drunken stream of consciousness is interrupted once more when Ari slaps him in the mouth for yet the second time.

“Now what the fuck did I just say, Dale?” His dark chuckle makes you shiver. “Nope – eyes on me, buddy. There we go.” Your bounty hunter does a quick side step, using his big body to shield you from view.  

Feeling a bit dizzy, you lightly grip the back of your man’s shirt as you silently will your pulse to settle down. It had been awhile since you’d seen Ari like this. The last time he’d gotten physical with another man over you had been back at the local tavern. The night you credited with jumpstarting your relationship. 

A pained noise escapes Dale’s throat as he takes another step backwards. And then, wouldn’t you know it? That motherfucker has the nerve to spit out a broken tooth. The sound of it hitting your hardwood floor seems to echo throughout the store.

“I reckon you’re gonna want to see a dentist about that.” Comes the lawman’s cheeky response before he turns to you. 

Smiling down at you, he’s actually in the middle of instructing you to go check on Marisol when a hard covered tome connects with the side of his head. But to your surprise, Ari doesn’t even so much as flinch. 

In fact, he barely reacts at all. At least not until the guy tries to tackle him, sending them both flying and you scrambling out of the way. Any real worry for your man fades when you see him quickly regain the upper hand. He lands a solid blow to the pudgy man’s kidney before pinning him to the floor with a knee in his back, his right arm trussed up in a way that looks mighty uncomfortable. 

“Fuck you, asshole!” Dale squeals, belatedly reminding you of a stuck pig. “Fight me…” He wheezes. “Like a–like a man!”

“Dale, if I fought you like a man we’d be callin’ you an ambulance right about now.” Ari snarls before twisting the other man’s arm hard enough to make his bones snap. It only makes the man squeal louder. “Now apologize to my lady for making an absolute ass out of yourself tonight. And it had better be fuckin’ good, or I swear I’m gonna do a hell of a lot worse than a bruised kidney and dislocated shoulder.” 

Seeing your man like this, acting so protective and possessive over you and your shopwas doing funny things to those damned butterflies in your belly. Although you liked to think that you were more than capable of handling yourself, knowing that you had a man in your life who wouldn’t think twice about defending your honor made you feel so unbelievably loved and cherished.

It also made you wet as fuck. 

As your thoughts take an increasingly naughty turn, you get so caught up in the heat pooling between your thighs that you almost miss what’s transpiring in front of you. Key word: almost.

“I don’t think she heard you, Dale.” You watch as the man continues to thrash in Ari’s hold, his pathetic mewls of pain falling on deaf ears. “How bout you try that again?”

“I’m sorry!” 

Covering your mouth with your hand, all you can do is nod. Seconds later, flashing red and blue lights capture your attention as two squad cars pull into your parking lot.

Frankly, it was about damn time. 

You’re so grateful when Deputy Milton and another officer come waltzing through your front door. Just as Marisol makes her way back into your lobby. 

Milton frowns the moment he catches sight of her. While you had suspected that he might have a thing for the young librarian, his reaction only seemed to confirm it. Because you honestly couldn’t remember the last time you saw him angry before today.

“We got a call about a disturbance?” The Deputy surveys the scene, his frown growing more pronounced at the sight of the books and candy strewn across the ground. “Would you happen to know anything about that, Dale?”

His response comes out muffled. Not that it really matters any.

“I already informed Mr. Edwards that you boys would be more than happy to escort him back to the station.” Comes Ari’s gruff reply. “As soon as he cleans up his mess.”

“You know, I think the owner of this establishment would really appreciate that.” Milton cheekily turns to the officer at his side. “Right, Elkins?”

“I reckon it’s the only gentlemanly thing to do.” Officer Elkins pauses to wave at Marisol before continuing. “Ms. Gonzalez mentioned something about you both being assaulted. Would either of you ladies like press charges?”

You both shake your head no. If anything, you were pretty sure that Marisol wanted this whole nightmare to be over the same as you. 

“Alright. Guess that makes today your lucky day, then. Huh, Dale?” The officer hauls the man to his feet once Ari releases him. “Now, I’d get to cleanin’ if I was you. I’m anxious to get back to the supper I left behind at the station.”

 “You can’t be…” The man sucks in a harsh breath. “That guy just broke my tooth and you expect me to…to…”

“Clean up your mess?” Milton helpfully supplies. “Absolutely.” All three men chime at the same time.

“And when you’re done, we’ll escort you to your room. I’ll let you know right now that it ain’t the Marriott, but I suppose it’s better than the cold, hard ground.” The deputy muses with a shrug. “Mariam kicked you out after this latest episode. Can’t say I blame her after what you did to her face.”

“Oh my God.” You murmur, wrapping your arms around Ari’s trim waist. “Is she okay?”

“Eh.” Milton casts a sideways glare at Dale, silently warning him that he better get a move-on. Or else. “She walked away from tonight with a couple stitches. And possibly one hell of a wake-up call.”

You decide you’re better off remaining silent as haggard-looking Dale Edwards begins collecting the books he’d upended. And you remain that way even as he begins haphazardly stacking them back on the shelf.

Which was fine. You’d simply fix it tomorrow.

Next he moves to pick the candy he’d thrown at you. A soft sigh escapes you when you feel your man’s warm, lightly calloused palm come to rest on the back of your neck, giving you a reassuring squeeze. 

The entire process takes a little longer than it should, but given that the man is obviously inebriated, nobody sees fit to complain. 

Eventually, the task is complete. And a defeated Dale is led away in cuffs before being placed in the back of Elkins’ squad car.

Good riddance.

And when you offer to give Marisol a ride home, you’re not the least bit surprised you’re intercepted by Milton, who eagerly agrees to escort the traumatized woman home. They’re out the door a few moments later, leaving you alone with Ari. 

“Well shit.” He chuckles, his hand coming up to gently massage his shoulder as he watches you secure the lock. “That was…somethin’.” 

Instead of agreeing, you silently turn to face him, your hands resting on your hips. After all of that commotion, you had just one thing on your mind. And you weren’t going to let this man out of your store until you got it. 

“It probably wouldn’t hurt to break out the vacuum, Duchess. I can go grab it if you–” 

You cut him off a look before grabbing a fistful of his shirt and tugging his head down to your level to capture his lips in a kiss. Swallowing his surprised gasp, you can’t help the moan of appreciation you let out when he grabs your ass – hauling you even closer to his muscled body. 

“Fuck that.” You hiss, nipping at his plump bottom lip. “Don’t wanna vacuum.” Needing to taste more of him, you ultimately abandon his mouth in favor of kissing your way along his bearded jaw. 

He’d made man bleed for you tonight. And words simply could not express just how horny that made you. 

“Oh yeah?” One of his large hands winds its way into your curls, wrenching your head back so that he can take control. “Then what do you want?” His eager tongue sweeps past your lips to dance with yours as he grinds his rapidly hardening cock against your belly. 

“You.” Comes your heated growl as you force him backwards. “I want you.”

Ari doesn’t protest when his back collides against the wall, or when you all but rip the shirt from his body. In fact, he fucking loves it. Although he might not be sure exactly what he did to make you act so goddamned feral, he’ll be damned before you ever hear him complain. 

“I’m right here, baby.” 

“Need more.” You hardly recognize the sound of your own voice. 

A wave of pure feminine satisfaction courses through you when you feel his big body shudder beneath your touch, his soft groan of pleasure driving you even closer to the brink. You rain sweet, hot kisses down the hard expanse of his chest, only pausing your ministrations long enough to give into the temptation to bite his left nipple, before continuing to move lower.

Right now, you were a woman on a mission. And nothing was going to stop you from reaching your intended destination. His turbulent blue eyes darken as they follow the path of your nails gliding along the ridges of his abs, causing goosebumps to rise across his tanned skin. 

Raw hunger fills you the moment you finally reach the fastening of his jeans. You make quick word of undoing the buttons before dropping to your knees to undo the zipper of his fly with your teeth, making your intentions clear. 

“Is this what you want, baby?” Your bounty hunter rasps, tangling his fingers in your hair once again. “This what you need right now?”

Meeting his gaze, you nod. Tonight, this man had unlocked something primal inside of you. And at this moment you wanted the taste of this man on your tongue more than anything. It takes you no time to free his impressive member from the confines of his pants, before shoving them down his hair covered thighs.

Later, you might allow yourself to be embarrassed by the sound of appreciation the bubbles it’s way past your lips. But not tonight. Refusing to break eye contact, you wrap a hand around his girth as your head dips to lap up a salty bead of precum. A familiar warmth pools in your belly as your core spasms with need. 

Ari’s chin tips back on a groan, when you draw him into your mouth at the same time as you begin working him up and down with your hand. His fingers dig into your scalp as he spurs on, loving the little noises you make as you greedily suck him off. 

“That’s it, baby. My good fuckin’ girl.” 

Emboldened by his response, you increase your pace, hollowing your cheeks with every bob of your head. It’s damn near impossible to take all of him – he was much too big. But that also didn’t mean you hadn’t been practicing. 

Thankfully, your bounty hunter had proven to be a patient man. He never complained whenever it came time for you to practice. 

You’re rewarded for your efforts when you feel your man’s hips begin to move in time with your rhythm, damn near choking you in the process. But Ari doesn’t stop. Your pretty little mouth feels too goddamned good right now for him to even dream of it. 

“Ah shit, Duchess.” He chuckles when you gag around him for the second time. “I know you love it like this. My girl loves chokin’ on my fat dick. Don’t you?” You try to respond as your eyes begin to water, your non-waterproof mascara running down your cheeks. 

“Mmph!” Your free hand moves to cup his heavy sac, kneading and massaging as you continue to devour him. And then your mouth moves lower, briefly sucking on his balls in a move that has him rocking back on his heels. In response, Ari readjusts his grip on your curls, forcing himself deeper down your throat. Having anticipated this, you do your damndest to control your response by breathing through your nose. 

It works like a charm.

“Fuck, baby.” His eyes roll back in his head as his impending orgasm threatens to overtake him. “Keep–keep me–oh fuck!”

And you were determined to take it all. You were gonna swallow him down like you were sucking on your favorite treat. Because let’s be honest, you’d come to crave him just as much as he craved you.

“Cum, Beast.” You purr, swirling your tongue around the plump mushroom head. Once. Twice. “Fucking cum for me.” You allow the wet heat of your mouth to engulf him once more, not missing the way his body begins to tremble beneath you.

He continues to thrust, his breathing becoming more labored as his movements grow increasingly erratic. He was so close. So goddamned close. You knew it. And so did he.

‘Give it to me, baby.” You beg, no longer caring about how desperate you sound. “Make me choke on it.” Your thighs clench together as the heady thrum of pleasure dances along your skin. 

And as Ari always liked to say, your wish was his command. 

“FUCK!” He roars as he rears back, forcing you to take him to the hilt as jet after jet of his seed pumps down your throat. 

Once again you’re forced to rely on breathing through your nose until he’s finished, before making a show of swallowing him down. And then you lick your lips, not wanting to miss a drop of your man’s salty goodness.

Like the good girl you are, you remain on your knees as you patiently wait for him to recover. You knew without having to check that your panties were positively ruined. That was no surprise. 

“Happy Halloween, Beast.” You murmur, your nose nuzzling his still half-hard cock. 

“Oh yeah.” He responds with a quiet chuckle before gently cupping your chin. “You sure you’re okay, little Bird?” Your eyes flutter closed as he smooths the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“Yeah.” You find yourself leaning into his touch, feeling safer and more protected than ever before.

“Good.” 

You watch as he rests his head against the wall, his big body now fully relaxed. But you’re not done with this man yet. Not by a long shot. Which is why you don’t bother trying to hide the impish grin that spreads across your features as you reach for his dick once more. 

“But I bet I’ll be even better once you fuck me.” 

END

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