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7. Flora

7

FLORA

I grip the edge of my seat as Tyson studies me with those penetrating eyes. My heart threatens to burst from my chest until he finally nods.

“Welcome to the family, then.”

Relief floods through me, but it’s short-lived as reality crashes back. “Are we not leaving town until just before New Year’s?” The thought of staying in town, so close to the Lowleys, makes my skin crawl. Three weeks of looking over my shoulder.

Tyson must see the fear in my eyes. He leans forward, voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “If those fuckers come sniffing around, they’ll get what’s coming to them. A good fucking beating should teach them to stay away from you.”

The door creaks open, and Colt and Nash slip inside. Their presence fills the small space of Tyson’s office, making it hard to breathe for entirely different reasons. Nash is the guy who called me beautiful when I stood outside the masquerade, and Colt is so kind and absolutely gorgeous.

“What’s the verdict, boss?” Colt’s deep voice sends a shiver down my spine. There’s something about him—a raw power tempered by unexpected gentleness.

Nash moves like a shadow behind him, all controlled grace and coiled tension. Where Colt radiates heat, Nash exudes an icy darkness that terrifies and intrigues me. His gaze slides over me, calculating and intense.

I shouldn’t be attracted to either of them, let alone both. After everything with the Lowleys, I should run screaming from any man who looks at me with hunger in his eyes. But something about them feels different. Maybe it’s how Colt positions himself protectively near me, or Nash’s watchful presence that makes me feel oddly safe despite his dangerous aura.

“She’s in,” Tyson tells them. “You two will be responsible for training her.”

Nash’s smirk sends a ripple of something through me—not fear exactly, though maybe it should be. Darkness in that curve of his lips speaks of carefully controlled danger. Yet, somehow, I find myself more curious than frightened.

“Come on, princess.” Colt’s hand hovers near my lower back, not quite touching. “Let’s get you settled.”

I clutch my backpack tighter, following them out of Tyson’s office. The cool, crisp night air hits my face, carrying the scent of cotton candy and popcorn. Strings of colorful lights crisscross overhead, casting rainbow shadows across the packed dirt paths between trailers.

“This one’s yours.” Nash gestures to a small silver trailer, its exterior weathered but clean. “For now, at least.”

Colt produces a key and unlocks the door. “It’s basic, but you can make it yours over time.”

The inside is sparse—a narrow bed, tiny kitchen area, and bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. But it’s mine. No Lowleys. No fear. Just...freedom.

“Get changed,” Nash says, passing me. “The masquerade is in full swing. We’ll wait outside.”

I nod, unable to find my voice as they step out. Through the thin walls, I hear their low murmurs, keeping watch. My hands shake as I unzip my backpack, feeling both anxious and excited at the same time. I grab my leotard and slip it on in case I get the chance to show of my skills tonight and then pull out the simple black dress I’d managed to hide away. It’s nothing fancy, but with the mask Colt gave me earlier, maybe I can pretend to be someone else tonight. Someone brave. Someone who deserves this chance.

The dress slips over my head, and I smooth it down. In the tiny mirror above the sink, I barely recognize myself. The mask transforms my features into something mysterious, almost elegant. For the first time in years, I feel like I belong somewhere.

A soft knock sounds at the door. “Ready, angel?” Colt’s voice drifts through.

I step out of the trailer, and my breath catches. Colt and Nash stand waiting, transformed by their masks. Nash’s black skull mask makes him look like death incarnate, while Colt’s white sends a flush of heat through me. My heart pounds as I take them in—Colt’s broad shoulders stretching his black shirt, Nash’s lean frame coiled with lethal grace.

I shouldn’t find them attractive. After what Tommy and Jake did to me with their friends... I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. But my body betrays me, just like it did then. Heat pools low in my belly as I look at the men before me.

What’s wrong with me?

The things that excite me now are so dark, so twisted. When Tommy and Jake hurt me the first time, something broke inside. Or maybe they just revealed what was already broken. Now, I crave the dangerous edge of fear mixed with desire. The thought of being at these men’s mercy makes me throb with need even as my mind screams to run.

I catch Nash watching me, his calculating gaze visible even through the mask’s eye holes. My cheeks burn, wondering if he can read the sick thoughts running through my head. Colt steps closer, and I fight not to lean into his warmth.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.

I hate myself for wanting them. Hate that after everything I’ve been through, I still fantasize about being controlled, about being taken. These dark desires feel like a betrayal of myself, yet I can’t stop them from consuming me.

I follow the men into the main tent, which has been transformed into a glittering wonderland of lights and decorations. Music pulses through the air as masked figures twirl across the dance floor. My heart races, caught between fear and excitement.

“Here.” Nash hands me a glass of something amber. “Dutch courage.”

The anxiety flutters in my stomach as I clutch the glass tighter. While I’ve drank before, especially when I knew Tommy and Jake were going to attack me, I’ve never quite gotten used to the taste. I adjust my mask to take a drink and knock it back in one gulp, grimacing as it burns my throat. The warmth spreads through my chest, dulling the sharp edges of my anxiety.

Nash extends his hand, a slight bow making him seem almost courtly despite his dangerous aura. “Dance with me?”

A low growl comes from Colt beside me, and Nash’s eyes flash through the eyeholes of his mask. He’s clearly enjoying needling his friend, though I can’t understand why my dancing with Nash would matter to Colt.

I hesitate, memories of unwanted touches threatening to surface. But Nash waits patiently, hand still offered but not demanding.

Okay, deep breath. This is different. Nash isn’t like Tommy or Jake. He’s offering a hand, not trying to force anything. You get to choose, and right now, you want to dance. Just take his hand. You’ve got this!

“Okay,” I force out, placing my hand in his.

Nash leads me onto the dance floor with surprising gentleness. His touch is light as he positions my hand on his shoulder, his own settling carefully at my waist. We begin to move, and I’m struck by how different this feels. Where I expect roughness, I find control. Where I brace for pain, I discover grace.

"Relax," he murmurs. “I won’t hurt you.”

I look into his eyes behind his black mask, searching for any sign of deception. But all I find is intensity tempered with something that might be kindness.

My body begins to unwind, and I let Nash lead me through the dance. Over his shoulder, I catch glimpses of Colt watching us, his posture rigid.

My breath catches as Nash leans close, his mask brushing my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Come to our trailer tonight,” he whispers. “Both of us want you. Together.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. The implications of his words sink in, and I pull back to search his eyes through the mask. “Both of you? But... we have to work together. Is that really smart?”

His hand tightens fractionally on my waist. “Sex builds trust. Bonds people. What better way for us to connect as a team?” His thumb traces small circles against my hip. “I’ve seen how you look at us both. The way your breath catches when Colt gets too close. How your pupils dilate when I touch you.”

Heat floods my face. He’s right. I do want them. The thought of being with them both makes my core clench with need. But memories of that horrible night flash through my mind—Tommy and Jake holding me down while their friends...

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the images. This is different. Nash and Colt aren’t them. Their touches are careful and controlled. When they look at me, I see desire mixed with something deeper—a need to protect rather than harm.

But still... “I don’t know,” I whisper.

I try to steady my breathing as Nash holds me close, the music swirling around us. His words echo in my head—the invitation to their trailer, the promise of something thrilling and terrifying. But he doesn’t know. None of them know what Tommy and Jake did to me.

I feel something different here, in Nash’s arms, with Colt’s burning gaze following our every move. Something that makes me want to forget, even for a moment.

“I need time,” I whisper. “This is all so new.”

Nash’s hand remains steady at my waist, neither pushing nor pulling away. “Time is something we have plenty of, little bird.” His voice carries no judgment.

The song ends, and I step back, needing space. Colt materializes beside us. His presence is both comforting and overwhelming. They flank me like dark guardians, and for a moment, I imagine telling them everything—about the nights I spent crying silently into my pillow, about the bruises I had to hide, about the way Tommy and Jake...

No. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

These men might seem different and might make me feel safe in a way I haven’t in years, but some secrets are too heavy to share. Some wounds are too deep to expose to the light.

“Thank you for the dance,” I manage. “I think I need some air.”

Nash lets me go, but I feel their eyes following me as I weave through the crowd. Neither knows the real reason behind my hesitation and for now, that’s how it needs to stay.

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