4. 4 Tori

Ryder isn't alone this time. Blaze and Thorne loom behind him like shadows swallowed by the darkness of the poorly lit parking lot. Bren is quick, pushing Ryder back as hard as he can, catching us all off guard as Ryder stumbles back.

They're going to jump him and all I can do is watch.

He doesn't deserve this. Dammit Tori, why don't you have your phone?! You could be calling 9-1-1.

My heart aches, and my stomach feels like it just fell out of my ass as I stand there watching it all play out. Guilt wrecks my body when Ryder throws the first punch, aiming right for Bren's nose, which instantly gushes blood upon contact. My head is shaking as if that would be enough to stop all this from happening.

Bren tries to hit him back, only to be blocked by Blaze, who grabs his arms from behind as Ryder punches him in the stomach. It's a scene I've seen once before when Javier Luce had the guts to take me on a date my junior year. He knew the Iron Triad had a claim on me, but either he didn't realize how terribly it would end, or he thought he could take them on. Maybe he didn't take the threat seriously at all.

They beat him so badly, he was in the hospital for a month.

My head spins from the lack of oxygen, panicking, and forgetting to breathe. I can't let this happen again. Just as Thorne takes a step forward to join, so do I, throwing myself—quite literally—in the middle of it all, and taking a punch right to the side as Ryder can't hold back. His eyes are wide, flickering with an emotion I'd never seen there before as he snaps his arm back to his side. Is that… regret? Remorse?

“Stop!” I strain to yell, holding my arms out, as if my small stature could cover all of Bren's bulkiness. My kidney is throbbing, and my brain's yelling at me to move out of the way, but I stand as straight as I can and glare at my nightmares. This is the stupidest thing you've done yet, Tori. Do you really think this is going to work?

“What the actual fuck, Icky?” Blaze snaps, staring at me like I've grown several heads.

“Move, Vicky.” My heart stops as I turn my attention to Ryder, seeing his hands fisted so tightly at his sides, he's made his palms bleed. His jaw is clenched so hard, the sound of porcelain rubbing against each other can be heard as his teeth grind. But his eyes don't meet mine, they stare blankly at my side where he hit.

“No!” I shake my head, closing my eyes as I come to terms with the fact I'll probably end up in the hospital, too.

“Vic,” Thorne's voice sends a shiver down my spine, always able to get a reaction from me just by speaking. “Did you think the claim ended when high school did?” His words wash me cold, taking all the color from my face with it.

“The Iron Triad has claimed Victoria Lynn Reyes as ours. Ours to torment. Ours to do as we please with. Touch her, look at her, speak to her, and face our wrath.” Their announcement at the start of my sophomore year rushes to the forefront of my mind, reminding me of the moment that set my life permanently off course .

“It's a lifelong claim,” Blaze finishes, invading my personal space as he pushes me into Thorne. It's not violent, just enough to get my feet to move.

Thorne's rough hands grab hold of my biceps, turning me to watch. The touch of his skin against my own sends flashbacks of that night to permeate my mind. I push them aside, trying my best to break free and help my date—a man who knows nothing of my past, who didn't even know the risk he was taking.

I didn't even know. I mean, they left me alone for three years.

They have suddenly reappeared in my life like a scar I unsuccessfully tried to cover, but finding there's no way to rid myself of it. They're a spot on my soul, a nightmare in my mind, and a hole in my heart… all permanent.

“Stop!” I'm yelling as Bren falls to the floor, his face bloodied and bruised. “Stop it, please!”

One of those beautiful, green eyes is swollen shut, his eye socket broken. The image of his smile, of his excitement earlier tonight, is all I can picture as my heart shatters and breaks beneath the weight of the guilt, as if this is all my fault, even though I haven't laid a finger on him.

“I'll do anything!” I blurt out, needing this to stop before any further permanent damage is done. “Please… just stop.” My voice is a broken whisper, thick with the emotional scars they're leaving behind.

Ryder's fist stills midair, side-eyeing me as he lifts a brow with curiosity. “Are you sure about that? Anything means anything .”

At this point, I'd agree to sell my soul if it got them to quit beating Bren. I can't have any more blood on my conscience. I can't. I nod my head, unsure of what I've just offered but sticking with it anyway.

Blaze lets Bren's stretched out collar go, causing his head to hit the floor as he's barely conscious. His one good eye catches my gaze, stabbing me in the gut as he stares at me with all the burning hate of the world.

I don't blame him.

It hurts, it digs deep, but I let it go, resigning myself to whatever hell these three will rain down on me as punishment. I deserve this. Thorne picks me up by the hips and throws me in the back seat of his glossy truck. Ryder climbs in beside me, surprisingly keeping his distance as Blaze takes the passenger seat. The moment all the doors shut, so does my fate.

I watch Bren laying completely still on the ground as we drive away, wondering if he's even breathing anymore.

I'm so sorry.

***

“Do you understand what you've just signed up for, KitKat?” Ryder's nickname for me suddenly changes. It's the first I'm hearing from him since the parking lot, having stayed silent and still this entire time as if he was processing some unknown emotion.

My thighs are sticking to the white leather couch they sat me on when we arrived in this modern day mansion. Despite the below freezing temperature of this place, I'm almost sweating beneath their glares.

“I'm not brain dead. I do speak English.” I roll my eyes at him as I pull at the hem of my dress, wishing I could cover the entirety of my legs.

“Repeat it back, Vic.” Thorne leans forward, his eyes as serious as ever as he rests his forearms against his thighs .

“I'm yours,” I grit back, my eyes blazing with the same hatred Bren threw at me. “I’m your maid, your butler, your assistant. You name it, and I'm it.”

The sour worms I'd eaten at the theater are curdling in my stomach, ready to be expelled at the thought of having to be any of those things for them. “And?” Blaze eggs me on, knowing that's not the shittiest part of it all.

“I must do it all with a smile.” I plaster one on my face for show as I continue, feeling like a crazed Barbie. “I can't talk to anyone else, not even my friends. My things will be moved in here for me. I am forbidden from telling anyone about our deal. If a guy talks to me, I need to scream as if they're trying to rape me.”

That one irks me, considering there's no way for me to interact with the world without interacting with a member of the opposite sex. Like, what the holy hell, boys? Delusional shits.

“I no longer work at the coffee shop, and when school starts back up, I must work my class schedule around you,” I finish, holding my dress tight over my thighs as I try to maintain my composure. Part of me slips through the cracks, plastering another fake smile across my face as I ask, “Anything else you'd like?”

Thorne catches the tone, having heard it when he ordered coffee. His left eye subtly twitches a couple of times, shooting out of his chair first. I hold as still as a statue, thinking some sort of backlash will come my way, but instead, he walks away down the marbled hallway and out of the living room.

“Show her to her room. I'm going to bed.” He waves at the other two without so much as looking back.

I turn my attention to Blaze and Ryder, finding them in the middle of a rock, paper, scissors battle. “I win.” Ryder wiggles his eyebrows happily as he stands .

At first, I think that means he won the right to not have to show me to my room, but again, I'm wrong as he grabs me by the arm and hauls me out. Why say ‘I win’ if it isn't something he's looking forward to doing?

“Ow,” I complain as I pull my arm out of his grip. “I can walk just fine without being pulled. Just lead the way.”

“Don't worry, KitKat. You'll soon be begging for me to touch you.” He winks at me, that stupid smirk back on his face as he leads the way up the stairs. What's stupid is the way I marvel at the clear steps with black, wrought-iron beams, something I would have liked in my own future home.

Doubtful. I don't voice it, needing to rest before I pick a fight. After the adrenaline dump, all my energy has been drained right out of me, almost like a giant vampire came and sucked it all away.

Ryder opens the second door to the right, turning the long silver knob down. The room is larger than mine and Alicia's combined, with floor to ceiling windows that line the south wall to give a full view of the zen garden below. It's like Mr. Miyagi's backyard on steroids—full of bonsai trees, a koi pond, and raked sand.

At least it's relaxing.

The bed is placed at the center of the room, the back of the headboard visible from the door. I need to change that immediately. I don't like the idea of not being able to see who is coming in.

Further to the right are two more doors—one I'm sure is to the ensuite, and the other is more than likely a closet. The walls are decorated with small shelves that house living plants, giving it a small pop of color. There are pastel pink accents to match the apparent silk bedspread.

I internally cringe, wondering who decorated this room, or really who was staying here before me. Ryder doesn't gently guide me through the door the way Bren had earlier tonight. He grabs me by the hips possessively, and pushes me to walk in front of him, placing me right beside the bed.

He turns me to face him so fast, the room spins for a second longer than I do. Just as my head adjusts, he pushes me back so that I fall onto the bed with a slight bounce. I think he gets off on my fear by the way the corner of his lips push his cheeks up, catching the fright in my eyes.

“Keep that look, and I won't touch you before you're ready.” He laughs as he nonchalantly leaves the room that will be my prison, closing the door behind him.

I stare at the ceiling swirling with patterns from the glass chandelier that hangs over the foot of the bed. My bed. I'll have to get used to the idea of this being my room. With nothing else to do, because my phone is still sitting pretty on my nightstand at home, I open one of the two doors.

My assumptions are proved right as I open the one nearest the bed to find a large walk-in closet. I was wrong about one thing, though… it's not empty. To the right hang shirts of all styles, material, and colors, with various pants, jeans, and joggers on the row beneath it. To the left are dresses, rompers, and even overalls, but what astonishes me the most is the fact that every piece of clothing is my size.

At the very back of the closet, on inclined shelves, are rows of shoes from heels to wedges to boots, and even Converse I like. It doesn't stop there, either. In each corner are small drawers, each with a set of jewelry I am sure is too real, and too expensive, to wear outside of this closet so casually. I close each drawer and back out, as if moving anything would trip some silent alarm I'm unaware of.

None of this is mine, nor do I want it to be.

I shut the door and make my way to the next one, finding the ensuite as I had presumed. If I have to put a name on the theme of this bathroom, I'd say… rich. Every item is flashy, with muted, gold marble floors, and tiled walls to accent it. The toilet has too many buttons to know what to do with, yet doesn't have the flusher on the side that I'm used to.

How the fuck am I supposed to do anything for them if I don't even know how to work a toilet in this house?

I wash my face and find a spare toothbrush in a drawer that I deem as my own, even if it isn't meant to be, because fuck them for bringing me here without anything. Alicia will be so hurt, and I can't even explain anything to her. What will Bren tell her? What will she think?

I give up on exploring after that and slide into the bed that feels like heaven. This mattress is the best thing I've ever laid my head on, and I've been on countless. Despite the fear, dread, guilt, and trauma of tonight, I fall right to sleep.

***

“You're supposed to make the coffee, which means you should be the first one up.”

Blaze's voice wakes me from one nightmare into another as I recall last night's events. My captor stares down at me, all fine angles and mussed hair that seems almost purposeful with how fine it makes him look. I think I'm starring in my own K-drama at this point, just not as pleasant as most of them.

I bat away the sleepiness with each blink, adjusting my vision as I wake further. Blaze is shirtless and leaning against the white desk to the right of the room. My eyes trail down the portrait of tattoos along his sides and over his chest in an array of bright colors. It's as if his skin has come to life with art, symbols of his culture, phrases from the Iron Triad, and a dahlia flower, that for one brief second, I think is meant for me.

I wash that thought away as quickly as it came, knowing there'd be no way that he'd get a tattoo based on our singular deep conversation in the basement of the school when I'd found him in tears.

The very next day, he stole my clothes from the locker room and chased me out of the school and into the woods past the football field.

“I assumed you didn't wake up until the sun set. You know, since you're all life-sucking monsters and all.” I throw in one of my fake smiles as I deliver my quip, taking the covers off me.

Whatever Blaze is going to retort with is stopped full force as his eyes catch sight of my clothing—the same dress I had on when they collected me. He squints at the sight, as if it disgusts him to see the same clothes twice. In fact, I'm almost certain that he's never repeated an outfit in his life, or at least, not since high school.

I wonder what he does with his old clothes.

“Did you not shower?” His lips curl as his nose crinkles as if I'm the dirtiest person on the planet.

“I don't exactly have my clothes here,” I retort with a roll of my eyes at his dramatics.

“For fuck’s sake, Icky.” He shakes his head at me as he makes his way across the room, opening the closet door. “Just because I call you ‘Icky’ doesn't mean I want you to be gross. Did you not notice the closet full of clothes?”

“I'm not touching those,” I refuse, getting off the bed fully as if standing somehow gets my point across more clearly. “I'll wait for my things to arrive.”

“No, you won't.” He's commanding, argumentative as usual, stepping into the closet and coming out with a chosen outfit in hand thirty seconds later. “I'm not going to be seen with someone wearing thrift store buys.”

“I'll have you know, I bought this brand new, not that there's anything wrong with thrift shopping.” I cross my arms, both offended and highly annoyed at his attitude. “I'm not your Barbie doll to dress up and play with.”

“That's exactly what you are, Doll.” The name change irks me further, and I slap myself mentally for walking into that one.

“Fuck off.”

“I believe the terms to our agreement were—you do what we want, when we want. You are what we want you to be.” He shoves the clothes into my chest, waiting for me to take it. “And right now, I want you to be showered and dressed professionally. You're coming out with me this morning after you make some coffee and breakfast.”

I begrudgingly take the clothes from his hand, noting he chose a white blouse with puffed shoulder sleeves and turquoise pants that furl around the waist. It's professional, yet casual—clothes I'd never normally wear. My nostrils flare in frustration as I take a deep breath, shoving Blaze's shoulder with my own and pushing past him to the bathroom.

I place the clothes on a built-in shelf with the towels, grabbing one of them and hanging it on the rack beside the shower. Waiting for the water to get to the perfect temperature, I slowly take my dress off, struggling as I lift my arms, pulling the bruised muscles on my side. I catch a glimpse of the mark in the mirror seeing how black and purple it is, a nasty bruise for a nasty punch.

If that one punch hurts this much, how much pain is Bren in right now?

With that thought in mind, I feel wrong complaining, tossing my dress at my reflection as hard as I can. I groan as I cause myself more pain, and the door immediately flies open. I try to cover myself up, but having had a dress on, there's too much of me I need to cover.

Blaze's eyes zone in on the bruise, growing, suddenly rigid at the sight of my injury. His jaw swivels as if he's chewing on something… maybe his own words. He exhales so heavily, I swear I see steam leave his nostrils.

“Shower, but when you're done, come out here in only your underwear.” He shuts the door before I can protest.

I jump in the shower that has the perfect water pressure and temperature, giving me the respite I so desperately need for a moment. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to enjoy these few short seconds before I wash up.

When I shut the water off and dry myself, I notice a white, lacy bra and panty set lying over my shirt and pants. I'm not even sure when he came in to place those there. Feeling violated, sure he'd seen it all— not that he hasn't before— I quickly get dressed, ignoring his direction to stay in only my undergarments.

When I open my bathroom door, I'm surprised to find him sitting on the corner of the bed, waiting for me with a small ointment bottle in his hand. At the sight of me fully clothed, his eyes blaze with fury, a fury he's unusually holding back on as he slowly stands.

“Take your shirt off,” is all he says, standing so close to me I have to tilt my chin up to look at him.

“No.”

“Too bad. You don't have a choice, Doll.” He pinches at the hem of my shirt, pulling down on it, and stretching the material.

“Fuck off,” I spit back. I'm not going to undress just because he tells me to. I said I'd do anything, but I didn't have sexual assault in mind when I said it. That has never been their style before .

“For heaven's sake,” he huffs, blowing hot air down at me, fanning minty fresh breath into my lungs. “Just lift your shirt and turn.”

It's the first time Blaze has ever conceded even the slightest with me, so, too full of curiosity, I do what he says, turning and lifting my shirt midway up on my back. I flinch as his fingers gently touch the tender, injured area, rubbing whatever ointment he has in his hand. The scent of witch hazel and aloe vera mingle in the air as the pain eases beneath his fingertips.

He massages the large bruise for so long, I almost fall asleep on my feet, jarred when he abruptly stops, remembering who he’s being kind to. I let my shirt fall back over my skin, straightening up as if I hadn't been enjoying his touch. When I turn, I find the same old Blaze, the Blaze I know. Cold, calm, and cocky.

“Time to get to work.”

And God did I.