Page 39 of Brutal

“No. That you liked them mouthy,” Hunter answers. He rummages in his bag of tools and places supplies on the coffee table, next to the trash. “Antibiotics, bandages, wound-cleaning supplies. Change the bandages daily, more if they get damp or dirty. Clean the wounds too. If nothing improves within two days, call me again.” He hefts his bag and looks me in the eyes. “Can you manage that?”

Anger rolls through me. “Yes, I can fucking manage that,” I tell him. But I’m distracted, too, by the idea that I might’ve done so much harm to her that she’ll need more intense treatment. Fuck.

Maybe I had been a little out of control, but she’d made me so mad.

“Thank you,” I add quickly.

Hunter wraps his arm around Stef, and she returns the embrace like some kind of barnacle. I see the way Hunter’s expression softens when he looks at her.

“I’m on vacation for the next two weeks, so I’ll have plenty of time to cater to my little mess of a slave here,” I add.

“It was definitely my fault,” Mimosa agrees sarcastically.

I almost laugh at that, but I’m not going to show her that I’m even slightly amused.

Hunter sneers in her direction, but he doesn’t respond to her. “We’re going now. I’d rather you didn’t need me again any time soon.”

“Yeah, well. Tell her to use her mouth for better things than pissing me off, and we’ll see,” I say as cheerfully as I can. “I’m going to get her something to take the meds with. You can see yourselves out. I’d say, ‘bill me,’ but you owed me.”

I did help save his Stef, after all, which was a bigger favor than I could’ve imagined at the time.

Stef glances at Mimosa and adds, “I hope you get better soon.”

“Me too,” Mimosa answers with half a giggle. “Maybe you can invite me to the wedding, if my feet still work then.”

I make a disgusted sound. “You’re not going anywhere near polite society,” I tell her.

I watch as Hunter and Stef leave, shaking my head. I still can’t believe they’re getting married.

“I should cane you again for running your fucking mouth while my friend was here with his… his girlfriend,” I snarl at Mimosa.

“His fiancée,” Mimosa corrects. “And you can’t, unless you want your friend to get pissy at you again.”

“He can get pissy all he wants,” I say, but I don’t really mean it. I don’t want Hunter mad at me. He’s one of the few people I can talk to about this sort of thing.

It’s a little sad that my group of close friends is so small.

Then again, how many people can you really admit to owning a sex slave to?

Three, in my world.

She looks at the door wistfully. “Dunno if I pity or envy her.”

I scoff. “She’s pathetic. All she does is cry all the time. I don’t know what Hunter sees in her, especially to marry her. He bought her to fuck. If you think I’m ever gonna have that kind of… whatever it is, you’re wrong.”

Mimosa looks at me with a strange expression. “Yeah, I figured you weren’t the marrying kind.”

“What’s that look for?” I ask, feeling defensive.

She shrugs. “Nothing. But marriage usually requires the ability to connect to other people.”

The words are like a slap in the face, but what else is new? Mimosa has a way of getting right under my skin, prodding at all the places that leave me feeling vulnerable.

I don’t like it.

I scoop her up into my arms anyway, carrying her into my bedroom. “Get some sleep,” I mutter. “I’ll bring you some pills that you can take so you don’t die or whatever.”

Mimosa rests her head against my shoulder as I carry her. “That would be such a shame. You haven’t even broken this toy yet.”

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