Page 28 of Freaks Of Nature

“You didn’tdisagree,” I counter. “Tell me why you’re really crying.” She’s holding back. She’s afraid to admit what I already know.

“I…I…”

“You?”

“I…”

Come on.

“I liked it.”

There it is.

I watch her shoulders sag when she forces out a hard breath. “And I hate that I’m not even mad,” she adds in surrender. “Because that was the best sex of my life.”

My helmet hides my grin.

I loosen the cuff around her wrist but don’t let go of her yet. Holding her gaze, I brush my thumb over her smooth skin. “I saw it in your eyes that first night in the alley,” I tell her. “I recognized the hunger in them.”

Her mouth twists in contempt. “So you decided to share me with your brother?”

My jaw tightens with her shot at my motives. I need Ash. He never strikes out. He has a way with words where I shine in action.

That’s not to say I’m not skilled with my tongue; I just prefer a more brazen approach, but I admit it takes a specific type to match my freak.

I don’t go for the obvious, though. I like a challenge. Sometimes they need a little nudge, a little encouragement to dare venture into my depraved depths.

Like Emily.

I couldn’t risk losing her before I even had her. Ash was my only option. I had to use him to reel her in, but she’s mine.

Even if she doesn’t know it.

I drop my hand and swallow my chagrin before I respond. “Ash and I like to share a sweet treat from time to time,” I say in a blithe tone.

She scoffs. “And what am I? Your Twinkie?”

“No.” I let out a laugh, shaking my head, then clarify, “It takes three loads in three holes to fill a Twinkie.”

Emily doesn’t appreciate my joke. She expels an appalled breath, then rams her helmet into my chest.

I catch it in one hand before it drops as she whips around, marching toward the building’s front door.

I hate this run-down neighborhood. She isn’t safe here.

I call after her, “Does that mean you don’t want me to pick you up after work tomorrow?”

Ash

“Ineed someone to take that custom V-rod for a spin to see how she handles,” Isaac’s voice hollers a short distance from me.

“I got it.” I push out from under the truck I’ve been working on this morning, the wheels of the dolly squeaking with the motion.

I kick to my feet, snatching the key from the old man’s open palm before Mason even gets a word out.

He throws up his hands and scoffs. “You always do that.”

“Because I’m the older one,” I remark, a self-righteous curl to my lips.