20. Love Marks

Ipull my hair to the side again, unsure what to do with it. After laying on Johnny most of the night and using him to console me after the craziest night I've ever experienced, I wheel him back into the freezer. I don't know how I feel after everything. The doctor came in, masked, and made me orgasm several times. They're the first ones that weren't self-induced. Whether it was by my hand, a toy, or Johnny… all those things came from my own doing. And he… he didn't even bat an eye at the fact he discovered me about to fuck myself on a dead body. But then, he could have been more occupied with the fact it was his brother I was about to violate. The brother he killed. That's a whole other mess to unpack. So, now I'm nervously playing with my hair, contemplating my life, and questioning how I ended up in a menage with twin brothers.

The door to the morgue bangs against the wall, revealing Brandon and his ill temper. Shit! I was supposed to leave an hour ago. I've been so wrapped up in my thoughts of Johnny and the doctor's visit that I completely lost track of time. On top of all that, I don't want to deal with Brandon or his shitty attitude. He's way out of line, but I'll put up with it until I find someone to take his spot.

Without saying a word, I march past him, hoping to make it out without experiencing the burn of his ire. It's proven to be wishful thinking when he harshly grabs my wrist in passing.

"I told you an hour," he snaps.

A crazed glint dances in his eyes that I've never seen before. I need to get away! Alarms go off in my head, telling me I should run, but my stubborn attitude convinces me to stay and fight. I won't back down like I've done so many times before.

I rip my arm from his grip and cross my arms in front of my chest for added protection. I lift my chin, "I wasn't planning on being here. Time got away from me." Regardless of my impulse to run, I can't give up on the hope that maybe I can help him. Even though he's been irrational lately, the sweet boy I hired has to be in there somewhere. "When did you get so hateful? If something is happening at home, or you've gotten into trouble, you know you can talk to me, right?"

When I mention home, his whole body goes rigged. The little hope I had in talking to him dissipated faster than a slushy in hell. I brace myself, knowing something's going to happen that's going to alter our relationship forever. I should've listened to myself earlier when I had the urge to run.

"You would do good to leave well enough alone, Monica," he urges but then grabs me by the cheeks, forcing my neck to stretch for him. The angle is awkward and uncomfortable. He pulls my face close to his, giving me a close-up of his bruises.

I yank myself from his clutches and push his hands away. "What the fuck is your problem? Don't touch me!"

He squints his eyes at me, and then I can tell the moment his sight snags on the evidence of my ménage à trois misadventure. His brows bunch before smoothing out. "Who gave you those bruises on your neck? And is that a burn on your chin?"

Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! Oh, shit! Oh, fuck!

My heart races up into my throat, and I can't seem to breathe. Are there bruises? Shit. Shit. Shit. Of course, there's bruises. Dr. King wasn't mindful or discrete with the way he touched me, fucking me literally senseless.

"It's nothing," I say, tilting my chin down so he can't peer inside my soul and possibly uncover my dirty deeds that are cloaked in shame.

"If someone's hurting you, you can talk to me," he mimics, throwing my words back at me. The sneer he throws at me is like a slap in the face.

My gaze snaps to him. "You're un-fucking-believable. When I try to help you, you shut me down, and now you're throwing my words in my face?" He opens his mouth to speak, but I raise my hand, stopping him. "I think after today, you shouldn't come back. Whatever is going on here," I motion between us, "isn't professional and should end. Today's your last day. Use it to get your shit in order."

His mouth snaps closed, and his jaw ticks in anger. Young and arrogant. I should have known this would never work. His fathers' disliked me for as long as I've known him. His odd bigotry finally infected his son.

Without waiting for his response or allowing myself to cave, I hastily stride out the door. This time, he doesn't stop me. There's no way I'm telling him anything about myself, considering what I'm doing is illegal. The doctor swooping in like a fucking stalker and putting marks on my body is the least of my worries. Besides, he didn't harm me in ways he could have: turn me into the authorities and/or kill me. Which, I mean, thank the devil for that. Brandon wouldn't open up to me, so why should I? Fuck that guy. Not only that, I'm his boss, for hell's sake. Or was… I was his boss.

I groan and push the door open to my apartment. The smell of apples and cinnamon instantly calms the chaos raging inside me. The mirror is the first thing I go to. Bruises! I look at my neck, and yep, just as Brandon said, there are points of circles the size of fingerprints that line my throat and jaw. The burn to my chin has already darkened and started to crust over. I normally bruise easily, but I've never had an experience like this.

I've never been with a guy besides Johnny, and as much as I'd like for Johnny to touch me, that's never going to happen of his free will. I stroke the sides of my neck and feel no pain. A little tender and sore, but no real pain.

At least he's gone. Then his leaving commentary catches up to me: ‘I'll be seeing you soon. Maybe we'll acquire you a more fascinating specimen.'.

He's not done with me yet.