Endo (Full Send #2)

Chapter 23

23

REIGN

Under The Influence - Chris Brown

Parties are great until you’re in one you can’t fucking escape.

The salty breeze off the ocean mixes with the smoke from the grill, and somewhere behind me, someone’s already shouting over the music pouring from the speakers. The whole place is alive—laughter, yelling, the kind of chaotic energy that makes you think nothing else exists outside of this moment. The sun’s dipping low, streaking the sky in orange and pink, and I take another swig of my beer, letting the burn settle something restless inside me.

But no amount of booze or sunsets is gonna make this night any easier. Because she’s coming. And I’m already bracing myself for the fallout.

Talon’s manning the grill like he’s on a mission to feed all of Tampa Bay, flipping burgers and barking orders about how the hot dogs need “just the right amount of char.” Sayshen’s sprawled on a lounger near the edge of the deck, a Corona dangling from his fingertips as he throws his head back, laughing at something Bex just said. She’s perched beside him, her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, gesturing wildly as she tells a story that’s got everyone around her grinning.

The rest of the crew is scattered. Some are down on the beach, a volleyball game in full swing with Wolfe diving into the sand like it’s the Olympics, while a few others are out on jet skis, the faint sound of engines cutting through the waves. A small group has claimed a corner of the deck near the makeshift bar Andre set up, pouring drinks and tossing back shots like it’s a competition.

It’s loud and warm and easy—a picture-perfect beach day that feels like it belongs in a brochure. The kind of scene that should be nothing but good vibes. But for me? It’s just noise.

I lean against the deck railing, my eyes fixed on the horizon as the sun sinks lower. The beer in my hand’s already warm, and I haven’t said more than two words to anyone in the last half hour. Not because I don’t want to—it’s because I’m waiting.

I don’t have to wait long.

When Lena shows up, it’s like the air shifts, some kind of sixth sense screaming at me before I even look. But when I do, it hits harder than I want to admit. She’s stepping onto the deck with Revel at her side, and fuck, she looks... stunning.

Her tan legs seem longer than they should in those ripped jean shorts, and that cropped tie-dye shirt clings to her in a way that has my throat going dry. Her hair’s loose, spilling over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the golden light of the setting sun. She moves like she owns the space—confident, but with just enough hesitation to let me know she’s not as calm as she wants people to think.

And me? I can’t look away.

But it’s not just how she looks—it’s the way she’s been acting. Or not acting, really. I’ve been messaging her all week. Texts, calls, even a goddamn voicemail because I was desperate enough to try anything. Nothing. Every single one went unanswered, leaving me with nothing but silence.

It’s confusing as hell. It’s frustrating. And yeah, it hurts.

I get it, though. She’s overthinking everything that happened between us—I know her well enough to know that. But understanding doesn’t make it suck any less. Especially not when I see her walk in with him.

Revel leans in, says something that makes her laugh, and it takes everything in me not to crush the bottle in my hand. It’s not jealousy. Not really. It’s the goddamn waiting that’s eating me alive. Waiting for her to figure out whatever she needs to figure out. Waiting for her to stop avoiding me.

I toss back the rest of my beer, the burn of it doing nothing to calm the storm in my chest, and grab another from the cooler near the grill. The bottle’s ice-cold, but my blood’s boiling.

She hasn’t even wanted to train. Not once. I’d offered, but she ignored it, just like she’s ignored me. And seeing her now, all smiles and laughs like everything’s fine, like we didn’t just cross a line that changes everything... it twists something sharp and ugly inside me.

The hours drag. The sun dips below the horizon, the sky bleeding into deep orange and purple, and the party shifts into nighttime energy. Laughter’s louder, drinks are flowing harder, and she still hasn’t come to me.

So, I stop waiting.

Fuck giving her space. I’m done sitting on the sidelines. If she won’t come to me, then I’ll go to her.

Lena’s coming up the steps from the beach, water dripping from her skin, her bikini clinging to her in a way that has no damn right to look that good. She’s wringing out her hair, the strands sticking to her shoulders as the last rays of sunlight catch the droplets sliding down her body.

I feel the knot in my chest tighten as I watch her, every step she takes only winding it tighter. She hasn’t said two words to me all week, and now she’s here, looking like that, acting like she hasn’t been ignoring me since the second she walked away at the track.

I push off the railing where I’ve been leaning, my bottle of beer dangling loosely in my hand as I cross the deck toward her. She doesn’t see me at first, her focus on squeezing water out of her hair, but the moment I say her name, her head snaps up.

“Lena.”

Her eyes snap to mine, wide and slightly hazy. She blinks, her lips parting like she’s surprised to see me standing there, but she recovers quickly.

“Reign,” she says, her tone light but laced with something I can’t quite place.

“We need to talk.”

Her expression falters for a second before she glances at Cece and Bex, then back at me. “Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

She hesitates but eventually nods, setting her drink on the table. I don’t give her a chance to overthink it, guiding her toward the house with a hand on the small of her back.

Talon’s room is quiet, the muted thump of music from the party outside filtering through the closed door. Lena sits on the edge of the bed, her shoulders relaxed, her head tilted slightly as she looks up at me.

She’s drunk. Not wasted, but definitely tipsy enough to make this conversation harder than it needs to be.

“Why do you look so serious?” she asks, laughing softly.

I lean against the doorframe to the ensuite bathroom, crossing my arms. “Because you’ve been avoiding me.”

Her laugh fades, and she looks down at her hands. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Bullshit.”

Her head snaps up, and for a second, there’s fire in her eyes. But then she shrugs, the tension in her shoulders melting away. “Okay, maybe a little.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to say more, but she doesn’t. Instead, she shifts on the bed, kicking off her sandals and leaning back on her hands. The motion causing the top of her bikini to ride up slightly, revealing just enough to show the gentle curve along the underside of her tits.

“What are we doing here, Lena?” I ask, my voice lower than I intended.

Her lips curve into a sly smile. “I don’t know, Reign. What are we doing here?”

She’s playing with fire, and she knows it.

When she stands, the space between us shrinks until she’s close enough to touch. Her fingers trail lightly over the front of my shirt, her gaze lifting to meet mine. “You’re too serious,” she murmurs, her voice teasing. “Relax a little.”

“Lena,” I warn, my tone sharp.

But she doesn’t stop. Her hand slides higher, over my chest, and when her fingers brush the side of my neck, I grab her wrist.

“You’re drunk,” I say flatly.

“So?”

“So, I’m not doing this when you’re like this.”

Her smile falters, and for a second, she looks genuinely surprised. Then, she narrows her eyes, pulling her wrist free. “Fine. I’ll just find someone else, then. I have needs, you know.”

That’s it.

Before she can take another step, I grab her by the throat, backing her against the door with a firm, unyielding grip. My fingers press against the delicate curve of her neck, enough to hold her in place but not to hurt her. Her eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat, but it’s not fear I see in those ocean-colored depths.

It’s something else entirely.

There’s a flicker of defiance, sure—Lena wouldn’t be Lena without that—but it’s mixed with something raw. Her lips part, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, and I can feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath my hand.

She’s turned on.

Fuck, she’s more than turned on, and I know it. I can see it in the way her body tenses, the way her eyes flash with equal parts challenge and want.

She likes this. She likes when I take control, when I don’t give her a choice, when I remind her that she’s not the only one holding the reins in this fucked-up thing between us. The thought sends a surge of heat through me, tightening my grip just enough to make her feel it.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous, a promise laced with warning.

Her gaze narrows slightly, but her lips curl into the faintest hint of a smirk, and it drives me wild. She’s testing me, pushing to see how far I’ll go, and I know she’s not going to back down unless I make her.

And fuck if that doesn’t make me want her even more.

Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but I don’t give her the chance. The tension between us is too thick, her scent too intoxicating, and I’ve been holding back for far too long. Without a word, I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands gripping her hips as I press my mouth against her through the thin fabric of her bikini bottoms.

Her breath hitches, and a soft gasp escapes her lips, her fingers instinctively tangling in my hair. Her body jolts slightly, like she wasn’t expecting this, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into me, her hips shifting ever so slightly as I press my tongue against her through the damp fabric.

“Reign,” she whispers, her voice already breathless. It’s not a plea—it’s a surrender.

I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her bikini bottoms, pulling them down slowly, deliberately. Her legs tremble slightly as the fabric slides down her thighs, pooling at her ankles, but she doesn’t try to stop me. She’s watching me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her lips parted and her eyes darkened with lust.

I let my hands roam up her thighs, feeling the smooth, ocean chilled skin beneath my palms, before I grip her hips again, holding her in place. My tongue moves slowly, tracing deliberate patterns against her, savoring the way she tastes—salty from the ocean, sweet in a way that’s purely her. Her hand tightens in my hair, and I can feel the tremor in her body as she presses closer to me.

“Reign,” she breathes again, her voice cracking with need.

I glance up at her, a smirk tugging at my lips as I take in the sight of her. Her heads tilted back against the door, her chest heaving, her fingers clutching at the frame for balance. “Getting impatient already?” I murmur against her, my voice low and teasing. “Thought you were all about the long game. Guess I’m setting the pace tonight.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, her fingers tightening in my hair. “The only thing you’re setting is my nerves on fire. Stop stalling.”

I grin against her skin, my hands gripping her hips firmly. “Stalling? Celona mou , this isn’t a sprint. It’s endurance. You’re not ready for me to hit top speed just yet.”

Her nails scrape lightly against my scalp as she pulls me closer, her voice a mix of sass and desperation. “You’re such an ass.”

“And you love it,” I reply with a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot on her inner thigh. “Now, hold still and let me show you why patience pays off.”

I focus on her completely, letting my tongue work her in slow, maddening strokes. Every flick, every gentle scrape of my teeth against her sensitive skin draws a new sound from her—a gasp, a moan, my name whispered like a prayer. Her knees buckle slightly when I suck gently on her clit, and her other hand comes down to clutch at my shoulder, as if to keep herself grounded.

“Fuck, Reign,” she gasps, her voice breaking. Her hips roll against my mouth, seeking more, and fuck, I’ve never been more happy to give it to her.

The sounds she’s making are enough to undo me completely, but I hold on, drawing it out, savoring every second. Her body begins to tighten, her breathing coming in short, sharp bursts, and I know she’s close.

Her voice breaks into a breathless cry, the words tumbling out in a desperate, trembling gasp. “Oh fuck.”

Her grip in my hair tightens as she shatters, her release raw and unrestrained. Her cries fill the quiet room as her body trembles, and I hold her steady, my hands firm on her hips as I guide her through every pulse, every wave.

She’s completely undone, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

When she finally slumps against the door, her legs barely holding her up, I stand slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My chest is heaving, but I can’t take my eyes off her. Her cheeks are flushed, her skin glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, and her breathing is ragged. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us is heavy, charged, and I know neither of us is ready to break it.

But then she does, her voice soft but steady, her eyes locked on mine. “There’s a race tomorrow night.”

I frown, leaning back slightly. “And?”

“I want you to come,” she says simply, but there’s an edge to her tone—a challenge, a request, maybe even a plea.

I hesitate, the thought of her racing twisting something in my chest. The risk, the danger—it’s too much. But as I look at her, standing there still catching her breath, her gaze unwavering, I know I can’t say no.

“Fine,” I say finally, my voice gruff. “I’ll be there.”

Her lips twitch into a small smile, and for a moment, it feels like the tension between us has eased. But as she gathers her bikini bottoms and straightens herself, I know better. There’s still so much left unsaid, so much hanging between us, and tomorrow isn’t going to make it any easier.

The strip is electric with energy, the roar of engines and the sharp tang of burnt rubber filling the night air. It’s chaos, the kind of chaos that used to feel like home, but now it’s nothing but a tight knot in my stomach. The Speed Demons are lined up in their usual spot, their bikes gleaming under the neon lights, every detail polished and prepped for the race.

I hang back near the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, watching Lena. She’s bent over her bike, double-checking everything, her movements precise and steady. She looks completely in control, but I know better. I see the little tells—the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers linger a second too long on the throttle.

She’s nervous. And so am I.

Revel’s beside her at first, hyping her up like she’s about to take on the world. He’s grinning, cracking jokes, doing everything he can to lighten the mood. I should appreciate it, but all I can do is glare at the back of his head. My focus stays on her. It always does.

Eventually, he steps back, clapping her on the shoulder before walking over to where Cece and Bex are standing with the Demons near the bikes. The group’s all smiles and laughter, Revel fitting in like he’s been here forever. It’s a nice distraction for him, I guess. But not for me. Not when I see Lena left standing at the starting line alone, the nerves clear in the way her fingers flex around the handlebars of Cruz’s bike.

I tell myself she’s fine—Lena’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for. But then the wail of sirens cuts through the air, blue and red lights flashing at the far edge of the strip, slicing through the night like a warning shot.

Shit.

“Cops!” someone shouts, and the crowd scatters.

Bikes roar to life, and people bolt in every direction, but my focus zeroes in on Lena. She’s still sitting on her bike, frozen, her hands gripping the handlebars so tight I can see the strain in her knuckles even from here. She doesn’t move, doesn’t react, and my stomach drops.

“Lena!” I yell, pushing through the panicked crowd toward her. The Demons are already mounting up, ready to bail.

Sayshen spots me and shouts, “Reign, let’s go! We’ve gotta move!”

“You go!” I snap, my voice sharp as a blade. “Get everyone out of here!”

Thorne hesitates for a split second, his gaze darting between Lena and me before he nods sharply. “Right then, mate. Don’t go getting bloody nicked!” Before he takes off, he tosses me his helmet, the heavy weight landing solidly in my hands. “You’ll need this more than me.”

He revs his bike, the roar cutting through the chaos, and peels out, the rest of the team following close behind.

I don’t have time to watch them go. My eyes are locked on Lena, who’s still frozen at the starting line, her wide eyes staring straight ahead like she’s in a trance. The sirens are closing in, the red and blue lights slashing through the darkness.

“Lena!” I shout, my voice raw, but she doesn’t move.

I don’t think—I just act.

I reach her and, without wasting a second, pull Thorne’s helmet over my head. The fit’s snug, the visor dulling the chaos just enough to help me focus. Then I swing a leg over her bike, settling in front of her with my hands gripping the handlebars.

“Lena!” I bark over my shoulder, my voice muffled but urgent. “We have to get the fuck out of here. Now.”

Her head snaps toward me, her eyes meeting mine, but she’s still stuck, frozen in that moment. “Reign, I?—”

“No time,” I cut her off, grabbing the handlebars. “Hold on.”

She finally snaps out of it, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist as I twist the throttle. The bike roars to life, and we take off, the back wheel skidding slightly before catching traction.

The rush of the bike beneath me is a shock to the system, a mix of exhilaration and terror. It’s been months since I’ve ridden, and the memories of my crash come flooding back with every turn, every twist of the throttle. The screech of tires, the weightlessness before the impact—it’s all there, haunting me. But I shove it down because this isn’t about me. It’s about her.

Lena’s grip tightens around my waist, her body pressed close to mine. I can feel her trembling, her breath warm against my back even through the chaos of the ride. Her presence grounds me, keeps me focused as I navigate the streets, dodging the mess left behind by the scattering crowd.

We weave through the city, the sirens fading into the distance, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. My mind is a storm of emotions—panic, anger, and that old, familiar fear—but her arms around me cut through the noise. They’re like an anchor, steadying me in the middle of the chaos.

I take a hard turn onto a quieter street, the city lights blurring around us as I push the bike harder. It’s reckless, but I don’t care. All that matters is putting distance between us and the cops, getting her somewhere safe.