Chapter 15.
Reuben
Seattle is only just beginning to heal from the tragedy aboard the Millenium Star cruise ship.
Recently, it’s been going by a lot of names: the Drayton Heist, the Drayton Massacre… and in our most recent attempts to steer the name away from Camille’s family, the Millenium Massacre.
By the end of this week, Father has made sure it’ll be the documented name of the event. Without his assistance, Camille’s family would have been ruined indefinitely… but at least now they can only expect a dip in profits for a year or two.
Christian has been spending the last two weeks healing dutifully, courtesy of myself, really. Because the moment he woke up from his fight with Olsen, I made sure to handcuff him to his bed in the med ward.
He has a grievance against keeping still, so drastic measures were necessary… It was also a unanimous decision within the team.
I still remember his face then, the quiet glare in his eyes and his energy.
Ever since I locked eyes with him in the ring, I swear I’ve been losing my mind.
His colours from that fight—I see it in my fucking dreams. The shades of madness and ferocity, of reds and oranges and yellows—like a monster that’d grown bored pacing its cage, suddenly consumed with a desperate and unfiltered need to play.
It makes me so fucking hard.
I spit a curse before rolling over in bed, but it's too late.
Once he gets beneath my skin, I can't get him out unless I physically beat him out.
So I sit up at the edge of the bed with a racing pulse, I reach into my pants and expose my cock to the night air, and I imagine his lips on me.
His tongue. His throat. I imagine him kneeling before me while I plug his mouth.
Looking up at me with those pretty fucking eyes. A blue that looks like crystals.
But more than that, I want to see the lust in his energy. In that pretty fucking aurora of his that showcases all his emotions.
When he's seizing up and gagging on my cock in my fantasies, I can't help but shiver with need.
I cum the hardest when he can't escape. When he tries to fight me and I force myself inside him. When I use him until he submits to me. Forcefully changing those colours to lust and need. Emptying my balls inside him. Until he begs me to stop. Until he cries.
His energy's so fucking pretty when he cries.
I stroke my cock wildly at the thought of him, with bruised thighs, ass full with my cock, covered in teeth marks and whispering my name. My other hand massages my balls and I can hear his voice in my ears, feel his hand in my hair—
“Fuck—” I come with a grunt and an orgasm that sings up my spine.
For a few moments, it's just enough… but when the haze clears it’s not enough at all.
Tobias was right.
I'm fucking pining.
I groan as I fall back into bed. This won't fucking do. I roll over to grab my phone and within moments, I'm sending a text to a fix I haven't seen in weeks. It's Friday night anyway. A few wild nights are all I need and then I'll be back to normal.
It's because I'm starved. Yes, that makes sense.
Fix (Cameron):
I'm locking up. I’ll meet you. The usual place?
The beginning of an idea is playing out in my deprived brain and I feel a wave of anticipation as I reach into my closet and type my next words:
Me:
No, I'm on my way to you. Make sure no one's there by the time I arrive. Be ready.
I don't even wait for the reply as I toss the phone aside. As much as I would like to throw on the closest available thing, appearances still need to be kept. There isn't a single chance in hell I'll be caught looking casual with a fix.
It's a different type of business, that's why I'm stepping out of my room in blue slacks and a white-collared shirt, put together enough to care.
I pull my hair back messily with the hair tie I found lying around, but the moment I step into the hall and around the corner, I’m looking up to see Christian standing in his doorway, wearing a grey hoodie and sweats.
He drags a white towel over damp hair, and my dick twitches again at the sight of the wet curls around his neck.
But the girl standing in front of his door reels in a different sensation.
She has long braided hair and a small face, wearing a black maid outfit that falls to her ankles.
It’s only after staring for a few seconds that I remember where I’ve seen her before.
The kid from the grocery store all those weeks ago, whom Aster brought on.
Her brother is supposedly working well in his team, but I haven’t seen the girl around since.
Evie—I think her name was.
“I was just about to try and find you.” Christian’s expression is different when he's let down his guard. Gentler. There’s less tension in his shoulders.
His smile is softer too, barely noticeable, but this time, it actually matches the warm tones in his energy.
It’s such a rare sight, it makes me pause in the middle of the hall.
“You've been feeding me for weeks,” he jokes. “At this rate, all the fruit trees will run out.”
“The family is rich enough that I'm not worried,” Evie responds with an easy smile and Christian huffs with a curl to his lips.
“Oh.” His eyes widen when he remembers something, “Wait here. I have something for you.” He disappears inside, leaving both Evie and I confused, until he returns with a long black box wrapped in a pink bow—a jewellery box if my eyes serve me right.
The jealousy is like venom in my veins.
“A friend of mine helped me pick this out.” His energy takes on a soft shyness, “An early Christmas gift. I got one for your brother too, but I don't see him as often.” He offers the girl a small black parcel and she looks positively awkward as she stammers.
“I—you didn't have to—I wasn’t hoping to receive anything—”
“That's exactly why I got it.” I dislike the amusement in his eyes. “It suits you. Take it.”
She accepts with a few mumbling protests but her energy is so sickeningly grateful and sweet that I can feel my mood plummeting.
When she scurries off Christian looks after her with a strange expression and for a single moment, there's a joy in his energy I hate, a warm innocent joy I've never seen before. Another rare sight.
I’m waiting for him to go back inside because I don't want to see him after that disgusting display. The envy inside me is writhing so much that I need a moment to control it before I end up fighting with a child. But before he can go inside, he spots me.
And all the joy in his energy blinks out of existence like a snuffed candle.
I'm watching all the guards go up in seconds, his face becomes impassive and his pretty energy becomes cautious and flighty—and it reminds me why I chose not to chase the man called Christian Adler.
Because Christian Adler doesn’t want me to get close to him.
Being close to me scares him. Every time I get close, I see it—the irrational streaks of fear in his energy—a fear I can’t understand. A fear that says if I get too close, he’ll run away.
And I’m not in the habit of scaring straight men.
My mood has sunk like a fucking stone, so much so that I need to go out now to release all my frustrations onto my fix.
I don't think I'm going to let Cameron sleep tonight.
“I can tell you're deciding whether to shoot me or not,” Christian addresses me with a raised brow, and it’s the last thing I expect. “But I'm injured, so stop that and come over here.”
Demanding now, aren't we? But injury doesn’t mean amnesty, estrellito.
Still, I find myself walking up to him without a word. I barely reach the doorway when he disappears inside and shuffles around for something, and I'm quiet as I watch him, unsure if to choose to be an asshole or not, when he holds out a red shopping bag towards me.
“For you.”
It takes me a moment to blink.
“What, you thought I'd shop for Evie and not anyone else?” His energy takes on a genuinely confused hue. “Wouldn't that be weird?”
I raise a brow, “So you actually know what's weird and what's not?”
He glares, “I can make a few guesses. Just don't go spreading strange things.”
“Like what?” I sneer as I step forward, the unpleasantness inside me lashing out for an uncontrollable moment. “That my official new recruit likes little girls?”
His stare becomes deadly and I hate that that's not the expression I wanted to see. But even the irritation in his energy dulls out with a huff as he pushes the bag into my chest, “That’s not it. And I thought of you first, asshole.”
I pause, and the foulness in my chest shrinks a fraction. “What?”
“As thanks for letting me be a part of the team,” he avoids my eyes for a shy moment.
“And accepting me as an official member.” He drags the towel out of his hair to rest it on his dresser.
“It was my first time ‘shopping’... It’s been long enough for me to say that at least. Dahlia helped but I got distracted and ended up buying too many things. ”
I'm noticing now the number of shopping bags packed up against the floor and on his bed... and right on cue, I feel like an asshole.
“Anyhow… ‘Merry Christmas.’” There's that strange joy in his energy again, shimmering in the air just for a moment. The words on his tongue sound unfamiliar… tested. And there’s a strange gentleness that reaches his eyes, even as he avoids my gaze. A vulnerability that wasn’t there before.
And just like that, all the spitefulness from the last few moments burns away inside me. Like some kind of evil spirit exposed to the sun as I reach out for his chin and pull his gaze back to mine.
“Merry Christmas, Christian,” I reply. The warmth that spills onto his face, and the pleased flicker in his energy, like the shimmer of a thousand stars, is enough to convince me he’s not a trained soldier at all.
I’m holding a golden retriever in my hands.
How’d you survive in this world for so long like that?
Is there a reason why those words make you that happy?