The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) (17 page)

His eyes are cold, so cold. “They confessed separately, under heavy torture.”

“Tish came here with like twenty people.” Oh God. Did they torture them all? What exactly is torture? I dimly recall talk of water boarding, but other than medieval torture tools I can’t imagine it at all. I feel sick. My breaths come deep and hard.

“You can be sure we’ve spoken with all of them.”

“It can’t be true. No way would my father put me in this kind of danger. I mean, I live here!”

Kent folds his arms over his chest. His jaw tics. I’ve never seen his jaw tic.

“My father does not hate me! He wouldn’t do something like this, Kent. Think about it.” Surely he must see that.

“Oh, I’ve thought about it. If we wouldn’t have caught her red-handed, your father would have gotten away with it. You would have gotten away scot-free.”

I spread my hands wide. “Why would he bother? What’s the point?”

He raises a brow. “You tell me.”

No. No. NO! “I don’t know!”

“Very shortsighted of you. Maybe you’re as stupid as your sister says, but I doubt it. No one takes Nico seriously, but people respect me. I’m good at what I do. He knew if he eliminated Lawrence, the territory would stay under my control. He planned on keeping me around long enough to get you pregnant and then get rid of me too.”

My jaw shakes. My ears ring, and my entire body trembles. It’s like some kind of nightmare and I can’t wake up.

“Same plan with Balenchuk, apparently,” he continues. “With his competition out of the way, and a few grandchildren in place—you know, heirs?—he could move in on both territories. He’d have the largest, strongest territory in Appalachian country.”

I can’t speak, so I just sit there, gaping. My father has his ambitions. I know that. What if it’s true? What if… “Where’s Tish?”

“She’s being questioned.”

“Oh, Kent, no! She had nothing to do with this!”

He smirks. “How do you know?”

I move toward him, but he stiffens. God. This is a nightmare. “I know she’s innocent! She’s my sister!”

“She tells you everything, then?”

“She wouldn’t hold back something like this. I know she wouldn’t.”

“That’s interesting,” he says, moving steadily toward me. “Especially when you consider all the private conversations you refused to talk about.”

My stomach heaves, and it feels like my lungs are taking on water. “You don’t…you don’t think I—”

“That’s politics for you. I just didn’t expect it from you.”

He’s still advancing toward me and my heart picks up speed. Oh God! Oh— I back away. “I would never do anything like that!”

“What was it you said?” he asks, his eyes cold as a dead man’s. “‘Why can’t it just be us?’”

I choke on the lump in my throat. I’m shaking. He can’t. He can’t think— “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“‘Soon Tish will leave and it’ll all be over.’”

“I swear to you, I had no idea!” I’m choking—I’m choking! He has to believe me!

“You played me,” he hisses.

By now I’ve retreated almost to the bathroom.

I burst into tears. “Please, Kent. I didn’t know. I love you; I would never do anything to hurt you!”

My back is to the wall, and Kent is so close I can feel his breath on my face. He leans in closer, plants his hands on either side of me. I’m trapped.

“You’re a lying cunt,” he says through his teeth. “I’ve been worrying about my brother, and the whole time it was you and your family.”

I’m crying hard, nearly bent with sobs. “Why are you doing this? Please, Kent, I love you, don’t—”

His hand shoots out, slamming my neck back against the wall. “Stop lying!”

I gasp, and I cry so loud I sound like a dog in heat.

His fingers tighten, and he gets in my face, teeth bared. “I had my doubts. I should have walked away when I had the chance.”

I can’t talk. I’m hot. I’m cold. I want to throw up, but I can’t get my chest to work or my mind. Endless sobs rack my body, but I don’t have the breath to give them sound.

His eyes are wild, lethal, and for the first time it hits me that he could kill me. “All that time I spent healing you,” he spits. “Tell me. What did your father have to do to get you to take the ugly one? Did it make you sick every time I touched you?”

“No!” Another stab to my chest. It’s a dream. It’s a dream. It’s not real. I shake so hard I can barely talk, and the tears that clog my throat make it even harder. “Everything was real. Everything. You—you fixed me. You saved me. You said to trust you and everything would be okay. You said it would be okay.”

“You trust me?” He narrows his eyes and nods. “That right?”

“Yes!” Rivers of tears cover my face. I know I’m puffy. I know I’m at my most unattractive, and all I want him to do is believe me. “Please, Kent. I’m so in love with you. I can’t live without you!”

Please! Please believe me! I squeeze my eyes shut and pray with all my might.

Abruptly he releases me and steps back. “You love me? Hmm. Prove it.”

I draw in a shuddering gulp of air and nod. “Anything. Anything you want.”

“Good. Spread your arms and don’t move until I say so.”

From his thigh pocket he draws a knife. It’s a big one with serrated edges, just like the one the cannibal carried. I swallow as he grasps my shirt and shreds it to pieces. He rips it the rest of the way with his hands.

I’m breathing hard, but—anything. I’ll do anything. I will.

“Still playing the obedient wife?”

I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears flow. I sniff hard and grit my teeth as the cool metal of the knife slides up under my bra, between my breasts. With a sharp tug he splits the garment in two, and he flicks off the remaining pieces.

The knife clatters across the floor as Kent seizes me by the waist and shoves me against the wall. He grips my breasts in strong fingers and mashes them, kneads them, pushes them together. “How’s that feel? Feel good?”

“No.” I bite my lips.

“That’s okay, though, right? Because you said you’d let me do anything to you. Or am I wrong?”

“It’s okay.” I wince. If I just hold on, he’ll see that I love him. He has to know I’ve committed my life to his.

He takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks hard. God help me, I groan at the wicked sensation. When he suckles the other one, I arch against him as moisture seeps from my cunt. It’s okay that he’s rough. I just want it to be him. Then he bites down.

I cry out at the sharp pain, but even so I feel the now familiar ache inside me.

He cocks his head at me. “Still want me to fuck you?”

I choke. “Yes.”

He snorts. “I thought so. Take off your pants—unless you want me to use my knife. I’m going to get some things from the closet. When I come back, I want you naked and on the floor. Knees tucked underneath, breasts and face pressed to the floor, arms stretched out in front of you. That is, if you still want this.”

I cup a hand over my face as another sob escapes. But then I do as I’m told. Kent is not gone long, but by the time he returns, I’ve removed the remainder of my clothes and I’m in position. I can’t see him. I can’t see anything but the floor, and I close my eyes.

“Good girl. I’m very pleased.” My husband pauses in front of me, and I risk a peek. He stands no more than two inches from my head; my hands are stretched out between his feet. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.” So much.

“Good. Now lick my boots.”

I peek up at him to see if he’s serious, but there’s no smile on his face. If anything, he frightens me. I lean forward and touch my tongue to his boot.

“That’s pathetic.” He nudges me away. “You can do better than that. Pretend it’s my dick.”

I swallow. Why does he like this? How does scaring me fix anything? But I’m in no position to argue, so I tongue the toe of his boot like it’s a very large penis. I trace my way up the boot strings, back down to the toe. I shake as I give it a suck.

“God, I love seeing you this way. You have no idea.” His voice is cruel, crueler than anything I’ve ever heard. Is this part of the act? “You can stop now.”

He squats down beside me. “Give me your right hand.”

I reach out to him, and he slaps a leather cuff around my wrist, pulls it tight, and locks it in place with a buckle. “Other one.”

I give him the left hand, and he does the same thing. My hands are locked behind my back, and unless he frees me, there’s nothing I can do to defend myself now.

Kent seizes me by the hair and yanks me to a kneeling position. I grit my teeth, determined not to protest even though it feels like a thousand roots have torn free.

“Good girl. I like you as a slut.” He licks my face.

I’m trembling. I try to remember that I love him. That I trust him. Kent will never do anything to truly hurt me, I know that, so I don’t think a thing about it as he slides his fingers into the folds of my pussy.

He half laughs. “So fucking wet. That’s a good thing in a whore.”

I wince because it’s true. Even though he’s not tender, I still love him.
 
My body still wants him.

“Do you love me?” he demands.

“Yes!” The word itself is a cry of agony.

He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I whimper.

He yanks me to my feet and drags me over to the writing table. “Rest your head on the desk.”

Please let this be over soon. Please let this be o—

“I told you to put your goddamn head down on the desk. Do it! Now spread your legs.” He kicks them wider apart.

I barely have time to catch my breath when I hear a soft whistling sound, and something hard and unforgiving stings my backside. I cry out. I jerk a look over my shoulder, and he’s holding a slender rod.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he chides me. “Nico told you it was only a matter of time.”

He’s caning me?

Another snap against my exposed skin, and I cry out again.

“Tell me you love me!”

I gulp back a sob. “I love you.”

“If you love me like you say you do, you’ll ask for more,” he says in a flat tone.

I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t do any— This time I can’t hold back the sob.

“More,” I squeak. I shudder and squeeze my eyes tight. “Please do it again.”

A series of hard blows follow, so many I lose count, before I finally hear the cane hit the floor. I sob into the unforgiving wood.

“You’ll do anything I say?” he whispers against my ear.

Please let this be over soon. I nod.

He fists my hair and pulls me over to the bed. He unbuckles the cuffs and then positions me on my back and ties my legs up over my head, spread eagle, to the bedposts. He ties my arms so they rest on the backs of my thighs, just beside my calves. It’s unbelievably degrading.

Then he pulls out this thing with a flat leather tab on the end.

Oh no. “What’s that?”

In response he slaps it against my pussy, and my entire body goes rigid. I suck in my breath and let out a cry that doesn’t sound human. I don’t think anything could feel worse, even electrocution or melted plastic poured on my clit.

“Feel good? No? Want me to stop?”

“No.” It’s all I can do to keep from losing my mind.

“Tell me you want more.” He flicks that tabbed thing against my clit again. Not as hard this time, but I flinch just the same.

My whole body is shaking so badly I think I’ll jar something loose. I manage a nod.

“Say it.”

“Why are you doing this to me!” It’s not a question. It’s a cry.

He slaps the inside of my thigh. “It doesn’t count unless you say it!”

It takes several breaths of air before I can part my lips. “I want…more.”

“Look me in the face,” he sneers.

I try to find any scrap of affection in his expression, but there is none. I turn my face away and brace myself for another blow. As the seconds tick by, my fear doubles.

“Son of a bitch!” Something clatters against the wall and bounces off onto the floor.
 
“God help me. It’s not that you don’t deserve it.”

A moment later he unbuckles my restraints and stalks away. I roll over onto my stomach, unable to think, let alone feel. I’m not sure how much time passes before something soft lands at my side.

“Cover yourself.” It’s an order, and not the kind that used to make me feel needed. “This is it. You and I are done.”

“Why?” I gasp. “Why?” I reach and find a pair of sweats. I clutch them to my chest and wail like I’m fucking dying.

“A whore like you isn’t fit to be a Barry. Consider yourself divorced.”

It’s cold. It’s hate. It’s not happening. He straightens his clothing and strides out the door.

“Kent!” Shuddering, shaking, I’m only just able to jam my legs where they’re supposed to go and pull the top over my head.

I hit the floor and stagger after him. “Kent, please!”

I yank open the door, but I’m too late. He’s gone.

Just outside the room stand two Barry soldiers. They seize me, cuff my wrists together, and take me away.

Two more soldiers join them, and I’m escorted by a party of four silent men as I scream for Kent the whole way down the stairs, through the mansion, and out a side door. I wear no shoes, and at first the snow stings my feet, but soon they go numb. I have no idea where they’re taking me until I spot a familiar building. The Deer Garden restaurant.

A sergeant opens the front door. They escort me inside, and any resemblance to a restaurant stops there. They’ve built walls, and here and there are thick, solid-looking doors with multiple deadbolts on the outside. One of the soldiers keys one open and thrusts me inside. I stumble, and by the time I find my balance, the door slams shut behind me.

“It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” My voice cracks.

“Bee!” A cold, thin body crashes into me, envelops me in its arms. “Motherfuckers. What did they do to you?”

“It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake,” I croon to myself. I hug my body, but I don’t feel the slightest comfort.

Tish holds me, whispers soothing words as I cry against her. My throat is raw, but I can’t stop.

“It’s a mistake.”

“Bee, honey, look at me.”