Chapter Twelve #2
I bite his palm as the pressure expands, tipping over the edge.
I try to hold in my moans as it floods over me, yet I don’t know if I’m successful.
My ears are ringing. He slows, dragging his fingers lovingly and then all movement stops.
I breathe in deeply through my nose. He removes his hand from my mouth and holds me close, waiting as my heartbeat settles.
“I feel like that was a thank you to me, not you,” I say softly.
“Feeling your heat. Watching you come apart in my arms.” He kisses my shoulder.
“Definitely for me.” He slides his hand out of my pants and uses his other hand to push on my knee, turning me to face him.
I stare at him as he lifts the fingers that were inside me and licks them.
I bite my lip watching the desire and pleasure on his features.
“Shit,” I breathe, my hand gripping the edge of my seat.
“Tasting you is a bonus,” he says, dropping his arm. We stare at each other for a moment. “Remy is almost done cooking.” I blink. “Clean up and come and eat.” He kisses me lightly. “I’m honored.” He nods behind me. “That you would share your gift of art with me.”
I watch him leave the room, shutting the door softly. I’m not sure how long I remain seated, staring at the door. Shaking my head, I look down and realize I’m still holding the paintbrush.
I laugh abruptly.
Hopping up, I continue to smile as I clean up and get in the shower.
I have a feeling it’s not going to take much convincing to make me want to live forever with my jaguars.
Rylee is still grinning. She heard or, at the very least, knew what was happening in the bedroom.
Of course, she hasn’t said a word. I showered quickly, dressed in tight jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, and joined everyone.
The conversation didn’t slow as I entered the kitchen.
Remy is moving around the stove, confident, and winked at me.
Hunter seated me between him and Lawson.
Apparently, hours had passed while I was in my bedroom, and my stomach is ready to eat.
“Any problems today?” Hunter asks, and I follow his gaze to Bane.
“No.” He glances at me and then at Lawson. “Heath is working on a lead.” I sense the tension emanating from Lawson.
“Does he know when he’ll know?” Lawson asks.
“Anytime,” Bane says.
“We should talk about it later,” Hunter says softly.
“Food,” Remy says, placing a plate in front of me. They are hoping to distract me. It works, but I file away their conversation to ask about later.
“This smells delicious,” I say, grinning over my shoulder at him.
“Hopefully it tastes just as good,” Remy says, tugging on my hair before moving away.
“He’s always hoping for compliments,” Lawson says.
“He deserves it,” Rylee says, pressing her hands together as food is served to her.
“I’ve eaten plenty of times at his restaurant.
His place is fancy, but not the kind of fancy that you don’t know what the hell you're eating. This…” She points her joined hands toward the plate.
“Is steak. It looks like steak, and you will not doubt it when you take a bite.”
“How long have you been a chef?” I ask, picking up my fork and knife.
“Professionally?” he asks, and I nod. Moving around the table, he serves his brothers.
“Five years. I’ve cooked most of my life.
” His jaw hardens, and he pauses before serving himself.
“I worked in several restaurants as a waiter and saved enough to take classes. I eventually became a sous chef. I wasn’t a fan of working for someone else, so I decided to open my place.
” I moan as I taste the first bite. “Good?”
“That’s amazing. I’ve had plenty of steak, but nothing like this,” I say, and he lifts a shoulder.
“I like food. I really enjoy feeding others.” He looks around the table and settles his attention on me. “It means more taking care of people I care about.” I lick my lips, and his eyes flicker.
“It shows.” I take a bite of the potatoes. They are rich and fluffy, yet still elegant. I'll never go hungry again.
“Do you show your art?” Lawson asks.
“Like an art show?” I ask, and continue savoring the steak.
“Yeah.”
“No.” I keep my eyes on my plate. “I paint for myself.”
“You should.” I look up quickly, meeting Bane’s eyes. “You’re talented as fuck.”
“Eloquent,” Remy says, shaking his head. He grins at Bane.
“Always,” Bane replies, his lips twitching.
“She’s always been gifted,” Rylee says, pointing her knife at me. “Painting has come naturally. I’ve been telling her she needs to share them with the world.”
“It’s not about attention,” I say, twirling my fork. “I don’t mind if people see them. I’m not seeking recognition, but peace.”
“Peace?” Lawson turns toward me.
“So much of my life has been out of my control. When I sit down to paint, it’s about what I feel and my actions with a brush.
I can make whatever I want, and there won’t be any judgment if I color outside the lines.
The paints reflect my emotions. I choose the colors and the direction I take it.
” I shift on my seat, uncomfortable with their intense focus on me.
If I want them to open up to me, I need to reveal more about things I have tried to forget.
“My mom died when I was ten. She had cancer.”
“Fuck, Princess,” Hunter rumbles, sliding his hand on my thigh.
“I watched her wither away. She loved me desperately. I would sit on her bed with her, and she would tell me about all the places she traveled before she met Father. She loved to paint and documented the places she’d seen.
All of her art was displayed in one of the rooms in the house.
We spent hours sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, admiring the bright colors.
Even after she got sick, she demanded we still do it.
We would pile blankets and pillows. Father was so angry.
He thought she needed to stay in bed, not entertain me.
” I laugh softly. “Mom gave him a stern look and told him, ‘She’s still my Princess. I want to share my world.’" I glance at Hunter. His nickname means something more than what he meant it to. “Father didn’t understand. I'll remember those moments forever. Instead of Mom brushing and braiding my hair, I did hers. She complained that there was no need because she didn’t have much left. It was thin, but I knew it made her feel like everything was normal.” I meet Rylee’s eyes.
I told her about my mom years ago, so none of this is a surprise to her.
“The cancer spread quickly, and nothing helped. She caught it too late. She passed away beside me on the floor, holding my hand, surrounded by her art.”
“Jesus, baby,” Bane whispers.
“Haven,” Remy says. Lawson bows his head and covers my hand on the table with his.
“I was destroyed,” I say roughly. “But it was beautiful. She died with the loves of her life around her. After she was gone, I wanted to follow in her footsteps and take some painting classes. Father refused. He wasn’t always such a bitter man.
He loved her and treated her well. Honestly, I think he loved her more than she did him.
When she was alive, she was the one in control.
She could say a few words and calm him down.
Once he was alone, there was no one to hold him back.
He didn’t want any reminder of her in the house, so painting was out of the question. ”
“Do you look like your mom?” Hunter asks.
“Yes. I look nothing like him.” I remember he couldn’t look me in the eyes for years.
“I heard him talking one night. He wanted to sell all her paintings. I waited until he went out and hid her favorites. My mom bought a studio apartment, and didn’t tell anyone.
Before she died, she took me there and gave me a key.
Her friend kept it clean for her then, and the years after she passed.
I knew he wouldn’t find them there. I couldn’t allow him to take her away more than she already was. ”
“That was the first time he hit you,” Rylee whispers.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t tell him where they were. He had the house searched. I still have them.” I exhale sharply. “I need them.” I look at Bane. “Deciding to move here, I forgot. If my father realizes I’m gone, he could get into my place. I moved some of her art into the safe in my apartment.”
“Does he have a key?” he asks.
“He doesn’t need one.” Shit. He would do it. If he finds out I’m moving, he’d do it out of anger. “It would take some work to get it out.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Bane says.
“You will?” I shouldn’t be shocked.
“We have your address. I’ll send someone we trust,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“Has he hit you recently?” Lawson asks.
“No. I stay away, and he usually forgets I exist.” I take a drink of water. “But I’m still in the area. He won’t like my decision to move.”
“What can he do?” Remy asks.
“At least when I’m close, he thinks he has some control,” I whisper, pushing my chair back. “Excuse me.” I don’t look at anyone as I walk away. My stomach is rolling.
Escaping into my bedroom, I press my hand to my chest, somehow hoping to calm my racing heart.
I’ve never left the state. Close to him, yet far enough to live my life how I want.
He doesn’t want me involved in his world, but needs to know he could reach out and interfere with mine.
I stop in front of the painting of Brian.
That situation proves he still has reach.
He has a lot of friends who would do anything for him.
Stealing shit from my house would be easy.
I can’t lose what little I have left of my mom.
Before Rylee, she was the one good thing I had.
I try not to remember her because it hurts too much.
Talking about her was nice, but it brought up the emotions of her departure.
I take deep breaths. Bane said he would get them. I have to believe he will.
“Haven,” Lawson says, knocking lightly. “Let me in.”
“It’s open,” I say, and turn to face him as he enters. “I’m sorry. I didn’t thank Remy for the meal.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He shuts the door softly.
“I don’t thank him regularly, and he still loves me.
” He moves to the end of the bed. “Rylee said she had a hot date and not to wait up. Bane and Hunter left. They'll make arrangements with someone to go to your apartment. If there is anything else you want, let them know, and they'll need the code to the safe. Remy is cleaning the kitchen. We’re going to stay tonight. It was Hunter’s turn, but he gave it up for me.”
“Why did he?” I ask, but I’m not complaining. “Not that I don’t want you to.” He waves his hand and sits on the mattress.
“Hunter is selfless. He’s doing what he’s always done, taking care of us, of me.” He grins, and I join him on the bed. “He knew I needed to speak to you.”
“About what?” I bend my knee and turn to face him.
“My demons,” he rumbles, and cups my calf. “He knew I could relate to your situation.”
“In what way?”
“You had a father who hit you. My adopted parents did the same to me,” he whispers, tilting his head away. His shaggy hair falls over his eyes.
“Lawson.” I put my hand over his.
“When I got big enough to fight back, they channeled my anger in another direction.” He looks at me. “Then I fought whoever they put in front of me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve only seen the good in the shifters here. Our world outside of this place isn’t as civilized.” I frown, and he rolls his shoulders. “I was forced to fight others of our kind.”
“Why?”
“If I didn’t. I would die.”
I inhale sharply as his face fills with pain.