Claimed by the Trillionaires (Menage for Mankind Book 5) by Ella Mansfield Page A

Blood streamed from a gash beside his eye when the camera zoomed in.
    "What on earth are you watching?" Sarah asked with surprise.  The children at home played a game called Red Rover where they called people over, but she'd never seen it turn bloody.
    Trystan turned and smiled at her over his shoulder.  "This is my Red Rover team."  He caught her hand and pulled her around the couch to sit on his lap.
    Sarah wiggled on his lap a bit, already starting to become aroused.  "Red Rover like the children's game?" 
    Trystan laughed.  "It's been a professional sport for over a hundred years."
    She looked at him in shock.  "Really?  And you play?"  What kind of nonsense was that?
    "I used to."  He held up his left hand, and she could see the last two fingers were deformed, as if they'd been broken multiple times.  "I've broken thirty-two bones playing Red Rover.  I retired five years ago, and bought the Minneapolis Mighties Red Rover team."
    "How can you break bones playing Red Rover?  Children play it!"
    Houston looked at Sarah with surprise.  "You've never heard of Trystan?  He was the best center to ever play the game!"
    Trystan grinned at her.  "I loved the game from the time I was small.  Of course, the professional game is a great deal more bloody than the ones we played in the boys' home back in St. Louis."
    Sarah frowned.  "You grew up in a boys' home?"  She stroked his dark hair.  "That's so sad."
    Brice, who sat beside Trystan, put his hand on Sarah's knee.  "Why is that sad?  We all grew up in boys' homes."  He shrugged.  "We were all born from pods."
    Sarah stared at him a moment.  "I never thought of that.  None of you have parents do you?"  Her own parents may have sold her into marriage with four strangers, but she still couldn't imagine a world where growing up without parents could be termed normal.
    Trystan patted her knee.  "No, no parents.  You're the only person I've ever known who had them, and look how yours treated you."
    She looked around her.  "But we're planning to raise any children, right?"  It had never occurred to her she might be expected to pass on a child to a boys' home to raise.
    "Of course!" Jaron called from across the room.  "We wouldn't give up the rights to our child."
    Another thought occurred to her then.  "What about raising him or her?  Will you want to know who the father is?  Or will you even care?"
    Brice shrugged.  "We'll know if the child is mine."  As the only black man, that made sense.  "I'm not sure I care, though."
    That was an odd concept for Sarah.  She listened and tried to take it in.  Houston leaned forward.  "I think we'll know if it's mine as well.  I have no way of knowing if my ancestry is pure Asian, but it does seem to be."  He glanced at the clock.  "Would any of you mind if I head downtown for a few hours?"
    The question surprised Sarah.  It wasn't that she thought they'd all spend every minute of every day together, but they'd been married less than a day.  "Of course not," she murmured.
    "Thanks," Houston said, jumping to his feet.  "There's an ancient car show.  I'm dying to own a 1963 Corvette." 
    From the other side of the room, Jaron began singing softly.  "'Piece of shit car.  I got a piece of shit car!  My car's a fucking pile of shit.  It never gets me very far!'"
    Houston bristled and looked at Jaron angrily for a moment before storming out of the room. Sarah looked at Brice in confusion.  "Why did that song make Houston angry?"
    Brice grinned.  "Do you know what a 1963 Corvette is?"
    "An ancient car?" Sarah guessed.
    Brice nodded.  "Jaron sings that song all the time.  He loves to sing songs by Adam Sandler and Garth Brooks. No one else.  Just those two.  Houston took his timing to sing 'Piece of Shit Car' personally.  It's a Sandler song, so he could have guessed that it was just something that Jaron sings, but...It probably wasn't."
    Sarah turned to see Jaron leaning against the wall, his eyes