One of Many (5 page)

“No fancy curls like the others?”

“I don’t want to be like the others.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I immediately wish I could suck them back in. Kiev stiffens, dropping my hair against my chest.

“You don’t?” he asks and I shake my head. “Let’s keep that just between you and I.” He leans close and his warm breath on my skin makes me hot. I divert my eyes from him, unable to stand the intensity in which he looks at me, and study the tattoos on his forearms.

“Why?” I whisper.

“So many questions,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Is that bad?” I force myself to look back at him, and my heart skips a beat.

His expression is unreadable. I shuffle my feet and grab the end of my braid again.

“You should get back to the other wives.”

I nod and turn away, flustered. How can someone intimidate me at the same time he comforts me?

Kiev

Having a perpetual boner around wife number five seems to be my lot in life.

I stride toward the kitchen, then at the last second I veer to the right and head out onto the expansive back deck of our mini McMansion.

No way am I going to get in the middle of the Stepford wives’ henhouse.

Jesus.

I suck in a cleansing lungful of air and scan the property. The rural farmland of Tea, South Dakota greets my vision.

This piece of heaven on earth was handpicked by Weston for The Community. Instead of having gently sloping pastoral farmlands characteristic of the area, pioneers took the time to plant pine trees and the hardwood species that flourish in the Midwest in strategic locations for wind buffer and shade.

A huge oak anchors the center of the yard, a tire swing gently undulating under the constant breeze that eases across the prairies in a more or less constant motion.

I close my eyes, trying to forget how that same swing and tree were sometimes the only solace from the nightmare of my childhood.

My fists bunch at the thought of this new wife.

This wife that Weston wants to fuck and can never get pregnant.

The foundation of The Community is to pass on the genes of the oracle that Father Weston pretends to be.

I absently stroke the scar on my arm and drop my hand when I realize I'm doing it.

The hell with
this
. I'll run this fucked-up introspection out. Work the body until I'm too tired to want Audrey. I need to get a handle on my bullshit so I can see vengeance through.

I clench my eyes shut. Her face rises like a phoenix at the memory of our surprise encounter at the side yard. I had only meant to observe her from the shadows.

After finishing my cigarette, I'd been rubbing it underneath my boot when she'd exited the side door.

Her face looked frightened. Her big blue eyes were jumping around at the gardens carefully tended by the wives.

After several heaving breaths, Audrey had apparently begun to notice the flowers.

Couldn't have her taking any joy at the debauchery in this place.

I
had
to intrude.

The other wives made themselves up like whores for Father, but Audrey didn't need makeup. Her beauty hurt my dick.

Wounded my mind.

When I look at Audrey, I want to be in her. Today when she spoke, I saw her lips move but didn't hear what she said.

I was too busy drowning in the blue of her eyes. Innocence wrapped in the body of Venus.

Her hair is some mix of black and brown. I want to wrap my fist in it while I drive myself into her from behind.

I blink slowly, trying my damnedest to vaporize the mental porn.

But there she still stood, her lips slightly parted, light pink spreading across her high cheekbones as though she could see what I was thinking.

As though she could see
me.

I told her to go be with the other wives, when what I really wanted to do was take her into the closest bedroom and hammer her against whatever surface was available.

Love her with my body but never my mind.

I need to exercise Audrey like the demons Weston always preaches about.

I stalk to my room, taking the wide, antique wooden steps two at a time. I don't look left or right but move to the door and punch it open with the flat of my palm. I kick it shut behind me and scan the dim interior of my childhood bedroom.

Mattress on the floor.

Check.

Coins on the bare-bones dresser. Check.

Smokes to the right.

There.

My gaze strokes my pathetic belongings like a token of reality. They stray to the free weights, sad time spent fashioning my body into something that can kick Weston's ass when the time comes. Or that of anyone who needs a new perspective.

I trail fingertips over my scar.

Stop.

Scrub my hand over my hair with an angry swipe.

Gotta get out of here.

I kick off my boot with the toe of my other one, then the remaining boot flops with a thud, landing upside down. I grab my running shoes and change into black athletic pants and a sleeveless black second-skin shirt.

I move to the door and slam it behind me. It self-locks.

The wives understand to never enter my room. They're terrified of me.

Weston's told them enough to cause them to stay away.

I've done enough that they sense my willingness to do harm. I'd never hurt a chick.

But I do nothing to belie the rep.

It's okay if the wives fear me. The real monster shares their beds, but they feel better thinking the monster is me. A sick justification is better than none.

I hurl myself down the stairs and jog out the front door.

Six miles will be enough. It smells like rain.

And Audrey.

*

The rain lashes at me as I race through the darkening streets.

A John Deere motors past, the driver giving a wave as he passes me on the shoulder.

A line of cars follows in a slow procession.

I blink the water out of my lashes and pour on the last bit of speed.

I could have been a star in track if it hadn't been for being in The Community.

At six two, I've got the height—the speed. But in a small town like Tea, being from The Community got me labeled a pariah.

There were no sports for Father Weston's son.

Only the silent stares of coaches that would love to have had that body for every sport but didn't want the stigma of having an athlete who was in The Community.

I sprint the final distance, driving hard up the steep, winding gravel driveway. A ribbon of green flows up the center of the road, and I avoid the slightly mounded greenbelt in favor of the punishing loose gravel.

I slow, jogging around the back of the all-white mansion, and halt at the base of the wooden deck that runs the length of the house, nearly fifty feet. Installed by yours truly.

That'd been another beating for not making sure one of the corners was plumb. Whoops. A “cleansing.” Gotta sugarcoat that shit.

I drop into push-up stance. Dip to the ground. Lift. Dip.

After one hundred, my triceps burn.

I become aware of the presence of someone else.

Ignore it.

Another hundred fly by, and my arms begin to tremble. I'm not catching snow on my ass. I'm a plank, smoothly sinking and rising. I do more.

Finally, I stand with a hop and look around me for that enigmatic pulse of life.

Her blue eyes watch me from behind the oak tree.

Audrey.

I'm exhausted. I've pushed hard, running for almost an hour, put two hundred plus push-ups like a cherry on top of a grinding workout cake.

I shake from what I've put my body through. I should turn around and take a shower. A cold one.

But there she stands. In the rain.

Drenched.

My eyes go to her tits, and I can barely make out her nipples hardening under the lightweight fabric of her plain T-shirt.

Has he fucked her yet?

Or will she fuck me first?

The devil on my shoulder tells me to go for it. Get my ass over there and work her over.

I've been with a lot of women. I know what they like. How they want to be touched.

I can have her.

The angel on my other shoulder is silent.

I move.

Audrey retreats.

I stop, rain running off my nose and dripping on the front of me to mingle with my sweat.

She looks down, partially hidden by the massive trunk of the gnarled tree. Her gaze avoids me.

As though I'm not good enough to notice. I feel the cruel smile twist my lips.

Guess what? I am fucking
good enough
to notice.

Pausing for a second, I note there's no one else stupid enough to be out in the deluge, and stride to the tree.

She lifts her chin, and those swimmingly gorgeous blue eyes flood with panic.

Indecision.

My smile widens.
It's okay, sweetheart. Let me do the deciding.

She begins to walk backward, her hands moving in front of her as if to ward me away.

The grin is still affixed to my face. “I thought I told you to hang with the
wives
,” I spit out.

Her fingers tremble as she pushes a soaking piece of thick hair behind her ear.

My gaze moves down her body.

I blink.

Small waist, hot ass, gorgeous, huge tits. She's a real-life wet dream.

Audrey belongs to Father.

That thought spurs me forward.

“I-I don't know them,” she admits miserably. Then a spark of defiance lights her blue eyes. “And I think I have a right to be outside as much as you.”

“You don't have rights anymore, Audrey,” I say in a flat rumble.

Her lower lip trembles, and I feel like an ass. No surprise there—I am.

“Yes, I do.”

“No.” I draw out the word. “You gave those up the day you said yes to my father.”

“I never said yes,” she whispers.

Four words, spoken in the softest voice. And each one is a sucker punch to the gut, reminding me how innocent Audrey is, how fucked up this is. I swallow—can't come up with a smartass remark. That rarely happens.
Fuck you, new wife.

“Well, you’re here now, and you do what you’re told.” Can she sense my unspoken warning?

“I suppose,” she says and leans against the tree with a defeated little sigh, her back against the fissured bark. Her eye drift to the clouds roiling above us, the rain patters softly through the dense canopy of the tree. She makes no move to go inside. That strange, unwelcome feeling is back, screwing with me in the worst way. Audrey would rather stand in the rain—with the exiled son—than go inside where it's warm and dry. How is that for messed up? Her longing is so strong I can feel it. Only I don’t know what she’s yearning for. Me?

I glance at the house, knowing for a fact that we can't be seen. I turn back to Audrey, watching her, almost able to see the wheels in her head spinning. The wives don’t think. They don’t question dick. They're happy to blindly follow the douchebag who impregnated my mother. Audrey having a mind of her own is as dangerous as it is hot. I move around the tree and cage her head with my palms.

Her gaze travels to my face. Large tears brim and roll down her cheeks.

I hate bitches that cry. Not playing into that.

Then she touches me.

First.

I'm
supposed to make the first move in my plan. I'm the boss of the destruction of The Community.

Not her.
Not a wife.

Her touch is electric. Her small fingers curl around my bicep and lightly trace my tribal tat. Big coal-black ribbons circle and twine like poisonous vines around my left arm, ending in a circle of barbed thorns at my wrist.

“I like these,” she says in a whisper, her fingers lingering at my wrist.

She does?
Little Miss Innocent's got a wet clit for the perceived reject son of Father Weston.

I'll take care of that screwed up crush.

I grab the back of her head and move it to the side so that I can get at those lips.

Her eyes are round, but she doesn't protest.

That's consent.

I crush my mouth against hers, and this is where she'll fight me—fight this tangled mess of chemistry.

But Audrey doesn't fight. She stands still for a moment, then moans against my lips, her mouth unresisting as I shove my tongue inside her hot wetness.

I can't help what happens next, though it's not in the plan.

I circle my other arm behind her, pinning Audrey against the tree. I grind my stiff dick against her.

“Kiev.” Her breath is warm against my neck. “Father—”

I don't let her get that last part out. My hand moves to her breast, and I pinch the nipple. Hard.

She moans, spreading her legs apart.
Enjoying this.
Enjoying me.

Sluttiest virgin I've had.
“Have you fucked Weston?” I grind out. Pissed. Turned on as fuck.

Her head jerks back as if I slapped her. I loosen the hold on the back of her head, and she shoves at me.

I hold her tighter.

“Let me go.”

I shrug. “You're the one sucking face with me.”

She shivers in apparent revulsion.