My jaw drops. I’d expected…actually, I don’t know what I expected. But the raw directness shoots a peculiar heat through my core, followed immediately by mortification. I shouldn’t be hearing this. I don’twantto be hearing this.
Except a twisted part of me can’t keep from listening.
The rhythm of bodies coming together fills the space, unmistakable in its cadence. The slap of skin on skin, guttural groans, a stream of praise and encouragement that has my heart racing for reasons I refuse to examine.
I use their distraction to my advantage, quickly pulling on my underwear and reaching for my still-wet pants. The fabric sticks to my skin, cold and clingy, but I force them on with as little movement as possible. Their noises will cover the worst of my rustling.
“You take it so well,” one of them gasps, and the unexpected tenderness in his voice stops me dead.
No one will ever speak to me like that. Not with genuine desire or affection. If I’m discovered, the best I can hope for is to be purchased by someone like my father—a decent man who views women as living, worthy people. But even that is a kind of ownership. Not partnership. Not the mutual want saturating these men’s voices.
The thought sucks all lingering heat from my body, replacing it with a hollow ache. I’ve worked hard not to feel sorry for myself. To recognize how much better I have it than women in the facilities. But sometimes the knowledge of what’s been stolen from me—from all of us—threatens to suffocate me.
I’ll never know what it feels like to be held by someone who wants me for myself, not just my body’s utility. I’ll never betouched with reverence or kissed with passion. If I’m caught, I’ll become what my mother spent her life protecting me from: a numbered incubator.
These two men may hide their relationship from their peers, but they are still free to choose it. To find moments of connection in steam-filled bathrooms, to touch each other with hunger rather than clinical necessity.
Their pace quickens, the slapping sounds growing more urgent, broken gasps rising in pitch until they crescendo in twin groans. The sudden silence that follows is almost as oppressive as the sounds themselves.
I exhale slowly, relieved it’s over, but uncertain what comes next. Heavy breathing filters through the space, followed by soft murmurs I can’t make out. After an eternity, they shuffle again—clothes being adjusted, soft footfalls moving away.
Their departure unfreezes me. I quickly pull on my shirt, wincing as the cold, damp fabric clings to my newly clean skin. The mask is last, and oh how my soul keels over, dry heaving as the thing tumbles from my grasp in slow motion, its edge catching on the tile with an echoing clack.
I’m paralyzed, my breath stalling as I tilt my head to listen. The footsteps, which had been receding, stop.Shit.After a pause that squeezes my lungs flat, they return—louder, more deliberate.
No,no, no. I lunge for the mask, jamming it on my face and frantically tucking my still-wet hair into the back. My heart pounds so violently I’m sure it’s audible throughout the room.
The curtain rips open with a metallic screech, and I find myself face to face with Brenner and Corin.
Brenner looms in the doorway, his massive frame nearly filling the entire space. Even with his mask on, his posture radiates menace—shoulders squared, head cocked at an angle thatsuggests predatory interest. He’s a head taller than me, with a build that scares the weakest parts of me.
“Ashford,” he drawls, the name stretched like taffy between his teeth. “Didn’t know you bothered to shower.”
I force a laugh that sounds more like a wheeze. My fingers curl against my thighs to keep them from trembling. I can’t afford to appear weak now—showing vulnerability to men like Brenner is like signing my own death certificate.
“And I wasn’t aware you two were together,” I reply, aiming for casual but landing somewhere near strained.
Corin’s face visibly reddens through his mask. He’s smaller than Brenner, with a wiry build and nervous energy that manifests as constant fidgeting. His eyes dart between me and the floor, embarrassment radiating from him in waves my Empath abilities can feel without even trying.
But Brenner’s emotional signature is something else entirely. Dark, churning anger threads through his aura, mixed with humiliation and a sharp edge of fear that makes him exponentially more dangerous. His fist clenches on the shower curtain, bunching the material until seams pop.
“And you’re a little creep, too,” he spits, each word dripping venom. “Do you always find places to hide to listen to others fuck? Do you even know what that means? You don’t seem like the type to have ever fucked anyone before.”
He’s not wrong, but I stay quiet. Any excuse I make about accidentally being here will only inflame him further. His eyes fix on me with lethal focus. This isn’t just about catching me in the shower—this is about the power he needs to reassert, the secret he thinks I might expose.
I glance at Corin, searching for any sign of assistance, but his discomfort is palpable. He won’t intervene, not against Brenner.
Certainly not for me.
My mind races through what I know of them both. Brenner is a Charger while Corin is an Empath like me, though a weaker one—he needs physical contact and intense concentration to work his powers.
Brenner won’t be able to use his abilities on me without breaking regulations, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt me in more conventional ways. And in this confined space, with my back literally against the wall, I have nowhere to run.
He seems to reach a decision, his posture shifting subtly as he lunges for my collar. Without conscious thought, my hand snaps up, catching his wrist in a grip that surprises us both with its strength.
“Touch me and the entire team, including our leaders, find out what you do when everyone else is asleep.”
It’s a gambit born of desperation, but I’ve studied enough history to know how entire groups were once ostracized for their attractions. For all the equality men enjoy compared to women, I suspect some old prejudices still linger. The way Brenner’s eyes widen confirms my guess—he doesn’t want this known.
