13. Celia
Chapter 13
Celia
Rage is moody all afternoon. Even something as simple as brushing his teeth becomes a battle with his toothbrush, the short, jerky movements so violent that it’s clearly self-mutilation. When he spits out blood, I’m not surprised.
But I am confused.
“What’s going on?” All three brothers have been twitchy the entire morning. “Did I talk in my sleep, or something? Kick someone in the balls?” I slept like the dead, which would have been wonderful were it not for the circumstances surrounding it. I should have never let my guard down like that around three ridiculously horny men.
As it stands, it’s mortifying.
If I kept them up all night snoring—or worse, sleeptalking —I’ll never live it down. The humiliation alone is enough to ensure I never fall asleep around them again. Not to mention, I might as well revoke my woman card for trusting them to keep their word about not fucking me. If I was knocked out cold, they could have done anything to me.
It was reckless and stupid and I can’t believe I actually fell asleep with three crazy men in bed with me.
Rebel’s gray eyes light up from across the kitchen island. If he lost any sleep last night, he doesn’t show it. He’s been bouncing around the apartment ever since we stepped outside of Rage’s room, like a golden retriever let loose after a night locked inside a cage. “You talk in your sleep?” He pours me a glass of orange juice and slides it across the countertop. Lifting an eyebrow in Ruin’s direction, he asks, “why didn’t you say something sooner? I bet she’s spilled all kinds of secrets by now.”
Thankfully, Ruin isn’t much for conversation. He slips a piece of buttered toast beneath his mask and munches in silence.
“We need to talk,” Rage interrupts, stabbing an egg like it’s next in line for murder. He glares at the dripping yolk before shoving the plate away from him. “It’s important.”
I blink owlishly at Rage, unsure about this new development. “Um. Okay.”
He grinds his teeth for a full ten seconds. “Pick someone.”
I take a slow sip of my juice. “You’ll have to be more specific.” He could be asking me who his next target should be.
If that’s the case, the obvious choice should be himself.
“Pick someone for what?” I ask.
Rage looks like he’s swallowing battery acid, the heavy bob of his Adam’s apple somehow painful to watch. “You get to go home, krosotka. ” He goes back to glaring at his untouched breakfast plate. “Only one of us can take you.”
“The rest of us have to wooork ,” Rebel whines, spinning on his barstool. “So you should definitely pick me. I’ll make the drive fun.” He grabs the edge of the island and steadies himself, then tosses a wink my direction.
I still don’t understand. “Aren’t you taking me home?” I ask, peering up at Rage. That was our deal: I spend the night with him, and he takes me home once it’s over.
He won’t return my gaze. “You get to choose.” Rage’s frown twitches at the corners. “Hurry up.”
I look between the three of them for a long moment. “Is this some kind of trick question?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Rage snaps, slamming his fist on the counter. His fork clatters against the edge of the plate and tumbles to the floor. With a growl, he tosses his full plate into the sink with a crash and storms off. “Forget it. I’m late enough as it is.”
I watch as he storms out of the apartment and slams the door shut behind him. The walls rattle from the force of it, and Rebel lets out a low whistle. “Man needs to get laid,” he murmurs, scratching the stubble on his chin. “He’s all wound up all the time.” His eyes slide from the front door to me , a slow smile curving on his lips. “You know… if anyone can calm him down?—”
My jaw drops. “ Me? He just stormed off because of me!” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Rebel. “ You sleep with him!”
“That’s called incest, baby.” His eyes glimmer with mirth. “Plus he’s not my type.” He licks a stripe across his front teeth. “You, on the other hand?—”
The front door suddenly blows open and slams against the wall. I shriek and jump out of my seat, heart pounding, as Rage blitzes back into the room. His muscles are coiled tight, the white shirtsleeves shoved up his forearms wrinkled to hell and back, like he’s been tugging them up and down for the past thirty seconds since he walked out. Jaw clenched, eyes tight, he crosses the room and stands in front of me. A vein in his neck throbs.
I gape up at him. “Um. Welcome back.”
“Can I—” He winces, clearing his throat with a hard cough. His fists clench and unclench by his sides. Swallowing, he tries again. “Can I… take you home?”
Twelve hours ago, I would have spat in his face. Called him a bastard. Stormed out the door without looking back.
Of course, he would have followed me and dragged me back inside.
But that was twelve hours ago. This is now.
And for some reason…
I bite my lip and meet his eyes, wondering how long he waited outside before coming back in. Why he returned in the first place. If he wanted to, he could have picked me up, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me out the door an hour ago.
It’s not like his brothers can beat him in a fist fight. If they challenge him physically, they’ll lose. So will I, for that matter. I can do little more than kick and scream in the face of his determination.
My stomach churns at the memory of last night. The blood on the ballroom floor. The salt of sweat and tang of metal on my tongue. The way Rage decimated Goliath with only his fists.
The way he targeted me next.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel the weight of him on my tongue. My knees ache like I’m still kneeling in front of him with an unforgiving fist wrapped around my hair, my jaw unhinged as I swallow every last drop of his fury.
But then the memory shifts to soft sheets and decadent down pillows. Warmth spilling from one body to the next. These quiet little breaths. The brush of a hand across my back. Lips caressing the curve of my neck.
Gentle whispers murmured in my ear.
Telling me that I’m beautiful.
That I’m treasured.
That I’m his.
Two sides of the same man, constantly warring with each other. Briefly, I wonder if I’m the problem. Maybe if he were with someone else, he could handle his emotions better. Be nurturing instead of nuclear.
I picture another woman on her knees as he gently glides his cock between her lips, Rage murmuring praise as she swallows him down easily, eagerly , aiming to please and be pleasured in return.
But something soft like that isn’t in the cards for us. Even now, for him to ask to take me home instead of demanding it, feels like a small step in the right direction, but I know better. He shouldn’t even ask. I’m the one who’s supposed to be able to make the decision. Giving over control to someone else, even with something as simple as a decision like this, is impossible for him.
It’s why I shake my head and tell him no.
“No?” He grits his teeth, skin flushing red. “How could you say no? ” Glaring first at me, then at his brothers, he chuffs. “Right. You already chose one of them. Well which one is it, then? Rebel is the obvious choice. You clearly like him.” He drags his sleeves back up his arms, bunching them at his elbows. “Unless you want a little pain instead of pleasure. Then Ruin’s the one you want. But me?” A bitter laugh rattles in his chest. “No, you can’t pick me. I might get the wrong idea and think you actually like me.”
I shove him on impulse, and he tips back slowly like a tree swaying in the wind, snapping back only once the surprise clears. Grabbing my wrist, he holds my hand to his chest, turning his glare on me. “Touch me again?—”
“Show me something to like!” I scrape my nails against his shirt as I drag my fingers into a fist. “No, I’m not choosing you, because you’re just so—” I cry out in frustration. “You’re so fucking suffocating! Give me some space, Rage. Treat me like a person instead of a possession, and maybe I’ll actually want to kiss you.”
He closes the distance between us in a single, hard step. “Oh, you want to kiss me.” Gaze burning into mine, he dips his head and exhales hotly across my cheek. “Just like I want to kiss you. This thing we have—” he grabs my hip and pulls me into him—“this hot, tight feeling in my chest—” he pants, crushing my hand over his heart. Its beat is a wild, frantic thing, as loud as my own. “It’s magnetic. Fucking impossible to ignore.”
Our lips brush, and we both shiver on impact.
“I’m not fighting it,” he rasps, eyes fluttering shut, “so why are you?”
My throat closes, making it impossible to answer. But I know the reason—it’s clear as fucking day.
Rage is the kind of man who only knows how to break hearts. He doesn’t know how to fix them.
Mine can’t break anymore. It’s already shattered.
When Rage doesn’t get a response, he tears himself away from me and pries my fist from his shirt. “Yeah. I know.” Dragging a hand through his hair, he avoids my gaze. “I’m a bastard, right?”
This time when the front door closes behind him, it barely locks into place, swinging shut in slow motion. But it might as well bang for how loudly it ricochets through my body, tearing through muscle and bone, breaking me down into even tinier, sharper pieces than I thought was possible.
Rebel whistles again and taps his fingernails on the countertop. “Man, you two need therapy.” Shaking his head, he chuckles. “I thought Ruin was the crazy one, but put you and Rage together in a room, and he starts to look pretty fucking normal.”
Pain lances through my chest. I turn my glare on Rebel next. If all he’s gonna do is laugh at my expense, then that makes everything ten times easier. Walking over to the only masked man in the room, the one who hasn’t said a single word since I rolled out of bed an hour ago, I lace my fingers through his.
The flash of hurt across Rebel’s face makes me hold on tighter.
“I choose Ruin. You ready, big guy?”
Ruin doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me away from the kitchen and grabs a jacket slung over the back of the couch. It’s huge, heavy, and warm, smelling like cedar and smoke. He wraps it around my shoulders and zips it in front, locking my arms against my chest.
At this point, I don’t care about being restrained as long as I get the fuck out of here.
“Seriously?” Rebel hops off his bar stool and blocks the path to the exit. “You’re gonna let him take you home? He looks like Jason! You know, the murderer!” His face falls. Quieter, he says, “you’re wearing my shirt.”
It takes some twisting and turning, but I manage to pull my arms free from the t-shirt and pull it down my body, even with Ruin’s winter coat in the way. I shimmy out of it and let it drop to the floor in a puddle around my feet. “There, now you’re free of me, too.”
“I don’t want to be!” Rebel growls, sounding more like his older brother by the second. “Goddammit, Celia, this doesn’t have to be hard! You can choose all of us!”
I shake my head and wander toward the door. “That’s not how the world works.”
Rebel grabs the bottom edge of my jacket to stop me from leaving. “It’s how our world works, baby.” Sighing, he grabs my clutch purse sitting on the back of the couch and slides it into my jacket pocket. “When you’re ready for that, call me. I saved my number in your phone.” He pulls me in and presses a kiss to my lips, soft and slow, and it actually makes me feel a little better. Some of my anger dissolves, and all that’s left is a void of uncertainty.
“Okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
Tension in Rebel’s body relaxes. “Can I come see you tonight?”
I look between him and his brother. “You mean I have a choice?”
Rebel flinches. “You get to choose who you want to see. For now.”
Ruin grunts like he’s in agreement. Or growing impatient. I’m not sure which.
“So I can choose none of you?”
There’s a beat of silence. “I wouldn’t do that.”
I want to ask why not, but I think I already know the answer.
Rage won’t allow it.
I’m starting to understand that none of them will.
“I’ll let you know if I feel like having company,” I answer lamely, knowing that in the end, it won’t matter. They’ll always find a way to infiltrate my life, even if I don’t invite them in.
“ When you feel like having company,” Rebel gently corrects.
“Yeah. Of course.”
Walking away after the last twenty-four hours should be easy, but for some reason, walking away is even harder than standing still.