11. Havoc
ELEVEN
HAVOC
Where are you?
I stare at the text from Seven, and I debate ignoring it. My hands are still shaking from earlier, and I don’t trust myself to stay in control.
I’d almost choked Emily Lockwood to death right there in front of everyone.
I hadn’t thought. I’d only reacted.
My vision had been so hazy, and even with Vortex and Trent trying to contain me, I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
Emily would have deserved it. It’s not wrong to hate her after what she did to Seven. She’s been responsible for causing so much pain and misery, both with him and with countless others.
But I could have gotten myself thrown in jail. People were watching me, potentially filming me.
Even the Step Asshole knows better than to abuse my mom in public.
I take a heaving breath and text him back.
In the stairwell. I’ll be up soon.
Or later, or tomorrow. I don’t want to deal with Vortex and Caleb telling me off for being an idiot.
I don’t want Seven to wonder if the next time, it’ll be his neck I’m choking.
Can soon be now? I don’t really want to be alone right now.
Why is he alone? Isn’t Vortex with him?
I clutch the phone, and I almost give in, but my heart is still racing from the adrenaline.
No. Call Vortex.
I feel like shit for denying him but I can’t face him right now either.
Please? You don’t need to be alone right now either.
My heart aches, but I respond, No .
I click the phone screen off and put the phone into my back pocket, then look at the concrete wall of the stairwell.
My hand won’t even dent that. If I punch it, I’m going to do serious damage to myself.
I raise my fist—and slam the palm of my hand against the wall, letting out a frustrated sound.
It isn’t as satisfying. I need to hurt something. I need to destroy something.
I want to kill Emily Lockwood.
I want to wring her neck, watch her face turn red, hear her gasping for breath.
I want to know she’ll never hurt anyone — hurt Seven — ever again.
I’m still fantasizing about it when I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, echoing throughout the stairwell.
Seven.
It has to be.
There’s no way anyone else would be taking the stairs, and I grit my teeth, wishing I hadn’t told him where I was. I should’ve known he’d come find me.
I slump down on the stairwell landing and wait while the footsteps get closer.
Seven is huffing when he gets to me.
“Did you walk up ten flights of stairs?” Seven asks.
I shake my head. “I took the elevator up, then turned around and walked down.”
“Why?” Seven comes to stand by me. “I could’ve helped. We… We could’ve helped each other.”
I laugh bitterly. “Not really in the mood to help right now, Seven. I’m…” I look down at my hands, which clench and unclench. I don’t know how to explain this dark energy inside me, this awful desire to destroy .
“You want to hurt something,” he says, as though he’s plucked the thought out of my brain. “I want to be hurt. So… hurt me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you!” I snarl back. “I’m not some sort of monster who can’t control himself! I’m not—I’m not like him, okay? I’m not!”
Seven steps closer to me, and I grab his wrists hard when he tries to wrap his arms around me. He lets out a low moan, and he whispers, “You aren’t. And it’s different, because I want you to hurt me. I need you to. Please.”
It would be so easy to shove him up against the wall. I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.
I shake my head, but my hands stay tight around his wrists. “You don’t know what you want, Seven. I almost killed that woman. I knew it was reckless and I still couldn’t stop myself.”
Seven’s cheeks flush with anger. “I do know what I want. The three of you keep thinking you know better than me, but you don’t . You think I’m some victim who can’t make decisions for myself. Maybe I’m the one who should’ve tried to kill her.”
“You should’ve done it years ago,” I answer, and I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth.
It’s too late.
Seven’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, but I guess I was too weak. Just like I’m too weak to handle you right now, right? You can’t even be near me because you might hurt poor, pathetic, fucked-up Rory .”
I slam his wrists up against the wall. “Don’t call yourself that,” I snarl. “You aren’t him.”
“What?” he snaps right back at me, his eyes going dark with what I’m not sure is anger or need. “You don’t want to think of me as that broken boy who was too dumb to get out? Who didn’t bother to protect himself? So don’t treat me like I am! Treat me like you’d treat Seven , not Rory. ”
“I want to treat you like I care about you!” I shout back. “I’m more than—I’m more than this!” My eyes land on my hands around his slim wrists, and I can feel the delicate bones. I could snap them so easily, the way Marcus had snapped my mother’s wrist a few years ago.
“If you cared about me, you’d give me what I need!” he retorts. “You wouldn’t be trying to treat me like something I’m not!” He flexes his wrists in my grasp. “You wouldn’t be trying to act like something you’re not!”
Something I’m not .
Because I’m not in control.
I can’t be trusted.
I’m volatile, a loose cannon, not fit for the military or a real job or anything.
I growl in frustration and lean in to mash my lips against Seven’s. Never mind how awkward the angle is, or that the first pass has my teeth knocking against his.
He gasps, pushing his body more firmly against mine, and he adjusts his own angle with ease, kissing me desperately.
I let go of one wrist so I can fumble with Seven’s jeans. It takes me a few tries, but I get my hand around his cock and stroke it firmly, my nails raking across the sensitive skin.
Seven lets out a startled sound that turns into a moan, and he thrusts his hips into my hand. “Fuck me,” he whispers. “It’s okay. It’s good .”
“This is what you want?” I demand harshly. “You want me to fuck you up, Seven?”
“Yes!” The word comes out as a half-moan, half-mewl. “Yes, fuck me, fuck me up, bruise me, hurt me, please .”
I turn him around and slam him up against the concrete wall, that same wall I couldn’t punch. I push his shirt up to scratch long lines down his back, before I force his pants and underwear down.
“I’m gonna fuck you dry,” I whisper. “I’m going to fuck you up so hard, you’ll regret it.”
He only moans, sticking his ass out more. “No… No regrets,” he pants.
I should stop.
We’re essentially in public. Anyone could come by. There’s no way this is sanitary. Seven might end up seriously injured or humiliated.
I spread his cheeks and dig my thumbs into the flesh. My cock throbs, pressing against my fly.
He whines, pushing back against me again. “Havoc… Need it, need you . I’m ready.”
I lean forward and bite down on his neck, a lot harder than I usually do. Seven cries out and tilts his neck back, giving me even more access.
I have to let go of him to undo my fly and get my cock out. I’m so hard already, and a voice in the back of my head tells me that it’s not too late to stop, but I ignore it.
I rub my cock against his hole, surprised to feel the familiar slickness of lube.
“You prepped?” I ask in a low growl. “You came here for a pounding?”
“Told you,” he pants. “Wanted it. Wanted you. No excuses.”
That should relieve me, but it only has my head growing fuzzier. I ignore the strange emotion and shove my cock in, groaning at Seven’s heat.
He lets out a needy sound, one that’s fraught with desperation and desire and pain , and thrusts his ass back against me. “More,” he pleads.
I pull out almost all the way and slam in again without warning. Seven’s body presses up against the wall, and his cock must be rubbing against the concrete, but this is what he fucking wants. He wants me to hurt him and use him and treat him like he’s nothing more than a hole.
I fuck him violently, not saying a word, while my fingers dig into his flesh. I bite what skin I can access and take in all his needy little sounds. I’m on the edge before I know it, the violence and adrenaline and taste of salt and blood in my mouth pushing me closer and closer.
I don’t warn him before my climax is upon me, and I spill into his ass with another frenetic series of thrusts that have him slamming against the wall.
His keening sounds only rise in pitch, and I realize he’s coming, too, spurred on by my pleasure as he finds his own.
Only as soon as the orgasm is over—this pathetic, angry orgasm—the pleasure is gone. I don’t feel any satisfaction. There’s no sense of completion.
I feel as out of control as before.
I pull out of Seven and stare as the cum begins to leak out of his ass.
He’s breathing heavily, and he rests against the concrete wall in front of him. He hums out a sound that lets me know that he, at least, is satisfied, and he doesn’t move. “Mm,” he mumbles.
I step back and almost stumble over the stairwell railing.
A few landings down, I hear a door fall shut.
“I told Caleb I’d stop fucking you in public spaces,” I say dumbly.
He turns his head so he can look at me over his shoulder, his expression equally as dazed. “What? No, it’s not… This isn’t public.”
“Any of the guests can access it,” I say, my voice strangely flat. “These doors aren’t locked. Fire hazards and all that.”
“‘S’fine,” Seven replies, but he sighs and pulls his pants up. I see the way he winces as he moves, and I wonder how much pain he’s in.
How much pain I’ve caused him.
I look down and see my flaccid cock, the lube drying on it.
“You planned this,” I say quietly. I use my shirt to wipe my cock clean, leaving a cum-and-lube stain along the hem, before tucking myself away.
Seven turns, leaning his back heavily against the wall. “Planned what?” he asks, sounding confused.
“You wanted me to fuck you. You came here so I’d do this.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Guess I’m easy like that. Not in control.”
His expression turns wary. “I thought you might need it,” he says slowly, but he sounds uncertain now. “That you might need me.”
“I wanted to be alone.” I look at Seven, and he’s so beautiful with that freshly-fucked glow and the hickeys on his neck.
All I feel is nauseated.
I grip the railing. “Sorry. I have to go.” I sprint down the stairs as fast as I can, all ten flights.
By the time I hit the bottom, I’m not angry anymore.
But strangely, I do want to cry.