Page 21 of The Knucklebone Brothers

Blythe looked from him to me and nodded once. "K, we're ready."

Maverick sauntered over to a chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt. He dropped the towel, giving me another full view of his stupidly perfect ass and the ridiculous sword tattoo, before he started to get dressed. I just stood there, chained and slippered, feeling like I was in some kind of weird, twisted dream. Yeah, right. This was a goddamn asylum.

Once Maverick was dressed, he and Blythe exchanged a look. It was time to go. As they walked toward the door, they both reached for a special spot on the wall by the entrance, a series of old nails hammered into a wooden plaque. Hanging there were their masks. They grabbed them like they were grabbing car keys, a casual, everyday motion. Blythe slipped on his burlap sack, and Maverick tied on his painted grin, their faces disappearing behind the familiar facades.

Blythe then reached down and grabbed the end of the chain that was attached to the leather belt at my hips. He didn't yank it, just held it firmly, a silent command. He started walking, leading me out of the trailer and around to the other side, toward a thicker, darker part of the woods. I followed, the slippers shuffling through the dirt, the chain a constant, tugging reminder.

Maverick was behind me, his presence a heavy weight on my back. I could hear his footsteps, slow and steady, matching mine.

The sun hadn't fully come up yet. The sky was a soft, hazy purple, and the air was cool, but not cold. It was peaceful, almost. I could hear the morning animals waking up, the chirping of birds and the rustling of small creatures in the underbrush. Through a small clearing in the trees, I could see the sun starting to come up, casting a golden glow over the tops of the mountains. The string lights were still on, lighting the path, but the jack-o'-lanterns were dark, their carved faces empty in the early morning light.

I followed Blythe, my eyes scanning the woods, my mind racing. I didn't know where we were going, but I knew it was a part of their world. A part of their game. And I was ready to play.

We stopped in a small, secluded clearing that was thick with ancient trees, their branches interlocking to create a natural canopy. In the center of the clearing sat a clawfoot tub, the porcelain white chipped and stained, but inviting. Heavy, dark fabric hung from the trees, creating a makeshift enclosure around the tub, and string lights wrapped around the branches bathed the space in a soft, amber glow. I could see the steam rising from the water, curling into the cool morning air.

Blythe sat on a log, and Maverick leaned against a tree, their masks hiding their expressions. Blythe pointed a finger at me, his eyes intense behind the burlap. "Undress," he commanded.

Maverick walked up to me and undid the chain at my waist. "Hurry," he said, his voice low. "Undress, you have 5 seconds and don't make me count." He looked me up and down, his eyes dark. "One."

I hesitated for a split second, my mind racing. I could attack them. I had the element of surprise. I could try to grab a branch, or maybe kick Maverick in the nuts. But then I looked at them. They were calm, confident. They were waiting for me to make a move. I decided to wait. I needed a better opening.

"Fine," I said, my voice shaking slightly. I started to undress quickly, my clothes falling to the ground.

Maverick whistled. "Good girl, Aurora," he said.

I glared at him. "It's Rory!"

Maverick chuckled, a low, dark sound. "I like Aurora better," he said. "It sounds softer, more mysterious. And it fits you. You're our pretty thing, after all."

Blythe put two of his fingers up, making a come here motion. "Now," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Come here."

I was naked now, the cool morning air hitting my skin. I walked toward him, my feet feeling strange in the slippers, the chain clinking softly. Blythe reached out and chained one of my hands to the branch of a tree. I was now helpless, unable to run, but also unable to hide.

"Good," he said. "Now, let's get you washed up, pretty thing."

I looked at them, my eyes narrowing. "You guys are seriously eye-fucking me," I said. "I can feel it. I bet you're grinning right now under those masks."

Blythe didn't say anything, just nodded. "Get in the tub," he said.

I climbed into the tub. The water was hot, scalding almost, and it felt amazing. I let out a light sigh of relief as I sank into the warmth. The water only came up to under my breasts, leaving them exposed to the cool morning air. I reached for a pitcher of water and poured some over my hair, the water running down my neck and arms. I sprinkled water over my breasts, the sensation felt amazing. I looked at the boys, who were watching me intently. "You're gonna pay for that," I said, my voice low and dangerous.

The water was warm, a heavy blanket against my skin, but the air was cool, teasing my exposed nipples. I was busy trying to scrub the grime from my arms and neck when I felt the shift in the air. I stopped moving, watching him closely. Maverick was moving slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. He was crouching down, bringing his face level with mine. I could see the green of his eyes through the holes in his mask, calculating.

I tried to calculate his next move. He could reach in and grab me. He could try to drown me. He could just crouch there and stare. He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine. He reached out and flicked the bar in my right nipple with finger. A sharp jolt of pain shot through me, the metal bar adding momentum to the flick. But it was mixed with a strange, electric pleasure that made my breath hitch. My nipple hardened instantly, a hard little pebble against the cool air, more sensitive than the other one.

Maverick pulled back, his eyes dark. "Nice piercing," he said, his voice low.

He looked at the other nipple, which was softer. "And look at this one," he said, touching the other nipple. "It looks lonely. It's missing its friend."

He flicked the other nipple, and I gasped, the pain shooting through me again. I went to slap him, my hand flying out, but he caught my wrist in a grip like iron. He held my wrist there, his thumb stroking the inside of my arm, his eyes laughing at me.

"No, no," he said, his voice a low, teasing purr. "Not so fast. You're supposed to be a good girl, remember?"

I glared at the mask, spitting at him. "Fuck you, Maverick," I spat. "You're a psycho."

He laughed, a sound that vibrated through his chest. "That's me," he said. "The psycho."

Then, I felt a violent tug on the chain attached to my wrist. It pulled me back, nearly out of the water, and I looked up to see Blythe standing there, his face grim. "Behave," he rumbled.