I flee from Winston’s car like my ass is on fire. But, like the old phrase goes, “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.” As his ridiculously expensive car drives away, I have to face the nutty triplets.

The music is loud and can be heard outside. I hope one of the neighbors rats them out. As stealthily as possible, I slip inside and rush to the stairs. In my haste, I slam into Sparrow.

I nearly gag at the stench of liquor on his breath.

These psychos are going to be raging alcoholics by the time they can legally drink. “Excuse me,” I grate out, moving past him.

Rushing up the stairs, I take them two at a time. I’ve almost made it to my room when Sparrow grips my arm, his strong fingers bruising into me.

“Ow,” I yelp. “Let go of me!”

His laughter is dark and demonic, but thankfully he releases me. “I was trying to help, baby sister. But if you’re going to be a bitch about it, whatever.”

My brows furrow in confusion. “Help with what?” “You’ll see.”

Fear chases away the confusion as I push into my room. The moment I see the open birdcage with no bird inside, I panic.

“Where’s Shrimp?” I screech, spinning to face Sparrow. “Tell me!”

“You should ask Scout.” He smirks at me. “You know he loves that bird.” He doesn’t love my bird.

He loves terrorizing it.

I shove past Sparrow on a mission to find the bastard. The music and laughter are loud from the living room. I notice Sully is getting his dick sucked by some Pembroke Prep lacrosse groupie, but Scout is missing.

“Hey, sis,” Sully calls out. “Carrie won’t mind giving you a turn next.”

I don’t satisfy him with an answer as I run through the house looking for Shrimp. In Dad and Manda’s room, I find Scout sprawled out on the bed in nothing but his black boxers, a joint in his mouth, one hand petting my bird.

“Hand him over, dickhead,” I growl. “You know you’re not allowed to mess with him.”

“Says who?” he asks around the joint. “Your daddy? He’s your father, not mine. I don’t have to listen to jackshit he says.”

I storm over to the bed, climb on, and walk on my knees toward him. “Give him to me.”

Shrimp is strangely quiet, just like any time he’s in Scout’s presence. My heart hurts to see him so afraid. I try to take him from Scout, but his grip tightens. Tears well in my eyes as fear consumes me. He wouldn’t hurt my bird, would he?

“Please,” I beg, blinking back my emotion. “Please, Scout.” “Tell me where you were.”

“At dinner with a friend.” I swipe away a stray tear. “He’s scared. Let me have him.” “What friend? I thought we told them all to stay away.”

First Tate and now my friends? I’m too upset to be angry. Once I get my bird back, I’ll rip them all new assholes.

“Sully said you had a boyfriend. That’s not true, is it?” His dark eyes glint with madness. “Our baby sister isn’t allowed to date.”

“Not a boyfriend,” I rush out. “A friend. Now please let him go.”

He releases his hold on Shrimp, but before I can scoop him up, he flies to the ceiling fan, ruffling his feathers. Scout grabs me, yanking me to him. The joint falls from his lips onto the bed. I struggle in his arms, growling in frustration when I can’t free myself. He rolls us until he has me pinned beneath his strong body. Terror wells up inside of me.

“Let me go,” I spit out.

“Or what? You’ll tell my mommy?”

I try to shove him away, but his strong hands grab my wrists and slam them to the mattress. My heart hammers in my chest as I realize I may not be safe with him. His taunts and teases aren’t just that. He wants to hurt me.

“We’re going to fuck, Ash. And it’s going to ruin our parents’ marriage.” He licks my cheek like a fucking dog. “Don’t worry, baby sis, I’ll make it really good for you. It’ll be worth it when you’re back to living in your shitty apartment with your loser dad.”

I struggle to no avail. “Let me go or I’ll destroy your life, Scout. Do not test me.”

His eyes narrow as he studies me. I make sure to keep the venom in my glare. I’m not about to let this monster have sex with me just to cause a divorce between our parents.

“I better not find out this friend of yours is a boyfriend,” he warns, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “It’ll only make your life worse.” He glances at the ceiling fan. “I will stomp on that pretty little bird if I have to get that point across to you.”

He climbs off me and saunters out of the room like he didn’t just drop massive threats on me. I scramble to my feet and reach out for Shrimp. Now that Scout is gone, Shrimp chirps angrily at me.

“I know, buddy, I know. I’m so sorry. Come on.”

After bitching me out in his birdy way, he finally flutters down into my open, waiting hands. Tonight, I’m barricading my door. I’ll be damned if I let Scout or his brothers touch one hair on my head.

I take a quick shower and then coddle Shrimp until I’m sure he’s forgiven me. Once I have him back in his cage with his blanket covering it so he’ll feel safe, I dig the money out of my jeans pocket and hide the stash in my jewelry box. I take a peek at my phone, disappointed that Winston hasn’t messaged me.

Why?

He’s another version of the Terror Triplets.

A rich, strong man hellbent on doing whatever it takes to get his way.

Still, a pang of sadness hits me in the gut. I take a selfie and send it to him before I can think twice.

Me: A freebie.

His response is immediate.

Winston: What has you in such a giving mood? Was it that mind-altering orgasm I helped you obtain?

I roll my eyes at his stupid words.

Me: I wouldn’t call it mind-altering . . .

Winston: That’s because it wasn’t my tongue.

Heat floods through me as I imagine just that.

Winston: You could earn more money, but it’s going to require you to show a little skin. Me: Perv.

Winston: A rich one.

Me: Tell me what you want, and I’ll decide if I’ll give it to you. Winston: Got more of those candies?

I glance over at my giant jar of cherry Starburst, special ordered in that flavor only.

Me: Maybe . . .

Winston: Unwrap one and lick it. Me: Okayyyyy.

Winston: Don’t be a brat. Just do it.

I set my phone down and then grab a handful of Starburst. Once I’m settled on my bed, I unwrap one and lick it.

Me: Done. Now what?

Winston: So dutiful. Take your shirt off. Me: Tell me everything you want first. Winston: It’s more than I can text.

Me: Then I’m probably too tired for it.

He doesn’t reply for what feels like forever. Insecurity claws at my insides. I’m not exactly plaything material. Hell, I’ve barely had a boyfriend, much less a man. He probably has several girls he does this with, which for some reason, annoys the hell out of me.

An hour passes and I frown so hard at my phone, my head aches. I’ve gone through all but one of my Starbursts I grabbed.

What could Winston have possibly wanted me to do?

Several filthy images tease my mind. One of which I’m not ready to try. With a sigh of resignation, I peel off my shirt and toss it. The cool air kisses my flesh, making my nipples pebble. I lie back, lick the Starburst, and then tease my hardened nipple with the wet side of the candy. Once my nipple has had enough attention, I smear the sticky wetness all over my breast. I rest the candy on top of my nipple, hiding it and then take a selfie. Just my breast and hair are in the picture. Before I think too hard, I send it.

Me: Good night.

He doesn’t send me one hundred, he sends me five.

Winston: Good night indeed, my darling girl. Me: Thank you. Oh, this is a freebie . . .

I send him a selfie of just my face this time, my red tongue sticking out.

He sends me five hundred more. It’s both thrilling and stressful all at once. I almost feel bad for taking this man’s money. Almost. I’m sure, at the end of this, I’ll hate his guts. It’d be harder if I weren’t so damn attracted to him. Something about him calls to me. I’m going to get myself in so deep with this fucked-up man.

After I clean myself up, I find I’ve missed a text from him. I nearly choke on my tongue when I see the picture he sent. It’s him, in his bed, shirtless and eyelids heavy with  fatigue.  His  usual  perfect  hair  is messy, and his smile is genuine—not one of his predator grins.

Before I think twice, I send him five hundred back.

Winston: What was that for? Me: It’s a good pic.

He doesn’t respond after that. I feel like maybe I messed up by sending him money. Or maybe crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to cross. At the end of the day, though, it’s probably for the best. It was a good couple of days, and I made more money than some people make in half a year.

Tomorrow I’ll look for a real job.