Chapter 12
LOGAN
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Wrath insists.
“You don’t look fine with your face all bandaged up,” Masters remarks.
Between the bandages and the black and blue, it doesn’t look good, but I was relieved he was well enough for us to transport back to Hayward. Our family does better here, in the place we grew up, surrounded by our loved ones and protectors.
Even if that couldn’t save Dad.
The relief of knowing Wrath is okay is only slightly spoiled by the events that transpired at Rothguard: How Killian forced me to blow him.
How he blackmailed me into taking that fat cock between my lips in a way that still makes them tingle.
How he tricked me into swallowing his load, which must have moved through my digestive tract by now, but I swear I can feel him staining my belly, which makes my cock shift if I think about it too long.
It shouldn’t make me hard, but even tearing Sik Vik apart gave me an erection.
Torturing a man like that satisfies something deep within me, but it’s not a sexual experience, so in the same way, I’m sure there’s some fucked-up reason why my dick responds to thinking about sucking Killian’s cock like that.
Because it sure as hell didn’t turn me on at the time, even if it wasn’t the nightmare I would’ve expected.
Of course it wasn’t. I knew it was the way to avenge my brother. That was what mattered. I did it. The end.
But with our agreement still in place, I know that’s far from the truth.
“Guess you won’t be able to say you never got a broken nose now,” I remark.
“I’m still hot as hell.” Wrath shrugs it off, clearly not letting it bother him as much as it bothers me.
He rests his head against the pillow, groaning, then turning to Masters and pouting like he might have when he was younger and had fallen sick.
“Lil’ bro, can you make me some of your fettuccini for lunch? ”
“We can get Baxter to make that.”
Wrath exaggerates his pout even more. “But it’s so much better when you do it for me,” he says like a helpless child.
Masters rolls his eyes, shooting me a look. “I’d better, then. Glad my big brother’s okay, though.”
He hugs us before heading out.
“Don’t forget the garlic bread!” Wrath calls out, which earns him a “Fuck off!”
Jacked up as that lopsided smile of Wrath’s is, it’s a relief to see it today, when Sik Vik’s actions could have easily left him severely injured…or killed him.
“So, you know I won’t be allowing you to fight again,” I say.
“Anytime soon, you mean?”
I grit my teeth.
“Oh, come on. Shit happens, Log.”
“Are our lives really not dangerous enough? Do you really have a fucking death wish?”
“I only live once, so I’d like to enjoy it while I can,” he spits back.
Typical Wrath.
“Sorry, but life isn’t just about having fun, is it?” I say, trying to put some pressure on him.
“If you’re gonna act like Dad, then I can treat you like him. Okay, I’ll never ever fight again. That’s never gonna happen. You’re right about everything. I’m wrong. I’m so sorry, and I will forever do as you wish.”
This was always his way. Masters would put up a fight with Dad, but Wrath’s gift has always been pathological lying, and he would tell Dad what he wanted to hear and then do exactly what he wanted to anyway.
I don’t understand how we could have the same blood pumping through our veins.
Although, I suppose none of the Wildes are all that similar.
We each have our own place in the family, our unique relationship to the position and the responsibilities we carry.
I suppose that’s the way most families are.
It’s probably the same for the Lordes. Or at least, it was before the Folcrums wiped out most of Killian’s family.
“Anyway…” Wrath drags out. “I’ll be eager to find this Sik Vik and kick his damn ass. Or worse.”
I tense up, considering whether I need to reveal what I’ve done…yet.
“Why are you making that face?” he asks.
“What face?”
I’m usually good at hiding my emotions, but my brothers, especially Wrath, are better at reading me than most, which isn’t helping me any now. I have a messed-up thought that I wish Sik Vik would have damaged Wrath’s vision, and I hate myself for it.
“What did you do?” he asks, but I see the fear in his eyes. He already knows the sick fate Sik Vik met for his transgression against our family. My brothers know the fury within me, the quiet rage that sits and waits until it’s time to strike.
“Log?”
“You don’t have to worry about it,” I spit out.
“I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“He deserved it after what he did to you.”
“I could’ve been the one to give it to him.”
Maybe that would have been the right thing, to give him a chance to get his own vengeance. We could have gotten him from Killian, held him in the cellar, and then taken care of him once Wrath got better. But I couldn’t have been that patient, not after what that fuck had done.
“I’ll head downstairs and help Masters with lunch,” I say. “Let us know if you need anything.”
I hug him before starting for the door.
“Are you okay?” Wrath asks, stopping me in my tracks.
I reflect on what I did…the way it felt…that I was so determined to win Sik Vik’s blood, I was willing to go down on a man who gets on my fucking nerves.
“I’ll be fine,” I lie, not turning to him because I don’t want him to see me like this. I feel so dirty, disgusting, tainted by the blood of my brother’s attacker as well as by Killian’s cum.
But I can at least enjoy that my brother is okay, safe, where he belongs.
*
The next few days are eerily quiet. Dad used to say silence meant enemies were plotting against you, or at least, it was best to live one’s life assuming that was the case.
It’s been proven true more times than not, but it’s not why I’m concerned this time.
Killian hasn’t reached out, despite being so persistent before.
And worse, without something to distract me, I’m left to ruminate on the events that transpired at Rothguard last week.
I go for my daily run around the courtyard, with Lowes timing me.
There’s a path Dad created to make it more enjoyable.
Being a mob boss means not being stupid enough to take your jogs outside.
Even with security, it’s a high-risk situation, and the only way I’d do it is with at least a few guys, and their time would be better spent securing Hayward.
As I run my laps, I can’t free myself of the thoughts that torture me.
The terror in Sik Vik’s expression as I broke his body.
The disgusting confessions he made.
The sickness in me that was like a goddamn drug, driving me to make it worse…
That sick pleasure I got from his pain.
Just as haunting is the thought of having Killian’s hard cock lodged in my mouth, his fingers threading in my hair.
There’s that feeling in my throat again.
I spit out into the foliage alongside the path, but it doesn’t get rid of his phantom taste, which feels so potent even now.
Maybe it’s a good thing I did it, though. It’s possible that the reason Killian hasn’t reached out is because now that he’s had my mouth, he doesn’t have any need for me.
What if that’s all it was really about? Him wanting to demonstrate his power over me. If so, then I’m even more pleased to have given that bastard what he wanted, humiliating as it may have been.
I speed up even more, my sneakers beating a hard rhythm against the path as I push myself like I’m trying to outrun the past, things much darker than anything that happened that night.
Demons lurking, waiting for me to let my guard down so they can creep in.
Images from being a kid and walking into Hayward, seeing blood streaks across the floor.
I stop myself. I won’t let them win.
My watch buzzes with an incoming call. Killian. Seems I was appreciating his disregard too soon. I grunt, sending it to voice mail, then checking my running progress. Only half a mile left.
The buzzing returns.
The hell? Now he fucking needs me? For what?
I don’t even want to consider it, so I send him to voice mail again, and when he calls back, I remove my watch and chuck it. I’ve run through the courtyard enough to know when I’ll reach my goal.
Of course, throwing my watch away doesn’t stop me from feeling a lingering buzz in the back of my mind, this awareness that he’s calling, so he must want something from me.
And if I don’t respond, is he gonna show up at Hayward and start shooting up until he can drag me from the place?
I’m tempted to say no, but Killian is anything but predictable.
As I reach what I figure is a little over ten miles, I slow steadily to a stop, bowing forward and resting my hands on my thighs, catching my breath. My body’s soaked in sweat, and it drips like a leaky faucet from my bangs. Lowes approaches with a towel, and I pat down my face and arms.
“You want me to find your watch?”
“I’ll get it later.” I don’t want to deal with Killian until I’m ready to.
On my terms, which I imagine he’ll fucking hate.
When we reach my bedroom, my sweat has dried up. And there’s buzzing again. I look to my desk, where I left my phone, but it’s now on the damn floor. The guy must’ve been calling so much, it vibrated right off.
I pick it up. Thirteen missed calls. All from him.
“Piece of shit,” I mutter, hating that sooner or later, I’ll have to give up this freedom I’ve enjoyed over the past few days, still in denial about what I must do.
I see a text from Masters: the McLurens want to go in for some of our next stash. Need to talk.
As I’m about to confirm, that bastard Lorde is calling again.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I answer.
“Glad you answered because I intended to keep calling until you did.”
He doesn’t sound as upset as I would’ve figured, which annoys me since I was trying to piss him off.
“If we’re gonna be married for real, then you’re gonna have to learn I won’t be at your beck and call. I have a life and boundaries.”
“Is there a reason you’re in a mood, Log?”
There’s a low growl, which I realize is coming from me.
“That’s hot,” he observes, poking at this familiar nerve he’s so good at agitating.
“I just saw you last week. If there was anything you needed to tell me, you could’ve done it then.”
I wait for him to reply, or at least tell me why the hell he called, but he’s quiet, the sort of silence Dad taught me to fear.
“What. Do. You. Want?” I press.
“I’m sorry, this isn’t something I’ve really had a lot of practice with, but I’m taking you out.”
“Out?”
“On a date,” he clarifies.
What the hell? I can’t get a fucking read on this guy.
“I don’t understand you. You blackmail me into sucking you off, trick me into swallowing you, and then I don’t hear from you for days, and suddenly you’re demanding a date?”
“For someone who claims he doesn’t understand, you seem to have expressed everything perfectly.”
I grind my teeth, the tension in my jaw giving me a headache.
“Well, you didn’t ask, but no, thanks.” I hang up on him. I’m sure that’ll piss him the hell off, but I give zero fucks, considering what a dick he’s been.
I turn my phone on silent. The fucking nerve of that asshole. I might have to admit to being his, but I won’t be ordered around like this.
Although, as I step into the shower, I have a feeling I just made a huge mistake.