Page 34 of The Knucklebone Brothers

Blythe moved in close, his mask a blank, featureless face inches from me. He gripped my left nipple, the metal of the piercing between his fingers, and clamped the pliers around my nipple. I gasped, my head snapping back, the rope pulling tight at my wrists.

"Shhh now," Blythe rasped, his voice muffled by the mask. He twisted the handles, the metal digging into the soft flesh. The pain was sharp, a white-hot spike that shot straight to my core. I tried to hold it in, my jaw clenched tight, but a strangled whimper escaped my lips.

"Look at that," Maverick said from right in front of me. He was standing between my now spread legs, his knees nudging my thighs. He held the leather paddle up, letting the light catch the slick surface. "She's already dripping for us, ain't she?" He brought the paddle down hard against my pussy.

The slap was loud and wet, the leather connecting with my flesh with a stinging impact. I bucked against the rope, my body jerking, my eyes rolling back. The shockwave of pain mixed with a deep, aching throb.

"You like that?" Maverick taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. He brought the paddle up again, aiming for the same spot. "You're making all sorts of noises, pretty thing. I thought you were a tough girl?" He struck again, harder this time, the leather biting into my swollen pussy.

"Tell me you like it," he commanded, his eyes dark behind the mask. "Tell me how good it feels to be used."

I stared at Maverick, his mask a distorted, grinning shape blocking out the dim light. The pain was intense, a constant throb radiating from my nipples and between my legs, but I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of hearing me beg or moan. I just looked at him, a slow, dry smirk spreading across my face. "Fuck you," I said, my voice raspy but clear.

Blythe, who had been off to the side, stepped closer. He released my nipple from the pliers, the sudden release of pressure sending a sharp jolt of relief. He stepped back, leaving me hanging there.

Maverick moved in closer, his knees nudging my legs apart again. He reached down and spread my pussy lips with his fingers. He ran the cold, slick leather of the paddle against my clit, the friction sending a jolt of electricity through my body.

Maverick brought the paddle down hard on my clit again, the leather connecting with a stinging slap. I cried out, a ragged sound, my body jerking forward, the rope pulling tighter.

He gripped the paddle tighter, his knuckles white, and let out a low groan. "God damn, look at you," he rasped, his voice thick with lust. "Hanging there, spread out for us. Makes my dick so damn hard I could bust right here." He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip, his touch possessive and demanding. "You make it hard, Aurora. You make us want you more than anything. You're gonna be our bride. We can't wait to own you, to make you ours."

Blythe stepped up from my other side, his mask a blank, looming shadow. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of my jaw, his touch possessive and demanding. "It’s tradition," he added, his voice low and reverent. "It’s the oldest rule. Come opening night, the family claims their bride if we have one to claim. It’s how it’s been done for generations. You’re the last piece of the puzzle, Rory. We’re going to complete the family."

I stared up at them, my mind reeling. "Bride?" I thought the word foreign and ridiculous in my twisted situation. What the fuck? What does that even mean? You're cannibals, you're freaks. What kind of bride?

I looked at the mummified scarecrow through the grimy window, then back at the boys, the lores, the dead things in the jars, the carnival graveyard. I was brought here for a reason, I knew it. Bride? It sounded like some fairy tale, something for people who weren't eating people. I was just meat to them, a toy to break and use. Why was I even here? Was it just to be their pet? Their plaything?

I was trapped, and I was theirs.

"I'm not your bride," I spat, my voice barely a whisper, my defiance burning bright even as my body hummed with the aftershocks of his previous teasing. "I'm not your anything."

Maverick laughed, a low, dark sound. "Oh, she talks tough," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "But she'll be ours. You'll see. We're gonna make you ours."

Blythe moved behind me, his hands rough, roaming over my bare skin like he was memorizing every inch. He gripped the back of my thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and hoisted my legs up, spreading me wide. He held my knees tight, locking my body open for them, leaving me dangling there, my feet kicking uselessly in the air. It was pathetic, really, just a little flopping of my toes, but I couldn't do anything to stop him.

"Stop it!" I yelled, my voice strained, but I wasn't fighting him hard. I was too busy watching Maverick. He was looming over me, his hand holding the paddle, his eyes dark and hungry. I wanted to see what he was going to do with it, or maybe he was going to undo his pants and let that beautiful, tattooed dick of his out again. I stared at it, my mouth watering despite myself.

fuck, maybe I'm a freak like them.

Blythe grunted behind me, his grip tightening on my legs. "Look at her," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "She's begging for it."

"Stop it! Get your hands off me!" I yelled, my voice strained and breathless. I tried to yank my legs down, but Blythe was too strong, his grip unbreakable.

Maverick leaned down, his face inches from mine, his mask hiding his expression but his eyes burning with a dark, hungry intensity. "My dirty pretty thing," his voice a low, menacing rumble that vibrated through my chest. "So wild and defiant, but still so fuckin’ pretty."

I scoffed, trying to sound unbothered, but the way his words rolled off his tongue, dark and possessive, sent a shiver down my spine. I glared up at him. "Pretty? You think I'm pretty when I look like this? When I'm hanging here like a piece of meat?"

Maverick didn't answer. He just leaned in closer, his hand moving to my face, his thumb tracing my bottom lip, his touch rough and demanding as he pulled my bottom lip down. "You're beautiful," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

The words hit me hard, like a sudden, sharp blow. My stomach flipped, and I felt a strange sensation wash over me. My pussy throbbed again, a deep, aching need. What is happening?

That made my chest hurt, a confusing mix of shame and desire.

Blythe leaned into my ear, his hand sliding down the inside of my thigh. "Tight little pussy," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "So fucking tight. You're gonna be so good for us. You're gonna be ours, all ours."

The combination of Maverick's praise and Blythe's dirty talk sent a jolt through my body, and I felt my nipples harden, aching for attention. I was getting wet again, and I hated myself for it.

Blythe held my legs spread wide, his face buried in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. I dangled there, helpless, my feet kicking weakly in the air, completely exposed to Maverick’s gaze. He stood between my open thighs, the paddle dangling in his hand.