Unintimidated, she extended a hand to Jack. “You must be the man I heard so much about. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Marigold.”
He glanced at the brothers before touching her. Stone nodded.
“J Thorne.” He clutched her dainty fingers in a brief greeting. “A pleasure.”
Marigold’s eyes flicked between the brothers. “I think I see why you didn’t want me to meet him.” She looked back at Jack. “There’s something…palpable about you.”
“Unfortunately, Marigold is unable to attend,” Hunter growled.
“She will be very busy,” Stone agreed, “nursing a sore popka.”
Ash pulled her back against his front, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear as he whispered, “Does it feel good being seen?”
She laughed nervously. “I…” She chewed her lower lip, then lifted her chin. “Yes, it does. Better than being hidden away like a dirty secret.”
Stone shook his head. “Showtime is over?—”
“What? No!” She looked at Jack, but he was staying out of whatever sort of lovers’ quarrel this was.
“Nyet?” Hunter repeated, his thick Russian seeping through as his eyes darkened.
“Fine. Have it your way, brat.” Stone led her to the billiard table.
“Wait—”
“For what? You obviously need more attention.” He kissed her hard, backing her against the antique table and arching her back toward the felt surface. “We warned you to stay out of sight. You disobeyed.” He lifted her onto the table. “Someone hold her arms.”
Ash rounded the table and pinned her arms to the surface. Stone pushed up her dress, exposing her snow-white panties.
Jack set down his empty glass. “I think we’ve covered?—”
“Stay.” Hunter ordered. “Marigold wants you to watch. Don’t you, Lisichka?”
Jack settled back in his seat, not because he’d been ordered to do so or because he had any interest in what was about to take place, but because the bourbon was good and it would take a moment for Henry to bring the car around.
Hunter joined the others, surrounding Marigold as they sprawled her out on the billiard table like a feast. Jack sent a text alerting Henry that the meeting was over.
Stone plucked a pool cue from the rack, unscrewing the wide end and tossing the tapered tip aside. Most men would pay a fortune for his front-row seat. Jack would give it away for free.
“Spread those legs like you mean it, or I’ll flip you over and smack that popka raw.”
Hunter held her ankle while Ash pinned her arms. Marigold’s whimpers turned to moans as Stone leaned over her, his arm moving steadily, that thick end of the cue in hand.
“See what you made us do,” Ash murmured with practiced refinement designed to disguise his lethal edges. “Bad girl.” He smirked at his brother. “Don’t stop until she’s dripping.”
Jack swallowed down the last sip of Mad Hatter, his face a mask of neutrality.
“Put that hand to use,” Hunter said, the hiss of his zipper lowering a whispered backdrop to her increasing moans.
Jack quietly set his empty glass aside, leaving them to the rest of their afternoon. He showed himself out just as Marigold’s cries crescendoed.
The Feast would begin in three weeks. Fifty-some tributes would descend upon The Preserve once they made it through The Becoming. The hunters would greet them once they were presented at The Wrecking Ball, and then The Hunt would begin.
Jack was already looking forward to it, but not the way most men did. They were there to chase the does. Jack stayed in the shadows, the perfect vantage to hunt the hunters.
Chapter Three
The Fallen
