I shudder at his words. I don’t know what it is about him calling me good girl, or good little bird that makes me want to part my thighs and offer myself up to him. I hate him, I really do, but when he says those words to me, his breath heating my skin, I forget all about loathing him and all I can feel is want.

Soft jersey fabric drops over my head, the shirt long enough to cover me to midthigh. Pushing my arms through the sleeve, I glance down at the Kingsacre crest on the front.

“You look good in my clothes, little bird. Let’s go eat.”

At some point he must have pulled on sweatpants, but his feet are bare and so is his torso. There’s a tattoo over his heart that I hadn’t noticed and as he waits for me to move, I take a closer look, then suck in a sharp gasp.

“When did you get that?” I ask, shakily pointing to the ornate cage with the beautiful bird inside that’s inked into his flesh.

“After you left.”

It’s beautiful, the cage so gorgeous and real it feels like I could reach out and touch metal, but it’s the heart-shaped lock that draws my eye. “Why?” I ask, reaching out a trembling finger and running it over the lock.

“Because I was always going to bring you back to me and I promised myself when I did, I’d lock your cage so you can never run from me again.”

Closing my eyes, I squeeze them tightly and drag in a shuddering breath.

“Come on, baby, I need to feed you,” he says, ushering me from the room with a hand on the base of my spine.

I let him guide me down the stairs, too shell-shocked to protest until he’s sitting in a chair and placing me in his lap. It takes me a moment to realize the others are all in the room too, the plates still lying on the table.

Without saying anything, Clay gets up from his seat and bustles around the kitchen, pulling a pan from the oven and placing it in the center of the table before removing the foil from the top, revealing a steaming pile of pasta coated in what looks like tomato sauce and cheese.

My stomach lets out a loud growl and all of the guys chuckle.

“We worked up an appetite,” Sebastian says loud enough that I feel my cheeks heat and I want to melt into the floor where I don’t have to see my stepbrother and his friends snickering and smirking.

“And now suddenly I’m not hungry anymore,” I hiss, standing from Sebastian’s lap, only to be dragged back down, his arm suddenly an iron bar keeping me in place.

“Sit. Eat,” he orders.

His anger reignites the fear and anguish I’d managed to push to the back of my mind and I just want to curl into a ball and cry again. My emotions are all over the place. One minute I’m desolate, the next rebellious, the next horny, but this is what he’s always done to me. He overwhelms me until I can’t even trust my own instincts.