Chapter 36
M usic so loud I can feel it rattle my bones masks my own heartbeat. It almost, almost drowns out that countdown, too…but not completely.
Ticktock. Ticktock.
The lips at my throat close, making me moan in approval.
That’s what he’s here for. To help me forget it. To help me forget…everything.
Unfortunately, it’s harder than I thought it’d be. Much harder than it usually is. A few hours into this reprieve, I still can’t get my brain to turn off.
Maybe because these lips pale in comparison to the ones I really want.
No. I’m not thinking about Crue. I’m done with that. Done with him.
Beads of sweat roll down my temples as I tilt my head back, resting it on the shoulder of the guy behind me and giving him better access. Like a pup nursing, he latches on vigorously, suckling the thin skin.
Our bodies sway together, his hard dick digging into my back as his hands roam my front.
I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. Nobody here seems to. This is the closest I’ve come to feeling complete freedom since Hide and Keep.
I spread my arms out, then up, wishing I had my wings again, wishing I had wings, period. It’s not enough to be airborne momentarily. I want to fly forever.
Across the club, I spot a black hat exactly like the one my—
I said I was done with him.
A scoff gets stuck in my elongated throat. Even I don’t listen to myself.
But I will. Starting now.
I hereby emancipate Crue Brantley from my mind, my body, and my…
Heart.
It’s not like he was in my heart really . I mean…
He was.
He is.
He shouldn’t have been.
He was a stranger when I first tucked his memory in there. I didn’t know anything about him. It was stupid . A crush , nothing more.
But he wasn’t a stranger when I added to his chamber, stockpiling things like waking up to him holding my hand, watching him put my shoes on for me every time we exit a vehicle, seeing him flash me my bracelet from across the room, feeling him braid my hair, finding out he dyed my favorite drink so I can enjoy it.
Grabbing the hands on my stomach, I wrap them around me until the guy at my back is hugging me. That’s what I really want —someone to hug me and tell me everything’s going to be okay. I know it won’t be, but that’s what people in the movies always do and I’ve always wanted to experience it myself. It always looks so comforting.
Below heavy lids, I watch that familiar hat come closer.
That doesn’t feel comforting.
I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself it’s not him. It can’t be. Not only was he not wearing a hat when I left him but that was over three hours ago. If he followed me, which I stuck around to make sure he didn’t, he would’ve found me already.
“That doesn’t belong to you,” I hear quite clearly despite being in a nightclub.
When I open my eyes, I find I was wrong again.
How many hats does he own and where is he storing them? I need to find his stash and burn it. I’m sick of seeing a hat on him.
The suction on my neck suddenly disappears, then the guy asks my bodyguard, “What doesn’t?”
“Her. You have five seconds to remove every part of your fucking body from hers before I throw your ass in the Connecticut and let the tide take you out to sea.”
“The Sound is an estuary,” I correct Crue, unhelpfully if his expression is anything to go by.
He holds up his right hand, all five fingers spread wide, then starts counting out loud, “One,” before lowering his pinky first.
“I didn’t think Ever Munreaux had a boyfriend,” the guy I didn’t give my name to murmurs near my ear, our bodies still moving, just at a slower pace. So much for anonymity.
“Two.” Crue’s ring finger bends.
Maybe he likes being watched. His cock certainly isn’t shrinking away from the menacing figure before us.
“Three.” Middle finger.
Without removing my gaze from Crue’s, I say just as calmly, “I don’t.”
Crue lifts his eyebrows but lowers his index finger. “Two.”
I don’t. He’s not my boyfriend. He could never be my boyfriend.
“One.” His thumb now folded over the other fingers, Crue uses the fist to punch the guy plastered to my backside right in the face. Twice.
The high-pitched shout in my ear has me releasing the arms around me to duck in the opposite direction, but not before blood splatters the side of my face.
“Crue! Gross.” I try wiping it off with a sweaty palm. Super gross. “This better not clog my pores.”
Crue’s in my face instantly, all patience gone, then he’s dragging me by my elbow off the dance floor, obviously not concerned with skincare the way he should be.
As soon as we’re clear of the crowd, I rip my arm out of his grip, almost taking a tumble to the floor. Something catches me though. I’m pretty sure it’s this annoying bodyguard of mine.
“Don’t you have a river to pollute?”
“I can’t protect you if I’m in prison.”
“You don’t protect me.”
“I just did.”
“All you did was clam-jam me. Again.”
“I’ve still got your pussy juice clinging to my balls and you’re out here looking for your next fuck.”
I raise a finger of my own between us. “Maybe if you peed after sex, too, you could’ve wiped that up.”
He frowns and shakes his head. “It’s hard for guys to piss right after.”
Using his bare hands, he dabs at my face, removing the rest of the blood.
Is he still mad at me? It’s hard to tell.
I lean into his touch before catching myself.
I should leave, run, as far as I can. But Crue’s moss-green eyes have me rooted, my feet making themselves at home right here in the club.
“Because you’re still hard?”
“Sometimes. Mostly it’s because our shit’s all clogged and pee sprays out everywhere.” His hands demonstrate a fountain-sized spray range.
“I didn’t know that. I’m new to…” Unable to recall the exact words used in our earlier conversation, I gesture at him and the other…guy… Where’d he go? There’re too many people to see. I squint one eye, but no, that doesn’t help either. Honestly, I don’t think I could pick that guy out of a pair. He’s…forgotten. Just like Crue was. Temporarily.
I did forget about him.
I’m almost positive I did.
“Males?” Crue scoffs. “No shit. You don’t seem to have experience with anyone other than yourself.”
I wave him away like a gnat but he doesn’t take the hint. He never does.
It’s him. He’s the one refusing to let me forget him.
“Ugh!” I shove his chest, not even shifting him a single inch. “Why’d you have to look for me?” I didn’t want him to…this time.
“Because it’s what I do. I find you. I’ll always fucking find you.”
That’s…sweet actually. I hate how much I like him.
“Okay but how did you find me?”
Turning his head to the side, he looks around us as he mutters, “Luck.”
It must’ve been. I learned my lesson last time and now only use cash when I don’t want to be rounded up like livestock.
“They serve minors here?” he asks.
“They served me.”
“How much?”
Considering I’m still alive, not enough.
I put my hands at what I think is four inches apart. “About…” Then I pull them farther apart, hopefully to about eight inches. “Four inches’ worth.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“The feeling…is mutual.” I do remember him saying those words.
A smile teases those full lips I love so much.
“Oh yeah? You think you’re an asshole, too?”
I nod. Wholeheartedly I do.
“Why’d you even run away?”
“I didn’t run. I strolled out the door.”
“Why?”
“Asks the captor to his captive.”
“I wasn’t holding you hostage. I asked you if you wanted to go with me and you said—”
“I didn’t have a choice!” I yell. “I never do!”
“What else don’t you have a choice about?”
“You!” Now I’m the one scoffing. That face. How dare he be shocked by that. Has he met my father? “Do you really think this will end any differently than it did with Yasmin?”
“ What ? How are the two even remotely—”
“You think my father will let us be together?”
“I never considered asking him. It’s not his call.”
“Isn’t it? Come on, Crue. You were literally hired to gatekeep my pussy.”
“He’s trying to protect your reputation.”
I arch an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s exactly what Yasmin’s father told himself, too.”
That shock turns into something a little less clueless and a lot more sinister.
“So, what? You just want to stop what we’re doing?”
“I guess,” I lie. “We only fucked once.”
“And it’s all I’ve been able to think about since.”
“Maybe try a crossword puzzle or something. It’s not that serious.”
He yanks the sleeve on his shirt up to reveal his new tattoo. “Serious enough to get you inked into my skin.”
Under a transparent bandage, the ink is visible. The monarch butterfly wings are the ones I drew, but between them is the body of a bat I did not.
He knows.
I look up at him, the confession on my tongue. What comes out instead is an accusation. “You changed my design.”
“If you would’ve stuck around, you could’ve changed it yourself.” He gestures to his scar. “The butterfly is for the first person that treated me as something other than this.” His finger moves to hover over the bat’s body. “You’re the second.”
Does he know?
“So, the butterfly is…” I croak, my voice as raw as I feel. He was getting a tattoo for me while I was being an asshole.
“A mystery. I never got a name, number, not even a clear enough look at their face to be able to identify them again.”
He’s being careful not to disclose the butterfly’s gender, probably so I won’t get jealous.
He doesn’t know.
“What if that person comes back into your life?”
“I belong to someone else now, don’t I?”
“No.” I force the word out with a headshake that feels more like a nod. “Because we’re not together. We can’t be. Just like you and Yasmin, our interactions are limited to a couple of rooms.”
“I’ve already made you come in three.” The three fingers he holds up are swollen and bloody. “I’m not that scared little teenager anymore. I don’t have anything left to lose.”
Yes, he does. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“That doesn’t change the fact that at the end of this, I will walk away…by his side, not yours.”
“Do you want to be with me before that?”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. What you want matters to me.”
Tears prick my eyes, making my nose sting. Just because I’ve gone so long without love doesn’t mean I didn’t need it all along, didn’t crave it with every fiber of my being.
Cacti are drought resistant, too, yet they still require water. They can survive without it, but they only thrive when they’re consistently watered.
I don’t know if Crue loves me but a lot of the things he does feel like what I imagine love to be, and like a cactus, I’ve been soaking it all up, conserving it for those future periods of drought.
Crue makes me want to grow. He makes me want to be a better human being, someone who considers others’ needs, not just my own. That’s why I ran away tonight.
“I’m just trying to protect you.”
His eyes search mine. “From what?”
Me.
“Getting hurt.”
He grasps my face and leans way down until our noses are only inches apart.
“If you’re gonna ask me to stop anything, ask me to stop breathing because that’s the only way I’ll stop wanting you.”
I’ve never related to a statement more.
“That’d hurt you more,” I cry.
“You don’t want to see me hurt because you care about me, too. Because you want to be with me.”
More than anything.
Another confused shake of my head as I try to keep the truth in. “I can’t.”
“In private, in the rooms where it’s just us, you can. You’re a flyer. You always land on top, remember?”
“What about you? Where will you land?”
He shrugs. “No worse than where I started.”
No better either.
But whether we’re together or not, he still won’t be getting that million dollars.
“Say you want this. Say you want me.”
“You know I do,” I practically whisper.
“What was that?”
“You know I do,” I repeat slightly louder.
“I’m sorry?” He pretends like he can’t hear me. “What do you want?”
Oh, whatever.
I turn to leave but Crue catches me with an arm around my waist, growling, “Get your ass back here.”
He buries his face in my neck, smelling the skin there instead of kissing it. Somehow it turns me on even more than what that other guy was just doing.
“Tell me what I want to hear. What I need to hear. Speak it into existence, little bat.”
Someone’s been reading about manifestation.
I spin around to rip off that hat.
With a tilt of my head and a shrug of my shoulders, I admit, “You. I want you, Crue Brantley.”
His hands on my face again, he pulls me up onto my tiptoes. The urgency in his touch matches the words pouring from his mouth. “If all I have with you is three years, promise not to spend another second of it out of my sight.”
“I can’t make that promise.” Just like I can’t give him three years. Three weeks is best-case scenario.
“Then promise you won’t run away from me and into another man’s arms.”
That one I can make.
“I promise.”