Hurting You (Blackthorn Elite 3)

“Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable in the living room, and I’ll whip you up something to eat since you just missed dinner?”

“Grams? Who are you talking to?” Stella’s voice comes from somewhere in the back of the house. “For the love of God, do not turn on the stove, Grams!” There’s a panic to her voice.

Her grandma suddenly looks distraught as if she just remembered something bad. She opens her mouth to talk but is interrupted by Stella’s loud shriek. All heads turn toward the door where Stella just appeared. She has a flimsy towel wrapped around her, but besides that, she is standing naked just a few feet away from us. Her hair is still wet and sticking to her slender neck and shoulders. Drops of water catch in the light against her porcelain skin.

“W-what are you doing here?” she asks, her voice as frantic as the clutch she has on the towel. “Grams, come here. Step away from them,” she tells her grandmother nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Her grandma asks the same panic in her voice now.

Shit, this is getting out of control.

“Nothing is wrong,” I try to defuse the situation. “We were just coming by to say hi.”

Stella looks between us, panic like I haven’t seen before in her eyes. I’m pretty sure she is more scared right now for her grandma’s life than she was yesterday for her own.

“Grams, it’s late. Why don’t we get you ready for bed? Come on, I’ll help you.” Stella talks to her grandma like she is a child, and suddenly it clicks. She’s her caregiver. Grams must have Alzheimer’s or dementia or something like that.

“Yeah, Grams, why don’t you go get some rest,” Cameron coos. Gently, he takes the old woman’s arm and leads her across the room to where Stella is standing. Then he leans in and whispers something into Stella’s ear. She stiffens but nods before leading her grandma away.

Walking over to him, I nudge his side, “What did you tell her?”

“I told her she better not dare put clothes back on,” he smirks. “Now, let’s get comfortable in the living room,” he walks away and toward the multicolored couch.

I can already feel my cock growing to life, “Yes… let’s.”

5

Stella

Oh, god. They’re here, in my house… with my grandma. No, this can’t be real. I can handle being scared for myself but not for her. Now they have something to use against me. Grams gets into bed without complaint, and like a child, I tuck her in.

Briefly, I entertain the thought of calling the cops, but then I remember where I am. I don’t even know if the cops would show up in this neighborhood anymore and if they do, what would they do? Would they help me? Would they believe me? Shaking my head in defeat, I decide to not risk calling the law.

I really want to put on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants before going back out there, but his instructions were clear, and I don’t want to tempt them into hurting me.

Quietly, I close Grams’ bedroom door. With a death-grip on the towel, I walk back to the living room on shaky legs. Half-naked, and with my wet hair sticking to my skin, I’m freezing. My whole body trembling from a combination of fear and cold. I try to take a calming breath, but I can’t seem to get enough air to my lungs. I’m so lightheaded I think I might seriously pass out.

When I enter the living room, I find the two guys sprawled out on the couch like they own the place. My heart starts to beat out of control as I imagine what is going to happen next. I don’t know what they are going to do to me, but my imagination is running wild. Whatever it is, I need to stay quiet because I can’t let my grandma get hurt. I’ll do anything to protect her.

“Don’t look so scared,” the blond one, who reminds me of a jock, says, “your Grams is going to be fine… It’s you we want.” He grins, but I feel anything but a smile coming on. I feel sick taking in the two men sitting on my couch, the place I sleep. The two of them couldn’t look any more out of place here.

They are all put together, wearing new expensive-looking clothes, their hair is styled, and their shoes are shined. Everything about this house is old, scuffed up, and falling apart.

“You look cold,” the other one points out. “Why don’t you come here, and I’ll warm you up?” I shake my head, but still, find my feet moving all on their own.

“W-what do you want? I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I haven’t. Isn’t that… isn’t that proof enough?” I stop at the edge of the couch, and the brown-haired one reaches out for me. I clutch onto the towel a little harder when his finger touches the edge of it.