Lords of Pain: Prologue

Gnawing at my fingernail, I ask, “What about this one?”

Mary frowns through my screen. “Not enough tits, sis.”

“Seriously?” I look down at my cleavage. I won’t pretend like I’ve got the biggest tits in the world, but I’m not totally flat, either. Things might be a lot easier for me if I were. “I’m completely hanging out.”

“Pfft,” she says. “Show some nipple or something, Story. The Daddies cream themselves over a hint of nipple.” I tug at the top of my tank and rub my thumb over my nipple. It hardens. Mary, who I’m talking to over video chat, gives me a thumbs up. “Perfect.”

“What should I ask for?” I snap a few test pictures, trying to look sexy and far happier than I feel. “I keep getting gift cards to Starbucks, but I have to sell them to get the cash.”

“Then start going for straight cash,” she says, smacking on a stick of gum. “He’s obviously on the line.”

I didn’t mean to get into being a Sugar Baby, but after posting a photo of myself on the beach in my bikini over spring break, the requests kept coming in on my ChattySnap account. I was curious at the time, but not enough to really follow through with anything.

Not until things got bad enough.

Three months later and I’ve got quite a following. Apparently, virgins aren’t a social embarrassment in the world of Sugar Daddies the way it is at my high school.

“Five bucks for a tank without a bra,” Mary lists off, “ten for full cleavage with a little nipple. Twenty for topless, but I think if you change into the pale pink tank, you’ll get more money.”

I do the math. If I send out five topless pics, that’s a quick hundred bucks. That’s a bus ticket and a meal. It’s not enough to really set me up for The Plan, but it’s a nice start. Just holding the ticket in my hand will be enough to make this all bearable, for just a little while longer.

“Okay,” I say, pushing back the nerves that have started building in my stomach. The deeper I get into this, the scarier it is. Scary because it involves exposing myself to strangers. Scary because they’ll have a part of me—the same part of me I’ve been trying so hard to keep to myself. Scary because I need it, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned this past year, it’s that needing something means giving in to someone else’s power.

“My tank is down in the laundry room,” I explain, antsy. “Let me grab it and just get this over with.”

Mary hangs up and I leave my phone on the bed. The laundry room is downstairs, off of the kitchen. Even though it’s been a year, I’m still not used to the size of this house—my stepfather’s house. Before my mom married Daniel, we were living in a two-bedroom apartment that overlooked the railroad tracks. Now we’re in a cozy seven-thousand square foot McMansion with a pool and an entertainment room downstairs. For a long time, it felt more like a hotel than home.

Now it feels like something else.

I sneak through the kitchen and eye the discarded pizza boxes on the island. That and the trash talk coming from the basement are a sure sign that my stepbrother and his friends are downstairs.

I pause at the realization, feeling stupid.

Laughter bounces up the stairs, like a sharp warning. Killian and his best friends, Dimitri Rathbone and Tristian Mercer, are inseparable, spending all their time together as the reigning kings of our high school. The three of them comprise the complete royalty of the senior class. I don’t need to be living with one of them to really know them—everyone just does.

I shouldn’t be surprised they’re over. It’s all around school that Tristian got dumped by his girlfriend the other day. If petty high school drama didn’t look like juvenile bullshit from my vantage, I’d probably call it a huge scandal. Being a girlfriend to one of these three is like winning the damn lottery. You get the infamy, the expensive gifts, and what basically amounts to three round-the-clock bodyguards. These three share everything, and they protect what’s theirs.

She’s obviously smart, though. She probably discovered what all those other girls never will: that it’s not worth it. They’re cold boys, eyes always watching. There’s a certain cast to their faces when I’m around that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise. Luckily, I’m a junior and it’s been made very clear that I’m never to look at or address them, and under no circumstances should anyone consider my stepbrother and I family.

Not that I’d ever want to be associated with an asshole like him, anyway. There for a minute, right at the start, Killian had been fine. Not kind, nor warm, nor even cordial, but a lot like a prisoner might treat his cell-mate. It was an acceptance, an acknowledgment, that neither of us had a choice in this. He’d been almost sympathetic, bordering on friendly. Briefly, I’d thought of us as allies.

It didn’t last long.

I’m not sure exactly when it stopped, but these days, my stepbrother goes out of his way to make it perfectly clear that he loathes me. His friends alternate between ignoring me and sending me vicious, mocking barbs as their eyes track me, waiting, hoping to get a rise out of me. I used to wonder why, trying to figure out what I’d done to make them so mean to me. Killian and his friends are the kind of boys who are blessed with it all; looks, brains, money, athleticism. They’re gods around campus and the attitude doesn’t stop when they’re at home, especially down in Killian’s lair.

I know now that they never needed a reason.

Hearing them is just a reminder of how exhausting it all is, tiptoeing around this house, avoiding all the landmines. There’s one at every step, it seems. The whole thing has made me paranoid. I feel like I’m constantly being watched. Or that someone has been in my room. I could handle that, though. For my mom. For security. But once things escalated…

I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. I have The Plan, right? I just need to get the money and then I’m home free. I’ll get my shirt, flee back to my room, lock my door, and get my business over with.

There are three baskets of clean clothes in the laundry room—mostly Killian’s football gear. The whole room smells faintly of sour sweat and lingering body spray. No matter how many times my mom bleaches his uniform, the stench never really goes away. I bend over and sort through one of the baskets for my blush-colored tank.

“Thank god,” I sigh, snagging the cotton shirt in my fingers. “Found you.”

“Nope, looks like we found you.”

My heart leaps up my throat and I spin, hand clutched to my throat. Tristian and Dimitri—Rath, as everyone calls him—stand in the doorway.

“God, you scared me.” I exhale, darting my eyes between them. “You shouldn’t sneak around like that.”

“Why not?” Tristian says, a sharp, lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. From the glassy look in his eyes and the way he reeks of beer, he’s clearly been drowning his sorrows down there. I’m not dumb enough to imagine he’s broken-hearted from getting dumped. Probably just nursing his bruised ego. “You’re the one sneaking around up here like a frightened little mouse.”

Tristian is insanely good-looking. He’s all blond hair, tan skin, and lean, hard muscle. I know that, out of the three of them, he does best with the girls. Much like Killian and Rath, he’s also enormous. Intimidating not just because of his size, wealth, and popularity, but mostly because of something else.

His smile never quite reaches his eyes.

They’re ice blue and carry a glint of cool detachment. Just looking into them makes me want to wrap my arms around myself.

Rath is the opposite of Tristian, with his inky-black hair, lip piercings, pale skin, and dark eyes. He’s quieter than the other two, those intense eyes always watching, tracking. We had a class together for a single semester last year, and it was enough to make me hate even being in the same room with him. A long stare from him always gives me a hind-brain impulse to hide. “Check it out,” Rath says, jerking his chin at me. “Story’s not wearing a bra.”

Just the mention of it makes my nipples hard, doubling my embarrassment.

“Perky little nipples, eh?” Tristian says, taking a step into the small room. My eyes flick to his hand, wrapping around the door jamb, caging me in. His lips part and he wets them with his tongue. “Are they sensitive? Did they get hard just from me talking about them? Or do I need to touch them?”

My jaw drops and I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re a pig.” I start toward the door prepared to squeeze past them, but they block the exit completely. I jerk back, nostrils flaring angrily. “Get out of my way.”

“Answer one question for us, Story, and then we’ll let you go,” Rath says, propping his shoulder against the jamb. He’s wearing a lazy smirk and I can smell the beer wafting off him, too. I try to peer over his broad shoulders, hoping to see Killian somewhere. He can’t stand it when I’m around his friends. He’ll get them to back off.

Finding no sign of him, I release a frustrated sigh. “What do you want to know?”

Rath’s head tilts, eyes taking me in. “Are you a virgin?”

“What?” My cheeks are blistering before the word is even out of my mouth. “That’s none of your business!”

They both laugh, the tone deep and mocking. Tristian shakes his head, eyes flashing in something menacing and delighted. “Oh Story, only virgins say it’s no one’s business. You just gave yourself away.”

My mouth forms around a weak denial, but I clamp it shut. “Well, who cares?” I snap. “So what? I’m a virgin. Big deal!”

“Nothing we didn’t already know,” Tristian says, taking another step forward. I move back and bump into the hard edge of the washing machine. “You have that look. All innocent and clean and pure. The kind of thing that just makes you want to…” He reaches out, ignoring the way I bat his hand away when he tries to stroke my collarbone. “Mess it all up.”

He has no idea just how hard his words hit.

Rath rakes his bottom lip through his teeth and I don’t like the look in his eyes—hungry and heavy. “There’s something about virgins, you know?”

“That nervous energy,” Tristian agrees. “It gets my dick hard.”

“I like the begging.” Rath adds, his deep voice shifting into a falsetto, “Please don’t, it hurts!”

The anxious butterflies in my stomach turn to stone.

“But my favorite part,” Tristian says, blue eyes pulsing and dilating, “is breaking them in. Feeling that tight pussy wrapped around my cock?” He reaches down to…shift himself. “There’s nothing better than that. Damn, what I’d give to break you in right.”

“You guys are disgusting,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m not scared of you, you know. You’re just a bunch of socially-stunted shitheads. That’s probably the only way you can get it, isn’t it? Bullying girls into giving it up? No wonder your sorry ass got dumped.”

Tristian’s demeanor shifts on a dime, all traces of joking washed away. “What did you just say to me?”

I shrug, shifting my glare to Rath. “Guess someone in the senior class has more than two brain cells to rub together.’ I know from the way his eyes sharpen that he’s remembering the class we shared. Looking back to Tristian, I say, “It’s not like it’s a secret that Genevieve tossed you to the curb. Too bad money can’t buy you a personality to go with your micro dick.”

I’m trying to hold my ground and look tough, but I can’t stop the embarrassing shudder of fear at the way their faces harden, eyes sparking in anger. I sense what’s going to happen a beat too late. Tristian moves quickly, darting forward and clamping his hand around my throat. My chest hitches on a panicked inhale, hands grabbing his wrist, but his arm is like steel.

He’s not squeezing my throat, but he flexes his fingers, and I read the message loud and clear. He could. Roughly, he says, “Pretty shitty way to treat someone who was just giving you some compliments. Isn’t that right, Rath?”

“Rude as fuck,” Rath agrees.

“Maybe,” Tristian says, prying my fingers from his wrist, “we should show her just how small our dicks aren’t.” He yanks my hand down until it’s pressed to the bulge at the front of his jeans. “As you so obnoxiously just pointed out, I seem to be finding myself short of a steady fuck these days. Maybe I’ll take you, after all.”

I fight to pull my hand away, mouth screwing up in disgust, but he holds my palm there for a long moment, grinding against it. “Fighting will only make it hurt more, baby. I know that’s not what you want…or is it?” He tilts his head, like he’s assessing me. All he gets is the feel of a hard, involuntary swallow beneath his palm. “Maybe you would, huh? You like it rough? Because we’re good with that.”

Rath stonily adds, “Crazy good.”

I try to speak, but my voice is trapped somewhere in my chest, caught in the irony of the moment. Here I’ve been keeping my eye on one threat only to walk into another.

This can’t happen. Not now. Not like this. Not with these guys. Not when I’ve managed to dodge worse—so much worse since moving in here. My eyes drop down to Tristian’s wrist. The corded muscles in his forearm as he holds me by the throat flex and shift beneath the skin. I test my strength against his other hand, yanking it sharply away from his crotch. I do, but I’m not fooled. He just let me. Even one of these guys would be impossible to fight off, but two? My heart goes from racing to thunderous as I realize how entirely overpowered I am here. I could fight. I could kick, scream, lash out.

Or I could reason with them.

They can’t be as bad as all that, can they?

“Come on, let me go.” My voice comes out in a whisper. “I just want to go back to my room.”

Tristian’s lips curl into a sinister grin. “But the fun’s just beginning, isn’t it?”

A shadow moves in the doorway and my heart leaps. Killian’s broad shoulders fill the space. He looks between his friends and me, face blank.

“Killian,” I say, eyes pleading, “tell them to let me go.”

“What’s going on?” he asks casually, like his friend doesn’t have me by the throat, pinned to the washing machine. “I thought you were bringing down more beer.”

Rath’s dark eyes remain fixed to me as he explains, “Story was just telling us how she’s a virgin.”

My stepbrother’s face remains eerily blank. “Was she, now.”

Tristian’s looking straight into my eyes when he adds, “We were saying how we’d be happy to help her fix that pesky problem.”

From the expression on his face, you’d think Killian was being asked whether or not he wanted pepperoni on his pizza. So casual and aloof. Unaffected.

I swallow to remove the dry lump from my throat. “Killian, I don’t know why you don’t like me, but—”

“You don’t know why I don’t like you?” He barks a caustic, scoffing laugh. “Your white-trash slut of a mother wrecks my family, and brings her little whoreling with her, and you can’t figure out why I don’t like you.” His eyes slither down my body, lip curling. “I don’t give a shit what these two do to you. They could both fuck you at the same time, and you know what I’d do?” His eyes spark and blaze, and there’s no mistaking the surety of his words. “I’d laugh.”

He means it, and for some reason, I’m surprised. I always knew he hated me, but this?

This is fucking evil.

Killian is never going to be my saving grace.

“I’ll tell your dad,” I blurt, panicking. Normally I’m not a narc. Snitches get stitches and all that. I’ve never told on Killian for the other things he’s done; the weed, the porn, the party he threw a few months ago where two girls left crying. Secretly, I hoped that keeping my mouth shut might make him warm to me, at least a little. Clearly, I was wrong. But the thing about Killian’s dad is that he likes me. “I’ll tell him that you let them do it.”

Killian’s face shutters, his brown eyes staring blankly back at me. “Just because my dad has some idiotic weakness for sluts doesn’t mean he’d choose you over me.”

The way he says it, the emphasis on the word slut, makes me wonder if he knows what his father is doing, what he tried to do, but I’m desperate so I continue, “If you let me go, we can pretend this never happened, okay? I won’t—I will never say a thing, Killian, I swear.”

Abruptly, he barks out a harsh laugh. “You’re such a fucking idiot. I really hope your tits get bigger, because that’s clearly all you’ve got going for you. You really think I’d let trash like you live under my roof and not come up with some leverage of my own?”

“Leverage?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Tristian’s still holding my neck and his thumb keeps sweeping up to my jaw, stroking little circles into it. Each caress sends a tremor across my limbs. Nausea rolls in my belly as my stepbrother holds up his phone. I only have to see a glimpse of the screen to know what he’s talking about. He smirks when he sees the recognition on my face.

“That’s right, Sweet Cherry. You say a word about me and my friends, and I’ll show my idiot dad, who thinks you’re the most innocent little snowflake, exactly what you’ve been doing online.” He flips through the Sugar Baby account I made, including the photos I’ve posted. I look far from innocent. “Quite the little lucrative business you’ve got going on, Cherry. You may be a virgin but you’re far from innocent. I mean, who’s to say anyone would even believe you after seeing this? You, slutting it up just like your gold-digging mother? Tsk tsk.” He taps the phone on his chin, eyes full of amusement. “Nah, I think you’ll give my boys exactly what they want.”

Fuck.

The Plan. I need quick money, and that’s the only way I’m going to get it, but worse is the threat of Killian’s dad finding out.

“I’ll give you a cut of the money,” I say, breath coming in frantic gasps when Tristian’s grip tightens around my throat. “Whatever I make, I’ll give you a quarter. No. Half of it!”

Killian barks a dark laugh. “That’s fucking rich. You giving me money? You two hearing this shit?”

Tristian smiles and it lights up his whole face. “Oh, Sweet Cherry, we don’t want your money. I thought we made that clear.” His face tips down into mine and he runs his nose down my cheek. His breath is hot, reeking of beer, and my skin crawls. He looks back at Rath. “How do we want to do this? Who gets to pop this delicious little cherry?”

Do this?

Rath wagers, “You fuckers owe me for last month.”

Tristian scoffs. “Eat shit, that’s nowhere near equal value. You still owe me for Sophomore year.”

“You’re still on about that?” Rath complains, face hardening. “Fine. Three thousand and my guitar.”

Hot tears spring to my eyes. This can’t be happening. They’re negotiating over me like a piece of meat. “Please don’t do this,” I beg. “Don’t hurt me. I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t…take that.”

“Ah, the begging,” Rath groans, hand coming down to cup his crotch. “Fine, four thousand.”

My knees buckle, but Tristian’s hands move to my arms, holding me up. Rath slides behind me, hands cinching around my waist. I make eye contact with Killian again, silently pleading with him. His gaze is cold. Uncaring. It’s more than obvious he doesn’t give a damn about what happens to me. That’s why it shocks me when he says, “Neither of you are fucking her.”

Tristian and Rath both freeze, turning to look at him.

“Do whatever else you want to, I don’t care, but…” He rakes his fingers through his hair, looking away, jaw tight. “The last thing I need is for her to bleed out all over the laundry room floor. I’m not cleaning that shit up, and I’m sure as hell not explaining it to my dad.”

“The biggest value a girl has is her innocence,” Daniel told me that night in his office. His words, his hands, made my stomach twist painfully. “Who you give that gift to, Story, will be the most important decision you make.”

Did Killian get that same lecture? Something tells me he did.

Rath mutters a curse of disappointment in my ear, but Tristian’s eyes sweep over me, undeterred. He takes a step back and says, “Fine. Let’s see your tits.”

It’s a demand, and although I should fight back and say no, I’m scared that Killian will tell my mom and Daniel about my Sugar Baby account.

Rath doesn’t give me more time to think about it anyway, grabbing the straps of my tank top and shoving them down my arms. He grunts behind me and I feel his gaze over my shoulder. Tristian licks his lips and reaches for me, his fingers grazing the underneath of my breast. “A little small, but soft. Am I the first one to touch them?”

I clamp my mouth shut and glare defiantly, refusing to let them take anything else personal away from me. He grins wickedly and pinches my nipple. I yelp in response and try to twist away. Rath doesn’t let me move far, holding me against his solid body. The proximity makes it impossible not to feel the hard bulge in his pants.

“I asked you a question, Sweet Cherry.” Tristian’s fingers circle lazily around my other nipple, waiting.

“Yes,” I grind out, lying. “You’re the first.”

“Thank you.” He tweaks me softly, sending a flare of traitorous sparks down my body.

“Dude,” Killian says, “I know you’re having a bad week and working some shit out here, but my dad will be home soon. Whatever you’re going to do, just get on with it.”

Tristian runs his thumb over my mouth, eyes fixed to the movement. “Get on your knees.”

There’s no mistaking what he wants me to do, and after Killian told him to hurry, he picks up his pace. There’s no time to process as he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans. He’s not wearing underwear and his penis is just as hard as it’d felt under my palm before. It’s big, straining at the skin and pointing right at me. I stare down at it, frozen in shock until Rath’s hands bear down on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees.

To my horror, Rath comes down with me, still aligned with my back. I hear his zipper lower while one hand snakes around to grope my breast.

“What are you doing?” I ask, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice.

“Watching,” he says, nipping at my earlobe. “Feeling. Getting off. There’s more than one way to enjoy a girl.”

I take one last look at my stepbrother, one last chance to hope he’s come to his senses. There has to be something human inside of him. I refuse to believe otherwise. But I don’t find any sympathy there. God, no. I find him in the process of shoving his hand down his shorts and pulling his own cock out. He leans back against the door jamb and takes two long strokes as he watches. The movement is obscene and strangely hostile. It looks like a warning.

Tristian’s fingers touch me under the chin, and he redirects my gaze upward, toward his icy eyes. “Open up, Sweet Cherry. I want your eyes on me the whole time. I want to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock. I want to see it when I come and you swallow it down. I want you to watch me while it happens.” He licks his lips, thumbing my mouth open. “Understood?”

I nod, understanding everything. Understanding that no one, not even family, is going to save me. Understanding that this is all life is for me now, one sicko after another, lining up to take something from me. Someone a little more naïve might think it was bad luck.

I know better.

I open my mouth and take him in.

I close my eyes and try to shut everything out, to curl into the back of my brain the way I’ve learned. It isn’t me doing this. This is just automatic. Something else has taken over my body and I’m watching it, locked away somewhere safe.

I can’t quite get to that place this time, though.

Tristian makes a low sound, hand fisting in my hair as my lips slide up his shaft. Rath’s breaths are loud against my ear and his touch is inescapable, hand cupping my breast, rolling my nipple between forefinger and thumb.

“Never sucked a dick before, have you Cherry?” Tristian’s thumb prods at my cheek, and despite his disapproving words, his voice emerges in a pained rasp. “You realize that’s where the real money is, don’t you? Daddies would pay a sweet penny for some head if you can do it right.” He tightens his grip on my hair and thrusts into my mouth.

I sputter angrily around his cock, jerking back.

He holds me still. “I thought I told you to look at me. Not very good at following instructions, are you?”

My hands curl into tight fists against my side, but I do it. I pry my eyes open and wrench them up, meeting Tristian’s glazed eyes.

“That’s a girl,” he says, patting my head like I’m a dog. “I’ll make this easy on you.”

It’s laughable. Easy. Nothing about this is easy. I’m trying so hard to ignore the sight of Killian in my periphery, of Rath’s hand skating down my ribs, that I’m taken by surprise when Tristian starts thrusting in and out of my mouth. My hands shoot up to his hips, holding him back, but his eyes narrow, grip tightening in my hair.

“Either I fuck your mouth or you get better at this. Your choice, Story.”

I hold his hips, glaring up at him even though my eyes are welling with tears. And then I start bobbing my head. I’m pretty sure blow jobs aren’t supposed to be like this—bitter and angry in the way I work my tongue against him. I look into his eyes as I do it, watch them dilate, jaw slackening. Now, it’s more of a promise than a blow job.

A promise that these boys aren’t going to break me.

“Fuck,” Tristian breathes, feet shifting. “Yeah, that’s it. Shit, she’s really doing it.”

I can feel Rath behind me, the bounce of his arm as he jerks himself. His hand snakes down my stomach, shoving into the waistband of my shorts, and I know better now than to fight.

Doesn’t mean I don’t try.

“Shh,” he says into my ear. “Relax.” Despite what’s happening here, his fingers are slow and teasing when they push into my panties, shoulders curling around me. I already know what he’s going to find down there, but it doesn’t make it any less humiliating when he pauses. He whispers low into my ear, “Should I tell them how wet you are for this?”

My fingers are digging bruises into Tristian’s hips, but he doesn’t even seem fazed.

“I don’t think I will,” Rath decides, fingers rubbing tight circles around my clit. “Now we can both have a secret. Keep your mouth shut about mine and maybe I won’t tell everyone how much of a slut you are for all three of us. You are, aren’t you?” His chuckle is warm and damp against my ear. Loud enough for the others to hear, he adds, “You could be ours, you know. We could take turns. We don’t mind sharing if it’s with each other.”

My angry tears spill over, making hot tracks down my face. Tristian keeps his eyes locked on mine, but brings his hand to my cheek, thumbing them away. “Don’t cry, now. We’re just having a good time. You want us to have a good time, don’t you?” My only response is the way I stare at him, wet-eyed and full of hate. He sighs as I suck him. “I don’t get it, Killer,” he says, talking to my stepbrother. “Used to be, we could show a girl a little attention and she’d trip over her own feet to be ours. Nowadays, all these bitches do is fuck around.”

He fists a hand in my hair, yanking me deeper onto his dick, glazed eyes flashing. It makes me cry harder, because that, combined with what Rath is doing to me, is making my hips want to grind into Rath’s hand, and god.

It’s the worst part of all of this, knowing that Rath could be right.

Maybe this is what I am.

A magnet for creeps, something to be used, and a slut for all of it.

Tristian’s head falls back, eyes falling closed, and I’m grateful for the reprieve when the sharp, building ache between my legs reaches a full crescendo, clenching as Rath moves with the movement of my hips. The reprieve doesn’t last long. Tristian thickens and pulses in my mouth, his thick, salty release surging against my tongue. He cups the back of my head and presses me close, holding me there as he empties himself between my lips.

Behind me, Rath grunts, yanking me against his chest, and I’m caught in the middle of them, being pulled two different ways. I hear more than see Killian finish, his rough, breathless groan startling me.

Tristian pulls out of my mouth, but not before he grabs my hair and rasps out, “You know what to do now, don’t you?”

Rath takes his hands out of my shorts and grabs my jaw, forcing my chin up. “Swallow him down, pretty girl.”

It takes me three tries to do it without gagging, but I hold Tristian’s gaze as I obey, swallowing his release. I hope it looks like how Killian had before—hostile—a warning—instead of showing this lost, aching thing in my chest.

“Good,” he says, stroking my cheek. “You’re so good for us, aren’t you, Cherry?”

I don’t know how I manage to get my feet under me, but I do. I clamp my hand over my mouth as I bolt away, the sound of their breathless chuckles following in my wake.