Lucas’s mouth twitched. Vincent muttered something that sounded very much like, “Thank you, Satan, I’ve finally been blessed.”

“I don’t have any allergies and I don’t have any other health issues either. And of course I’m on birth control. I have an IUD,” I finished. Manson nodded.

“Okay, those are the basics,” he said. “Now we need limitations.”

Everything that came immediately to mind sounded like a good idea to me, but I tried to tamp down on my excitement. “Is there such a thing as no limits?”

“No.” Vincent’s response was blunt. “That’s not something we do. Everyone has a limit, and knowing what they are keeps all of us safe.”

“It keeps Lucas from catching a murder charge.” Jason chuckled, despite Lucas’s glower.

I nodded, but I still was unsure of what to say. Where could I even begin? “I mean, I…I don’t want any broken limbs. In case that wasn’t already obvious.”

Vincent snorted. “Damn, there goes my torture scene idea. I’m kidding!” He laughed harder when he saw my expression. “We’re not that intense, Jess, relax.”

“I know it can be intimidating to start,” Manson said. He sounded surprisingly understanding, sympathetic even. He got up from his seat. “Hang on, I have something that will help.”

He left the room, going up the stairs. The four of us sat in silence, staring at each other like we’d begrudgingly negotiated the end of a war. Lucas wasn’t looking at me, instead staring at the tabletop in front of him as if it held the answers he was looking for on its worn surface.

“Whose idea was this?” I said, looking between the three of them. Jason raised his hand with a cocky grin.

“That would be me,” he said. “I’m admittedly a hard ass when it comes to being paid for my work, and you have certainly caused us a lot of work. Seems like fair compensation.”

“Being your plaything is fair compensation?” I tried and failed to sound skeptical. Instead, my voice hitched and Jason’s grin turned cruel.

“Honestly, Jess? Last night wasn’t enough.” He leaned closer toward my seat, one hand spread on the table beside him. I looked at his black-painted fingernails and thick rings and imagined that hand wrapping around my throat. Despite the brightness of his smile, his voice was dark. “I have plans for you, just you wait.”

“We,” Vincent clarified. “We have plans for you. And we’ve had plenty of time to think of them.”

They’d had years of time. Years of arguments, bullying, lust, close-encounters…plenty of fuel for whatever sadistic fantasies they had involving me.

When Manson returned, he had several pieces of paper in his hands that he slid across the table toward me.