Chapter 65
SIXTY-FIVE
CONCRETE JUNGLE - Bad Omens
Ronan guides Dakota’s head to the tip of his dick. It’s throbbing against his stomach, hard and thick and fucking ready. It enrages me and also turns me on so badly I’m uncomfortable.
Ronan hasn’t done shit for the past few days, and I’ve been more scared than I’ve ever been since Greyson passed. I’ve constantly checked on Ronan just to make sure he’s still breathing. Every time I come in, he is. And yet, it never makes me feel better because I don’t think Ronan wants to stay alive.
And that makes me want to implode. And then, instead of imploding, I decide that Ronan doesn’t have to want to keep living. I’ll just force the will to live into him. If Ronan has to hate me to keep living, then so be it. At least he’ll still be here.
Ronan is glaring at me, even while he gently guides Dakota to do what he wants. It’s clear Dakota is uncomfortable but not unwilling. This may even be his first time, and that thought also shoots a shiver through me.
Dakota opens his mouth, and Ronan guides just the tip of his dick inside. Dakota closes his mouth around Ronan, who throws his head back, his whole body tensing. I’ve never seen Ronan take charge before. I didn’t know he liked that shit—or maybe he just likes messing with me. Either way, it’s hot as fuck watching Dakota submit to him because Ronan taking charge means he has the will to do something.
Dakota pulls back, cheeks pink. “I…I can’t.”
“You’re doing perfectly. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Ronan tries to guide Dakota’s head back.
“No, I mean…I can’t.” Dakota’s voice gets higher. More panicked.
His panic triggers my own heart to start racing.
Dakota pulls back even more. “I can’t…this is-s-s-s–”
I know what he’s going to say. He’s going to say he isn’t gay. That he can’t do it. And he’s going to run. And it makes that little part in my chest freeze up.
It’s happening again.
Dakota pushes off the bed, and as he does, I catch the movement of something there.
Not something. A tiny liquor bottle.
And then, everything stops. I stare at the bottle, and as I do, it’s like the world crashes down around me. Like every bad thing I was afraid of happening was happening all at once, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
And it’s happening again. I move up to the bed, grabbing the bottle. Immediately, Ronan stiffens.
Cinnamon whiskey.
But it’s not just whiskey. It’s the thing that’s killing the man I’ve started falling for. Anger rushes over me until I remember that it’s not the whiskey that’s killing Ronan.
It’s Ronan.
And that makes me angry. Deeply, bone-achingly angry.
I hurl the plastic bottle at the wall. It bounces off with a crack, and both men stiffen. Dakota pulls away from Ronan.
“Oh, good. Just be a dick, and that’ll solve everything,” Ronan growls.
I turn my gaze on him. “Do you think about anything other than yourself? Ever?”
There’s a flash of anger and hurt in Ronan’s gaze. Christ, I hate that look. I’ve gone too far. But I’m so angry, I can’t fucking stop myself.
“Fuck you, Logan.”
Dakota pulls away, but I snap my gaze to him. He gives me a look with those brown eyes that can only be described as deer in the headlights. “No,” I snarl. “Keep going.”
Dakota freezes.
“Don’t let me interrupt you. Keep fucking going.”
There’s a tense pause, and then Ronan sits up. “Don’t tell him what to do.” He squares up with me.
“Yeah?” I straighten, taller than he is, even on our knees on the bed. Then, I snap my hand out and lock it around Ronan’s neck, slamming him into the headboard. He allows me to do it, not even fighting me. And that makes me even more mad.
“Do you know?” I hiss in his face. “Do you even know?”
“Know what, asshole?” Ronan’s face is red from the pressure I’m putting on his neck.
“How Greyson died?”
The room goes still. It’s so quiet that all I can hear is our breathing and the blood rushing in my ears.
I snap my gaze back to Dakota, sneering, “You know, don’t you.”
Dakota’s eyes narrow.
Yeah, he goddamn knows. He’s a cop. He looked at the files.
I move my gaze back to Ronan’s. He looks…guarded.
“Greyson killed himself.” It feels like my throat is closing up. I hate talking about it because it feels like it’s happening all over again. “And every time you nearly drink yourself to death, it feels like it’s happening all over again.”
There’s a silence so loud that I feel like the whole world is looking at me. I rip my hand away from Ronan’s neck. My arm is shaking. In fact, everything in me is shaking.
“So you,” I point at Dakota without looking at him, “are going to keep going. Keep sucking him off until he comes. No running.” I move to Ronan, who has sat back up. “And you are going to start living .”