16. Celia
Chapter 16
Celia
I rush through the throng of guests crowding around poker tables, cocktail stations, and sitting areas, recognizing more than a few faces but too preoccupied to smile or wave or pretend that I’m here to socialize.
My heart leaps to my throat as I weave in and out of bodies, my sparkling heels clicking loudly with each step I take. Off-white marble floors and columns give the opulent hall an appearance similar to Cesar’s Palace in Vegas, and as I dart around tables laden with donations for this evening’s silent auction, I can’t help but laugh. I’ve never left the city, yet my life feels a thousand times different than it did a year ago. Six months ago. One month ago.
Life can change in the blink of an eye.
I used to hate that about the world—that one second, you can be breathlessly happy and in love, and the next you can be crumpled on the floor, crying your heart out. It’s cruel to have such heavy doses of whiplash, each one failing to numb us for the next blow. They keep coming, one after the other, until either your body or your heart gives out.
Not long ago, I thought I was ready to carve out the bloody, aching lump of flesh in my chest and offer it to whichever god or demon would put me out of my misery… and then everything began to change. Things weren’t exactly better , not at first, but they were less.
Less painful.
Less broken.
Less difficult.
One day at a time, each breath in my lungs got easier to hold without feeling like my ribs were on the verge of collapse. Ruin and I haven’t talked about the pain of his adolescence or the scars carving through his flesh and bone, but I imagine that for him, it’s the same.
Excruciating at first, and then… slowly, things feel better.
It’s a drastic simplification of a long, drawn-out process that I’m sure is hell on the body and mind, but it’s something I can understand in my own way. “I want to understand,” I mutter to myself, peering around a large column near the hors d’oeuvres. My gaze travels up the massive column to find that the usual domed ceiling has been replaced with metal beams and countless lights spilling a hazy orange glow across the entire ballroom. Doors leading into adjacent ballrooms separate various events for the evening, the closest of them being an acrobatic show starting at midnight.
There are at least five hours before midnight, so I have plenty of time to wander… and avoid a certain man or two hunting me down.
“Celiaaa,” Rebel purrs in my earpiece, “you really shouldn’t run if you want me to take tonight seriously.” He chuckles, and another, deeper voice joins in, signaling that at least two of my men are enjoying the latest turn of events.
Playing hide and seek wasn’t part of our plan.
“That’s the opposite of what you should do,” he continues. “I’m not gonna look for anyone but you now.”
Well, at least Rebel’s consistent.
One of his brothers scoffs, but I can’t tell which one.
“What about your dad?”
Rage cuts in. “Yes, Rebel, what about Dad, hm? Did you forget about the reason we’re fucking here?”
“Fuck ‘im.” Rebel laughs, the sound dancing across my ribs as I inhale. “But I’d rather fuck you, baby, so c’mere. I promise, we can go where no one will see us.”
I check the lock on a plain white door that blends into the wall, the label across it reading EMPLOYEES ONLY . It opens without a hitch, making my nerves skitter down my arms like skipping stones across a lake. I don’t break rules. I don’t trespass. I don’t do anything remotely out of line…
But it’s like I told the asshole at the blackjack table; tonight, I’m not a lady.
I’m the bait.
“We can’t,” I tell Rebel, careful to time pushing the door open as a wave of servers carrying drink trays passes by. I quickly slip through the crack and into the room ahead, temporarily blinded by the sudden shift from light to dark.
The room is pitch black aside from glow-in-the-dark gaffer tape outlining a path going straight, left, or right. I reach out to touch the wall in front of me, but my hand falls through the open air. I wave my arms around, looking for a wall or a light switch, and find none. This section of the room must be open, then. But how do I turn on the lights?
“Oral, then,” Rebel continues, the clink of metal coins in the background letting me know that he’s near the slot machines. “Unless you were hoping for my knife?” He groans loudly. “Fuck, baby, please tell me that you want the knife. I know you do. Ruin said?—”
“We know what he said,” Rage growls, “so stop fucking around. Krosotka , you shouldn’t be alone.”
“The plan was to let me wander around in between our dates so that I would be vulnerable to ambush.” Rage can’t be angry that I’m sticking to the plan we strategically laid out in case his father showed up tonight. “I’m just sticking to protocol.”
“Fuck the protocol.” Rage exhales harshly, crackling his mic. “I’m coming to get you.”
“You don’t have a knife,” I point out, taking careful steps down a strip of glow-in-the-dark tape. “Do you, Rage?”
Another deep chuckle rumbles in my ear. I can almost hear it in the air around me, filling the empty shadows. My fingertips brush against a thick rope dangling from up above, the spiraling threads woven tightly and smooth to the touch. I’ve never been to the circus or any of the traveling shows that roll through the city, so I don’t actually know how acrobats swing through the air, if at all. What could the rope be for?
I squint in the dark, but I can barely make out shapes five feet in front of me, let alone up in the air. Shuffling forward, I stumble as my heel catches on a cord, and I tumble into a set of cold metal bars.
Blue and purple lights click on overhead, but only in the highest peaks of the room, bathing the ground floor in pale, silvery light. I lift one of my heels and twist it in the light, watching the starburst shimmers with a smile on my lips. The deep reds of my dress soften into a dusty magenta, each sparkling dewdrop casting a faint glow around my body.
I’m impossible to miss in a room full of shadows.
…and I’m alone. I think.
But then who turned on the lights?
A figure steps out from the shadows across the room, walking into the false moonlight to reveal himself. I hold my breath as the man comes into focus, my heartbeat fluttering beneath my ribs. “Rage,” I breathe, reaching for the knife hidden beneath my skirt, “I’m—I’m not alone.”
“What? Where are you?”
The man lifts a finger to his lips, and it’s only then that I catch the discoloration on his hands—ones that I’ve come to know very intimately over the past few weeks. “I’m okay,” I assure Rage, adrenaline tripping through my system. “I promise.” Reaching up to my ear, I click off my comms and stare at my masked man—only tonight, he isn’t hiding.
Not from me. Not anymore.
Dark hair sticks to his forehead and neck, wildly blown around like he’s been caught in a windstorm. One small bandage sticks to the curve of his neck, but the rest are missing, leaving his skin bare. He walks across the plush mat covering the floor between us, stopping once he reaches the center. His scars glow in the low light, their color and shape shifting as he moves. “Come here, krosotka. ”
Something silver flashes in his hand.
A large hunting knife.
The same one he touched me with before.
I swallow hard, knowing that I asked for this. I teased Rebel and ran away, only to find his brother lying in wait. Rebel would have been gentle, coaxing an orgasm from my body with his tongue.
I don’t know what to expect from Ruin, and that’s what scares me.
“You’re trembling.” Tilting his head to the side, Ruin studies me. “Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
He grunts, pointing the tip of his knife up and tapping it against his bare shoulder. His white dress shirt is carelessly slung over his torso, barely holding on with the few buttons at the bottom. The suit jacket and tie I picked out for him are long gone, lost to the night. But it’s not his clothing that captivates me—it’s his glowing eyes, the way they never blink.
It’s like he won’t let go of a single moment.
Slowly, I walk the short distance and come to a stop directly in front of him. Tiny bursts of light reflect off of my dress and heels, and he reaches out to roll a bead between his fingertips.
“You’re glowing.”
As he stares at my dress, I stare at him. The scars on his body are multi-layered, the old mixing with the new. Some of the wounds are barely healed, his flesh still mending, but he doesn’t flinch away from my gaze.
Nor does he flinch away from my touch.
I trace a bruise on his ribs, my hand shaking. His body is hot to the touch—breathlessly warm and inviting—and I lay my palm flat over his heart to feel its beat.
Steady and slow.
“You’re calm,” I murmur, chuckling at how different we are. “How can you be calm right now?”
Ruin grunts, taking a step closer. “You calm the voices, krosotka. ” He lifts the knife higher and taps the sharp tip against the side of his head. “I can still hear them screaming. The echoes.” His heartbeat picks up as his gaze drifts inward, but only for a moment. It settles in an instant, his focus returning. He twists the bead between his fingers until the thread snaps and it slips into his palm.
Braving a glimpse inside his head, I murmur, “what echoes? Whose?”
He doesn’t answer, tugging another bead off of my dress instead. They slip through his fingers and tumble to the mat, bouncing at our feet. “I think they haunt me.” Exhaling slowly, he lifts his gaze to mine. “But I don’t think they’ll touch you.” With a tug at the side of my dress, he undoes the zipper and tugs it down. My top loosens, and I gasp as Ruin palms my ribs, counting the rungs under his breath. He tugs the dress down my body until it pools at my feet, then continues his silent exploration of my body. When one hand isn’t enough, he grabs my hand and curls my fingers around his knife hilt.
Our eyes meet, and he takes a deep breath as he lets go.
While he touches every inch of my skin, from the tender spot behind my knees to the points of my elbows, I stand perfectly still, unsure what to do. Goosebumps trail down my arms, traveling across my chest and stomach, then down my thighs. Ruin pauses to inspect my pebbled skin, then leans in to press a kiss above my belly button.
I inhale sharply as he continues, dragging his lips from hip to hip, then lower, dropping to his knees to kneel before me. Slowly, he pushes my feet farther apart, forcing me to widen my stance. I tremble as he stares between my thighs, his breath soft as he leans closer.
He kisses my mound, then arches his back and dips lower, slipping his tongue between my lips to taste my desire. Hooking his hands over my calves, he holds me still as I twitch and soft cries fall from my lips. What he lacks in experience he makes up for in patience, taking his time lapping at my folds and flattening his tongue over my clit to feel every quiver and shake of my body. His hands travel higher, rubbing my inner thighs before pulling my labia apart and granting him deeper access.
I damn near drop the knife as he pushes one thick finger inside my pussy. Frantically, I push him back and kick off my heels, growing desperate for more.
While I tear at his shirt and toss it to the floor, he undoes his belt and pulls his pants below his hips, his erection springing free. A bead of precum leaks from the tip. Sitting back on his haunches as I step out of my dress and kick it away, he peers up at me, a small smile curving on his lips as I take small, shaking steps toward him.
My heart stutters as I drop into his lap and curl my arms around his neck, careful to hold the knife out from our bodies. He reaches up and grabs my hand. “Hold it,” he rasps, pulling the blade lower, “here.” He presses its sharp edge to the side of his neck and closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he exhales slowly and tension slips from his shoulders.
Panic beats its wings inside my chest. “Ruin, I can’t?—”
His eyes snap open, and the smile falls from his lips. “Hold it.”
“I could hurt you really badly?—”
“ Hold it. ” His eyes flash silver as he grabs my hips. “Do not let go.” Dragging my body over his, he presses my core to his hard length and thrusts, hissing through his teeth as his cock slides between my lips. We moan in unison as he drags through my slick folds, but it’s me who cries out as he punches up and bumps my clit, sending sparks of heat deep into my belly.
The knife slips on his next thrust, cutting into his skin. He groans, pushing my hips down until the tip of his cock slips inside. As crimson blood drips down the knife and the side of his neck, his cock jerks, spilling his seed. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I drop the knife and apply pressure to the wound, wrapping my hand around his neck and squeezing.
As he draws a lungful of air, he grabs my wrist and pries it from his neck. The cut isn’t deep, but it’s long, spanning a few inches. When he swallows, blood flows faster, trailing down his neck and pooling in the dip of his collarbone. “Pick it up,” he rumbles, staring into my eyes. “ Pick it up, krosotka. ”
He doesn’t let go until I’ve put the knife back to his neck. Seemingly satisfied, he brushes the tip of his nose against the column of my throat and sighs. “I am not like my brothers,” he says after a moment. His teeth scrape my pulse point, with his tongue quickly following the same path. “I can’t give you the same things. I’m…” Shivering, he presses a gentle kiss to my carotid artery. “Haunted.” Lifting his face to mine, he stares deeply into my eyes, his gaze pinging back and forth between them. “But you are not,” he muses, sighing against my lips. “Your soul is bright, krosotka. Mine is…” He purses his lips. “Ash.”
“Hey,” I breathe, careful not to move the knife again, “hey, I don’t believe that.”
Humming in the back of his throat, he taps his fingertips against the side of my ribs. “We’re all trapped in cages. Your heart and mine. Forced to keep beating, because no one can reach it.” He hooks his fingers, digging into my flesh hard enough to hurt. I wince, and he stops, grunting. “I can cut it out. Make the pain go away. I’ve done it before, with the others.” Wrapping his arms around me, he holds me close, enveloping me in the warmth of his body. I pull the knife away just in time to avoid causing more damage, but this time, he doesn’t tell me to put it back. He buries his face in my hair and inhales, shuddering. Quietly, he mutters, “I don’t want you to haunt me. I want your soul to stay next to mine.”
I carefully set the knife down on the floor and reach for Ruin’s hand, lacing our fingers together. His blood sticks to our skin, fusing our palms. With my other hand, I press down on his throat and push him back a few inches, keeping my thumb over the deepest part of the cut. Thankfully, I didn’t hit anything major, but it was close.
Really close.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him. “My soul is staying right here next to my heart.”
“Next to mine,” Ruin whispers, his eyes swirling like pools of molten silver.
Lifting myself higher on my knees, I brush my lips over his. “Next to yours. Just like this.” Gently, I press my mouth to his, like we’ve done a few times before. It takes him a moment to react, like he’s still unsure about this part, but that’s okay with me. I already have two overbearing kissers—I don’t need a third.
We kiss slowly, taking our time to explore our connection. I kiss the corner of his mouth over his scars, and he shivers but doesn’t pull away, letting me slide my tongue across his lips. I sigh into his mouth when he lets me in, and I’m the one to deepen the kiss, clutching his throat as I push him down onto his back. The knife lay forgotten by his side as I lay on top of him, long locks of my hair falling over my shoulder, the ends tickling his chest. He wraps his hand in the strands and pulls, getting blood in my hair as he drags me down for another kiss.
A harder one.
Our teeth knock together, and I smile, giddy with excitement and nerves and what little adrenaline remains in my system. Ruin grunts as his cock slides out of my pussy, his body shuddering beneath mine and his breaths ragged.
It must still be sensitive.
I wonder if he’s ever been with a woman before, but then I remember all the times that Rebel has shown Ruin what to do, and I realize that I’m probably his first. If the kissing wasn’t a give away, then the way he looks at me is.
Wide, owl eyes, and a look of wonder that makes me blush. He brushes his knuckles across my rosy cheek, then lowers them to my matching nipple. As his gaze shifts between the two, I study his face, then carefully press my lips to his forehead.
“Let’s get you bandaged up, okay?” I scan his body for injuries, but although his burns look fresh and the new skin even fresher, he doesn’t complain as I prod him with two of my fingertips, like the medic Serena taught me while we were at The Box. Ruin lets me poke and press his abdomen, his ribs, everywhere that should hurt.
“I told you before,” he muses, a soft smile curving on his lips. “You won’t find one.” He touches the wound on his neck and grunts. “I have no weak spots, krosotka. ”
“Hm.” I stare into his dark eyes and try not to say what’s on my mind… because if he learns that loving someone is a weakness…
Well, he won’t have zero weak spots anymore.
He’ll have four… just like the rest of us.