Kissed by Shadows: Chapter 9

After making me my grilled cheese sandwich—which was fucking epic and my new favourite food—Hunter left me to eat alone. There’s something calming about being alone at night, knowing that there are three men who’ve promised to protect me only a shout away. That is if I can trust their word, I’ve only just met them after all. Though Willow was always adamant that regardless of Hunter’s shady background and line of work, he never went back on his word.

Finishing up, I leave my plate on the island because I’m a petty bitch and Hunter can clean it up after all the shit he’s done, even if he did make it for me. Who makes someone a prisoner? Especially after offering their protection? I didn’t realise I’d be confined to the house when I agreed to get on my knees. Talk about fucking small print.

A part of me also relishes saying a big fuck you to my upbringing and the manners that were drilled into me these past few years to clean up after myself, or at least get my staff to clean up. Times have changed and there’s a certain freedom in not having to follow those archaic rules anymore.

Too riled up to go back to bed, I decide to wander about my new prison, discover the lay of the land, so to speak. It must be around four or five in the morning anyway, I’ll just try to catnap later. Glancing around the kitchen, I spot an industrial-style clock that tells me, yep, it’s fucking early. Four-thirty-seven to be precise.

Making a noise of disgust—I am not a morning person—I start to open cupboards and find the usual kitchen stuff, including a juicer which gives me a flare of excitement. I’ll be making some of that later with the fruit and vegetables I spied in the fridge. I even saw some ginger, and this time of the year is perfect for my carrot, orange, apple, and ginger juice. It was one of Dad’s favourites…

A pang tightens my chest at the thought that I won’t be making him anymore to help boost his immune system. He always used to complain that offices were petri dishes of hate, full of germs, and any bugs spread like wildfire. He swore by my juices, especially as he used to like getting to know all his staff personally so had lots of contact with lots of different people.

The worry for his health now I’m not there to take care of him wars with the anger that still festers like an open wound. What he did was unforgivable, but he’s still my dad and that leaves me all kinds of messed up.

Shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders to release the tension there, I huff out a breath and walk out of the kitchen into the living space. There’s no television in here, probably because they have the massive one in the cinema room. Instead, the sofas form a square with a large wooden coffee table in the middle and I can just imagine games nights, the three of them sitting around and playing cards, probably poker. I’ll have to ask them to teach me, it’s not like I have much else to do while here.

Nikolai didn’t pack my knitting needles or any books, reading and knitting being my two favourite pastimes. I’ve spent hours making scarves, hats, and gloves, as well as more complicated garments such as jumpers and cardigans. Socks are beyond me, I bow down to any who can master the art of knitting those tricky buggers.

But all of that is back at my house, my projects unfinished and my books half read, and my throat goes tight thinking of Sergi and his men rifling through them, not taking care and perhaps even throwing my precious things away.

“Why so glum, Little Lamb?” a deep voice asks out of the semi-darkness, and I jump half a fucking mile, spinning to find Rowan leaning in the doorway wearing grey sweatpants and not a single fucking thing else. Doesn’t he know it’s akin to me walking around in lacy lingerie?

The sight doesn’t calm my racing heart, though it’s thudding for an entirely different reason now. Bloody Evangeline. I can’t help studying his inked-up torso, the style similar to his twin’s, although the designs feel darker somehow. All black, there are skulls and playing cards, knives, ravens, even a grim reaper.

“Fucking hell, Rowan. You scared the shit out of me, which seems to be a common theme around here,” the last part is said in a definite grumble.

“Does part of you like being scared?” he asks, straightening up.

“Pardon?” My brows raise, my eyes flashing back up to his face, which really is too pretty. His penetrating gaze is fathomless in the predawn light. He stalks towards me like a tiger, all lethal grace and beyond stunning, but it’s the dangerous kind of beauty, the kind that will rip your throat out and then lap at your blood like it’s a delicacy.

“Do you like to be scared?” he questions again, stepping so close that his body heat radiates into me. I tilt my head back—why are they all so fucking tall—but even up close, I can’t see his eyes too clearly, they’re too dark and it’s not light enough.

“Um, I’m not sure?” It comes out like a question, because, well, who doesn’t love a man in a scary mask, his chiselled abs covered in fake blood?

“Interesting,” he muses, his fingertips lifting and tracing the side of my face. I can’t even complain about these guys being so touchy-feely, the tingles racing throughout my body would make a lie of those complaints. “So, what made you sad?”

Blinking, my brows lower. “Sad?”

“You looked like a lost little lamb before when I walked in,” he tells me, his fingers trailing down my throat to the neckline of Roman’s T-shirt, making it very hard to concentrate on keeping anything to myself.

“I realised I didn’t have any of the things I like to do here, they’re stuck back at home with those awful men,” I reply without thinking, his fingertips stilling against my skin. “And Hunter said I can’t leave, so what the fuck am I meant to do?”

He tilts his head to the side, and to be truthful, it’s a little bit psycho when he doesn’t blink but continues to stare at me. It shouldn’t be hot. Nope, it really shouldn’t. Tell that to Evangeline, crazy bitch.

“Wait here,” he orders after a long moment, swiftly stepping back the way he came, towards his room. My lungs inflate, like I can finally take a full breath as he leaves, leaving me staring after him. Suddenly feeling chilled, I cross my arms while I wait.

He returns several moments later, striding right up to me and holding out a phone and what looks like a bank card.

“What’s this?” I ask in an uncertain tone, taking them from him and shuddering when our fingertips brush. I mean, I know what they are, just not why he’s giving them to me.

“Our joint account, and my phone so you can order all the shit you need to be comfortable here,” he tells me with a shrug, spinning back around and walking into the kitchen.

“Okay,” I say aloud, a fissure of excitement lighting me up. He didn’t say how much I could spend, just to get the things I need.

A slow smile spreads across my face as I make my way over to the sofas, curling up on one and dragging a soft blanket over my bare legs.

I need a lot of things if I’m going to be spending all my time stuck in here, especially with three gorgeous guys walking around fucking topless. First stop, Honey Birdette and Tatu Couture.

I walk into our main living room, the morning sunshine filling the space, but I come up short when I spot my brother sitting on one of the sofas, scrolling through his phone with a smirk on his face that would make the devil cower and run. He’s one of those get up at five AM types and go work out at the gym, which is fucking disgusting. I’ve always been more of a night owl myself, preferring the solitude of the dark to work out. To be fair, he also thrives in the dark, in fact, most of the time I wonder if the man ever sleeps.

Seeing him still here and not looking like he’s been working out is not what pulls me up, however. It’s the blonde with her head in his lap, a blanket tucked around her body, his fingers toying with a piece of her honey-coloured hair.

Taking careful steps so as not to wake her, I round the back of the sofa.

“What’s so funny?” I whisper, seeing his lips twitch as he stares at the screen, completely ignoring me.

“I gave her my phone and the card for the joint account,” he murmurs back, reaching out to hand me his phone.

Taking it, I settle down by her feet, careful to make my movements gentle so she isn’t disturbed. Resting my spare hand on her leg, she shuffles her legs, placing her feet in my lap, and my dick stands to attention at the almost touch, even through my dark sweatpants.

Ignoring the demanding fucker, I glance down at the screen to find an online statement for our joint account. There’s several transactions, a hefty sum on Amazon, and I briefly wonder what she spent so much on before finding another large payment to an online shop called Nest. My lips lift up in a grin when I think of Hunter seeing the numbers. He’s gonna lose his shit and I can’t wait for the fireworks. Rowan and I live to rile him up, like the younger brothers he never had, and we now have an ally in Iris, though she is as far from a sister as I could imagine.

My fingers rub circles on her leg over the blanket, the movement stopping and my eyebrows hitting my hairline when Honey Birdette and Tatu Couture appear. My dick twitches as I wonder what she bought from the high-end lingerie and toy shops, and more importantly, will I get to have a front-row seat to whatever it is?

“Naughty little Princess.” I chuckle, handing the phone back to Rowan who gives me a knowing smile.

There’s something about the bond twins share, it’s unlike any other, or so I’m told. We often know what each other is thinking and feeling, and I can tell our minds are aligned in this. We want in. Preferably inside Iris.

Her confession of inexperience last night was the biggest fucking turn-on. We could teach her exactly what we like, how to cater to our preferences and every whim, and she’d love it. I felt how wet she got being ordered to suck Hunt’s dick, how much she loved being forced. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was into some consensual-non-consent, perhaps she’d even let Rowan and I hunt her down one day and take what we want from her.

“Morning,” Hunter’s voice calls loudly, and I wince when Iris shoots up, blinking and rubbing her eyes as she looks around.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe,” I tell her, my chest tightening when her wide eyes look at me, panic making her chest rise and fall in rapid breaths. Her legs are tucked in close, and I miss the weight of her feet on my lap.

“Roman?” she asks, her voice husky and too fucking sexy for this time in the morning if I don’t want to walk around with a hard-on all day. I’m also impressed she knows it’s me and not Rowan, most find us hard to tell apart, a trait we encourage by dressing identically most of the time. But Iris seems to know who is who without even guessing.

“Yeah, Princess, it’s me, and Rowan and Hunt,” I say, reaching over and tugging her feet back onto my lap. Using my thumbs, I rub firm circles into her arches, the tightness around my heart easing as her eyelids flutter and the tension drains out of her body.

“Shit, Roman, that feels amazing,” she moans, leaning against the back of the sofa and closing her eyes, her panic all but forgotten as I rub her feet.

I glance up to see my brother’s eyes full of fire as he watches her, and it’s like I can see the obsession forming. He’s always been one to fixate and cling onto things, often needing to know everything about them. As a child, that resulted in him pulling apart the few toys we had, then looking confused when they lay in pieces at his feet.

As an adult, he enjoys taking people apart, finding out what makes them tick physically and mentally, and as we rarely need them put back together, we let him indulge. He can’t break her fully though, however I’m not averse to letting him play a little, push her boundaries and discover what makes up Iris Montgomery.

“We have work to do,” Hunter growls, my grin widening as I peek over at him. He’s standing stock-still, staring at Iris with a wild hunger in his eyes that sputters out when she opens her lids to look at him.

“And who will be my jailor today if you’re all working?” she asks, her tone laced with a fake sweetness that has me almost cringing and glad it’s not directed at me. His jaw clenches, the tension between these two enough to light a bonfire.

“Roman can stay with you as he seems intent on your comfort.” Jealous wanker, but you won’t find me complaining. “Rowan, you’re with me, so get ready,” he states, dismissing her by turning his back and going into the kitchen, probably to make his morning cup of coffee.

“Lucky bastard,” my brother mutters, twisting to face Iris. She mimics him, giving me her back even as her feet stay on my lap. “See you later, Little Lamb.”

Then he shocks the ever-loving shit out of me by reaching out and cupping her face in his palm. She’s facing away from me, so I can’t see what her reaction is, but she does lean into the touch, and his whole face softens as he gazes at her. Reluctantly, he pulls away, getting to his feet and striding down the hall to his room.

“You got some magic in that pussy of yours?” I tease, her head whipping around to face me, one perfect brow raised.

“Her name is Evangeline, and fuck yeah she’s magical,” she tells me without missing a beat, wriggling her toes in a clear demand for more foot rubs.

A bark of laughter falls from my lips, hers pulling up into a grin. Fuck, she’s got a pretty smile. It’s enough to make me wonder if there really is such a thing as love at first sight.

“I enjoyed making her acquaintance last night,” I purr, drinking in the flush that steals across her cheeks. She’s so sassy but so easy to make blush, and I think making that colour appear across her body is my new favourite pastime. “I can’t wait to see what you bought her this morning.”

Her eyes go wide, her lips parting, and I have to bite my bottom lip to stop another laugh from spilling out.

“How did you know?” she whispers, shivering when my thumbs resume their rubbing, massaging away all the tension.

“Shared account, baby,” I tell her, chuckling when her mouth opens in realisation. “Plus Rowan showed me the bank statement. What did you spend a small fortune on from Amazon and Nest?”

“Books and knitting supplies,” she answers easily, settling back into the sofa, her eyes closing again. “I’ve got to have something to occupy my time while I’m your captive.”

My dick fucking jerks at the idea of holding her captive, preferably naked in my bed, wet and waiting for me.

“I could think of a few ideas,” I purr, watching as her whole body shudders. Looks like her mind went to the same place as mine. Filthy little Princess.

“I…” she trails off, a frown marring her perfect brows, and I stop massaging, my forehead creased.

“What is it, sweetheart?” I ask, the endearment slipping off my tongue and feeling so right. Seems like my brother isn’t the only one developing an obsession.

She exhales loudly, still not opening her eyes. “It’s just, yesterday with Nikolai, that was my first time, and then what happened with you and Hunter last night… Good girls don’t sleep around.”

My brows raise as her meaning suddenly becomes clear, even if her words aren’t. “You’re slut-shaming yourself.” Her entire body is tense once more, flinching when I say the words. “Look at me, Princess.” Slowly, her head turns, her hazel eyes suddenly all I can see, and I get lost in their swirling depths for a few seconds. “It’s not wrong to explore things sexually with multiple people, and saying there are different rules for men and women when it comes to how many sexual partners is allowed is some kind of prehistoric bullshit.”

There’s a deep crease in between her eyes. “But won’t it be like cheating on him?”

The question leaves me stunned for a moment, then I remember that when Hunter had us look into Iris, back when she was helping Willow after the night that is a mystery to all bar Willow herself, Nikolai came up as someone who Iris spent a lot of time with growing up. It’s clear that it was more than the fucked-up deal her father made, at least for her. White-hot rage fills me at the idea that it might have meant nothing to him, although I remind myself that Hunt told us about the mysterious message he received last night and his suspicions that it was from the Russian.

“You’re not together now, are you?” I gently ask, unclenching my grip which had tightened on her feet.

“No, I mean, how can we be if I’m here? And even if he did say he’d come for me one day—” she cuts herself off, eyes widening in horror at her clear slip-up.

“Wait, did he bring you to us, sweetheart?” I question, already guessing that he did. It would tie in with the message that Hunter received.

“Shit, I’m not meant to tell you,” she replies, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Guess that ship has sailed.”

“Tell me what happened.” Movement behind her in both the kitchen and hallway doorways tells me that my brother and Hunter are listening in too, but I don’t make her aware of their presence. I’d only tell them later anyway, and I don’t want her clamming up.

Sighing, she looks at her hands, which are toying with the blanket in her lap. “He snuck me out of the house when everyone was asleep, we took the garden exit and walked for fucking ages.” She pauses, licking her lips. “Then about five minutes away, he stopped, telling me that he couldn’t come any closer. A–and then he walked away.”

I watch as a single tear falls down her cheek, my hands clenching around her feet once more.

“He let you fucking walk here alone?” Hunter seethes, stalking into the room, and Iris jumps, twisting in her seat to gaze at him with wide, watery eyes. “I’ll fucking kill the bastard for that.”

“It wasn’t safe for him to come to the estate, and it wasn’t safe for me to stay there,” she snaps, the fact that she immediately jumps to Nikolai’s defence telling me that there are still some strong feelings there. So we can’t, in fact, just kill him, even if I agree with Hunt. “And I couldn’t stay with him. I think, maybe, I was only promised to him for one night, and if Sergi got hold of me…”

My jaw flexes, knowing exactly what the leader of the Bratva in London would do to a pure soul like Iris. I’ve heard the stories, the tales of all those poor women he brings in to fulfil the depraved needs of his men before selling them to the highest bidder.

“He won’t get his hands on you, I’ll cut them off first,” Rowan states as he walks towards us, coming around and crouching in front of her. Then he takes her hands in his, opening her clenched fingers, and I feel my eyes practically bulge from my skull when he places one of his favourite knives into her palms. “I’ll teach you how to do it too, then we can carve him up together, Little Lamb.”

Her eyes dart up to his, her fingers closing around his offering, and then she’s launching forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and making him rock back, only his fast reflexes saving them both from toppling over.

Personally, I would have given her shoes, jewellery, or taken her shopping as I know she’s into her fashion. But my twin, the one who doesn’t acknowledge most people’s existence, has not only given her the means to get things that make her happy and will keep her occupied but also now means and a promise to help her take her revenge and be able to defend herself.

Shit. Who knew my brother had such game?