Chapter 9 #3
Johnny stands in the hall with one shoulder against the frame, hands in his pockets, smile already waiting. His hair is a little messy, his mouth a little swollen, a split lip, and his eyes are bright in that awful way that makes him look more awake when everyone else should be tired.
He looks at my face first. Johnny always knows where to look when he wants to hurt someone.
“There she is,” he says.
God, I hate him.
“What do you want?”
His smile widens. “Well, that’s a bad question, pretty thing.”
I start to shut the door, but his hand comes up and catches it, just enough to keep it from closing, which pisses me off more than if he forced his way in.
“Move your hand.”
“Make me.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“That’s a lie.” His eyes move over me, slow now, taking in the coat on the floor behind me, my messy hair, and the look on my face I apparently forgot to fix before opening the door. “You’re very much in a mood.”
“Good. Use context clues and leave.”
“Nah.” His smile sharpens. “I want to know who ruined your day.”
I say nothing.
Johnny’s eyes brighten.
“Oh,” he says softly. “Was it my brother?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s a yes.”
“I said shut up.”
“But I’m enjoying this.” His gaze drags over my face, too sharp, too pleased. “He got you all worked up, didn’t he? What’d he do? Glare too hard? Say something stupid in that tragic little voice? Make you feel special and then immediately fuck it up?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and Johnny’s expression turns delighted.
“Fuck,” he says. “Look at you. Jagger really did piss you off.”
“Get out.”
“I’m not even in yet.”
“Then stay out.”
He tilts his head. “Do you want me to?”
The answer should be easy. I know where the door is.
I know my phone is in my bag. I know my neighbors are close enough to hear me if they feel like becoming useful for once in their lives.
Johnny isn’t blocking me. He isn’t stepping inside.
He’s just standing there, smiling because he can see the fight happening on my face.
“Bet you’re happy. You got everything you wanted, didn’t you? He chose you,” I say before I can stop myself.
That makes his smile pause for half a second.
Then it comes back worse. “Did he?”
“You fucking know he did. I asked him not to. To choose me, but he wouldn't. No, all he sees is whatever sick thing this is between you two.” My voice shakes, and I hate that too.
Johnny watches me with too much interest. The hallway feels smaller. My apartment feels too quiet behind me.
“And now you’re mad at him.”
“I’m mad at both of you.”
“Sure.” His eyes glitter. “But he’s the one who disappointed you.”
The words land exactly where he wants them to.
Fuck him for that.
I hate myself more because it works.
Jagger’s face flashes in my head. His hands on me. His mouth against mine. The way he closed his eyes when I asked him not to go because some part of him already knew he was going to hurt me.
I fucking begged him, and he still said no.
Johnny sees the hurt turn into something uglier.
“Well isn’t that just heartbreaking,” he murmurs.
“Don’t.”
“What?” His smile turns almost innocent, which is honestly insulting. “I’m just saying, if my brother wants to make everything about me, who are we to argue?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Aww you don't mean that.”
“No. I do. I really fucking do.”
“Fine,” He takes his hand off the door and holds both palms up, stepping back half a pace. “There. Door’s yours. Close it.”
I stare at him.
He waits, patient and amused. The worst part is, he’s actually giving me the choice, and he knows it too. That’s why he’s smiling.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Shut me out. Go be mad alone. Maybe Jagger will suddenly develop emotional range and call you to apologize.”
“Fuck you.”
His eyes flash and he grins.
My pulse kicks, and I hate how fast it happens. How anger can turn into heat when someone presses the bruise hard enough.
Johnny lowers his voice. “He picked me, Alice. Doesn’t matter how he dressed it up. The fight. The blood. The cage.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts again. “So what are you going to pick?”
My hand tightens on the door.
I should slam it. I should shove it closed and lock every lock and never let him hear my voice again.
Instead, I think about Jagger refusing me with his mouth still on mine. I think about Friday night. The crowd. Johnny smiling. Wraith coming apart exactly how Johnny wants him to, and something inside me snaps.
The hurt twists into something uglier.
Something reckless.
Something that wants to make both of them bleed.
Fine.
If Jagger wants to choose Johnny, maybe I will too. I’ll make it hurt. Let Johnny put his hands on me because apparently that is the only language either Cutter brother understands.
Johnny’s eyes narrow slightly, watching my face.
He knows.
The sick fuck knows before I even move.
“No chains tonight,” he says softly.
“Stop talking.”
“But you like it when I talk.”
“I hate you.”
His smile goes slow and wicked. “I know.”
That should scare me more than it does. It does scare me, it just doesn’t stop me.
I pull the door open.
Johnny doesn’t move right away. He looks past me into the apartment, then back at my face, giving me one last second to change my mind because he wants to be able to say I didn’t.
That I opened the door and let him in. That this time, it was my choice.
“You sure?” he asks, voice low and mocking.
I laugh, but it sounds nothing like me. “Don’t pretend you care.”
“I don’t.” He steps over the threshold, close enough now that his body heat hits mine. “I just want you to remember who opened the door when my dear little brother throws a tantrum.”
The words hit too deep.
I don’t care.
I yank the front of his shirt so hard the fabric strains, dragging Johnny down until his mouth crashes against mine. The kiss is all teeth and spite, my tongue shoving past his lips like I’m trying to punish him with it.
He laughs into me, low and cruel, the sound vibrating against my mouth as he kicks the door shut behind him.
I pull back just enough to breathe, and Johnny looks at me with blood on his lip and that bright, awful shine in his eyes, pleased in a way no normal person would be pleased.
“Oh, fuck yes,” he murmurs. “Now that is a choice.”
“Shut up.”
“No, no, no.” His smile stretches wider, delighted and sharp. “Don’t get shy now. You opened the door, dragged me in, and now you’re looking at me like you want to set the whole fucking room on fire. Can’t blame me for enjoying the burn, baby.”
I shove him toward the couch.
He lets me, stumbling back with a laugh that sounds almost breathless, almost giddy. He drops onto the cushions, legs spread, hands lifting with fake innocence, blood still shining at the corner of his mouth.
“That’s it,” he says. “Fuck, look at you. All that anger and nowhere pretty to put it.”
“I said stop talking.”
“Oh I’m very aware of all your little commands.” His eyes track every move I make as I climb over him, too awake, too amused, too hungry for the damage. “But you haven’t made me yet.”
My fingers yank at my shirt before I can think too hard about what I’m doing, and Johnny’s gaze drops for half a second before snapping back to my face.
He wants me to know he’s watching me choose it.
I grab his hair before he can say another smart-ass thing and pull him toward me.
His hands flex at his sides, but he doesn’t grab me. He just looks up at me, smiling against my skin, completely fucking thrilled.
“Fuck this is so good,” he breathes, voice gone rough and wicked. “Be mad. Be stupid. Be exactly as bad as you want to be.”
“Johnny.”
His smile cuts deeper.
“Oh, I know,” he whispers. “You’re all butt hurt he picked me, and now you’re going to make sure he feels it.”
My grip tightens in his hair.
Johnny laughs again, softer this time, almost reverent in the worst possible way.
“That’s my pretty girl,” he murmurs. “Make a mistake with your teeth.”
"Shut up and suck," I snap.
Johnny’s mouth seals around my nipple, hot and wet, teeth scraping before he bites down hard enough to make me hiss. The sting shoots straight between my legs, and I grind down on the hard line of his cock through his jeans, rolling my hips like I’m already fucking him through the denim.
My fingers fumble with his belt, jerking it open, first the button, then his zipper. Then I shove his pants and boxers down just far enough to free his cock.
"Well shit, look at you," he murmurs against my skin, voice muffled but still amused. "So fucking mad and still climbing on my dick."
"Fuck sakes, just shut up," I growl, standing long enough to strip the rest of my clothes off, then straddle him again, my bare cunt hovering over his cock.
His hands move to my hips the second I’m over him.
Fingers digging in enough to hurt, enough that I feel it through all the anger burning under my skin. I should shove him off. I should tell him not to touch me like he has any right to put his hands anywhere.
Instead, my breath catches.
Johnny feels it and smiles against me.
“Oh, fuck,” he murmurs, way too pleased. “That’s what you needed?”
“Shut up.”
His grip tightens, and for half a second, everything in my head goes quiet.
No Jagger. No cage.
No Friday night waiting to ruin everything. Just Johnny’s hands on my hips, the sharp bite of his fingers, and the awful truth that right now I something that hurts louder than my fucking feelings.
“That’s better,” he says, voice low and amused. “There’s the honest part.”
I glare down at him. “I hate you.”
Johnny’s smile turns wicked.
“Mm. Fuck, yeah that’s good,” he says. “Use that.”
I reach down, line him up, and sink onto him in one rough drop.
"Fuck—" The word punches out of me as he stretches me open. I don’t wait, don’t ease into it. I ride him hard, thighs flexing, ass slapping against his lap with every slam.
My tits bounce in his face and he leans forward, catching one nipple again, sucking hard, biting the other until I swear and shove his head back.
Johnny’s hands stay where they are, but his hips lift to meet every drop of mine, the movement lazy, like he’s letting me use him.