Colt finally releases me, and I sag to the rug beneath us, barely able to catch myself. I scramble off the floor, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand.

“Maybe. But eventually, you’ll thank me for this.”

Thank him? “There is something seriously wrong with you.”

“Oh, love bug, something is seriously wrong with all of us. You’d do well to remember that.”

CHAPTER 8

I’m still on the floor, trying to catch my breath and wrap my mind around what just happened. This doesn’t feel real. I must be having a nightmare, and any moment now, I’m going to wake up.

“Come on, get off the floor.” Colt grabs my upper arm and pulls me to my feet. My legs are shaky, but I manage to stand on my own.

Looking around, I notice Nix has disappeared into the bathroom. He returns, holding a washcloth in his hand. “You might want to wipe your face before you go back out.” He holds the cloth out to me. I stare at it like it’s a foreign object.

“Or don’t, then you can brag about getting to suck my dick.” He shrugs, dropping the small towel to the ground. My eyes follow the wet rag as it falls to the floor and lands in a careless heap in front of me. I don’t know what it is about this piece of fabric, maybe the way he discarded it so easily… just like I’ve been treated.

My brain simply turns off, and my body takes over. Like a feral animal, I attack, disregarding my own safety. I don’t care if he hits me back. All I care about is hurting him, even if it’s just a little.

I fling my arms, curling my fingers until my hands turn into claws, and I use them as my weapons. The sharp edges of my nails dig into his skin as I run them down the side of his face. He hisses out in pain and slaps my hands away before covering his face with his arm.

I’m not done with my attack, though. Clenching my hands into fists, I pound them onto his chest as hard as I can. “I fucking hate you!”

“That’s enough!” Colt grabs me from behind, pulling me off his brother. He holds me just like he did before, close to his body, with his arms wrapped around my torso tightly.

Nix drops his arm, and I take in his scratched-up face. Four bright red, equally spaced-out scratches run down the side of his face. One of them is so deep that blood drips down his jaw.

He lifts his hand, bringing his middle finger to the deepest scratch. When he looks at that finger and sees the blood at the tip, his shocked expression turns even darker than it was before.

“You’re going to pay for this,” he promises.