Her Troika (47 page)

“Another beauty,” Cruel man said, tipping up Breanna’s chin to gaze into her eyes. She saw not an ounce of warmth in his admittedly striking blue eyes, yet despite that, her body reacted, her nipples beading to stones, the lips of her sex tingling, heat gathering between her legs.

Even cruelty makes you wet now? What happened to you?

What had a happened? As she stood there, hopelessly bound, the man’s hands gathering up the weight of her breasts, bouncing them in his palms, she considered it, stepping out of herself for a moment. For the first time, she seriously considered the tantalizing question that had been dancing around the edges of her awareness.

Was this what she’s been seeking?

Where once she’d seen this as a lark, a diversion, even recreation, now something had fundamentally altered within her. Did she want to go back to that life? The safety of her practice, the familiar, the comfortable. Or did she fear regretting for the rest of her days not taking that leap, taking that chance she’d not really seen until this moment. Perhaps the surrealness of the circumstances would sink in later, but in that moment as a perfect strangers hands testing the pliability of her breasts, squeezing them as one might assess a piece of produce, she could see it.

A choice. Two paths she could walk, not knowing how either would end. One called to her mind, to her logic, to her pragmatism, while the other called to her heart, her cunt, and her soul.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure which one she’d choose.

Elaina’s groan spiraled high, her chains clinking as one of the man knelt down behind her, working one, then two fingers slowly, but remorselessly, deep into the tightness of her ass, making her take them to the knuckles, slapping her welted buttocks, and growling at her to “open that ass up, bitch”.

Cruel man leaned in close, his nails pinching Breanna’s nipples in a fiery throb of pain.

“I see you trying to watch Simona,” his breath brushed her cheek, his hushed voice thick with lust. “You wonder what it would be like, don’t you? I see it in your eyes.”

Breanna bit off a whimper as his fingers clenched tighter, her nipples screaming.

“Someday you’ll be in her place, my buxom filly. And I’ll be there to enjoy you.”

With a sharp slap to each of her breasts the man turned away, striding for the spectacle at the center of the track, his compatriots drifting along in his wake, one of them giving Elaina a last longing look before turning away.

“That wasn’t … so bad.” Breanna snapped her jaw shut as she watched Mr. Cruel go, happy to see him leave.

“Easy for you to say,” Elaina said, wincing. “You didn’t have Marshall trying to shove his whole hand up your ass.”

“Marshall?”

“Yes, he’s —” Elaina blushed crimson “— he enjoys inspecting the fillies after the races. When I raced, years ago, I was a … favorite.”

Breanna looked toward the stands again, searching for her husband, for Derek. She already missed them, missed that male strength next to her, molding her, controlling her. The thought flashed through her mind again, that realization of how natural it all felt, no matter how much she burned with shame, no matter how scared she’d been running on that track. It was being under their thumb, and instrument of and for their lusts that spoke to her. There was a time where such a thought might have seemed alien, and now the only thing that seemed terrifyingly alien, was being away from her two men, her two pillars.

The men that she loved, and that she loved more than she could ever say.

So you show them then, Breanna. Show them that you’re worthy of them, of their love.

And she knew she would.

Elaina made a strange sound, and the noise of the crowd stirred for a moment. A group of men entered the track, slipping under the rail along the edge of the track and moving in Kurt and Derek’s direction.

No.

It was him.

Quinton strode across the track, confidence and arrogance pouring from him as she surveyed the track, grinning and saying something to his men as he spotted the group of spectators mercilessly working Simona over in the infield. Then Quinton’s gaze turned toward them, and Breanna’s blood ran cold.

“Oh God, Elaina,” Breanna whispered, looking over at her companion in chains. “Your own son … how could he?”

“It’s okay,” Elaina said, giving Breanna a pained smile.

“How can that be okay? You’re stark naked…”

“He’s not my son, Breanna.”

“
What
?”

She watched Kurt and Derek turn toward Quinton, Derek folding his arms across his chest. Quinton’s voice rose as he jabbed a finger toward Brayden, who still knelt with the injured Genna.

“His mother—” Elaina sighed. “— didn’t agree with what George was, what the Trust was. They split up not long before George … met me. Quinton was still a young boy.”

“Thank God,” Breanna breathed. “But mother or not, he’s still family, right? Should he even be here? Seeing you like this?”

“Quinton doesn’t consider me family.” Color bloomed high on her cheeks. “Trust me this isn’t the first time he’s seen me like this.”

Breanna’s chains skirred as she twisted toward her companion. “You’re serious?”

“Of course.”

“And you’re … okay with that? With your …step-son seeing you displayed like an animal?”

“It’s never easy, but he’s the son of a Prime. I don’t have much choice, really.” Elaina looked down, a shudder running through her body. “I’ll do anything for my George though. This is a small price to pay, believe me.”

Quinton gestured toward Breanna, and a chill ran down her spine. Quinton’s goons advanced, Derek dropping his arms and squaring his shoulders.

“Something’s wrong,” Breanna whispered. “What’s happening.”

“I don’t know,” Elaina said. “But there’s something I want to tell you while we have the chance.” Elaina looked pointedly toward the poor Simona, still being used by the spectators. “These men, the Trust. It’s intimidating, and frightening sometimes, what they’ll demand of you. But remember one thing, the one thing that matters. When your man — your men — claim you. They’ll do anything for you, and they’ll never let you be harmed. Never.”

Derek and Kurt, shoulder to shoulder, advanced a step toward Quinton, Kurt’s face darkened with rage. In that moment, her pride in her men swelled. They would protect her, keep her safe. In that moment she felt that same devotion she’d seen in Elaina’s eyes when she spoke of George.

Breanna would do anything for her men too.

“Some of the things they’ll demand of you — they may seem degrading, or painful, or both. But there’s a reason for it, a method to their madness. And there’s a larger purpose to all of this. I didn’t understand it at the beginning either.” Elaina’s sheepish grin lit up her blushing face, and Breanna found her breathtakingly lovely. “In the beginning I was too deep in lust, in the fantasy of all of it to really see. But I learned. And you will too.”

Elaina turned her head and met Breanna’s gaze.

“All you need to remember is to let them love you in their own way — and love them back in yours. For all the strength, and fury, and steel of these men, there’s a secret that only the privileged few of us women know. These men need us as much as we need them.”

Chapter Thirty Four

“I
’m taking her tonight, Kurt,” Quinton brushed at the cuff of his shirt, the cuff links flashing in the waning light. “Twenty four hours, as Trust tradition demands. I’m going to enjoy this. She’ll be ruined for you when I get done with her.”

“Quinton, you’re confused.” Kurt’s grin lit up, and Derek tensed, knowing what that meant. Kurt grinned when he was losing it, when a fight was moments away.

“The only person confused here is you, Erickson.” Quinton lifted a chin toward his father George. “He’ll tell you, if you don’t believe it.”

Derek looked to George who stared daggers at his son, then met Kurt’s gaze with a nod.

George stood to one side, an elbow leaning against the railing, his rich jacket unbuttoned. Derek couldn’t understand why the man looked so relaxed. Judging by the gaggle of meatheads Quinton decided to bring along with him, there was about to be huge fucking fight.

And he and Kurt were probably going to lose.

Kurt’s jaw clenched so hard Derek could almost hear it creak. “After what we saw with Genna today, there’s no way I’m letting her go with you, Quinton. No fucking way.”

Quinton paused for just the briefest of moments, his eyes sliding from Kurt to his father, then back again. “You know what this means, don’t you Erickson?”

“Enlighten us, dick.” Derek hated this squaring up shit. If this was going down, he wanted to get it over with. One of Quinton’s boys reached into his coat, and Derek stepped right up to him, nose to nose, so close he could smell the man’s cigarette breath. “Don’t do it, friend. Don’t fucking do it.”

“Derek’s right,” Kurt growled. “You want her? Try and take her you little fuck. I don’t care what the rules are, what the Trust tradition says. I’m not letting some little damaged goods head case take my wife for one second let alone twenty four hours.”

Two of Quinton’s men pulled the third away from Derek, giving Derek a shove in the chest to try to back him off.

Kurt grabbed Derek’s arm, pulling him back too, muttering under his breath: “Dude, it’s all right. Be cool here.”

“Kurt, perhaps we should talk about this in more—” George nodded toward the crowd milling about around them, several people stopping to watch the confrontation “— we don’t have to do this here.”

“I’ll fill a grievance with The Council, Kurt,” Quinton said, triumph lighting his face. He smiled expansively, gesturing toward the crowd. “There’s more than enough witnesses here today to confirm everything that was said.”

“We don’t care, douche.” Derek glanced at Kurt, who gave him a subtle smile. “You’ll take her over our dead bodies.”

One of the big bruisers Quinton brought with him, lunged forward at that, but Quinton’s arm held him back. His wolfen grin broadened, rendering his handsome face into something feral. “You don’t know what that really means, do you?” He looked to Derek. “Either of you?”

“I don’t suppose if I told you to shut the fuck up, you would. Would you?”

Quinton’s smile faded, color rising in his cheeks, but he recovered himself quickly. “When I file the grievance, and The Council rules in my favor, you’ll be expelled. The both of you.”

“I can accept that,” Kurt said, lifting his chin, his fists clenching.

“I’m not even part of this crazy shit yet, Quinton,” Derek said, chuckling bitterly. “Try again, asshole.”

Quinton turned his back on Derek and Kurt, addressing the black-suited men accompanying him. “You can return to the trucks. This shouldn’t take long at all.”

With a few grumbles the men dispersed, all of them looking back at Derek as they went.

You lucked out on that one, pal. You were fixin’ to get your ass handed to you.

He found he didn’t care though. He knew he’d fight to the death — literally — to keep her out of Quinton’s clutches. Maybe it would be his last parting gift to her — and to Kurt — before Derek returned to the land of reality, and this fevered dream finally ended.

Quinton faced them once more, his hands clasped behind his back, fixing Derek and Kurt in turn with his arrogant, smug grin. “When The Council expels you, there’s one minor detail you may want to know about.”

“Fuck off, Quinton. You’ve lost.” Kurt’s knuckles cracked as he clenched a fist even tighter. “You couldn’t have her at the auction, and you’re not going to have her now.”

Quinton laughed, looking down as the ground, shaking his head. “She could’ve done so much better than you.”

“Didn’t you hear the man?” Derek cocked a thumb toward the main house and the parking lot. “Fuck off. You can’t have her. She’s ours.”

You mean Kurt’s, right?

“Have it your way then.” Giving them one last triumphant, seemingly delusional look, Quinton turned to leave. Derek let his breath out as the tension ratcheted down ever so slightly.

“Oh one more thing,” Quinton said, stopping a finger placed to his chin. “By Trust law, when a member is ejected from the Trust, any of his women currently serving a Term of Service are turned over to Trust as a ward. And the woman is then given into the custody of the man who has been refused.”

“Quinton—”

He shot a glance at George. “Is that not true, father? Why didn’t you tell them?”

“Is this — he’s bullshitting us, right?” Derek turned to George. “Tell me he’s bullshitting us with this.”

“He’s correct … technically,” George said, his brows furrowing into deep crags.

Quinton chuckled, turning away and walking back toward the parking lot, speaking over his shoulder. “You can bring her out front when you’re ready to hand her over.”

“They won’t be bringing her, son.”

Quinton froze, them spun, his eyes wide. “You can’t—”

“Yes.” George pushed away from the rail, buttoning his suit coat. “I can and I just did. Now go home, Quinton. We’ll talk about this later.”