I can’t cross that line. It’s bad enough they have taken everything away from me, but they don’t care. They are smug about it, pragmatic, like they don’t even see how wrong it is that they just took a person. I can’t, I can’t want them too. I can’t give them that piece of me, no matter how much I want them.
But…what if they don’t let me choose? What if they take my body like they took me?
What if they realise just how much I want them?
How much my pussy clenches when I’m even around them…like when Ryder uses that cold, dark voice or Kenzo smirks at me…Diesel’s crazy yet addictive personality, or Garrett’s anger.
My heart races and my thighs rub together as I imagine all that power turned on me. Okay, so I just need to relieve some tension. It’s clearly been too long since I got laid, and my body has decided since they are the only men around, they’ll do.
Yep, that’s it. Relieve some tension, Rox, then back to planning how to escape the fucking snakes.
Alright, think of something sexy. Something other than the tattooed, powerful men in this apartment…
But my mind flicks back to Ryder rolling up his sleeves, all that power…imagining him at the gym. His body slick with sweat, his cold eyes hard as he pushes himself. To be better. Faster. Stronger.
The way his icy gaze would flicker in annoyance at himself. The way those lean fingers would grip the weights…
Slipping my hand in my panties, I groan, biting down on my lip as I find myself already wet. Dipping my finger in my cream, I circle my clit, teasing myself as I imagine it’s someone else’s hand. Touching me, rubbing me, making me gasp as we flick my clit.
Closing my eyes, I rock into my touch as I push up my shirt with my other hand and squeeze my breast, rolling my nipple around and imagining Ryder sucking it into his mouth. Those cold eyes locked on me as he smirks.
Biting back my moan, I dip my fingers inside my channel, slipping them in and out. Pretending it’s one of their cocks, their hands. Anything. Speeding up, I chase the orgasm I can feel building. Needing to reach that peak.
My body doesn’t care that I shouldn’t want them.
It wants them.
It’s craving them.
And in my fog of desire, it’s them I see as I touch myself.
Gasping, I rock into my fingers, imagining Ryder’s dark eyes as he watches me from the end of the bed. Visualising Diesel’s lips crushing mine as he takes what he wants—me. Garrett is there, too, prowling around the bed, observing me for once. Kenzo’s finger trails teasingly up my thigh.
Yes, fuck.
They would be hard, they would be mean.
It would be raw and filled with anger and hate, all of us not wanting it, yet needing it…
Fuck!
The orgasm rips through me out of nowhere, and I moan as I thrash in the bed, my hips lifting rapidly, fucking myself through it until I collapse, my fingers wet as satisfaction pounds through me. As does exhaustion.
I’m fucking knackered now. All this fighting, all this stress and swinging emotions has drained me. Slipping from the bed on shaky legs, I cross into the bathroom and clean up before climbing back beneath the quilt and cuddling myself into a ball.
I can do this.
I just need to keep them from finding out I’m attracted to them…or that I’m feeling fucking curious about what they would be like in bed. Yes, that’s it. Keep my distance, play it cool, and earn my freedom.
Because despite the fancy gifts and the fact that they haven’t hurt me, not really, I still want to be free. I still want my old life back, a life before these snakes. Before their cool eyes and harsh hands. One where people don’t talk about killing someone over pizza. I mean, yeah, it probably happens at the bar, but I don’t really know about it.
I’ve always had my foot in that inky darkness, in the underbelly of the city, but this? This is the fucking castle of it, and these four are the leaders.
The Vipers won’t stop until they own everyone and everything. But that can’t include me.
Not now, not ever.
Not if I want to survive.
Chapter Seventeen
ROXY
The next morning, I learn Ryder wasn’t lying, they’re gone. As soon as I step out of my room, I know it—it’s too quiet. Too empty. Sighing, and ignoring the fact I’m disappointed, I decide to have some breakfast. I might as well eat their food if they are keeping me prisoner.
I had taken a long bath this morning, shaving when I got bored before slipping into one of the new t-shirt dresses Ryder bought me. It has a skull and a snake wrapped around it on the front, and it’s low-cut and hangs to my knees. Pairing it with my new heeled kick ass boots, which reach mid-calf, I think I look pretty good. I even put on some makeup, telling myself the whole time it was for me, to feel like myself again. Maybe if I dressed like it, I might actually be it.
But a small part of my psyche calls me a liar, accuses me of wanting to look good for them. I kill that tiny piece. Who says your inner self is right all the time? Really, she’s just a snotty, stuck-up bitch.
I don’t see Kenzo anywhere, but I find some breakfast left on the table for me and a warm carafe of coffee. So I sit and eat, but I find myself jumping in the quiet, expecting one of them to leap out at me. After I’ve finished, I sigh, already bored.
Throwing myself down on the sofa, I take the tablet and try to figure out how to turn on their TV. Why can’t these people just have a normal control like everyone else? I finally get it to switch on and find the horror channel, settling in to watch the film. I wonder if they have popcorn.
That’s when it hits me, I’m just sitting here. Why aren’t I trying to escape? My eyes go to the door, but after yesterday, it doesn’t seem like the best way to try and leave. My head still aches from smashing it into the window, and though they checked it over and it’s scabbed, it’s still a stark reminder. Not to mention, I don’t want D to ‘teach me another lesson.’ I don’t think I would survive it. Not right now.
Sighing, I turn my head, just as I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl around and spot Kenzo coming towards me. He doesn’t have his tablet, like usual, but he’s tucking his phone into his grey sweatpants.
That’s not what has me staring though. No, definitely not the very impressive bulge in the joggers or the fact that those loose, low riding grey sweatpants are made purely to tease women. No, it’s the fact he’s shirtless.
As in I can see everything. Including the bar through his right nipple and the tribal style tattoos dotted across his shoulders. He heads to the kitchen, and I gasp at the tattoo on his back. It’s a snake with red eyes, wrapped around a skull, and takes up his entire back. It’s stunning artwork, not to mention the chiselled muscles underneath. “You want a drink, darling?” he calls, and I snap my eyes to his to see he’s turned and is smirking at me. “Or just to drool instead?”
Asshole.
So what that he has abs carved from stone or that delicious V, a light splattering of hair leading down to his joggers and across his seriously impressive chest? Or that his shoulders are so wide that all I can imagine is raking my nails across them as he moves above me? Pinning me to the sofa and letting me feel all those muscles…I forgot my train of thought.
Fucking joggers and their magical abilities.
At least it’s more material for my spank bank.
He grabs two ice-cold waters, and I watch the droplets of condensation race down his arms. Lucky bastards. Strolling my way, he leaps over the back of the sofa in a really impressive display of strength and hands me one. I snort and take it, trying not to reveal how much his showing off is getting to me.
No, stay strong. Pussy power…that came out wrong.
I turn away to stop myself from staring at him, and try to focus on the movie, but I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. His arm is stretched across the back of the sofa, his fingers almost touching me. He’s leaning back with his legs spread, and his other hand is tucked into the waistband of his joggers, pushing them even lower.
Fuck.
It’s like one of those thirst trap images you see online that makes you go ‘dayummm.’ I’ve definitely liked a few Instagram models’ photos that don’t even touch him right now. The worst bit? He knows it. There’s a smirk playing around his stupid lips, and he turns, catching me staring. “Don’t you want to watch the movie? Because if you want to do something else, darling, I’m down.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, tucking my hands under my ass to stop myself from reaching out and petting his muscles. That’s right. Petting them.
He chuckles and leans closer, his mouth almost at my ear. “You sure? We could wager on it…”
“You fucking gambling addict,” I mutter.
“Only when you’re involved. What do you say, darling? Want to play a game?” he whispers seductively.
“What would I win?” I hedge, while internally shouting at myself.