We stay like that for a long moment–sweat-slick, breathless, my body covering hers. DK kisses her temple.
Hunter’s still stroking himself in the chair, slow and unhurried, eyes dark and satisfied.
“Made for this,” he says again, voice wrecked. “Our wicked little sister.”
She smiles–small, exhausted, radiant–and reaches out a trembling hand toward him.
I know we’re not done.
Not even close.
The longest night is far from over.
37
Arianette
The library has become a clubhouse.Maps and blueprints are spread across the massive oak table, the curling edges held down by heavy books. The papers themselves are marked up with red ink circling access points, black Xs marking disappearances, including a few that haven’t been confirmed. Women going missing in Forsyth isn’t exclusive to what seems to be targeted abductions, like mine. It seems weird, but some girls drop or fail out of school without telling anyone. Max told Timothy that it’s common for some to be runaways. I can’t seem to unlock the memory of the number of women that were being held with me, and no one wants to exclude anyone without proof.
It’s the first time they’ve let me sit in on this part of their work. Not just listen from the doorway. Actually be here and be part of the conversation.
I’m on Damon’s lap in one of the leather-cushioned chairs pulledclose to the table. His thighs are solid under me, one arm looped loosely around my waist, the other hand resting high between my legs–fingers lazy, stroking over the seam of my leggings. He’s been half-hard the whole time, the thick ridge of him pressing against my ass every time I shift. I don’t move much. It makes him irritable.
Hunter’s standing at the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, marker in hand. He’s marking another tunnel junction on the city grid overlay, forearm flexing under his tattoos. Timothy has been at the hotel all day. I miss having him here. I’d gotten used to it over the winter break, the four of us living like a cozy little family.
Damon’s phone buzzes on the edge of the table. He glances at it, thumb swiping the screen without lifting his other hand from between my thighs. I don’t hide my curiosity fast enough, and he just says, “Rikki. She wants to know if I’m coming for Christmas.”
I tilt my head back against his shoulder. “Are you going?”
“Probably not.” He sits back deeper into the chair, pulling me with him so my back presses fully against his chest. His erection nudges harder against me; I feel the low rumble of a laugh against my spine. “Tradition’s never really been our thing. I was in and out of juvie so much growing up, and when I wasn’t, she was usually working doubles or just… out.”
I look across the table at Hunter. He’s still marking the blueprint, but I know he’s listening.
“What about you?” I ask.
“Nah.” Hunter caps the marker, setting it down. “My parents left town a week ago to see Mom’s family up north. I was happy to have an excuse not to go.”
“Is it bad?” The question slips out before I can stop it. I don’t really understand how other families work–only the pieces I’ve seen here, in this house, with these men. God knows, the experience I had in Strong Manor wasn’t typical.
Hunter shrugs one shoulder. “Not if you like overcooked roast, too much alcohol, and listening to my parents bicker all night.”
I make a face. I want to say that’s sad, but he doesn’t look remotely bothered. His eyes meet mine across the table, and there’s that flickeragain–the warmth I’m starting to recognize when he looks at me. Not heat, exactly. Just something steady that blooms hot in my chest.
“Well,” I say quietly, “I obviously have nowhere else to go, so I’m glad you’ll be here with Timothy and me.”
Damon curls his fingers over my stomach, possessive and gentle at once, and presses a kiss to the back of my neck. His teeth graze the skin just under my ear. It’s like this now–little touches surrounded by darker, heavier heat. Damon and Timothy use me in the best way, filling every empty space inside me until I can’t think past the next breath. Hunter… he’s getting closer. Warmer. But there’s still that hesitation. He hasn’t fucked me. Not yet.
“We’ve already asked if you know anything about the access point under Strong Manor,” Hunter says, going back to the blueprints and tapping the circled spot. “You said no.”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I never even knew there were tunnels under the house.”
Hunter leans forward, palms flat on the table. “That’s why we’re looking at the rest of the city now. Every territory has tunnels running beneath it. North End blew up because Lavinia only triggered the charges under her father’s area. The rest could very well still be live.”
DK’s fingers pause between my thighs, just for a second–then resume their slow stroking. “It’ll take a while to access them all and clear out any remaining explosives.”
I lean forward a little, studying the map. My eyes catch on a small red circle on campus. “This is where I was taken,” I say. I reach out, trace a line with my finger from the red mark to another spot a few blocks away. “And this is where you think they carried me off in the tunnel?”
“Yep,” Hunter says casually, although I don’t miss the way his eyes flick up to Damon’s. “Through this old maintenance shed. It’s a totally unassuming, isolated spot, right next to a busy walkway. No one would notice you walking off with someone.” Which I did, willingly, because they said my uncle needed me. “There aren’t any cameras in this area either.”
