Breathless (The Game 3)

“Don’t ever show the enemy your arsenal.” Whoa, it was the first time River spoke. “Speaking of what’s fucking stupid.”

I clenched my jaw and did my best to swallow the anger that flared up. But it wasn’t easy when they were setting out to humiliate me.

“Why avoid each other tomorrow, then?” I just had to go there, didn’t I? “Face me in the cage.”

Reese laughed.

I sure as fuck didn’t. “I’m serious.”

He grinned and shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

He was the one who didn’t have a clue.

River leaned in and spoke for only his brother to hear, and Reese raised his brows and eyed me contemplatively.

Now what?

I folded my arms over my chest and waited.

Reese followed the movement, his gaze dipping before locking with mine once more.

“All right, Shay,” he said eventually, as River inched away again. “I’ll fight you—with a couple conditions.”

Oh Jesus Christ. Had there ever been a Sadist without conditions?

“I’ll brace myself to laugh in your face and walk away,” I drawled.

Shit. I instantly knew I’d crossed a line when I watched Reese’s expression turn cold.

He leaned back in his seat and jerked his chin at the floor. “Then get the fuck outta here.”

Shit, shit, shit.

I couldn’t explain the anxiousness that suddenly formed a fist around my chest; hell, I couldn’t explain why I even cared in the slightest, but here I was, scrambling for something to say to make it better. An apology? Something to negotiate with? I didn’t want to go.

“I’m sorry, okay?” I said quickly, averting my stare to the table. It was uncomfortable as shit. I didn’t deal with the Dominant and submissive part of BDSM. I was just a bottom and a masochist. “Look, I don’t care about the fighting.” I managed a fleeting glance at River, but I still couldn’t make eye contact with Reese. “All I need is a heavy impact session and degradation and I’ll be on my way.”

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat and wished I could light up a damn smoke.

As Reese leaned forward again and casually threaded his fingers together on the table, I lifted my gaze and had no idea how to react to the…what was it? I couldn’t be sure, but his eyes had filled with something warmer, and I didn’t like it.

“River and I happen to want more,” he told me. “That’s where the fight comes in—because we have a feeling you won’t come willingly.” He smiled a little when I narrowed my eyes. “Come home with us tonight. We’ll find a playroom at the house and fight it out. If you win, pick whatever you want. But if I win…”

I waited. It felt like he was stalling to let me process what he’d said, but there was nothing there. Did he fear I’d be uncomfortable going home with them? Bitch, please. They lived half an hour west of DC, in a kink palace I’d only seen pictures of so far. It was the weekend too, so I knew there would be plenty of people around.

The corners of his mouth twisted up. “If I win, we’ll cancel the fights tomorrow, and you’ll spend the next week with us as our personal punching bag.”

I opened my mouth to respond, only to snap it shut. Hm. Did it matter? He couldn’t defeat me. There wasn’t a chance in hell. But just in case pigs learned how to fly, it couldn’t hurt to go through the conditions. Cancel the fight tomorrow? Sure, I guess. There would be other fights. Be their personal punching bag? Yes, fucking please.

There was something to read between the lines, though.

“Spend the next week…as in, not leave?” I asked for clarification.

Reese inclined his head. “One week, for starters.”

I shook my head. “Thursday evening, I have plans I won’t change for anyone. Friday is out too.”

I spent my days fighting at the gym near Weasel’s place out in Rosslyn, and like I said, I could even cancel the cage fights, but I wouldn’t postpone seeing my brothers. No way.

Reese leaned back and scratched his bicep. “So make it two weeks, and you can go home and do whatever it is you have planned on Thursday and Friday.”

“And you’d just…what, beat me every day?” I pressed. Because that part of the bet wasn’t exactly a motivator to win.

“We’d make you suffer every day,” he corrected. “Interpret that however you want.”

It could be interpreted in various ways, and I saw the catch now. The Tenley twins were well-known and sought after for their skills in mindfucks and emotional torture. They were, essentially, a minefield. And while I wanted to step on certain mines, there were several I had to stay away from.

But, fuck it. “And if I win, I can demand weekly beatings and extreme degradation without questions asked and no aftercare.”