Chapter 1: The Silent Scream
The rooftop bar hummed with the electric thrum of a city that never learned to sleep. Neon lights bled across the skyline in shades of pink and electric blue, painting the patrons in a constant shift of color as they laughed, flirted, and drank their way through another Friday night. I stood at the railing, elbows resting on the cool metal, watching the world move below me like an anthill of headlights and hurried footsteps.
The glass in my hand was sweating condensation onto my palm. I hadn't touched it in ten minutes. Another drink slid across the bar top beside me—something amber and expensive-looking, with a lime wedge balanced on the rim like an afterthought. I didn't look at who left it. I didn't need to. The fifth one tonight, if I was counting.
I was counting.
"Might as well start charging admission," I muttered under my breath.
A woman with sharp cheekbones and a dress that cost more than my monthly rent appeared at my elbow, a practiced smile on her lips. She leaned in close enough that I could smell the expensive perfume layered over the club's stale air. Her fingers brushed my forearm with deliberate lightness.
"You look lonely over here," she said, voice pitched low and inviting. "I'm Mira."
I turned to face her fully, letting her see the rings in my lip, the purple strands of hair falling across my face, the flat, unimpressed look I'd perfected over years of these exact moments. She didn't flinch. Persistent, then. Or desperate. Either way, I wasn't interested.
"Mira." I tasted the name, let it sit. "Pretty name. But I'm not lonely, and I'm not looking."
Her smile flickered, dimming at the edges. She wasn't used to rejection—I could tell by the way her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "That's a shame. I was hoping you'd help a girl out. My friends bet me I couldn't get your number before midnight."
The honesty was almost refreshing. Almost. "Tell your friends I'm flattered. But I'm taken."
She blinked, clearly recalibrating. "I don't see a ring."
"You don't see a lot of things." I turned back to the skyline, dismissing her as gently as I could manage. "Have a good night, Mira."
She lingered for a beat longer, then retreated with a huff of indignation that I felt rather than heard. I watched her reflection in the glass of the window behind the bar—watched her rejoin a cluster of women who immediately leaned in, hungry for details she couldn't give them.
The amber drink sat untouched beside my original one. I grabbed it anyway, carried both to a server passing by with an empty tray, and handed them off without explanation. The server looked confused but took them. Not my problem anymore.
Movement at my back. The air shifted, charged with something familiar and electric. Two presences I'd know anywhere, even in a crowd of a thousand strangers.
"You're collecting admirers like they're going out of style," Zenix's voice purred close to my ear, his breath warm against the shell of it. His hand settled on my hip, proprietary and possessive, a brand through the thick fabric of my hoodie.
I didn't turn. "Not collecting. They're just dumb enough to keep trying."
Gene's weight settled against my other side, a wall of heat and solid muscle. His hand clamped onto my shoulder with bruising force, fingers digging into the junction where neck met shoulder. Not painful. Just present. A reminder.
"We saw the blonde one," Gene rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, rough as the calluses that scraped against my skin through my shirt. "She was practically drooling."
"Mira," I supplied. "And she wasn't drooling. Just monumentally bad at taking hints."
Zenix laughed, a low, wicked sound that vibrated against my spine as he pressed closer. His nose traced the curve of my ear, breathing in deep like he was savoring a scent. "You know what I think, treasure?"
My stomach tightened at the name. He only used it when he was feeling particularly possessive, particularly wicked. I felt the shift in the air around us, that heaviness that preceded the storm.
"What do you think?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. Forcing it steady.
"I think," he said, drawing the words out like honey, "that we need to remind them who you belong to."
Gene's hand slid from my shoulder down my arm, grip tightening around my bicep. He turned me roughly, pulling me from the railing until I stumbled against his chest. His dark eyes burned into mine, heavy-browed and intense, that primal fire I knew so well flickering in their depths.
"Time to remind them," he echoed, voice dropping to something guttural and dark.
My heart kicked against my ribs. I kept my face neutral—years of practice, years of armor—but they knew me. They always knew me. Zenix's amber eyes gleamed with anticipation as he stepped in close, his hand finding the back of my neck under the fall of my purple hair. His fingers curled against the skin there, toying with the baby hairs.
"Don't make a fuss, baby," he murmured, and the warning in his voice was velvet wrapped around steel. "Just come with us. Nice and quiet."
They moved as one, flanking me, guiding me across the rooftop with hands that never quite let go. Gene's palm pressed against my lower back, steering. Zenix's fingers stayed twined in the hair at my nape, a leash he could tighten at any moment.
We passed the group of women Mira had rejoined. She caught my eye as we passed, and something in her expression shifted when she saw the two men flanking me. Understanding dawned. Then something else—a flicker of envy, maybe. Of wanting.
I looked away before she could see anything else.
The door to the rooftop bar swung closed behind us, sealing off the noise and the music and the hundred pairs of eyes that had tracked our progress. The stairwell was dimmer, quieter, the fluorescent lights buzzing with a tired hum. Zenix released my neck long enough to fish a keyring from his pocket. One of the keys was not like the others—longer, thinner, clearly not standard issue.
"Accessible bathroom," he explained with a grin, catching my questioning look. "Got friendly with the manager last week."
"Of course you did," I said flatly.
Gene's hand tightened on my lower back, pushing me forward before I could say anything else. We descended one flight of stairs—employees only, the sign read—and stopped before an unmarked door. Zenix slid the key in with practiced ease, the lock clicking open with a sound that seemed louder than it should have.
The room beyond was small and cramped, barely large enough for the three of us to stand without touching. Signs of a hasty conversion, a storage closet turned into something semi-functional. A cracked mirror hung crooked above a narrow sink. The single overhead light buzzed with fluorescent intensity, casting everything in harsh shadows. It smelled like industrial cleaner and damp.
And then there was the tile. God, the tile. I'd have been embarrassed by the fear flickering through me if I didn't know they'd feed on it.
Zenix locked the door behind us. The sound was final, definitive. His amber eyes found mine in the mirror, reflecting my tense posture, my sharpened gaze. I watched his hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with a deliberateness that made my mouth go dry.
"Business as usual," I said, but the words came out rougher than I intended.
Gene's hand clamped onto my shoulder again, spinning me. My back hit the tile with a crack that rattled my teeth. Cold seeped through my hoodie, a shock that had me gasping, but before I could recover, he was on me.
His mouth crashed against mine—not gentle, not exploratory. Claiming. His teeth caught my lower lip, tugging hard enough to sting, and I opened for him because there was never really a choice. Not with Gene. His tongue swept in, dominant and demanding, tasting of whiskey and something darker.
One hand fisted in the front of my hoodie, twisting the fabric, pulling me off balance until I had to brace my hands against the wall to keep from falling. His other hand found the button of my jeans, working it open with rough impatience that bordered on violence.
"Gene." Zenix's voice came from behind me, smooth and chiding. "Patience. You'll tear the poor thing apart before we even get started."
Gene pulled back, chest heaving, dark eyes glazed with hunger. He stared at me a moment, then grinned—a slow, dangerous baring of teeth that made my stomach flip. "He can take it."
"I know he can." Zenix appeared at my side, his belt now hanging loose, the buckle glinting. He traced a finger along my jawline, tilting my face toward him. His touch was deceptively gentle after Gene's roughness. "But we're going to take our time with you tonight, treasure. Edge you till you're begging."
I swallowed. My mouth had gone dry. "That so?"
"That's so." He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, "You've been a very good boy all night, ignoring all those pretty little offerings. But we need to make sure you don't forget yourself next time, don't forget whose bed you crawl into."
"Forget whose marks you wear," Gene corrected from behind me. His hands found my hips, yanking my jeans down my thighs with a roughness that left stinging burns along my skin. My boxers followed a second later, pooling at my knees along with the jeans.
"Forget that you're ours," Zenix finished, his voice a silky promise.
Gene's calloused fingers found me bare, sliding through the wetness that had gathered despite my attempts at control. He cursed rough and low, the sound vibrating against my back where his chest pressed.
"Look at you." His voice was gravel and heat. "So damn ready for us. Going to let the whole world see you like this, Ender?"
"You—" The word came out choked as his fingers curled inside me, thick and demanding. My head fell back against his shoulder, words scattering like startled birds.
Zenix's hand tightened in my hair then, jerking sharp enough to pull a gasp from my throat. He yanked my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze in the cracked mirror. My face was flushed, my lips swollen and dark from Gene's kisses, purple hair a tangled mess around my shoulders. I looked utterly debauched.
And both of them were watching me like I was the most beautiful thing they'd ever seen.
"Look at yourself, treasure," Zenix murmured, his free hand tracing down my chest through my hoodie, pressing flat over my racing heart. "So composed out there. So untouchable. And now look at you—everything we want you to be."
Gene's fingers scissored inside me, stretching, curling, finding that spot that made my vision blur at the edges. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from making any sound.
"Oh no you don't." Gene's hand withdrew, and before I could mourn the loss, his palm cracked against my bare ass with a sharp, stinging impact. White-hot heat bloomed across the sensitive skin. "Did we say you could hide that pretty sound from us?"
I gritted my teeth, the air hissing out between them.
"Answer me, Ender." He spanked me again, harder this time. The sound echoed off the tile walls, obscene in the tight space. My ass was burning, my skin tingling with the impact.
"N-no," I managed.
"No what?"
"No, sir." The words came automatic, steamrolled by sixteen years in Catholic schools. The title sparked something dangerous in both their eyes.
"That's better." Gene's hand delved between us again, two fingers plunging back inside me, curling relentlessly against that spot. "You liked that, didn't you? Getting punished for being naughty out there, flaunting what's ours."
"I wasn't—" Another spank cut off my protest, making me jerk forward against Zenix's chest.
"Innocent Ender, pretending he doesn't notice." Zenix's voice dripped amusement. He released my hair, letting my head fall forward. Then his hand fastened around my throat—not compressing, just resting there, a reminder of exactly who was in control. "You know how it gets Gene when people look at you. Gets him all worked up inside."
Gene's fingers pistoned into me, fast and brutal, hitting that spot with unerring precision. My knees went weak. I sagged against the tile, held up only by Gene's body behind me and Zenix's hand on my throat.
"And now he has to take it out on this perfect little ass," Zenix continued, gripping the base of my bicep to pull me flush against him. He bit down on my shoulder through my hoodie, tugging the fabric until the neck stretched. "Want him to take it out on you, treasure?"
I couldn't answer. Gene's fingers had me spiraling, that familiar coil winding tighter and tighter in my gut. I was so close, so goddamn close—
Gene withdrew. The emptiness was brutal. I gasped, head snapping up, hands clawing against the tile as I chased the phantom feeling.
"Please," I breathed, the word escaping before I could stop it.
Z, c'mere." Gene's voice was rough. Zenix released my throat, stepping back. Behind me, I heard the shuffle of fabric, the whisper of belts and zippers. Goosebumps broke across my skin in the sudden absence of the heat.
Gene's hands found my hips again, repositioning me. I braced myself against the wall, palms flat on the cold tile, and let him angle me how he wanted. His thumb traced the cleft of my ass, deliberate and teasing.
"You ready for me, darling?"
The word—so incongruously tender from a man who'd been spanking me moments ago—hit me somewhere deep. I nodded, breath catching.
Said make me. I want to hear you ask for it," he growled, grinding against my ass. The heat of him pressed against me, a promise. His cock was slick with pre-come, and he dragged it through the cleft, teasing, probing, denying. "I don't hear anything."
Zenix moved in front of me, his amber eyes burning in the dim light. He was shadowed, still half-clothed, but I could see the outline of his cock straining against his boxers, a wet spot darkening the fabric at the tip.
"Be a good boy, Ender," he breathed, hand cupping my jaw, tilting me up till our eyes locked. "You know how much we love you when you're good."
"I need it," I bit out, the words ragged, torn from a place beyond pride. "Please. I need you inside me."
Gene's laugh was a dark rumble, and then he was pushing in. Not fast, not gentle. A rough, deep thrust that claimed territory inch by inch, filling me so completely I would have cried out if I'd had the breath left. His hand covered my mouth, muffling the sound, as he bottomed out in one, brutal press.
"Beautiful," Zenix mused, watching me, his thumb stroking my sweat-damp cheek. "Always so beautiful."
Gene was moving before the word finished leaving Zenix's lips. Each stroke was punishing, relentless, his body driving mine against the tile with every withdrawal—pushing until my cheek scraped the wall, then pulling back only to slam home again.
The coil returned fast, Gene's cock dragging against my prostate with every stroke. I felt my own cock hardening, leaking against my stomach, and Zenix noticed too. His hand curled around me, stroking, slow and maddening.
"Look at how much your body wants this," he murmured, watching the glide of his hand. "Always so hungry for it. You pretend so well out there—untouchable, unbothered. But I know what you really are, Ender. Say it."
I couldn't. Words had abandoned me.
He sped his hand. "Say it," he repeated, the command a velvet snare.
"I'm yours," I gasped, the hot, stupid syllables fracturing as Gene hit that spot dead-on and my vision blanked, the words torn from me in a roar I couldn't contain. The world whited out as I came hard, pulsing over Zenix's fingers, my voice stripped raw.
I couldn't breathe as my climax subsided, the world slowly swimming back into focus. Gene was still inside me, still hard, still thrusting through my aftershocks, each movement sending sparks of overstimulation through my body. I was boneless, barely standing.
"Please," I whispered, the word almost silent. "Gene... please."
His hips snapped forward one last time, a low roar ripping free as I felt the rush of wet heat inside me. He stayed buried, forehead pressed to my spine. The silence was heavy, full.
Then Zenix gently pulled me back into the light, turning me to face him in the crook of Gene's arms. He held my gaze, unspoken affection warming his eyes. In the aftermath, he was softer, tender and careful as his thumb traced the line of my jaw.
"You were so good, treasure," he said softly. "So good for us."
Gene withdrew carefully, and I felt the embarrassing trickle of him escaping, a reminder I'd carry with me. Helping me pull my clothes back up, Gene clicked his tongue against his teeth, watching the flush bloom across my face when his fingers brushed my overly-sensitive skin.
The cracked mirror caught my reflection—hair a mess, hoodie bunched, a constellation of marks blooming on my neck and shoulder and ankles where they'd claimed me. There was a giddy, almost feral grin on my face.
"I hate you both," I managed, but there was no heat in it.
Zenix laughed, pressing a kiss to my forehead before opening the door. "No you don't."
Gene swatted my ass lightly as I passed, his grin wolfish. "You show up to our bed tonight and we'll show you just how much you love us."
The fluorescent light flickered as I stumbled out into the stairwell, my legs still unsteady, my body already humming with anticipation.