A Voice In Chains

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

F amily meetings suck. I’d rather be any-fucking-where but here, seated on the sofa in our living room while Mum nervously wrings her hands. My little sister, Neriah, sits beside me with her head in a book, like always. Mum smiles as she waits for Dad to arrive.

“What’s this about?” I ask, kicking my foot up on the coffee table. Dad would tell me off if he were here, but Mum has bigger worries on her mind right now than my shoes.

I was about to head out for tonight’s party when she called me and said it was important.

Dad finally walks in, tall and broad-shouldered. He frowns when he sees my shoe on the coffee table, and I roll my eyes as I set it down on the floor.

He claps his big hands together. “We have something we’d like to share with you.”

Neriah reluctantly shuts her paperback, and I squeeze her shoulder. She’s not like other girls her age who are out partying and having sex. A perfect evening for her consists of a good fantasy novel and chocolate.

“We told you previously about our church’s new outreach program. A young man named Arkin Reeve is coming to stay with us for a while,” Dad explains, and Mum smiles. “Arkin is a very special young man.”

That’s not what I thought this family meeting was about.

I frown, glancing between my parents.

Dad continues, “He comes from very special circumstances?—”

Well, that’s ominous.

“What are you not saying?” I ask.

“I can’t discuss the particulars. Let’s just say Arkin didn’t have the best start in life. He doesn’t speak and”—he exchanges a fleeting glance with my mum—“needs a little extra support to get back on his feet.”

“What does that mean?” I prompt, sighing.

Mum answers for Dad. “It means that he’s had a difficult childhood, and now that he is eighteen, he needs somewhere to stay temporarily while other arrangements are sorted out.”

I raise a brow, or perhaps I blink. I’m not sure. “Why is he staying with us? Why are you taking on a charity case?”

“Zachary,” Dad admonishes. “You’re an adult now. Try to show some compassion for once. We have the space and means to help.”

I rub my brow.

This is a bad idea. “Where is he going to stay? We don’t have a spare bedroom.”

Another shared glance. Mum almost grimaces when she looks at me and says, “We thought he could stay in your room with you.”

My mouth falls open. “With me?”

“If we put a single bed?—”

They can’t be serious. What is this? Some mutual midlife crises or something? They’ve got nothing better to do, so they want to try their hands at sainthood? Is that it?

“Do I get a fucking say in this?”

“Language, Zachary!” Dad snaps. “You’re free to move out if it’s such a burden. We’re talking about a struggling young man who needs a helping hand to give him the best chance of a successful life. God wants us to?—”

I laugh bitterly as I stand up. Not this again. Why did I have to be born into a religious, church-going family? This is England, for fuck’s sake. No one believes in Jesus anymore.

Well, except for my parents.

Lucky me.

“Whatever. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”

“Zachary! It’s a weeknight,” Dad barks, but I don’t stay to listen. I’m eighteen. Besides, it’s not like I get a say. They’ve already offered this Arkin guy a place to stay.

But in my damn bedroom? I don’t even know him.

They said he’s struggling. What the hell does that mean? I swear I’ll knock him out if he lays a hand on my sister. She may be seventeen, but she’s innocent in ways few girls her age are. Fuck if I’ll let some creep come anywhere near her.

Our parents didn’t think this through. Why do they want to let a stranger into our home? Someone we don’t know?

I sink deeper into the jacuzzi and let out a satisfied groan. The party at my teammate’s house is in full swing. Music blasts from the large speakers in the living room, and the heavy beat drifts to where we are on the patio in the back garden. Drunk girls dance in their skimpy bikinis, and someone has dragged out the Ping-Pong table.

“I can’t believe your parents agreed to take in some freak,” Harrison says with a laugh before downing the rest of his lukewarm beer. He tosses the empty plastic cup, and pulls his girl for the night onto his lap. Her tiny triangle bikini top barely contains her big tits.

“Tell me about it,” I reply.

“Where is he going to sleep?”

“In my room,” I admit reluctantly.

Harrison bursts out laughing while the girl strokes her hands across his chest. “Maybe he’s gay.” He wiggles his brows suggestively.

“I’ll introduce you,” I counter with a wink.

My girlfriend, Amy, straddles my lap and trails kisses over my neck before she presses her wet lips to my ear. “Does this mean we can’t fuck in your bed anymore?”

Groaning pitifully, I squeeze her round butt and press her against my growing erection. “Don’t say stuff like that, babe.”

I’m getting blue balls just thinking about it.

Water bubbles wildly around us while she rubs her little cunt against me, and I admire the view. She looks pretty like this, wet and horny, with strands of damp blonde hair stuck to her cheek. One of the red bikini straps has slid down her shoulder, so I pull down the cup and take her small breast in my hand before toying with her pebbled nipple.

“Maybe he likes to watch?” she teases, riding me through our swimwear. Harrison is already fucking his girl and the erotic sounds she makes have me rock hard, but Amy doesn’t mind. She’s always been freaky.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Some stranger watching and jacking off while you fuck me?” I take her nipple in my mouth, swirling my tongue and sucking hard. Amy watches me, her freckled cheeks flushed with desire. We both know she’ll happily fuck me out here in front of everyone. She doesn’t care.

“Answer me,” I whisper, dragging my tongue from her nipple to her collarbone.

“Fuck, yes. I’d ride you cowgirl, so he’d get a nice view.”

I chuckle. “You’re so bad.”

As she kisses me, the water splashes around us, and I soon forget all about my impending houseguest. None of that shit matters when I have a horny girl on my lap.

The blaring sound of my alarm wakes me. Bleary-eyed, I lift my head off the pillow, noting the drool as I grab my phone off the nightstand.

My head pounds as I sit up to rub the sleep from my eyes. This is what I get for partying on a weeknight.

So fucking stupid.

After checking the notifications on my phone, I drop it back down, stifling a yawn. It feels like someone’s using a pickaxe on my skull.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I wince, opening the drawer and rooting through it for something to take to ease this damn headache. Nothing. The packet of ibuprofen is empty.

“Fucking typical.”

Tossing it aside, I flop back down, throwing my arm over my eyes to block out the light. I feel like I was run over by a damn truck last night. Amy is a handful, and I sometimes wonder why I’m with her. The sex is good, great even, and she’s fun. Still, I’m not in love with her, and I doubt she’s in love with me. Maybe we’re together because it’s easy.

Five minutes later, I drag myself out of bed and have a quick shower.

Mum flutters around the kitchen when I finally emerge, squinting against the bright morning sun.

Neriah’s footsteps sound on the stairs in the hallway. She sidles past me, her head bobbing to an imaginary beat in her head.

Mum looks up. “Good morning, kids. What do you think?”

Brows pinching, I take in the food on the kitchen table. Mum has gone all out. There’s a selection of fresh fruits, pancakes, bacon, eggs—boiled and scrambled—and cereal.

I’m about to say something when the door opens, and Dad walks in. A tall, dark-haired guy around my age enters behind him, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looks up, and his blue eyes grow wide like a deer caught in headlights.

I stare at him. The guy is huge and packed with lean muscle. Strands of windswept black hair curl at his brow, his jaw covered in dark stubble.

He could pass for a cover model.

“Zachary,” Dad says, “meet Arkin.” He smiles at the quiet guy with the intense stare. “Arkin, meet my son Zachary.”

I do some weird half-moon wave.

My sister hovers behind us, so Dad turns and guides her forward. “This is my daughter, Neriah.”

Arkin stays silent, watching us. Dad clears his throat. “Why don’t you hang up your coat.”

My heart beats harder as he puts his bag down and removes his black jacket.

His broad shoulders stretch the material before he manages to get it off, his jaw twitching briefly. A black T-shirt that’s slightly too big hints at the muscles beneath and shredded jeans hang low on his hips.

After he hangs his jacket up, he grabs his bag and stares at us warily. When no one speaks, he swallows visibly, and his dark eyes clash with mine.

Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you show him your bedroom.”

My bedroom? Oh…

“Sure, okay.” I walk away, expecting him to follow.

The steps creak beneath his heavy weight behind me, but I don’t turn around. There’s no need because his presence is palpable, and my body responds.

I take a left at the top and open the first door to our right. Arkin stares at me, his bag clutched in his hands, over his chest like a shield. He peeks inside but makes no move to enter.

“This is my room,” I say. “It’s where you’ll stay.”

Icy blue eyes watch me. I shift aside, gesturing for him to enter. When he finally moves, his masculine scent fills the air with hints of peppermint shampoo and laundry powder.

Standing in the middle of my room, he looks at me. I open my mouth to speak but slam it shut again. How do you talk to someone who won’t respond?

“This is my bed,” I say, acutely aware of the crumpled navy bedsheets as I cross to it. One of the pillows is by the foot of the bed. “You’re sleeping in that one.” I jerk my chin to the single bed Mom pushed up against the window across the room last night. Arkin glances at it while I pick up the stray pillow to place by the headboard. I’m fidgety, and I don’t know why.

He’s just so damn big.

Big and silent.

He meanders over to the bed, his steps slow, cautious. I rub my neck, noting how low his jeans sit on his hips. My mouth dries, and I have to clear my throat or risk croaking like a frog.

Arkin gazes at me over his shoulder as if asking for permission. I motion to the bed. “It’s okay. Yeah, uh—” I clear my throat again. “It’s yours.”

He puts his bag on the bed and then stands there, almost looking at me over his shoulder, but not quite. I don’t know what the hell he’s staring at, but the room feels small, and the oxygen is gone.

I slap my hand against my thigh as if to say, Well, that’s that.

“Do you have any questions?”

He turns fully with a guarded expression.

Fuck me… The urge to face-palm myself strikes like a damn wrecking ball. I just asked a guy who doesn’t talk if he has questions. Smooth, Zach. Real fucking smooth.

“The bathroom is through here,” I explain, ambling over to the door and pushing it open. “We’ll have to share.”

He just watches me, and I don’t know what to make of it. He almost looks scared, as though he thinks I have bad intentions or something.

I close the door and walk toward him, but perhaps I approach too quickly because he flinches. I draw to a halt, my heart beating hard in the silence. He looks at me again, so big in my room yet somehow small. He’s taller than me, easily 6’4, but the way he watches me has me wondering what happened to the guy.

“Hey, it’s cool,” I say, holding my hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A minute passes before I carefully open the chest of drawers beside his bed. “You can put your clothes in here. The two top drawers are empty.”

Arkin is closer now, his scent drifting around me. When our eyes meet, a jolt of nerves has me stepping away and clapping the chest of drawers awkwardly, the way people do when they don’t know what the hell to say but want to escape the room ASAP. If I don’t watch my tongue, I’ll blurt something stupid like, It’s sturdy. Made of solid wood . And to drive the point home, I’ll knock on it with my knuckles.

My dad did something similar once when he came to have the birds and the bees talk. But he clapped the nightstand instead as he stood up, fidgeting like I am now, short of snapping his fingers and doing a damn Irish tap dance.

I’m saved from any further embarrassment when Mum calls for me. “I’ll go see what she wants. Why don’t you help yourself to a shower in the meantime? Clean towels and whatever else you need are in there,” I tell Arkin before spinning around and mouthing, “What the fuck?”

He watches me leave, his gaze burning into my back.

Flustered, I almost trip on the steps. Mum pokes her head out of the kitchen when I come stumbling down, glancing behind me as though an army of evil gnomes is chasing me.

“Hi, Mum. What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” she asks, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, a lock of honey-blonde hair escaping her updo.

“Yeah, of course.”

I sound anything but okay. I sound frazzled as fuck. “What’s up?” I ask again, aware that he’s alone and probably naked in my bathroom.

I pull up short in the kitchen doorway.

What the hell? Did I just think of him naked?

“Is it too much?” Mum asks, chewing on her lip and wringing her apron.

“Is what too much?” I poke my head back out of the kitchen. The stairs are empty.

Of course, they are. Arkin is in the shower.

Naked.

“The food?”

Mum’s voice startles me, causing me almost to jump five feet into the air. I look at her questioningly and then at the table.

Oh, the food? She wants me to compliment the table setup. Is that why she dragged me down here? To reassure her that it doesn’t look like she tried too hard? She definitely did, but she’ll cry if I tell her that, so I shake my head instead.

“It looks great, Mum.”

Her shoulders slump in relief. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. Good.” She nods as though she’s trying to reassure herself. “That’s good. Will you let him know breakfast is ready?”

My smile feels weird as I exit the kitchen and make my way back to the stairs. Arkin is still in the shower when I return to my room.

I check my phone and open my friends’ group chat.

Ryan: Has the charity case arrived?

Harrison: What does he look like? I bet my mom’s prescription stash he’s weird.

Ryan: You should check his belongings for trophies from his victims. Small things, like earrings or a lock of hair.

Ryan: Harrison, I can’t believe you fucked Amber. I’ve tried to bag her for months. I’m crying into my Doritos tonight.

Harrison: You missed a good party. That rack, bro! I can die a happy man.

Ryan: Rub it in, why don’t you?

I type out a response.

Me: His name is Arkin. He’s mid-level weird. Keeps staring.

The dots appear as Harrison types out a reply.

Harrison: Aw, the charity case has a crush on our pretty boy. You better sleep with the light on from now on, Z. *evil laughter*

As I type out a reply, Arkin exits the bathroom in just a towel. Surprised, I almost drop the phone. Water droplets cling to his tanned back as he roots through his duffel bag for a change of clothes. Although I try my hardest not to look over my shoulder, it’s proving more difficult than it should. He’s a guy, for fuck’s sake. I’m not into men. The towel hangs so low on his hips I can see the dips above his ass. He’s clean of tattoos, unlike me, and there are scars on his back.

Before I fully process, he drops the towel, and my eyes bug out as I almost choke on air.

He pulls his gray joggers on, the elastic snapping into place, and then he slips on a clean hoodie, but I still have the visual of his toned ass imprinted on my mind.

Next, he puts on his white socks, and even that’s intriguing somehow.

Straightening, he flicks his dark hair out of his eyes. The strands have already started to curl, and he runs a veiny hand through them, shifting his hair away from his forehead. But it falls back into place, refusing to be tamed by this guy with the intense stare.

“Breakfast is ready,” I croak, and he looks at me, not moving an inch.

His hoodie has damp spots where he failed to dry himself properly with the towel, and my room smells of my shampoo and body wash. The peppermint smell he arrived with has disappeared, and now he smells of eucalyptus instead. Is there even a difference? They all smell the same—like minty toothpaste.

What the hell is my brain doing? I’m someone who thinks about sex, and sport, and the latest horror movie that’s come out. I don’t think about what fucking shampoo I have in the shower. Who cares?

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. The alcohol last night fried my brain. I always say never again the next morning, but do I listen? No.

“Come on. Let’s eat.”

When we enter the kitchen, Mum smiles big to hide her nerves. Dad and Neriah are already seated, but when Dad spots us, he stands. “Have a seat. Help yourself to food.”

Neriah has her head in a book while taking a large bite of her croissant. She looks up briefly, then turns the page, unfazed by the newcomer.

I sit across from Arkin, pretending I don’t feel his eyes on me as I pile my plate with eggs. He hesitates momentarily, glancing uncertainly around the table before helping himself to pancakes. Mom’s eyes light up, and she gives Dad a meaningful look that says, “Talk.”

Dad almost chokes on his coffee. Putting the cup down, he picks up a napkin and wipes his mouth. “I hope you’ll be comfortable staying here with us, Arkin. We understand it’s a big change. Zachary and Neriah attend college during the day. You’ll start in a week or so if everything goes well. We understand it’s not easy changing colleges this far into the year…” He drifts off, exchanging an uncertain glance with Mum, then sits straighter and smooths down his tie. “What I’m saying is not to worry, young man. The college is fully aware, and measurements will be in place to ensure a smooth transition.”

Arkin eats his food in silence, a slight, unmistakable tremble to his hands. He doesn’t look at anyone, but I know he’s aware of everything around him, including me. When he finishes his pancakes, he helps himself to more with a quick glance at my dad as though he worries he might get into trouble. Mum’s eyes sparkle. There’s no greater compliment than someone scoffing her food like it’s going out of fashion.

My fork clanks on the plate as I stab my egg. I’m still nauseous from last night, but I need to eat, or I won’t get through the day. As I drink my orange juice, I feel a pair of eyes on me and look up. Arkin intently studies me with his sky-blue gaze as I finish the drink.

After I put the empty glass down, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. He keeps watching me. Mum warns me with a single glare to behave. Even so, no one has stared at me so openly before, and it’s hard not to fidget.

The conversation continues. For the next ten minutes, Dad tells Arkin about my football practice and the trophies in my room. Neriah glances at Arkin as she turns another page, and I ask her if she’s ready to head off. She nods, then puts the book inside her Fj?llr?ven bag by the chair.

Locking eyes with Arkin as I kiss Mum on the cheek, I see him studying the action as though it intrigues him.

Has he never seen a cheek kiss?

“Have a good day,” Mum says, squeezing my arm affectionately.

“You too,” I reply and guide Neriah out of the house with a hand on her back, not entirely comfortable leaving Mum with a stranger, but Dad is home. She won’t be alone with Arkin.

The morning sun beats down on us as we exit the house and head to my car. I grab the handle and look back at the kitchen window. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I still feel his intense gaze.

Shaking off the unsettling sensation, I slide in behind the steering wheel, smacking the glovebox to retrieve my sunglasses. Neriah shuts the car door, puts her backpack in the footwell, and fastens her seatbelt.

Hand on the wheel, I slip on the sunglasses before fidgeting with the radio until “Darts” by Stellar fills the space. “You good?” I ask, reversing out of the driveway and straightening the wheel with one final look at the house as we hit the street. It feels different now that Arkin is there. Sure, it’s home, but it’s not. There’s something off about the place, a disturbance that wasn’t present before. Does my sister feel the same way? Probably not. Because she’s more chill than me.

In answer to my question, Neriah shrugs with a small smile, and I ruffle her hair.

The drive to college is quiet. My sister watches the world go by outside, like every morning. She’s not a big talker—never has been.

We stop at a crossing, and I drum my thumbs on the steering wheel while stealing glances at her. “What did you think?” I ask after a while, watching a group of young kids dart across the street with backpacks that almost swamp them. “It’s important that you feel comfortable in our home.”

“He was okay,” Neriah answers, propping her white Nike Air Max on the dashboard.

“You okay with him staying in our home?”

She pops a shoulder as I step on the accelerator. “I’m sure it’s fine. He didn’t look like he’d rob us or anything.”

I briefly look away from the road to check her expression. She seems like she’s fine. “You tell me if you feel uncomfortable, okay? I’ll talk to Dad.”

Neriah nods, flipping down the visor to shield her eyes from the bright sun.

“You gotta promise,” I prompt.

She gently shoves my shoulder. “I promise, you big loon. Eyes on the road.”

I’m not sure about this… Honestly, I’m still not comfortable with the arrangement. Largely because Arkin is a stranger, and we don’t know anything about him other than what little information Mum and Dad have divulged, which isn’t much. With that in mind, I guess we’ll have to wait it out and see.

Ten minutes later, we arrive at college. My friends are already waiting when I pull up in my regular parking spot. Neriah grabs her backpack and exits the vehicle. By the time I emerge, wishing I didn’t have to sit through lessons with a banging headache, she’s already gone.

“Nice shades,” Ryan teases, smacking me on the shoulder and laughing at my expense. Harrison looks like shit too, with dark circles around his eyes and a pale, almost yellow hue to his skin. At least I have sunglasses; he forgot his.

We drag our feet toward the looming building, groaning like zombies. For once, I envy Ryan for being stuck on babysitting duty. Sure, he didn’t get laid in a jacuzzi, which was admittedly a lot of fun. But at least he isn’t suffering this morning like the rest of us.

“Where’s the charity case?” Ryan asks, readjusting his bag.

I forgot mine—the bag, that is. Not the charity case.

“He’s at home,” I reply. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

“We get to meet him?” Ryan grins. “Awesome.”

“He’s starting college soon, but he needs special education or some shit. Fuck if I know.”

We enter the building, shuffling our way down the bustling hallway. Someone got too excited about the aircon this morning, so the building feels like the inside of a damn fridge. As we turn the corner, the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“Baby,” Amy’s voice rings out behind me.

Ryan chuckles at my piss-poor job of stifling my pained groan.

She’s a good lay—yes—but it’s too damn early for her squeaky voice.

Seconds later, she slides in front of me in her tall heels, dressed in a denim skirt and a low-cut purple tank top. Her lips are painted fire-engine red, and I know what that means even before she walks her long, sparkling nails up my chest. “I had a good time last night.”

In all honesty, I don’t remember too much.

Ryan and Harrison discuss the upcoming game while Amy presses her tits against my chest. “You don’t look so well, baby.” Her Chanel perfume hits my nose as she discreetly drops her hand to trace her nails over my bulge through my jeans. “I can make you feel better.”

“Babe, I?—”

To my surprise, she grabs my wrist before I can utter another word and steers me away. I could fight her, but that would take effort. Besides, who says no to easy sex anyway?

Her heels click on the floor as she shoves me inside the girls’ bathroom and into one of the stalls. She sure is aggressive when she’s in the mood, and no sooner has she entered behind me before she’s on her knees and yanking on my belt.

She’s eager today.

My dick springs free, already hard despite the hangover, and she wraps her fingers around my length. “Looks like you missed me, baby.”

I wouldn’t go that far. “I only saw you last night.”

Removing my sunglasses, I tuck them into my collar, watching her trace her tongue over a protruding vein. Amy has always been good at eye contact when she sucks me, which I usually like. But as she wraps her red lips around my cock, I struggle to keep a different set of sky-blue eyes out of my head.

With a soft moan, she takes me deep then hollows her cheeks while looking up at me with a wicked gleam. I break out in a cold sweat, trying to shake off thoughts of Arkin, and my balls draw up tight as my cock grows impossibly hard.

When Amy gags, a flashing image of Arkin’s toned ass pops into my head, and my knees almost buckle. What is wrong with me? Why am I picturing Arkin right now?

Amy takes it as a good sign and sucks me harder, faster. She’s loud, moaning around my length as I tremble.

This girl has always been a bit of an exhibitionist. She gets off on the thought of someone overhearing us or, even better, walking in on us.

Another memory flashes in front of my eyes. This time of the water droplets on Arkin’s broad back.

What the hell?

I shake my head, refusing to entertain thoughts of a damn guy while my dick is in my girlfriend’s mouth. That’s just wrong, but even so, the images sneak in, unbidden and unwelcome.

Blue eyes.

Dark hair.

Jeans that hang low on his narrow hips.

“Fuck!” I grunt, spilling my release down her throat.

Amy swallows it all, then wipes her lipstick-smeared mouth and chin with the back of her hand. My spent cock looks like it got attacked by a jar of red paint. There’s more lipstick on it than Amy’s mouth.

She stands, preening and looking pleased with herself. “You’re welcome, babe.”

I watch as she leaves the stall to reapply her lipstick in the mirror above the sink.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, dragging a hand down my face before zipping my softening cock away.

Since when do I think about guys that way? Never. This must be a blip on the radar. I’m stressed. That’s all there is to it. My parents invited a stranger to sleep in my room, and now my brain is flipping out, trying to make sense of all this shit.

I’m fine. Everything is fine.