Page 19 of The Knucklebone Brothers

I settled into the old recliner, the springs groaning under my weight. From here, I could see the whole room. I could see her, sleeping next to my brother, her chest rising and falling with each breath. I could see the chain, a dark line on the bed, a reminder of what was ours.

We lay there in the quiet, the fans humming, the night stretching out around us. I was in my own world, but I was in the same room. The show was over, for now. But tomorrow... tomorrow was another day.

Chapter 8

I woke up to the smell of coffee, rich and strong, cutting through the weird dreams I was having. I cracked one eye open. It was still dark outside, but the kitchen light was on, casting a warm, yellow glow. Blythe was moving around in there, his big frame blocking the window. I groaned, my whole body aching.

"Mornin'," he rumbled, not even turning around.

"Thanks for the new bed," I muttered, my voice scratchy. "But I still slept like total shit, y'all."

That's when I felt it. A weight shift next to me, a deep, slow breath. My eyes flew open, and I slowly, carefully, turned my head.

What the fuck?

Maverick was asleep right there. No mask. No shirt. Just him, all sprawled out on his back like he was living his best life. The sheet was kicked down to his waist, leaving the whole top half of him on display. And it was... a lot.

His chest was all hard muscle and sharp lines, covered in a tapestry of dark, intricate tattoos that snaked over his pecs and down his stomach, disappearing under the blanket. His arms were thrown out, one hand resting near my head, and I could see more ink covering his bicep and shoulder. His dark hair was a mess, a curly mop fanned out on the pillow, and his face was relaxed in sleep, his jaw soft, his lips slightly parted. He looked like he was in another world, completely gone. And I was annoyed. I was really annoyed. But I was also... noticing. A hot, weirdo was sleeping next to me, and my body was betraying me by noticing.

His eyes fluttered, and then slowly blinked open. That sharp, intelligent green, even in the dim light. They focused on me, a slow, sleepy grin spreading across his face.

"And you thought that was a smart idea, sleeping next to me?" I whispered, my voice low and dangerous. "I clearly have weapons. I could've choked you with these chains." Lifting my hands up and shaking them.

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, his chest vibrating. "Kinky," he said, and winked.

"Kinky my ass," I shot back, but he just kept grinning.

"Coffee?" Blythe's voice cut through our little standoff. He was standing by the bed, holding out a steaming mug.

"Black," I said, my voice flat.

He approached the bed, and I was thankful to see he had a shirt on. It was a loose, worn-out thing, but it didn't hide much. I could still see the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulging at the sides. He had a baseball cap on backwards, his light brown hair flipped up at the back in a little tuft. He didn't say much, just handed me the coffee, his fingers brushing against mine.

I took the mug, the warmth a small comfort, but the chain around my wrist pulled taut, making it awkward to drink without spilling. I glared at him over the rim of the cup.

He saw my struggle and a slow, lazy grin spread across his face. "What's the matter, Rory?" he drawled, his voice thick with sleep. "Chain a little short for ya?"

I just stared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Maverick chuckled. "Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a twist." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, brass key. He knelt beside the bed, his movements fluid and easy, and unlocked the cuff. The metal fell away, and I could finally move my arm freely.

"There," he said, standing up and pocketing the key. "Now you can drink your coffee like a civilized human. Just don't get any ideas." He tapped the chain still wrapped around my waist. "This part's stayin' on. For now."

"We have a busy day," Blythe cut in, his voice low and serious. "Drink up. The sun'll be up soon."

I took a sip of the coffee, black and bitter, just like I liked it. It was good, damn good. I watched them over the rim of the mug as they moved around the trailer. Blythe was back in the kitchen, cracking eggs into a cast-iron skillet, the sound a sharp, satisfying sizzle. Maverick was stretching, his tattooed back a canvas of dark art, his muscles flexing with every movement. They were so comfortable, so at home. It was infuriating.

My eyes drifted down to the chains. The leather belt around my waist was thick, the buckle solid. The chain itself was heavy, the links welded shut, no obvious weak points. The metal and lock looked ancient but unbreakable. These weren't cheap hardware store cuffs. These were serious. They'd planned this out. They were good at what they did.

My mind started racing, a cold, calculating part of me taking over. Escape. How the hell would I even do it? I could try to overpower one of them, but they were both strong, and I was chained. I could try to pick a lock, but with what? My fingernails? A bobby pin I didn't have? I could run, but where? We were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods and god knows what else. And even if I did get away, they knew these woods better than I ever would. It was a fool's errand.

But the thought was still there, a little spark in the back of my mind. A way out. I just had to find it.

And what about the game? What the hell was it? They weren't just torturing me for fun. They weren't trying to get money from me. They wanted something else. They wanted me. But for what? To be a part of their weird little family? To be their pet? The thought made my skin crawl, but a small, sick part of me was intrigued. I'd never been a part of anything. Never belonged anywhere. And here were these two psychos, offering me a place, however twisted it might be.

A busy day. What the hell did that even mean? Were we going on a trip? Were they going to... I don't know, teach me how to juggle? The uncertainty was the worst part. The not knowing. It was a constant, low-level hum of anxiety under my skin.

I took another sip of coffee, my eyes narrowing. I was a captive, yes. But I wasn't helpless. I was a survivor. And I was a little psycho myself. I could play their game. I could play it better than them. I just had to be patient. I had to watch. I had to wait for my opening. And when it came, I'd be ready. I'd take them down, one by one, and walk out of here like nothing ever happened. Or I'd burn this whole damn place to the ground. Either way, I was going to win.