Chapter Twenty-Nine

T he inside is larger than the outside. As I look through the crowd, I notice that the back of the cabin overlooks the lake, which I would have admired if someone hadn't kidnapped me and brought me here against my will. The dim lights in here make it moodier and more seductive as masked people dance, drink, and fuck. Bass thumps through the speakers, vibrating straight into my bones.

My kidnapper guides me through the house and into what I'm assuming is the living room. My head swivels as I look at each person, hoping they'll see the terror on my face. A few people look at me, but they show no concern.

I'm screwed. There's no one here to save me, and it's up to me to get out of this.

A flash of red near the ceiling catches my attention. As my gaze rises, my lips part in surprise. Scarlet silks hang from the beams, with acrobats weaving through them to the beat of the song.

The further we walk into the building, the more the sinking feeling in my gut grows. It's consuming me, and a strange sense of seeing this happening before fills my mind.

We pass a large table with champagne flutes, and my stomach threatens to empty itself when I look up. Men and women hang above the drinks, blood dripping from their slit throats to the glasses below.

"Oh god," I whisper.

What in the house of horrors is this? Is this my fate? Is my kidnapper going to use me, then slit my throat to bleed out in their drinks? I swear to god, if there's life after death, I'll haunt his ass and make sure he regrets what he does to me every single second.

The masked man guides me to the back of the cabin and into a room full of shelves lined with old books. A bearskin rug—complete with attached head—sprawls over the wooden floor for the comfort of these shitty rich people. Three masked men sit on leather recliners by the fireplace. They raise their heads and look at me, then my kidnapper.

I don't need to be a part of this group to know these men are the leaders. The way they carry themselves, with their shoulders drawn back as they relax in their seats, screams power.

"I come bearing gifts," my kidnapper says.

I whip my widening eyes to him, and my mouth dries. "Gifts?"

One of the men leans back in his seat, folds his hands in his lap, and steeples his thumbs. "And what do you plan on sacrificing, Dahlia?"

I face the three large men who bore a hole in my face with their gazes. I swear I can't breathe through this panic. "You know my name?"

The one who spoke dips his chin and pauses his steepling. "We all know who you are."

I wait for them to explain, but they don't .

"This is your chance," my kidnapper whispers as he positions himself behind me and leans down until his mask is right beside my head. "Prove your loyalty to them and pledge yourself to the Exodus."

He trails his gloved fingers down my arms and sides, then over my round stomach. Goosebumps pebble on my skin, and my nipples harden into tight peaks. The adoring and gentle way he touches me is confusing because he literally doesn't know me. What's more confusing is that my body responds to him as if we've done this before. Like it recognizes his touch.

"The choice is yours, Dahlia Evergreen. Sacrifice something or die." The leader stands from his seat and straightens his black jacket to free it from wrinkles.

"What the fuck is the Exodus?" I raise my voice, not bothering to keep quiet.

The man wearing a creepy spider mask with sharp pincers chuckles. "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?"

My kidnapper runs his hand down my pelvis and brushes his fingers over my mound, teasing me with his soft touches. "Welcome to the Reckoning," he murmurs into my ear. "The one night every ten years when laws don't touch us. We're told to bring party favors, and I chose you as mine."

Everything in me stills. "The Reckoning . . ."

My husband brushes his mask against my ear. "You know what to sacrifice, wife."

"What if I don't want to?"

He pauses, then his hand shoots up to grab my throat in a tight grip that makes my head spin. "Then you die."

If I were watching this from an outside perspective, I'd scream for the victim to do the sacrifice. The last of my innocence doesn't matter to me. It never did. I don't know if I'm innocent since I've had anal sex with Jaxon.

Facing a life-or-death situation brings out the very core of who you are. Are you fighting your way out? Or are you rolling over and accepting your fate?

I don't want to die. I want to live so I can see Jaxon when he finds me, because I firmly believe he will.

"My virginity," I whisper shakily.

"Repeat that," one leader says. "We can't hear you."

My husband stiffens. "She said she'll sacrifice her virginity."

They hum in unique tones, pleased with my answer.

"Then, by all means." One leader gestures for us to begin.

"Right here?" I squeak.

"What?" The leader leans forward to hear better.

Annoyance rolls off my husband in noxious waves. "She asked, right here ." He angrily taps his finger on my abdomen, right beneath my breasts.

The man in the creepy frog mask waves him off, then rolls his wrist, two fingers held up as he silently urges us to fuck.

I suck in a breath as my husband peels off my crop top and tosses it aside on the bear rug. He snaps my bra undone, freeing my heavy breasts from their confines for the viewing pleasure of the men watching with disinterest. I can't look away from them as they relax in their seats. One looks bored, with his leg crossed over the other, his elbow resting on the chair's arm, and his fingers tucked against the cheek of his spider mask.

"Please don't do this," I whisper to my kidnapper.

"You have no choice, wife."

He undoes my shorts and yanks them down to pool around my boots. Coming around to stand in front of me, he tilts his head as he stares at my crotch. I'm left standing in my underwear, fishnets, and shoes. His gaze rises to my face with a look of warning before he drags down my fishnets, rips my panties in half, then jerks them off of me.

I gasp and stumble forward, then steady myself by holding on to his shoulders in his bent position as he pulls up my fishnets.

My eyebrows fly up to my forehead.

He looks up at me, and I swear I can see the smirk behind his mask. "I want to fuck you while you're wearing these. I love how they cling to your curves."

My cheeks warm with a blush, and I squeeze my eyes shut to close myself off from the outside world. This is so fucked up. I have to remind myself that this is a life-or-death situation and not something I can run away from. If I bolt out of here, he'll chase me and enjoy it a little too much.

I sink my front teeth into my bottom lip as his fingers swipe between my folds through the gaps in the fishnets. He teases my clit until I soak his hand with my arousal. My eyes flutter open and find him staring at me with a hooded gaze full of hunger.

A predator looks back at me through him, and I should hate it, but my body once again responds to him as though we're two halves of the same whole. There's something familiar about him, but I can't put my finger on it.

I study his eyes; rather, I study what little I can see of them. Flecks of amber dance within his dark-brown irises, and just a hint of blue lingers near his pupils. My lips part on a sigh as he focuses on my clit, rolling it between his fingers.

"That's my girl," he murmurs.

I shudder and bury my hands in his dark hair.

He kidnapped you , I chide. You can't be getting butterflies over his small praise.

He removes his hand from between my legs and stands to his full height in front of me. With his hand on my shoulder, he guides me to my knees. My face is directly in line with his dick, which strains beneath his jeans, the large outline making my pussy clench with need.

He kidnapped you. He kidnapped you .

He takes my hand and covers his stiff bulge with my palm. "This is what you do to me." He grates out each word as though he's struggling to speak. "I've been hard since the moment I saw you in the elevator."

My stomach free falls, like I'm on a rollercoaster that's just dropped over the first hill, and I lose all sense of gravity.

He steps behind me. His clothes rustle, and a moment later, his jacket, shirt, and pants join my shorts. I turn my head to look at him, but his gloved hand whips forward, fists my hair, and yanks my head back so that I have to look at the ceiling. I bare my teeth and hiss from the sting in my scalp as he roughly shoves me onto my hands and knees.

"All the way down," he growls.

"Please," I whisper, not sure if I'm begging for him to stop or keep going.

I lower my torso until my breasts are squished beneath me. My cheek rests on the rug, and I'm forced to stare at all the antique books collecting dust on the bookshelf across from me. It looks as though they haven't been touched in years. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears before they come.

I've never felt so vulnerable before.

The music plays louder, drowning out my soft cries as he widens my stance, showing him everything. I expect to feel the blunt head of his erection against my pussy, but he leans over me. His mouth brushes against my ear, causing my eyes to snap open as he lifts his mask slightly to give me a gentle kiss.

"I need you soaking wet for me," he murmurs.

I jump as he rips a hole in my fishnets to give himself easier access. His fingers slip between my folds, and he groans deep in his chest.

The corners of his mouth lift against my sensitive skin. "You're wet, but not wet enough."

My lips part on a sigh as he draws back, his weight disappearing. I curl my fingers into the fur, and a startled moan slips out of me as his tongue laps between my pussy lips. My hips move on their own, bucking back against him as he focuses his tongue against my clit. When two of his fingers slip inside me, I try so hard to dislike this, but it feels so good.

I'm so sorry, Jaxon , I cry in my thoughts. He gave me no choice, and I can't help that he's making this feel so good.

My eyebrows furrow when his tongue flicks against my swollen bundle of nerves. His tongue feels like it's split in the middle. The two ends move in different directions, just as Jaxon's can.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I imagine the man behind me is him and not this stranger.

My orgasm gives me no warning and slams into me, ripping the air from my lungs. His fingers fuck me harder, coaxing out every bit of my climax until I'm keening like a wanton bitch.

"Get on with it," one of the leaders grumbles, loud enough to be heard over the music.

My husband gets back to his knees and swipes the head of his cock between my folds several times, teasing me and allowing me to feel him as he drags this moment out. The anticipation is killing me.

I pant and push my hips back to meet him as he notches the tip outside my entrance. His hand rests on the small of my back, holding me in place as he forces himself inside me. I grit my teeth at his massive size and how he can barely pop the tip past the tight ring.

I scream from the burn, and grapple at the rug. My back arches on its own, my body trying to escape the source of the pain. He pauses and grips my waist, yanking me back to him as the head of his pulsing cock stretches me just past the opening.

"Count the piercings," he says gruffly. "One for each inch. When you get to nine, the worst will be over."

"N-nine?" He has piercings too? Does every man have their junk pierced or what?

"Start counting." He slaps my ass.

I yelp, then grind my molars until they feel like they'll turn to dust. He sinks an inch inside me. The first piercing glides against my inner walls.

"One," I breathe.

Another inch.

"Two."

He shifts behind me and pants loud enough for me to hear over the music. He eases in another inch.

"Three."

"You're doing so good for me," he murmurs, and strokes my ass. "My beautiful, slutty wife. Your pussy is swallowing my dick like it needs it."

He dips his hand between my legs from the front, his fingers finding my clit and rolling it at a slow pace that curls my toes and makes me whine. I need more from him.

"Four. Five." I yell as he stretches me beyond what his fingers could manage. Another scream catches in my throat as he shoves more of himself inside me. "Six. Seven. Eight !"

"Goddamn, you're so fucking tight." He squeezes my hip in a bruising grip. "Final stretch, baby. You can do it." He slams the last inch into me until he's balls deep.

" Nine !"

Lights burst behind my closed eyelids, and I sob from the pain. He fills me, stretching me beyond what I thought I could take.

Jaxon comes to my mind, and guilt tightens my chest. My kidnapper's piercings glide against the sensitive parts inside me, bumping along secret spots that make me damn near astral project. These confusing feelings are wrong, yes, but rationality slips away as I imagine it's Jaxon who's fucking me.

He pulls out until only the head is left, then he slams back in. My body jerks forward with each brutal blow. He holds me still, but it doesn't stop me from sliding forward and crumpling the rug beneath me. I scream and wiggle against him, begging for more like a slut. Pleasure joins the pain, but rapidly overpowers it until all I feel is ecstasy. Maybe it's because I'm picturing my brother on his knees, lips parted, and his dark hair falling over his eyes as he looks down at me with reverence as he takes my virginity. I arch my back and meet him every time he pistons into me.

"Jaxon," I moan softly.

I don't think the man heard me, because he says nothing. He fucks me harder, like he's losing control and can't help himself from getting lost in my body. I hiss through my teeth as he jerks my hair in his fist, pulling me up to my hands and knees.

"My needy whore. You can't get enough of me, can you?" He lets go of my hair, slaps my ass, then leans over me to mold his chest to my back like a second skin. His hand rests next to mine, and his panting moans fill my ear as he kisses the shell and over my jaw.

What he said minutes ago comes back to me. He said he's nine inches. Jaxon once told our dad I could take all of his nine-inch dick like a needy whore. This man who's rutting into me like he can't get enough keeps calling me a slut and a whore. He also has piercings like Jaxon's, and his tongue is split too.

Butterflies fill my stomach, and hope blooms inside me.

I look at his arm and stop breathing. He hasn't taken off his gloves, but his wrist and up are bare, showing off his tattoos. Tears well in my eyes when I spot the familiar pink Band-Aid with crybaby scrawled on the wings.

There are only so many times something can be a coincidence until it's not. The man fucking me right now isn't a stranger, and he isn't just my husband .

He's my brother.

"Jaxon," I breathe.

He groans and nips at the sensitive skin on my jaw. I know he heard me this time. His dick jerks inside me and he fucks me harder as he moans louder in my ear, knowing full well what that does to me. At that moment, I realize he's matching the beat of the song that's playing. I won't be able to listen to "Custer" by Slipknot the same ever again.

"Jaxon!" I wail in relief and move with him in abandon.

"It's about time, flower. I was getting worried." He nips my earlobe, which is meant to punish me but does the opposite.

"Fuck," I breathe, and melt under him. The guilt that's gripping me fades away like a bad dream, and the dark clouds over my head clear. I can finally fully enjoy this moment without worrying about Jaxon punishing me.

"Come on my cock," he growls.

He fists my hair and yanks me upward until my chest is suspended off the ground, leaving only my knees on the floor. I grab his wrists, which push my bouncing breasts outward. Arching my spine, I shove my hips backward to meet his every thrust.

"Come all over your big brother's cock, sis," he mutters in my ear. "Let me hear how good of a big brother I am by taking care of your needs."

I tense and stop breathing as I come. My vision goes dark, and I can only hear his heavy breathing, our flesh meeting, and my screams.

He groans in my ear and shoves me onto my stomach, cheek flat against the fur. His body blankets mine, his knees straddling my waist, and he moans louder as his jerking cock drills into me. He mutters my name, and warmth floods my core as he comes. All I can do is lie here, eyes hooded and lips parted with panting breaths as he finishes inside me.

"My good girl. My good, slutty girl," he whispers, and puts more of his weight on me. He lies on me, shallowly thrusting with aftershocks from his climax. His forearm rests beside my head, trembling from exertion.

The high of my orgasm fades, and I'm left feeling lighter. The shock wears off and anger replaces all the good feelings sex brought.

My brother lied to me. He made me believe he was someone else and scared me.

"Get off me," I say through clenched teeth.