Cherise Sinclair - If only

He grinned. Who would have thought his pyromaniac brother would prove so useful?

HEARING THE CAR door slam, Ellis snapped the chain on the slave. Drew must be here. Maybe he’d have some work in mind. Ellis grinned and rubbed his thickening cock. He really enjoyed meting out vengeance for his brother. So much that he would leave behind a battery-operated wireless video camera in the room so he could record their pleading, the crying, and the screams as their skin started to crisp. A shame the cameras usually died about the same time.

But he’d accumulated a good set of recordings. In fact, he’d viewed one last night. Oh yeah, indeedy yeah.

He stepped into the doorway, breathing in the tang of the forest, the silence. His twin’s face was tight, brows pulled together. “Is something wrong?”

“The Feds haven’t stopped. I shut down the network.” Drew shoved past him to enter the cabin.

Ellis scowled. That meant no nice fires in his future. “That sucks.” He leaned against the door, watching Drew unbuckle his pants. “What are you doing?”

“Got rid of my slave. Just in case.”

“And you didn’t call me to kill her?” Anger welled up in him.

“You only want to burn them, and I didn’t have time for that. She’s at the bottom of the ocean instead. And I’m without a fuck toy.” Drew nodded to where Slut knelt with her forehead pressed to the ground, ass in the air. “I came to use yours.”

“Whatever.”

“Thanks. And don’t break this one for a while. You’ll get no new ones until I start the network back up.”

All bad news. He wanted a fire, to sweat at its nearness, hear the roar as it caught and grew, watch the victim’s eyes widen. The struggle. The itch was under his skin, pulling at him.

“Hey guys.” Sally walked into their home office, her clothing soaked from the rain, her backpack dripping, her feet dragging. Sometimes the world just sucked. And this had been one of those days.

“You’re running late,” Vance said without looking up from the paper on which he was making notes. The classic heavy metal of Deep Purple played in the background, showing he’d lost the toss for music selection to Galen.

“It’s almost seven.” Galen turned from his computer, saw her, and narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong, imp?”

Vance spun his chair around.

She looked at them, one on each side of the room. Unsmiling, lines cut into their faces. They looked as grim as she felt. “Just a bad day.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and wrapped her arms around herself. Could she really smell death on her clothes, or was it her imagination? “I don’t think I like reality.”

“C’mere.” Vance opened his arms, and she walked into them. He tucked her down on his lap, cradling her to his big chest. Over the past few weeks, she’d come to realize he gave excellent hugs, engulfing her in the wonderful feeling of being cared for. She pressed closer and rubbed her cheek on his soft T-shirt. His clean scent erased the horrible stench from her mind…at least for a moment.

“What happened?” Galen leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, his attention completely on her. The way he so readily put aside his work to focus on her was a little disconcerting. He made her feel…special. “Sally?”

“Nothing that bad.” She sighed. “I just don’t like dead bodies. Or violence.”

Galen’s smile held sympathy. “I’ve heard police stations tend to have a bit of those.”

“So it seems.” But she had her heart set on law-enforcement support. “Maybe Illinois will be quieter. I got an interview request from a sheriff outside Chicago.”

Galen’s mouth tightened at her reply.

“So how’s your case against the Harvest Association going?” she asked, hoping to take his frown away.

Vance tilted her so he could see her face. “How do you know about that?” He glanced at the papers on his desk. “You can’t look through—”

“Oh please. I have never, ever touched your desks.” Or even hacked into their computers, which she thought entitled her to a halo, for sure. “You do realize the Shadowlands submissives always learn what’s going on. Which means the trainees eventually know.”

Vance’s smile turned rueful. “Should have known. Sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking. You’re not the kind of person to sneak.”

Oh, that hurt. Under the guise of being insulted, she pushed to her feet. God help her if they found out she’d snapped pictures of documents on Dan’s desk. But that had been different, after all. Her name had been on those papers. “So, can you tell me anything?”

“Although this isn’t classified, you may not discuss it with anyone.” Galen gave her a stern look.

“No problem.”

“We’re in a foul mood because the activity in the Northeast territory has halted. Accounts we were monitoring have been closed.”

“They stopped?” she asked. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Vance took her hands. “We wanted to arrest the ringleaders, not have them go to ground like hunted foxes. The chances of finding them went down; the search will take longer.”

“Oh.” The bastard who killed that nice cop wouldn’t pay for it? And he’d start running auctions again. Anger flared inside her. “That would make anyone mad.” She twisted and squeezed Vance around the waist, wanting to give some comfort back. The way his arms tightened around her said he’d needed a hug.

When he released her, she glanced at Galen and saw, beneath the impassive look, a hint of longing. He didn’t offer affection as readily, but she was slowly learning he needed her touch…as much as she needed his. With a small smile, she walked across the room, pulled him to his feet, and wrapped her arms around him.

His hug was long and grateful. Yes, he’d needed her care. Both Feds were driven, but Galen didn’t put the job aside as well as Vance did. She could almost feel the cuts in Galen’s soul.

His arms loosened, but before he let her go, he murmured against her hair, “Thank you, pet.”

As she stepped back, he glanced down. His shirtsleeves were wet where they’d contacted her wet clothing. “You’re soaked. Go shower and get into dry clothing.”

“I’m fi—”

He jerked his head, back in his nonhuggable Dom mode. “Go.”

Sheesh. A few nasty words nearly escaped her…until she met his darker-than-night gaze, and the words turned to smoke and dissipated as she walked away, managing—barely—not to stomp her feet. Bossy. Why sometimes she adored a bossy Dom and sometimes she hated one wasn’t exactly clear. Why Galen could give her a rush of lust and still make her feel like kicking him wasn’t clear either.

She picked up her backpack and glanced at Vance. He was laughing.

Bastards, the both of them.

She trotted up the curving stairs and detoured to the end of the hall. To Galen’s bedroom. He liked antiques and dark wood. The cream-colored walls held paintings of lighthouses on the New England coastline.

His bed was covered with a burgundy-colored satin quilt and felt like clouds, she knew. The time she’d brought him up a gooey chocolate-chip cookie just out of the oven, he’d eaten the treat, tossed her on the bed, and thanked her in a very…carnal…fashion.

She pulled in a breath. What that man could do with his mouth…

Focus, girl.

Galen kept his toy bag in a carved chest at the foot of his bed. The anal plugs were there, she knew, since they still occasionally “prepped” her beforehand.

Soooo… Her own backpack held colored markers. On the slimmest purple anal plug, she used her silver marker to draw a smiling face. Yeah, just like Happy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

For the ridged black anal plug, Sleepy seemed like a good pick. Her silver marker drew a slack face with half-closed eyes. The clear blue plug got Doc’s big nose and tiny glasses. The oversize flesh-tone and cock-shaped one soon boasted a scowly face for the dwarf named Grumpy.

“Wonder how long it’ll take him to notice?”

Would he recognize the dwarfs? She grinned. Considering how he’d teased her about her collection of Disney films, he very well might.

Mood lightened, she took a hot shower, scrubbing energetically and washing her hair to try to erase the prickling feeling that seeing violence left on her skin.

Once out, she donned old jeans and a soft pale blue top—no red colors today, thank you—and skipped the bra as well. Want comfort. The Doms wouldn’t mind. They liked seeing her comfortable…and they’d never had a problem making her change.

She smiled. She liked knowing they wouldn’t hold back when they wanted something. Somehow it reduced all sorts of anxiety. But they didn’t play the Dom card all the time—not like Frank. They made sure she knew she had boundaries, but not so much that she felt as if she were on a choke chain.

Actually, despite the stress from the Assholyation case, they’d been very careful with her. Sweet and thoughtful. She stood in her pretty pale blue and ivory bedroom, which they’d filled with her belongings brought from her apartment. Her colorful pillows brightened the room…and drove the men crazy because they had to toss them off the bed.

They kept buying her things. Like the rich blue fuzzy robe Vance had bought her after finding her old bloodstained one in the trash. On the bedside tables were stained-glass lamps from Galen because she’d mentioned she liked to read in bed.

Thinking of the anal plugs, Sally bit her lip. She really was an ungrateful bitch, wasn’t she?

Needing a way to show her gratitude, she pulled her laptop out. After booting it up, she checked her e-mail, going through the Scum Sucker folder slowly.