A Brothers torment.

Natalia  kissed him, a slow, possessive press of lips that tasted of salt and iron. "I'm broken right now, Trent. I'm out of commission. So you need to be the weapon. For both of us."

 Downstairs, the sudden slam of a car door echoed through the quiet house, followed by the sharp beep of an alarm being armed.

 Natalia froze, her eyes widening. "Mom’s home early."

 Trent cursed under his breath, quickly reaching for the laptop to pause the video. "Clean up. Fast."

 But it wasn't just the early arrival that had Natalia scrambling off the bed, ignoring the screaming protest of her body. It was the look in her mother’s eyes the previous night at dinner—the way she had glanced between them, lingering just a second too long on the way Natalia leaned into Trent, the way their voices seemed to sync up in a frequency no one else could hear.

 Downstairs, the front door opened. Heavy footsteps clicked across the marble foyer, then stopped. Their mother stood in the hallway, listening to the silence of the house. It was too quiet. Usually, the TV was on, or music was playing. But now, there was only a heavy, oppressive stillness coming from upstairs.

 She looked up toward the second floor, her brow furrowing. She had seen the way Natalia looked at him—not like a sister, but like a supplicant. And the way Trent looked at her... it wasn't brotherly concern. It was ownership.

 She placed her keys on the side table, the metal clatter loud in the silence. "Natalia? Trent?"

 Upstairs, Natalia pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a whimper of pain, her eyes wide with panic as she looked at Trent. The game was getting dangerous, but as she stood there, bleeding and ruined, she realized she didn't want to stop. She just didn't want to get caught.

 Trent descended the stairs with deliberate slowness, the towel knotted loosely around his hips. He paused at the bottom, listening for the water. The shower was running full blast upstairs, the sound masking Natalia’s whimpers as she washed away the blood and evidence of their rough encounter. He just needed to buy her five minutes.

 He walked into the kitchen, the cool air raising goosebumps on his damp skin.

 His mother was at the island, slicing a lemon with a precision that spoke to her agitation. She looked up as he entered, her eyes raking over him with a boldness that made his skin prickle. They lingered on his chest, then dropped shamelessly to the tented fabric of the towel.

 "Rough night?" she asked, setting the knife down with a soft clink.

 "Just gaming," Trent lied, leaning back against the counter opposite her. He spread his stance slightly, letting the towel tighten. "Lost track of time."

 "Gaming," she repeated, a dry smirk playing on her lips. She walked around the island, stopping just a few feet away. The scent of her gin and tonic drifted with her. "You know, your father used to lock himself in his study with his 'hobbies' too. Before I realized that men are generally more trouble than they're worth."

 She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms, her eyes dragging over his torso again. "I realized a long time ago that I prefer the company of women. They’re softer... cleaner. They know how to touch without all that clumsy male ego attached."

 Trent raised an eyebrow, keeping his face neutral. "Is that why you and Dad don't sleep in the same room anymore?"

 "One of many reasons," she said dismissively. She took a sip of her drink, her eyes glazing over as they drifted toward the ceiling, in the direction of the bathroom. "Women are... exquisite. Especially when they’re young. When they’re still figuring out what their bodies can do."

 She looked back at Trent, her gaze heavy, speculative. "Natalia... she’s blossoming so much lately. All that swimming. Her body is... magnificent."

 She took a step closer, invading his space, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I saw her getting out of the pool last week. The water running off her... she looked like a mermaid. Desperate to be touched, but so shy about it."

 She licked her lips, her eyes flicking between Trent's face and the bulge in his towel, her mind clearly stitching together a scenario that made her breath hitch.

 "She’s in the shower, isn't she?" his mother asked, her voice thick. "All alone. It can be hard to reach... everywhere. Especially when you're sore."

 She stared at him, a twisted hunger naked in her eyes. "I wonder if she needs a hand in there. A mother's touch... to make sure she gets clean. To show her how a woman is supposed to take care of her."

 Trent felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. He saw the way her hands flexed at her sides, itching to go upstairs.

 "She's fine," Trent said, his voice tight. "She likes her privacy."

 "Privacy," she scoffed softly, her eyes still locked on the staircase. "Privacy is just where secrets hide, Trent. And I think you two are full of them."

 She took a long sip of her drink, her eyes burning into him. "Finish your water. And tell her I said to scrub thoroughly. You can never be too clean."

 Trent waited until the heavy click of his mother’s heels retreated toward the living room before bolting back up the stairs. He took them two at a time, the towel flapping loose around his hips, and locked the bedroom door behind him.

 Steam billowed from the open bathroom door. Natalia was on the bed, curled on her side amidst the tangled sheets, wearing one of his oversized t-shirts. She looked fragile, her face scrubbed clean and pale, but when she saw him, her eyes weren't filled with defeat—they were sharp, calculating.

 "She's gone?" Natalia whispered.

 "Downstairs. Distracted," Trent said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "She suspects something, Nat. She was asking about us."

 Natalia let out a soft, dismissive laugh. She shifted, wincing slightly as she adjusted her position. "Let her wonder. It doesn't matter. The swim meet is in two days. The water will help with the swelling... I can still compete. I can still beat Jessie in the pool."

 She touched her lower back gingerly. "But the Velvet Gavel? That’s out of the question. I can't dance. I can't spread my legs for the clients with my ass ripped up like this. We’re losing money, Trent."

 She sat up straighter, ignoring the throbbing in her body, her eyes locking onto his with a predatory gleam. "We need to replace that income. And I know exactly where we’re going to get it."

 "Jessie," Trent said, not a question.

 "Jessie," Natalia confirmed. "She thinks she’s untouchable. She thinks she has the upper hand because she has that little secret photo of me. But you’re going to take it from her."

 She reached out, trailing her fingers down his chest. "You’re going to seduce her, Trent. Make her think she’s won. Make her think she’s stealing you away from me, that you’re her new, devoted boyfriend. Play the part. Make her fall for it."

 "And then?"

 "Then, once she's trustingly in your hands," Natalia whispered, her voice dropping to a dark, husky purr, "you’re going to brutalise her. Film it all. Make it hurt. Break her spirit so completely that she doesn't know who she is anymore."

 She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. "I don't want revenge, Trent. I want a pet. I want to turn that stuck-up swimmer bitch into a whore. Once you’ve shattered her, she’ll be desperate for anyone to take control, to give her purpose. That’s when I move in."

 Natalia pulled back to look him in the eye, a twisted hunger burning in her gaze. "She’ll come crawling to me for comfort. And I’ll take her. I’ll fuck her, Trent. I’ll make her my little earner, and she’ll thank me for it."

 Natalia didn't wait for him to process the depravity of the plan. She grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a searing, aggressive kiss. Her lips crushed against his, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth with a dominant, possessive fervor. She tasted of mint and iron, a potent cocktail that went straight to his head.

 She kissed him like she was staking a claim on his soul, transferring her dark will to him through the press of her mouth. Trent groaned, his hands tangling in her damp hair, surrendering to the madness pouring out of her.

 When she finally pulled back, they were both breathless. Natalia’s lips were swollen and red, her eyes shining with manic anticipation.

 "But first, fuck me again," she whispered, pushing him away. "Break me again, so my ass gets used to you."

 Trent didn't hesitate. He flipped her onto her stomach, dragging her hips up until she was on her knees, face buried in the pillows to muffle her screams. He mounted her without preamble, his grip bruising on her hips as he drove back into the ruined tightness of her ass.

 The friction was agonizing, a mix of searing pain and dark pleasure that made Natalia see stars. He didn't make love to her; he used her, every thrust a heavy, punishing impact that jarred her teeth and tore a ragged gasp from her throat. The bedframe slammed against the wall with the rhythm of a battering ram, the sound loud enough to surely carry through the floorboards, but neither of them cared.

 He reached forward, fisting a hand in her hair and yanking her head back, arching her spine as he pistoned into her. "Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice ragged. "You want me to ruin you?"

 "Yes!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "Harder! Make it bleed!"

 He obliged, picking up the tempo until the room was a blur of motion and heat. The slap of skin against skin was wet and obscene, echoing the squelch of the lube and the blood. Natalia clawed at the sheets, her knuckles turning white, her body convulsing under the assault. She felt like she was being split in two, hollowed out and filled up all at once.

 When he finally came, he buried himself to the hilt with a guttural roar, holding himself there as he spilled deep inside her bowels. Natalia collapsed against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, her body twitching in the aftermath, her ass throbbing with a heat that would last for days. She felt ruined, broken, and terrifyingly alive.