Deadly Game With My Husband's Brothers

PEYTON

Tonight, I want to sin.

Like, really sin.

I wear a dress that screams "fuck me." Deep cleavage, loose hair black as the night itself. The fabric clings to my every curve, like a second skin barely covering my thigh.

I wouldn't even dare touch my toes.

I put my makeup skills to good use: dark eyeliner, sharp and defined like a wildcat on a mission.

I even had the audacity to wear four-inch heels—the kind of sky-high torture devices I usually avoid.

But today it's time to step out of my comfort zone.

Enough is enough. I won't get the shorter end of the stick this time.

I slip out of the dressing room, the sound of moans low and sensual filling the air.

My ears are itching, my blood boiling. But I must get past the exasperating scene—like I always do.

I step into the master bedroom, but I still can't help but feel this way—as if a dagger went through my heart.

There is my so-called husband breaking the damn rules.

Bringing one of his flings into my bed. My fucking bed.

This one is a blonde, long silky hair sprawled all over the sheets. Her hands wrap around Odin's neck, digging in. Her legs pin around his waist like a goddamn pig.

My fists clench by my side, but I don't move an inch.

Odin's weight presses against her, his lips on her cleavage sucking on them as if they were the sweetest berries he had ever tasted, drawing out a soft gasp that mingles with the low growl rumbling in his chest. His fingers caress her thigh, going up and up.

I can't stand this.

I bite my lips, anger flaring in me.

God help me.

"Odin," I whisper, but it is loud—almost like a thunderclap.

Odin’s head snaps, his eyes growing wide.

The blonde yelps, scrambling backward until her back hits the headboard. Her breath heaves like she ran a marathon; I bet that hurt.

Good.

"Jesus, Pey. What are you doing here?!" he barks, his brow furrow like I was the one who broke the deal.

I raise my eyebrow, pointing to my chest. "What am I doing here?"

Odin runs his hand through his hair as he sits up. "So you were in there all along? I thought you were in the other room..." He trails off, his eyes wandering over me—my feet, my thigh, my hair, my face.

"Why are you dressed like that? You look like a ghost."

I smirk, tasting bile on my tongue.

A ghost that will haunt you in your dreams.

But not now; he can enjoy himself while he lasts.

Six hours—that's all it will take for me to gather myself to act like a normal human being, because if I act now, telling him he broke the rules...

I swear to God I might shove his face down the toilet and make him eat his shit.

"Pey..." Odin's eyes narrow, a little weary of my silence. Or he probably thinks I'm acting strange. He then sighs and gestures toward the door.

"Please don't ruin this night for me. If you can't answer a simple question, then show yourself out the door," he says, pulling on his collar, irritation creeping into his voice. "Be home by midnight and don't come in here when you get back."

My face scrunches, teeth clenching.

Oh yeah, when I get back.

"Yes, Odin, when I get back," I say, walking toward the door. Just a few steps away, I turn, my eyes narrowing as I catch sight of the key sitting on the bedside table.

I stretch out my hands. "My keys, please."

Odin glances at the key, then back to me. "Are you being serious right now?" he asks through gritted teeth, so his blonde won't catch it.

Oh well, she was looking, her gaze darting between the both of us. Her legs were still parted, warming and ready.

Will she just close that gutter?

My hand is still outstretched—no smile, my expression blank. "Give it to me... before we start pulling each other's hair. You wouldn't want your hooker to see it, do you?"

"Excuse me-", the blonde frown, her eyes darken like she would murder me just because I said the obvious.

Odin's jaw clenches, but he doesn't argue. He grabs the keys and tosses them over to me.

"When you get back—"

"Keep your paws off my stuff, you got your Lamborghini, I got mine. Next time I'll cut off one of your fingers," I cut him off, letting the key drop into my purse with a clang.

He wants to retort, but I don't let him. "See you at six AM."

With that, I turn and slam the door shut, more forcefully than necessary.

"Midnight. That's the deadline," Odin's voice echoes behind me, loud and infuriating.

Fuck him.

I don't move, still standing at the door, my back pressed against it, which is cold for no reason—perhaps I'm the cold one; the door's just leaching off me.

I look down at my dress, my skin—fair and smooth staring back at me.

I can't believe I'm doing this—no, scratch that. I can't believe I decided to do this. (I haven't done it yet.)

A few minutes earlier, when I heard the sound of the car screeching from his arrival, heels clinking, and hurried movements—like the whole villa was shaking. I didn't know what came over me. But I knew I had to do something different... so I wouldn't lose my sanity.

And here's the product of my irrationality, my impulsiveness:the dress, the shoes, the makeup.

Tonight, I'm going to cheat.