Broken by Silence, page 5
“I need you. Both of you,” she signs, her hands trembling.
Archer moves, his eyes telling me to trade places with him as we shed our clothes.
“Protection?” I ask, already reaching for the condoms I know Claire snuck into her nightstand.
Lottie shakes her head. “I’m protected. Let me feel you.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I position myself between her legs, gathering her wetness on my fingers and using it to coat my cock. Archer moves beside her, his hand splaying over her skin as he teases her nipples with his mouth, his other hand wrapped around his cock.
I enter her slowly, giving her time to get used to me. I keep my eyes on her, making sure she feels every inch of me as I fill her for the first time.
It’s overwhelming in the best way possible—the way I fit inside of her, the way I want to worship her.
I start to move, unable to hold myself back anymore. I keep my thrusts slow and deep, each one sending waves of pleasure through me and her, if the way her mouth has parted and the way she writhes under our touch is anything to go by.
Her skin seems to glow with a flush, and a fine sheen of sweat glistens across her collarbone and along the slope of her thighs. Her hair has fallen out of her bun, fanning around her, tousled and halo-like, clinging in soft tendrils to her temple.
She’s an angel.
A siren sent from the heavens to tempt me into damnation.
Something I would happily fall into for her.
Archer’s lips find hers, his hand slides down to where me and her are joined. His fingers brush against her clit, making her body convulse around my cock as she cries out. Cries of pleasure, I wish I could hear.
I can feel her getting closer to the edge, the tension building inside of us all with every thrust and touch.
“Let go.” Archer’s lips move against hers. “We’ve got you.”
Lottie listens so perfectly, pleasure crashing over her like a wave, pulling her under and leaving her gasping for air. I watch it all happen as her pussy clamps around me like a vice, my thrusts becoming more urgent as I follow her, my body shuddering against hers.
Archer’s hand stays where it is, drawing out every last bit of pleasure that he can while we are both spent and trembling, and he follows us over, spilling his come over his hand.
For a moment, none of us move, staying the way we are, tangled in a mess of limbs and sweat. Then I pull out gently, my hands moving to her face. I brush my lips over hers, moving them slowly so she can feel me saying the words with my mouth instead of my hands.
“I… Love… You.”
I pull back, staring down at my Siren with nothing but utter adoration. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips slightly parted; she is something not quite of this world—an otherworldly softness that I want to lose myself in again and again.
Archer kisses her temple, his arms wrapping around her.
Lottie doesn’t speak right away, and she doesn’t need to. Her body says everything her words can’t—pliant, trusting, and cradled between us where she belongs. I feel the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathes us in, a faint tremble running through her limbs like the aftershock of a storm.
She’s weightless.
Raw.
Beautiful.
Archer holds her like he’s anchoring her to the earth, his larger frame curled around her protectively. His hand glides down her side in slow, reassuring strokes, grounding her. He’s whispering in her ear, though I don’t know what, but Lottie’s eyes are closed, a small smile on her face.
I reach for the blanket and pull it over her bare skin, tucking it gently around her. She’s warm but not overheated—just flushed from the rush. Still, I smooth my hand across her brow, brushing back damp hair, needing to do something.
“I’m going to get her some water,” I sign, gaining Archer’s attention. I press one last kiss to her cheek before sliding off the bed and putting on some pants just in case I run into Claire or Will.
When I get back, bottle of water in hand, Lottie is curled in Archer’s arms, her face buried in his chest as he strokes her hair.
He pauses, lifting his hands and signs. “She’s half asleep.”
I nod and ease the glass into her hands as I sit on the edge of the bed. Lottie’s eyes crack open as she smiles lazily at me. “Just a few sips, okay?” Archer says.
She blinks slowly, then takes the water, her fingers brushing mine as she drinks. I hold the glass steady for her, my other hand cupping the back of her neck. Her lips are a little swollen from kissing, and they part in a sleepy sigh when she’s done.
“Good girl,” I sign to her, and a flicker of a smile crosses her face. Archer shifts behind her so we can lie on either side of her, cocooning her in warmth. His hand stays at her waist, thumb lazily circling her skin, while I take her hand in mine and press it against my chest.
Lottie shuffles closer, her face pressing against my bare chest, and she hums softly, the barely there vibrations letting me know she’s happy even though I wish I could hear them. She settles between us like she’s always meant to be here, and I feel her breath warm against my skin, soft and steady.
Her fingers twitch in mine, curling a little tighter, like even in sleep, she’s afraid we’ll let go. Lottie shifts, her lips move, mouthing nothing coherent, and I brush a strand of hair off her forehead. She sighs, melting further into me, her body molding to mine.
I press a kiss to her hair, my fingers still linked with hers, and close my eyes, unable to believe she’s in my arms, finally feeling at peace for the first time in years.
Chapter 8
Lottie
Warmth like I’ve never known wakes me. Two solid bodies are pressed against either side of mine, heat radiating from them like living blankets.
For a moment, I breathe it all in. Slowly, suspended in the quiet cocoon of Archer and Oscar, but my throat is parched, and the thirst wins out.
Carefully, I ease myself from between them, untangling limbs and lifting their arms without waking them. Archer grumbles in his sleep but doesn’t stir. Archer shifts slightly, his hand brushing the sheets where I just was.
I pull on the sweatshirt and shorts, then pad out of the room on bare feet. The cool kitchen tiles are a sharp contrast to the warmth I left behind. Sleeping between them both quietens the dreams, and if they come at all, I don’t remember them. Only a distant echo—an ache in my chest, a familiar panic pressing at the edges of my mind, and a dryness in my throat like I was screaming underwater.
I reach for a glass from the shelf, the cupboard creaking as I close the door. The faucet hisses as I fill it, and the sound feels too loud for the time. I lift the glass to my lips and freeze as a figure appears in the corner of my vision. My heart jerks. The water sloshes over the rim, cool against my hand.
Claire.
She stands so close to me, I don’t know how I didn’t hear her approaching, arms crossed. Her knowing eyes flick to the glass in my hand, then to my face. “Nightmare?” she asks softly.
I shake my head. “Not tonight. I woke up gasping for a drink after feeling like I was boiling alive between them both.”
She steps closer, shaking her head and laughing softly. “Should have known they wouldn’t go far after everything. How are you feeling, sweet girl?”
“Tired.”
“Too tired to fight?” My eyes flick to the floor, avoiding the all-knowing look she always gives me. She’s barefoot, like me, but while I’m half-awake and feeling frayed at the edges, she’s sharp, like every move is deliberate.
“I don’t know how to fight this. Lorenzo won’t stop…” I sigh, placing the glass on the counter with a soft clink. “But I don’t want to give him that power over me ever again. I meant what I said earlier when I said I want to fight for myself. Fight with them instead of them fighting my battles for me.”
“Come with me,” she demands.
Claire leads me through the hallway, past the living room, and the bedrooms. I realize I haven’t been down this way before. When I first moved in, I was too scared to explore, but Archer led me around the house by my hand, pointing out all the rooms, and ever since then, I’ve been like a creature of habit, only going to places I was familiar with.
She stops in front of a door I’d never seen open before, half-hidden beneath the staircase. She turns the handle, and it groans softly as the door swings open, revealing a narrow flight of stairs that seems to descend into darkness.
“I’ve never been down here before,” I whisper.
“I know,” she says, flipping a switch on the wall. “No one has.”
Pale light blinks to life, the stairs cast in a dull yellow color. Claire doesn’t wait, just starts down each step while I hesitate at the top for half a second before following. The air changes as we descend. Cooler. Like the air in cellars or old churches.
The room at the bottom doesn’t look like it belongs in this house. Black training mats are covering the floor, weapons lining the wall—wooden staffs, a few short blades. A single punching bag hangs from the ceiling in the corner, worn but still solid.
“So… not a hobby room?” I mutter under my breath, but Claire still hears.
She stops near the center and turns to face me. “Not a hobby room…” Her arms drop to her sides, her eyes settling on me. “This is mine. My room. Made for me, so I could expel the demons that I needed to.”
Something flickers behind her eyes. An old pain… a familiar pain.
I stand here, silently.
“You have demons, too, Lottie. Same kind. Different name, maybe, doesn’t matter, though. They don’t go away on their own.” She inhales deeply. “You need to learn to fight. Really fight, and I can’t trust those two up there to do it correctly. They love you too much to train you the way you need. They’ll hold back. I won’t.”
Claire sighs again. Her arms cross, hugging herself. “When I found out I was pregnant, before I knew it was a boy. I prayed it wasn’t a girl,” she says suddenly.
It stings. Landing like a slap I haven’t braced for, even though she doesn’t mean it like that. She sees it, of course, she does, and her eyes fill with pity. “I don’t mean it how it sounds, Lottie,” she quickly tries to reassure me. “If I had a daughter, I would’ve made sure she was capable just like I am. But this world, the one Will and I live in? It’s not kind or forgiving. We thrive in it, yes… but that comes with a cost. A risk. Someone would have hurt her just to hurt us.”
I look down, trying to hide the flicker of hurt behind my eyes. “I get it,” I whisper.
“I know you do,” Claire replies, her voice softer now. “But let me be clear with you… You are my daughter in every way that counts. You were already broken in ways I prayed no daughter of mine would ever be before you came to us, and I would have protected you with my last breath if I could have, sweet girl… but I couldn’t.”
Claire steps forward, cupping my face with one hand, her thumb brushing lightly beneath my eye. “But I can now.” I swallow the lump rising in my throat and step back. “Stand there,” Claire points to the left of the mat. “Feet apart, shoulder width.”
I moved without question, grounding my stance the way I’d seen Archer do so many times before. “What now?” I ask.
“Now, we keep this between us,” Claire says happily, smirking. “Will understands my need for this space. He created it for me, knowing what I needed, but he’s a different man when it comes to you.”
I raise a brow. “What do you mean?”
She doesn’t answer at first. Her smile fades, and her expression turns serious. “Will is… protective of the people he loves. He grew up with a father who was cruel and a mother who deserved more. When he found me…” She swallows hard, a lump forming in her throat that I can hear in her voice. “I was in the basement of some club. Beaten. Collared. Shackled like an animal. I had a shard of glass clutched so tight in my hand I nearly sliced my tendons in half.”
Claire holds out her palm, and I see the scar—long, jagged, healed but still there. Silver-pink across her skin like a ribbon of memory. “My father sold me after my mom died,” she adds, voice low and slightly broken. “He didn’t look back. Just counted the money and vanished.”
My throat clenches. I hate it. Hate that someone would do that to her. Hate that I knew exactly what that kind of betrayal feels like, but then I watch her straighten, her shoulders rolling back as the vulnerability she was showing before vanishes.
“Men like the ones who hurt us, they don’t stop. They take and take until there’s nothing left, and even then, they’ll squeeze the last breath from your lungs just to feel powerful. I’m going to train you until you can stop them… until you become your own weapon.” Her eyes hold mine. “You’re going to beg me to stop. I won’t. You need this, Lottie. Just like I did.”
I nod before she can say another word because she’s right. I need this. I need to be more than what I am now… more than what Lorenzo once knew me as.
The first hit isn’t hers. It’s mine… or it’s supposed to be.
I swing wide—sloppy and impatient. She dodges it like she’s seen it coming before I even decided to move.
“Again,” she calmly instructs, moving back into place.
I pivot, trying again. My second strike is faster, aimed at her side.
She catches my wrist midair, twisting it behind my back so fast my knees buckle and I fall to the ground.
“Again,” she barks.
Sweat beads at my temple as I take a breath, trying to ground myself. “Wait,” I plead, desperate for a break.
“No.” Claire circles me. “They wouldn’t wait, and I promised you I wouldn’t go easy on you.”
I can already feel the bruises on my body appearing, aches that I haven’t felt in a long time making themselves known as I move in ways I never have before. “I just need a small break.”
“Nope. Again. You need to stop relying on your emotions when you strike. Rage feels powerful, can even make your hits harder, but it clouds your judgment. You’re sloppy, precision is off, and that is how you lose.”
I launch forward, this time channeling control. Left jab, right elbow, knee. Claire blocks the first two but steps back on the third. A small win, but at least it was something.
Her lips twitch, not a smile, but a ghost of one. But then she’s serious again, lunging for me before I’ve even had a chance to catch my breath and tackles me to the floor with a thud.
We train for what feels like hours. My muscles burn, my lungs ache, but I don’t stop. Not even when I fall to my knees on the mat, arms trembling, or when the sting of her arm connecting with mine nearly makes me beg her to stop, or when my shoulder cracks back from one of her holds.
Claire doesn’t yell, but she doesn’t coddle me either. She corrects me with firm, direct orders.
“Lower your stance.”
“Follow through, or you’ll get knocked off balance.”
“Stop hesitating.”
She moves like water—fluid, fast, and powerful. Every motion with a purpose, and when I mirror her, something seems to click. I wasn’t perfect, I don’t think I will ever reach Claire’s level, but I’m not fragile either, and for the first time ever, I truly feel like I could fight back.
After what feels like the hundredth repetition, I slump to the mat, panting. Claire crouches next to me, a proud smile on her face, and tosses me a bottle of water.
“You did good,” she proudly tells me.
I look at her, chest still aching. “You didn’t give me a choice.”
Chapter 9
Lottie
Morning sunlight spills through the window, warm and golden, but it does nothing to soothe the throb in my shoulders and the dull ache settling into every corner of my body.
I peel myself out of bed before Archer or Oscar wakes up. They’re still twisted in the sheets, Oscar’s hand resting loosely where my waist had been, Archer’s leg thrown possessively over the mattress in my direction. If either of them noticed I’d slipped in last night—sweaty, sore, and half-limping—they didn’t show it.
I move slowly, every muscle complains as I reach for the sweatshirt hanging over the back of the chair. It takes longer than it should to get it on. The fabric brushes over a bruise blooming just below my ribcage, and I wince.
I sneak into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and strip. The mirror confirms what I already knew. Shadowy smudges across my upper arms. A reddish mark on my collarbone. A faint but definite imprint around my wrist from one of Claire’s holds. I trace the edges of the bruise with my finger, not with fear, but pride. Once, I would have cowered, tracing every bruise like it was a map of my wrongdoings, but now… I earned this.
Not by surviving. Not by running. But by fighting.
Still, I can already hear the way Archer’s voice would tighten if he saw it. Demanding to know what happened. The way Oscar’s eyes would flash with panic, the guilt that would follow when he thought he should’ve protected me from something again… But this isn’t something I need protection from.
This is something I chose for myself. So I could feel safer. Stronger.
So, I do what I have to do.
I shower, then redress, tugging the neckline of the sweatshirt higher, tucking the sleeves past my wrists. Hair tied up to keep it from brushing the sore spot behind my ear, and a touch of concealer just in case. My movements are deliberate but practiced. You don’t survive drug-addict parents and people like Lorenzo without learning how to cover a bruise.
This time it feels different. Not shameful though it was never my shame to carry, and not a secret kept in fear of what would happen if people found out—it’s a secret I’m keeping for me… just for now.
By the time I make it to the kitchen, the house is still quiet. I start the coffee, needing something to do with my hands, and when I’m done, Claire is already there. She doesn’t say a word, only glances up from her place at the counter, where she’s slicing an apple with unsettling precision. Her eyes scan me briefly. She sees the way I’m holding myself a little stiff, the slight drag of my left leg.
