7. Celia
Chapter 7
Celia
Rage leaves me on my knees.
It takes me a few seconds to process his retreat, and by then, Rebel has already lifted me back to my feet. He presses a kiss to my hair and tells me that I did so good , but I barely hear it.
I’m staring across the room as Rage allows a pretty woman in silver glasses and a sexy, scarlet blazer to apply antiseptic to his hands and wrap them tightly in gauze and these long, thin strips of bandages that wind around his knuckles. He bends to her ear and says something, to which she nods and disappears into a back hallway. I wonder if she’s his real girlfriend—if I’m just the side piece he uses to satisfy sexual urges she refuses to indulge.
Maybe they match on a mental level, when all Rage and I feel for one another is physical.
My stomach twists into knots, but I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’m not being tossed between him and his brothers on a daily basis, so why shouldn’t he have someone else on the side?
I’ve got three men lined up and ready to go at a moment’s notice.
That’s what I tell myself as I watch Rage tour the room, shaking hands with well-dressed men in masks, clapping others on the back as he passes, smiling at ladies in sheer dresses and lingerie. “What is he doing?” I ask, following Rebel’s patient lead to a high-top bar backlit with ice blue neon lights. It’s the same on Goliath brought me to, but everything feels different now, like I’m in an alternate dimension. That can’t have been tonight. Can it?
I glance away from the bar to find Rage again. He can’t be working the room. Rage has about as much charisma as a turd left to dry on the asphalt in the middle of a blazing hot summer. Which means, none at all.
Rebel orders us drinks and plops me down on a padded bar stool, swiveling it so that I can’t watch Rage’s reflection in the twenty-foot wide mirror overlooking the bar. He tuts as he slides my dress off my thighs and inspects the red, angry skin across both my kneecaps. “He’s being an ass,” Rebel finally answers.
“That’s his default.”
Rebel’s iron eyes flick up to mine. “It doesn’t have to be.”
I snort aloud just as the bartender sets two drinks beside us. The liquid is clear with a single, large sphere of ice nestled inside. Rebel lifts his glass to his lips and takes a half sip. I’ve seen the man drink half a bottle in the time it takes to boil a box of pasta—he’s holding himself back right now.
I don’t bother with the pretense, downing my drink before I can even taste the alcohol on my tongue. Despite the icy chill, it goes down smooth. Vodka. Go figure.
He frowns but lifts his hand and gestures for another one. “I’m serious. You two could be good together.”
The statement burns more than the drink. “I seriously doubt that.” I brave a glance at my knees and wince. Not only are they swollen and red, but they’re bruised, too. Was it from the initial fall, or did Ruin hold me down while his brother face-fucked me? In the moment, I was too focused on not choking to death to pay much attention to my knees, but now I’m paying for it.
I have a feeling I’ll keep paying for things I haven’t asked for.
“Why? Because he pushes you?” Rebel taps the edge of his glass with his fingertip. “You push right back.” The bright lights around the room glint off the piercing in his bottom lip, and my gaze wanders the contours of his face. He’s not as sharp-boned as his brother, lacking the hard ridges of his cheekbones and the permanent five o’clock shadow, but he’s no less handsome. Pretty , even, with curved eyelashes and thick eyebrows. But the unkempt wildness to his hair and the heavy tattoos crawling up his neck give him an edge that Rage lacks.
I take a sip of my drink and it dawns on me that I shouldn’t be sitting here at all. I should be running. Far the fuck away. I could blame the twinging ache in my knees for my lack of desire to hightail it out of here, but that wouldn’t be the truth.
I’m not ready to leave yet. Not until I’ve made my point clear.
“He can’t control me,” I murmur around a swallow. This time it burns, sending a shudder down my spine. “He wants to, but he can’t. I won’t let him.”
The look Rebel gives me is hard to decipher. “I don’t want him to hurt you.”
Rolling my eyes, I gesture broadly to my aching knees. “Too late for that.”
“I don’t want him to hurt you any more ,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to let the words sink in. It’s too bad, because I won’t let them.
All Rage does is hurt me. Even when he’s wringing the best orgasm of my life out of me, it hurts. Physically. Mentally. It’s like he’s chipping off pieces of me and stashing them in a jar with his name scrawled across the lid.
He’ll claim every broken piece of me just so that he can say the word mine .
Shaking my head, I blow out a heavy exhale. “Even when he’s…” Soft isn’t the right word. “ Less agitated , he’s impossible to deal with.” I swivel my chair back toward the mirror and scour its reflection for any sign of the man in question. “You saw how he kissed me, Rebel. There was nothing kind about it. He doesn’t know how to do anything without making it about him. ” I crinkle my nose as I catch a whiff of dick-breath. I definitely need to wash my mouth out.
Rebel turns me back toward him with a hand on my thigh. He rubs his thumb in an arch across my skin, staring into my eyes with an openness that makes my insides squirm. Whereas Rage’s walls are made of ten-inch steel, Rebel’s look like they’re made out of the thinnest layer of glass. He draws a small breath that pulls me closer. “I need you to give him a chance, baby, or we won’t get ours.”
I turn my head away, my cheeks suddenly hot. My pulse races, memories of my time with Rebel rushing to the surface. Those are much more tender than anything Rage has given me, even when Rebel has my back is pressed against the wall and my wrists trapped in his hands. He coaxes pleasure from my body in a way that’s endearing, like he’s savoring it as much as I am. We haven’t gotten very far—second base, if we’re being technical, and only with our hands. Rebel’s lips never venture lower than the curve of my neck.
When I imagine the future I could have with these men, it’s Rebel that I picture the most.
If there’s anyone deserving of the title father , none of them really qualify, but I could see Rebel getting there.
“Do you want kids?” I ask suddenly, cringing as the words leave my mouth. “Um, never mind, please don’t answer that.”
Rebel licks his lips and leans even closer, his breath ghosting across my cheek. I can feel the smile on his lips as he murmurs, “do you want me to, baby?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know.”
Would it change anything if he said yes?
He chuckles, palming my chin to turn my face toward his. There’s a sparkle in his eye that’s impossible to miss. He looks damn near gleeful. “You told Rage that you didn’t want kids. I heard you say it.” His tongue sneaks past the seam of his lips to taste mine, and he groans. “Did you lie , pretty girl?” The next rumble in his chest is deep, making my toes curl. “Did you say that just to piss him off, or is the thought of having his baby that repulsive?” He inhales sharply. “Would you rather have mine?”
The ache in my chest throbs, and I jerk back on impulse. This has gotten way too complicated, way too fast. “I—I don’t know,” I stammer, tears stinging my eyes. Fuck. I do not want to talk about babies tonight. They make my brain go haywire. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Mhm.” Rebel doesn’t sound convinced, but he also doesn’t seem too concerned about the way my voice shakes, either. So much for being the kind brother. “Think about it, beautiful, because one of us is gonna knock you up eventually. If you have any protests, now is the time to voice them.”
I gape at his stupidly arrogant smirk as he takes another sip of his drink. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I am not getting pregnant!” My heart swoops nonetheless, clinging to the idea no matter how foolish it is. I should have never brought this up in the first place, but my mouth ran ahead of my brain. “Rage just—the things he said—” My frown runs deep. “I am never having children with any of you. There! Decision made.” I slam my heels back on the floor and wince at the sting in my knees.
Rebel chuckles to himself as I walk away, but he doesn’t try to stop me.
Asshole.
I wander the room in a daze, all too conscious of the eyes following my every move. It isn’t just the fact that I can feel Rebel and Rage’s stares, it’s everyone else’s. The room has a thousand eyes, and at least half of them are trained on me. A shudder runs down my spine and bile rises to the back of my throat.
If I vomit, will Rage get pissed that my body rejected his seed?
It’s tempting to shove my finger down my throat just to spite him.
When I glance up from the fuzzy spot in the distance that I’ve been moving toward, I catch Rage’s dazzling smile as he talks to someone else. He might be holding a conversation with them with his lips, but his eyes are having an entirely different discussion with me.
They scream, you have nowhere to hide.
Yeah, fat fucking chance. I strut past the obnoxiously bright restrooms sign and march ahead of the line, daring the ladies waiting to stop me. When they don’t, I laugh. I guess getting face-fucked has one benefit for the night.
I splash water in my face and stare at my reflection for a long time. Long enough that at least five women come and go, each one making a point to look me up and down as they fix their lipstick or wash their hands. If my friend Lilith were here, she’d have stormed into the bathroom behind me and demanded to know what the hell I was doing, letting a man force himself on me like that.
But Lilith isn’t here, or else she would have stopped the sexual assault from happening in the first place. The phrase churns my stomach hard enough that I bolt past a woman on her way to the stall and expel every last ounce from my gut into the bowl. I groan as it flushes automatically. I’d get on my knees and hug the rim, but one, that’s super fucking gross, and two, the thought of getting on my knees again makes me wanna hurl a second time. I wipe my mouth with a few squares of toilet paper and flush that, too, before standing on shaking legs.
As I stand in front of the mirror this time, I hardly recognize myself. The woman staring back at me is pale, her mascara smeared across her cheeks, her lipstick a mere whisper of color. I tug the ribbon at the back of my head and tear my mask free, knowing that it’s pointless anyway. I’m not a seductress with five men wrapped around her finger on the dance floor, having the night of her life—I’m something less. Something broken and bitter and hurt.
Everything hurts.
The woman beside me rummages through her clutch and hands me a travel size mouth wash, placing it directly in my palm and wrapping my fingers around it. She squeezes my closed fist. “You did good for your first time.” The smile she offers is warm, and I realize that it’s genuine. “Not all of the men here are that rough, though. If you find a suitable partner, it can be fun for both of you.” When I stare blankly at her, she nods. “I promise.”
I scrub my hand down my face and shake my head. “Somehow, I doubt things will ever be fun with them.”
She tilts her head. “You mean the men? You can play for the other team here. No one will judge. It’s a safe space. Lots of us are bi or bi-curious.” Her eyes twinkle as she winks. “Among other things.”
My smile is small, but it perks her right up. “I appreciate that, but it’s not what I meant.” I take a minute to gargle the mouth wash and try not to get self conscious about the fact that she’s watching me do it. I don’t know how to unload my situation to anyone, let alone a stranger, so I settle for half-truths. After rinsing my mouth, I continue, “there are three of them, actually, and I’m only used to one at a time.” She tears open a paper square from her purse and hands me a makeup wipe. I remove the dark smudges on my face while she waits for me to continue. “It’s not just the sex, although that’s intimidating in itself.”
Will they try to fuck me at the same time? Valentina’s told me stories about her men—and although I’m not keen on picturing Mikhail naked, I’ve always been curious about how she makes it work. Three men. I shake my head and sigh. “It’s how they treat me like I’m—” I crumple the wipe in my hand—“like I’m nothing but a tool to get them off.”
“Oh, honey.” The woman wraps her arm around my shoulder. Her perfume is crisp like apples in autumn, her blonde hair frizzed at the edges like she’s been working up a sweat. But she’s pretty, I realize, even with the glittered mask on her face. The warm gold swirls match the color of her hair. “If it bothers you, then you have to do something about it. Have you tried talking to them?”
Someone behind us scoffs. “That one didn’t look like the talking type.”
The blonde woman looks over her shoulder while I check the mirror. Although the carousel of ladies continues to filter in and out of the bathroom, one woman lingers near the wall. Her hair is bright red, and I don’t know how I never noticed her before. Green eyes pierce mine as she joins us at the mirror. She pats her tit through her dress until she finds what she’s looking for and reaches into her cleavage to to produce a tube of lipstick. She grabs my wrist and drags me closer, popping off the top of the tube to apply a coat to my lips. “You need to fight back,” she says simply, “in a language he’ll understand.”
“I’ve been fighting,” I say.
She smacks my boob. “Hold still or you’ll look like the Joker.” Once she’s done applying a layer, she pops her lips to indicate I should do the same. “Wrap your lips around your finger so it doesn’t get on your teeth.”
Once she’s satisfied, I continue. “I’ve tried,” I grumble, “fighting back only makes him fight harder. He doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“Then stop saying no.” Rolling her eyes, she sticks the lipstick back inside her bra. “If he’s gonna hold you down and fuck you, you’ve gotta do the same.”
The blonde nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, tie the fucker down. Then he can’t grab you too tight. You’ll be in control of what happens?—”
“—or doesn’t,” the redhead says. Her gaze softens and she takes my hand in hers. “I saw the way he was looking at you near the end. You have a lot of power over him, babe. You’ve gotta use it.”
“On all of them.” The blonde takes my other hand. “There’s more than one, right? If they all want you like that, then you’re sitting on a goldmine. They’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”
I wither under their hopeful stares. “I don’t know how to do that. I don’t feel like I have any power.”
And a woman without power will never take back control over her life.
They share a look between themselves. “Trust us, you do.” The blonde fixes my lace mask back on my face and ties it tight behind my head. “You’ve just gotta figure out how it works with them.” She grazes her lips over my cheek in a parting kiss before heading to the door.
“And if I can’t figure it out?” I ask, already dreading the inevitable reality where these two are wrong. I’ll be locked in a cage for the rest of my life, forced to succumb to whatever twisted fantasy the brothers conjure up.
Shrugging, the redhead holds the door as the blonde walks past. She keeps it open for me, jerking her head to suggest we leave together. “Then I guess you’ll have to kill them.”