THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND

Sixteen

The usual cafeteria chatter felt distant, muted, as Alma picked at her lunch, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Across the table, Laura's eyes, sharp and perceptive, were boring into her, a persistent, uncomfortable gaze.

"You're hiding something from me," Laura stated, her voice low but firm, cutting through the background noise.

Alma managed a nervous laugh, a brittle, unconvincing sound.

"Why would you think that?" She avoided Laura's direct stare, focusing intently on a stray pea on her tray.

"Alma, tell me," Laura pressed, her tone leaving no room for evasion.

"No." Alma's voice was barely a whisper. The secret felt too heavy, too humiliating to articulate, even to her best friend.

"See! I knew it!" Laura exclaimed softly, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "You are hiding something!"

Alma sighed, her shoulders slumping. The weight of it all was suffocating. "I can't say it," she mumbled, wishing she could disappear.

Laura leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, a teasing note in her tone.

"You didn't accidentally... break your hymen, did you?" She giggled, a playful prod.

"No," Alma muttered, shaking her head. "Worse than that."

Laura's eyes widened, her playful demeanor instantly replaced by genuine shock. "Huh?" she gasped, her voice barely audible. "What could be worse than that?"

Alma said nothing. The words were stuck in her throat, choked by the vivid, searing memory of that night. The shame was too profound, too all-encompassing.

How shamelessly she had climaxed, naked and exposed, whispering their names. The thought alone made her skin crawl.

Since that horrifying encounter four days ago, her brothers hadn't said a word to her. Not a single accusation, not a lecture, not even a questioning glance about what they had seen and heard.

Their silence was a new kind of torture, heavy with unspoken knowledge, with the weight of shared, forbidden intimacy. It made every encounter with them an agonizing dance around the gaping chasm that had opened between them.

Their eyes, whenever they caught hers, held a new, dangerous glint she couldn't decipher, but which sent shivers down her spine. The whole thing shook her to her core, leaving her perpetually on edge, caught in a terrifying limbo.

*************

The mansion was quiet, the silence a stark contrast to the chaos of the underworld that had consumed the morning.

Zade was the only brother at home, having been dispatched by Dante to keep a watchful eye on Alma while he and Ronan were stuck in a long, tedious meeting, finalizing the aftermath of the rival gang's breach.

Zade found a perverse comfort in the quiet, the wrestling match on the living room television a dull hum in the background.

Alma returned from school, her backpack heavy with textbooks and the lingering weight of Laura's unsettling words. She greeted Zade with a subdued nod, avoiding eye contact, and retreated to the sanctuary of her room.

She decided to tackle her calculus homework, a familiar, challenging distraction, before daring to face the cold shower she knew she needed to take.

An hour later, frustration simmered within her. The calculus questions, usually a puzzle she enjoyed unraveling, now mocked her with their complexity.

She couldn't solve a single one, and the inability gnawed at her. She called Laura, desperate for help, but even her best friend, usually academically adept, was stumped.

"Is Zade or Dante not good with that?" Laura suggested, her voice chirpy. "Ask them."

"Only Zade is home," Alma mumbled, her brow furrowed in concentration, staring at the incomprehensible equations.

"Ask him then," Laura insisted, a mischievous note entering her tone.

Alma huffed. "Fine," she conceded, knowing it was her only option.

Then Laura giggled, a conspiratorial sound that instantly put Alma on guard.

"What?" Alma asked, a faint tremor of apprehension in her voice, knowing her best friend was undoubtedly having one of her silly, usually inappropriate, thoughts.

"Remember the novel the English teacher had seized?" Laura giggled even more, the memory clearly entertaining her.

"Object of Desire?" Alma asked, a flush rising to her cheeks as she remembered the horrified expression on the English teacher's face when he'd confiscated the scandalous dark romance book Laura had been brazenly reading in class.

"Yes!" Laura practically squealed. "There was a chapter in that book where Luca was helping Catalina with homework." She paused, letting the implication hang in the air.

"What happened?" Alma's ear perked, despite herself. Curiosity, a powerful, dangerous force, got the better part of her.

"Oh, Alma," Laura breathed, her voice dropping to a low, suggestive whisper. "He had his c**k in her mouth as he explained the work to her."

Alma gasped, her heart raising, thrumming a frantic beat against her ribs. "You have lost your mind!" she whispered, horrified but undeniably intrigued.

Laura laughed harder, a full, uninhibited peal of mirth. "Just imagine it, though! Oh, I wish I was in your shoes, Alma!"

"Zade is not like Dante," Alma frowned, a sharp edge to her voice, trying to quell the unsettling thought that had begun to take root. Zade was different. He was kind. He wouldn't.

"Oh, my dear Alma," Laura said, her tone suddenly serious, almost chilling. "He could be worse."

Alma hung up the call, Laura's laughter still echoing faintly from the phone. She stared at her calculus textbook, the numbers blurring, the equations suddenly irrelevant.

The image Laura had painted, Luca and Catalina, blurred and shifted until it became Zade and her. She contemplated asking Zade for help with her homework, a silent war raging within her. He wasn't like Dante. No way. He was... safe. Right?

Slowly, her body feeling both heavy and strangely light, she made her way downstairs. The television's low hum guided her to the living room, where she found Zade, sprawled on the sofa, engrossed in the wrestling match.

"Zade," she said softly, stepping tentatively into the living room, her voice barely a whisper in the large space.

His head snapped to her, his large frame tensing for a moment before relaxing. His eyes, usually warm, softened as they met hers.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, his voice deep and laced with concern.

She blushed, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks. She held out the calculus book to him, her hand trembling slightly.

"I can't solve it. Can you help?"

Zade chuckled at her little pout, a gentle sound that momentarily eased her apprehension. He took the book from her, his large fingers brushing hers, sending a small jolt through her.

He scanned through the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration, nodding occasionally as he understood the problems. He pulled the side table closer, placing the book on it, then reached for the pen she had been idly chewing in her mouth, his fingers grazing her lips.

He expected Alma to sit next to him on the sofa, a respectful distance. Instead, with a sudden, instinctual decision, she walked past him and sat on the carpeted floor directly between his legs, her back turned to him. This put her perfectly positioned for him to hover over her as he explained the work on the low table.

His scent, a clean, masculine smell mixed with a hint of sweat and something uniquely Zade, enveloped her. Her hair brushed against his chest as he bent over her shoulder, his arm reaching around her to point at the equations.

His breath ghosted on her ear, sending shivers down her spine. The warmth of his body radiated through her, a strange comfort intertwined with a burgeoning, illicit awareness.

It took two tries before she finally got it, the complex equation clicking into place. She smiled, a genuine, relieved smile, turning her head slightly to look up at him.

"Thank you, Zade," she whispered, genuinely grateful. She quickly finished the rest of her homework, the newfound understanding making the process smooth.

Zade, meanwhile, had settled back against the sofa, adjusting himself. He was hard, she noticed, the imprint of his erection clearly visible beneath his sweatpants. Her gaze lingered for a moment, a flicker of Laura's words echoing in her mind. He expected her to return to her room after finishing her work, but she didn't move.

Instead, she remained seated between his legs, watching the wrestling match with him, the loud grunts and roars from the television filling the comfortable silence.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, her head leaned back, falling until it rested against his lap. His thigh was firm beneath her head, a surprisingly comfortable pillow. Her hair brushed against him, a soft caress, anytime she would flinch or gasp at a particularly violent move on the screen.

"You don't have to watch if you're scared," he told her, his voice a low rumble above her, his hand reaching out, almost touching her hair, then pulling back.

"I'm not scared," she said, turning her head slightly, her eyes meeting his.

But then, her gaze dropped, drawn inexorably downwards. Her eyes widened, instantly falling on his erection, the prominent bulge undeniable, pulsating gently beneath the fabric. Laura's words, Luca and Catalina, filled her head, the forbidden image so vivid, so tantalizing.

"Alma! Head up," he said, his voice sharp, a clear command when he noticed where her gaze was fixed. He shifted uncomfortably.

She blushed, looking up at him, but it was fleeting. Her eyes, drawn by an irresistible magnetism, returned to his erection, a burning curiosity overriding her embarrassment.

"I've never seen one before," she muttered, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them. And then, without thinking, her fingers, small and delicate, reached out and poked it.

Zade's breath hitched. His large hand shot out, grabbing her hand fiercely, his grip tight, almost painful. His voice was deep, raw, strained. "You are playing with fire, Alma."

Alma frowned, annoyed by his sudden grip, her own burgeoning curiosity overriding his warning. "I just wanted to see it," she mumbled, rolling her eyes, a hint of childish petulance in her tone.

Zade gritted his teeth, his knuckles white around her hand. "Stupid girl," he muttered, the words a rough exhale of exasperation and building tension.

Alma, annoyed by his dismissive tone and the painful grip on her hand, reacted instinctively. With a sudden, surprising burst of defiance, she smacked his c**k hard. The sound was a dull thud against the fabric.

Zade groaned, a deep, visceral sound that rumbled from his chest. His eyes, already dark with desire, widened, then grew darker still, a storm brewing within their depths.

The immediate pain, the shock, was quickly consumed by something else. Something primal. Something in his eyes shifted, a dangerous, predatory glint emerging, mirroring the one she so often saw in Dante's. The game, already in motion, had just escalated irrevocably.