7. Wendy

The Twins are cooking.

Meanwhile, Tink has sprawled in a chair by the long, scratched table, examining his nails.

And Peter and I are still standing there, in a frozen tableau.

To be honest, I don't want to move, even though his stillness is a bit unnerving. His heart is beating steadily under my ear that's pressed to his hard pec, a strong, reassuring rhythm.

There's something… off about Peter.

Off, and at the same time alluring. I think about it as Colt chops various veggies and Wes butchers a small animal on a board. The smell of blood invades my senses, but I try to ignore it.

I'd rather think about Peter's otherness.

For instance, Tink is dressed in casual clothes, the Twins wear a darker palette—dark pants and shirts—but Peter…

Peter isn't dressed in modern clothes, I realize, and there's something about a guy with full sleeves of ink and old-fashioned clothes.

Since he brought me to the island, he's changed out of his filthy, ripped black hoodie. Now he's wearing a white button-down shirt with a pocket over his heart, and his slacks seem tailored. Even his shoes from what I can see look old style—narrow, shiny, laced up, with a heel.

His dark hair is tousled, but he has a parting on one side, like an old picture in a frame.

Who is he?

Who are they all and how did they end up here?

The asylum theory is still my preferred one, but it doesn't add up. They have guns and knives and… where are the guards and nurses and doctors?

I mean… probably these men escaped from the asylum and are hiding in the woods or something. Right?

Yeah, that makes so much sense.

Uh.Sort of.

Still doesn't help me understand any of it. I don't know of any asylums, or beaches for that matter, near where I live. And it doesn't explain why this place looks like something from my nightmares, or how Tink can make lights dance and project another world behind him.

Explanations abound, I remind myself. No matter what Peter said, it's all illusions. And as for this place feeling familiar… you see what you want to see. You convinced yourself that this place is familiar when in fact it's just the dark atmosphere and the fear gripping you that makes you think that.

Right.

"What the fuck?" Peter suddenly says, pulling me from my thoughts. He's staring down at me, brows drawn together. "Who are you?"

I stare back at him, a continuous ‘what the fuck' going through my head. "What?"

"Ah, for fuck's sake, Peter." Tink gets up from the chair and comes to put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's all right, man. It's Wendy. You brought her over today."

Peter lets out a long breath, though his jaw is still locked tight with suspicion. "I did? Fuck. Okay."

"You should eat something," Tink goes on. "It always helps restart your brain."

"What would you know about it?" Peter mutters.

Now I'm trying to pull away but he won't let me. What's up with him and always holding on to me, huh? "Peter…"

"It's okay. Fuck, fuck." His arm around my back is like a band of steel. "Sit."

"Stop ordering me about!"

With a soft curse, he drags me to the table and plops me down in a chair. "Stay," he hisses and stalks out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"What was that about" I whisper, scared and yet not scared enough. I'm more… sad, I realize. Why am I sad? "What's wrong with him?"

"Oh, Peter is…" Tink whistles, twirls his finger at his temple. "Not all there. Like you said earlier."

"Crazy?" I breathe.

"Away with the fairies," Tink says. "I mean, he's definitely got a few loose screws. Ah… It's the dust he snorts. And also his wound."

I glance the way Peter went. "What wound?"

"His shadow is detached. Torn. It doesn't fully fit him anymore."

"What does that even mean?" I demand.

"It's a long story."

"Do I look like I got anything else to do?" I bite out. "Or that I'm allowed to go anywhere?"

"Good point." Tink glances at the closed door, too, then sits down next to me. God, he's beautiful. Peter's beauty is savage, hard, but Tink's is just… mesmerizing, and his scent wafts over me, wild and peppery with a hint of flowers. "But I can't discuss this."

"Discuss what?" I snap. "Yourself? This insane situation? Kidnapping me?"

"Whoa. Kidnapping is a strong word."

I put my hands on my hips. "It's an accurate word."

Colt snorts. "She has you there, Tinkers."

"Keep cooking, Colton," Tink growls.

That distracts me. "His name is Colton?"

"Nah. But it annoys him when I call him that. He's named Colt, after the gun. So, Wendy…" Tink tilts his head and gives me that crooked grin that makes my heart skip a beat. He has his hair tucked behind an ear and… okay, am I seeing things?

I reach out without thinking and touch his slightly pointed ear. "Oh, my God."

"Oh. Shit." He jerks back, the legs of his chair screeching. "No touching without a warning, girl."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Fuck." He's breathing hard. His hair has fallen over his ears again, hiding them and his face looks pale. "Just… don't."

"See, Tink's got issues, too." Wes dumps the meat he's cut up into a pan where it sizzles. "Don't you, Tink?"

"We all do," Tink grinds out.

Yeah, that makes sense.

"Did you… run away from a madhouse?" I blurt out, then press my back into my chair as Tink's eyes widen, then harden.

He lets out a harsh laugh. "You could say that."

"Again with the riddles," I complain. "What do you mean?"

"It was easier in the past, you know." He tsks.

"What was easier?"

"People believed in fairies. In magic. In the Otherworld. One didn't have to explain anything."

"Boo," I whisper. "I feel for you."

He stares at me, then another harsh bark of laughter escapes him. "Damn."

"We didn't run away from a madhouse, Darling," Wes says, turning to face me, propping a hip against the counter, folding his arms, bloody hands and all. His grin is sharp like a blade. "But these guys? Tink and Peter? They should have been locked up, the key thrown away."

"Oh, really." Tink snorts.

"As for Colt and me?" Wes shrugs. "We are the only sane ones on this island."

"So he says," Tink mutters.

"Unless there's a fight," Colt says.

"Oh, yeah." Wes nods. "Unless there's a fight. Then we go nuts."

"We go off," Colt snickers. "Get it? Like guns."

So reassuring… not. "A fight? With whom?"

"Ah. That's the part we can't tell you about," Tink says.

"Why the hell not? You brought me here!" I slap the top of the table, frustration winning over my fear. I'm losing it. "Why? What do you want from me? Is it ransom? I have to tell you, my parents are broke and not only that, I bet they don't give a damn whether I live or die, so you're out of luck!"

They're all staring at me again.

Eventually, Wes sighs and turns back to his veggies. "Out of luck. You could say that. Been out of luck for centuries now. Let's just eat."

* * *

The vegetables arefresh and crispy—a sort of salad I can't identify, and the meat is soft and gamey. Holding it with my fingers, I tear into it with my teeth, suddenly famished.

"Good, huh?" Wes is watching me intently, licking his lips as I chew and swallow, his golden eyes darkening, focused on my mouth. "Mm…"

"Delicious," Colt says, and he isn't eating, either, just watching me. His cheekbones are flushed, making his dark eyes shine.

"It is," I admit, and grab another piece of meat. "Won't you eat?"

"I'd rather… let you have it," Colt says, his voice a little hoarse. "You're hungry."

Their gazes locked on me are hungry, too. When I turn to Tink, I find him leaning back in his chair, his hand moving between his legs.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

"Enjoying." He grins. "Don't mind me."

He's jacking off. At the table. Beside me.

Christ.

It's hot. He's hot. Why is it so hot? Shouldn't this bother me, like, really bother me that these pervs are beating their meat as they watch me eat?

What's the matter with me?

Distracted, I chew more slowly—and then bite down on something hard.

"Ow." I spit it out. "What's this? A frigging bullet?"

Colt shrugs. "Should have warned ya. Sorry." He pats his gun at his side. "We hunt with what we got."

"You shot a hare with your gun?"

He frowns. "Is that worse than catching it in a snare? It was a quick death, I promise."

I push my plate away, my stomach churning.

I mean, look, I'm not a squeamish eater and I'm aware that all meat comes from living animals, and it's not even that. It's not even the bullet.

It's the reminder yet again of where I am, and with whom.

"Just explain why you can't tell me anything," I whisper. "I can't… can't pretend that everything's okay."

"Everything's definitely not okay," Tink says, still stroking himself, eyes half-closed. "And Peter has watched you for years and years. Lucky voyeuristic bastard, if only he wasn't losing his mind. We only get to watch you now for the first time. Have a heart."

One word catches my full attention. "For years? What do you mean?"

"Stop talking, Tink," Colt snaps and gets up, stalking around the table toward me. "We can't fucking tell you why you're here, Wendy, because if we do, Hook will hear it."

"Hook? Who's that?" I glance at the others. "And how will he hear us?"

"Goddammit." Colt grabs me, lifting me up and slinging me over his shoulder as if I weigh no more than a frigging raincoat. "I said it's not safe."

"No!" I fight him as best I can, but he's pure muscle and doesn't even seem to notice. "Put me down. I just ate, I'll throw up!"

"Don't you fucking dare," he mutters as he strides out of the room. "If you puke on me, I'll spank you. Maybe I'll spank you anyway."

"No! What the hell?" I hit his back with my fists but he doesn't seem to feel a thing. Turning my head, I see Wes and Tink are following us, smirking. "Put me down!"

"Stop making so much noise," Colt snaps.

The others' smirks widen.

"What are you all smiling for?" I yell. "You're all psychos!"

"That's too much noise," Wes says.

"Way too much," Tink agrees.

I'm so mystified, I stop struggling. "What are they talking about?"

Colt carries me into another room, a much darker one, and fear closes around my heart again. He dumps me on a surface and a scream almost bursts out of me as I fall, before I register that it's a bed.

Hard as hell but a bed nevertheless, the feeling of falling caught by the mattress.

Then Colt is on top of me—much like Tink was earlier today on the sofa—and his mouth closes over mine, sealing my lips, taking my breath.

I squirm on the bed, startled and unsure, everything happening too fast—but as Colt's body presses down on mine, I relax.

He's warm, so warm, and heavy, all muscle. His taste is smokey and briny and sweet, like salty caramel, his stubble scraping against my chin. His dark hair has come loose from its bun, framing his face, and my fingers tangle in it.

God, he tastes good, feels even better. His eyes are almost closed, long dark lashes fanning over his cheekbones, his cheeks lean, his jaw so sharp you could cut diamonds on it. I trace it with my fingertips as he kisses me, my thoughts turning into a twisted knot inside my head.

My body, though… My body likes this way too much. It had wanted Colt from the moment I saw him, wanted all these gorgeous, mysterious guys, and although my mind is in shock, my body is just in lust.

"Move over, brother," Wes says then, and suddenly he's claiming my mouth upside down, seated behind my head, his hand gripping my chin, pushing his brother back with the other.

I gasp into his mouth, the new angle making me arch up against his brother who curses loudly, moaning as his hard length presses between my legs where I'm starting to ache with need.

Wes's tongue pushes into my mouth, stroking, as his firm lips move over mine, his taste different, a brighter echo of his brother's, his scent slightly bitter but also salty and spicy.

God…

"Goddammit," Tink hisses, and comes to stand beside the bed, his hand inside his pants, stroking furiously. "Goddamn Twins. Peter will be so damn mad. Oh, I like it."

I'm kissing Wes back, still arching up and rubbing myself shamelessly against Colt's strong, aroused body, against his hard-on, Tink's words adding fuel to the fire raging inside me.

I've never felt so out of control, so out of caution. Since the boating incident, I've been a good girl, careful, quiet, serious, all about taking care of my brothers and getting us all out of that house, but now…

Now it's as if I've thrown all caution to the wind, as if my control has snapped for the first time in ten years, as if the shock of this abduction and the craziness of the situation has driven me wild.

I need.

I'm so aroused I hurt.

I want their hands and mouths on me, I want their cocks in me, I want to be untethered and allowed to fly.

Colt is still cursing, reaching between us to unzip his pants, Tink is panting, the wide head of his cock protruding over his unbuttoned jeans, Wes is kissing me like he wants to eat me up, and—

"What the fuck?" Peter is at the door, his expression stormy. "You fucking fools. Hook is on his way."