Chapter 8 Cade
CADE
We wander inside a little while later, Ansel’s eyes drooping in exhaustion. Probably from the stress of this whole situation.
I shake out the blanket before putting it back on the bed. Once it’s in place, I hide the dagger under my pillow once more.
“We should shower and go to bed,” I say, and Ansel just scrubs a hand down his face.
“You can go first. I’ll watch.”
“Learned your lesson?”
He sighs loudly and rolls his eyes. “Yes. Now, no more gloating.”
I pretend to zip my lips and then stride toward the bathroom, knowing Ansel is looking at my ass as I move. And it’s a nice ass. I do a lot of squats.
I could probably kill someone with my glutes if I had to.
“I can show you my workout regimen if you’re interested,” I say as I flick the water on. I glance back and see him leaning against the doorjamb.
“No thanks, Titan. I’m happy with my body just the way it is.”
I let my gaze travel up and down said body. “I agree. It’s very nice.”
That makes him blush. I step under the water and wash quickly, not giving him a show. I could—my dick would like to be touched very much—but I decide not to take too long.
Not when I have other plans in mind.
When I step out of the shower, I grab the towel and begin to dry myself off with it.
Ansel is shifting on his feet, trying not to look at me but unable to pull his gaze away.
“You left the water on,” he says, his voice raspy.
“Better get in, then. The water heater out here is probably old. Never know how much hot water is left.”
He narrows his eyes slightly, and I shrug. “Plus, don’t you want to keep an eye on me?” I hop onto the counter, the towel falling open and my hard dick standing erect. “I’ll just wait right here.”
He hesitates a moment and then murmurs something to himself before pulling his shirt off.
“This is your punishment. You can look, but can’t touch,” he says, trying to convince himself that this is a good idea. I know he doesn’t think it is, but I absolutely do.
Because it is a punishment to not touch, but it also makes me ridiculously horny. It will make finally touching him totally worth it.
He shucks his pants and turns around, pushing his underwear down as well. Every part of him is exposed to me now. And I hungrily gobble it up. The round shape of his pale ass, the smattering of hair on his legs, and a watercolor tattoo sitting on his lower back.
I blink and lean forward, trying to make it out, and nearly gasp when I see what it is.
“Is that a butterfly?” I ask, and Ansel peers over his shoulder at me, covering his dick with his hands, even though I can’t see it. I want to peek at it, but he’s angled away from me.
“Yeah.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
He turns his gaze away from me and steps into the shower, water sprinkling the floor as he reaches for his soap.
He has to bend down slightly to get it, and I tug on my dick as he does it. That ass. That fucking ass with the butterfly right there.
It’s so damn perfect I nearly come from the thought of it.
Of pushing him up against the tile of the shower, spreading his cheeks, and sinking inside.
He’d squirm on my dick, the sheer length of it making him scream before I’d tug on his cock and make him come. I’d feel his rim pulsing around me and it would be my undoing.
His gaze flashes over to me, and I pump my cock harder, unable to stop myself. His eyes move to my arm, my hand, and my dick, and his mouth parts in a silent pant.
I don’t want him to look away. I just want to keep giving myself this relief.
And it comes quickly, barreling through me at impressive speed. It happens when he leans back slightly, still not showing me his front, but I don’t need it. His back is perfection. The way his spine arches, the way his ass flexes—it’s enough to have my imagination soaring.
And my dick. My orgasm pummels through me, and I’m left gasping as my release explodes.
Ansel hears my groan, his body shivering as the sounds echo around him.
And when he turns, I see it all. His pale chest, his puckered nipples, the happy trail leading down to his beautiful, gorgeous cock.
I can’t help myself. I can’t stop myself. I forget everything about letting him rest, too enraptured with the sight before me.
I move toward him, sinking to my knees on the wet floor, my hands going behind my back as I mouth him.
He moans, his hands sinking into my hair, pulling me closer. Rough. Using me. Fucking me.
I groan loudly, my dick already trying to rally, trying to come once more.
It could, too. With my butterfly, anything is possible.
His dick slides down my throat, and he holds himself there for a few seconds before pulling back and doing it all over again.
He likes when I deep-throat him.
Good thing I enjoy it too.
I swallow around him, feeling drool hit my chin and chest, his movements relentless, purposeful.
He’s needed this, and I’m giving it to him.
I let my eyes open, and I stare up at him.
He’s watching me intently, his pupils blown out, his cheeks red, his chest heaving. He moans, his gaze locking with mine, and I feel the twitch in his cock.
And a moment later, spurts of cum explode across my tongue.
I swallow them down, wanting to consume as much of him as possible. My solitary star, my beautiful butterfly.
When he finally pulls out, I have cum dripping down my chin, and I swipe at it, still not moving from my place on the floor.
“I broke the rules,” he whispers, looking slightly ashamed, but more than that, relieved.
I lean my face against his thigh, grinning up at him. “Rules were made to be broken. It’s more fun that way.”
He laughs and then reaches down, his hands tugging me up. I push myself to my feet and tower over him, our naked bodies inches apart, but he doesn’t touch. He keeps his hands to himself, but I can practically feel the neediness vibrating off him.
Fuck, I can’t wait until he gives in to it.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says eventually.
He reaches for a towel and haphazardly dries himself off, tossing it onto the counter when he’s done and moving past me.
I follow like the dog I am, curling up next to my owner on the bed and pressing my nose to his arm.
He doesn’t move me away, just surrenders to it, and that alone makes me sleep like the dead.
I dream of things I don’t want to remember, things I wish would stay locked up inside my compartmentalized mind.
But I can’t wake up. I think I’ve been programmed not to, to endure it.
That’s what I was bred to do. To accept pain and hardship. To use both to make myself stronger.
I’m in the graveyard, my fifteen-year-old body bruised and beaten, starved as I let my hands claw against the sides of the mausoleum. I’m weak, tired. I want to give up, to give in, but the stubborn part of me can’t. It doesn’t want to let him win.
I push forward, the stifling scent of decay and dust making my throat hurt and my eyes water. I’ve been down here for hours, searching for a way out.
“Don’t come home if you fail.”
I refuse to fail. My brothers are counting on me. He’s harder on me than most, trying to mold me into something I don’t want to be.
And still, I persevere. Even when all hope is lost.
I find my way to the end of the small room and let my hands wander around, in search of what, I don’t know. But when I find it, relief pulses through me. I pull myself up and out of the mausoleum, my arms screaming at me as I claw my way up to the earth.
And when I lie on the wet grass, the moonlight glittering down on me, I see it.
An iridescent blue, almost silver, against the stars.
My screaming arm reaches up, and it brushes past me, reviving me.
If something this beautiful can be found in death and darkness, then there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
I won’t let him win. I push myself up and stagger toward the waiting car.
I won’t let him ever win.
My eyes pop open with a gasp. My hand presses to my chest as I try to slow my racing heart.
Ansel is hovering over me, his hair falling over his face, his gaze concerned. “Brad?”
The unfamiliar name doesn’t register. Why is he calling me that?
He strokes my face, the gesture calming me. “You were breathing really heavily. Were you having a nightmare?”
I wet my dry lips and swallow. I don’t even bother lying. “Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I blink at him, his usual sassiness gone, the brat nowhere to be seen. I like this side of him too.
“If I tell you, will you tell me something about you?”
He bites his bottom lip and then moves away from me, lying on the other side of the bed, not saying anything.
But then he speaks. “I like computers.”
It’s a tiny kernel, one I already suspected, but I latch on like a barnacle. “Do you? What kind?”
He laughs at that. “Sorry, I meant, like, I like tech stuff. Coding, software…that kind of thing.”
“Hence the shirts.”
“Hence the shirts.”
He’s silent for a moment and then murmurs, “Your turn.”
“My father locked me in a mausoleum once, to teach me a lesson.”
There’s a long silence. I think I’ve made him speechless. Huh. I knew how I was raised wasn’t right. It’s why Samson, Wylder, and I did what we had to do to protect our younger brothers.
We didn’t want them to go through the same thing. Not as young as we had, anyway.
“What the fuck? I just… I can’t even…” Ansel says, sounding angry. “How old were you?”
“A teen. I made it out and learned my lesson.”
He grunts in frustration. “That’s not normal—how you were raised. From the little you’ve told me. It’s not normal, Brad.”
I grind my teeth at that fucking name again. I hate it. But I’m not ready to let my deception be known. I don’t want him to hate me because of it. “I know.”
“Were your brothers treated like that too?”
“You first,” I say.
He’s silent for a moment, probably trying to think of what to tell me, before saying, “I got into computers at an early age, mainly to track down my parents, who abandoned me. Left me in foster care.”
“Did you find them?”
“Yes.”
“And did you kill them?”
He laughs and sighs. Probably thinks I’m joking. I’m not. “No, they did that already. All on their own. Drugs. Makes sense, actually. They went the way they wanted to go.”
I wait for him to give me more, but he doesn’t, so I answer his initial question. “My older brothers were all treated the same… We stopped him from repeating it with our younger brothers. We couldn’t protect them from all of it, but we shielded them from as much as we could.”
“Is your dad a psycho? Where was your mom?”
My mind flashes back to a different time. It’s so foreign that it feels like it happened to someone else. A Cade who no longer exists. One who was happy. Safe. Secure. Loved. “She died long ago. Left my father with all the power and no one to stop him.”
Ansel’s nostrils flare. “I would have stopped him.”
I smile. I can’t help it—he’s so cute. If my father were alive, I wouldn’t let him within a mile of Ansel. “And how’s that?”
He turns onto his side, and I do the same, our knees touching, our hands just inches away from one another.
“I would have hacked into his computer and taken it all. Bit by bit. Enough that he wouldn’t notice at first, but when he did, he’d think he was losing it. I’d make him go crazy when he lost it all.”
Pieces fall into place. “So you’re a hacker.”
Ansel considers it. “A hacktivist, really. I do bad things for a good cause. And money, sometimes. A guy needs to eat.”
I roll that word around my lips. Does that make me something similar? I don’t know, because sometimes I do bad things purely because I want to. Because it feels good. The Firm is all about justice, but my version of it doesn’t always align with the others’.
“I didn’t want to kidnap you,” he whispers, his blue eyes fearful. “I really am a good person. But I didn’t have a choice.”
“And why’s that?” I ask, my fingers reaching out and brushing against his. I may appear relaxed, but my soul is screaming at him to tell me. To tell me who’s threatening him.
So I can make it stop.
“Whose orders are you working on, butterfly?”
He shivers. His mouth opens to tell me something.
But then his phone rings.
Ansel bolts upright and stares at the screen. All of the blood drains from his face.
Before I can say anything, he’s running for the door, phone clutched in his hand.
I want to reach out to stop him, but I can’t. I don’t.
I just watch as he rushes outside to answer the call.
This might all be over.
I have no idea what’s going to happen now.
The only thing I’m sure about is that I don’t want this to end.