Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“I can get a bird in the sky, but it’ll just be you.” I frown. We’ve had this same discussion all night, and yet here Oakley is, still feeling it. We’ve searched the villa and the surrounding areas, but Fourteen is just…gone.
Lines of anguish purse around Oakley’s lips.
“She couldn’t just…disappear.” He looks stricken.
I refrain from saying that disappearing is the exact point for prey here, but purse my own lips.
Some of Oakley’s energy is seeping into my bones, lighting a fire in my gut.
It’s not a good fire. It burns, anxiety eating at my gut at all the possible scenarios Holli could be in.
None of them are good. How could Wyatt have approved this?
Why did he approve this? It’s not fair to pit a woman against thirty men.
To add to that, today is day seven. The weapons dropped today, and now every hunter out there has access to more than just fucking rocks and fists.
I picture Nellie up against thirty of my dads, and the thought is enough to make me physically ill. For the third time tonight, I wonder where I left my fucking vape. If someone stole it, I swear to god…
Oakley snatches up a notepad and starts scribbling. We’re in his room. He insisted that she might come back once she realizes it’s not safe. Curiously, I glance over his shoulder. He’s scribbling down the time and…
Manson gave me a weird look in the hall. Does he know?
I frown. Manson is one of Wyatt’s trusted men, and he’s known to stay by himself. How does Oakley know him?
A rip of unexplainable jealousy tears through my gut, spilling out all the shame that’s been building there.
Suddenly, I’m washed in all the negative emotions that have been spilling off Oakley, and they’re so powerful I feel like I can’t breathe.
I need my vape, or alcohol, or something.
My chest is so tight, and I grab him by the back of the neck, guiding him to the bed.
“Hey,” he protests, but I just shove him, and he catches himself by the hands, back to me.
I plaster myself to him before he can move, gripping him around the chest and squeezing.
There’s too much negative here. So much that neither of us can breathe, so I do the only thing I know how to: I force bad feelings away by replacing them with happy feelings.
Holding Oakley still with one hand, I trace my other hand down his torso, down to his pelvis, rubbing along the place there that I know can take away the worries.
“Kyan.” Oakley stiffens.
“Let me make you feel better,” I mutter into his ear. He flinches away, but I hold him steady.
“No, Ky.” His hands grip the bedsheets as my hand rubs the life back into his stiffening dick.
His ass brushes against my own dick, waking it up.
Oakley’s ass is right here, and I imagine him with no pants on, bent over, quivering, waiting for my dick to slide in.
That image is enough to chase away the negative emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
And then Oakley rips away from me, whirling. It’s like he takes the good feelings with him, and I’m left standing there, alone with the guilt.
Frustrated, I take a step toward him. “Let me take it away.” The need for it to go away hums through my system, making me damn near twitchy.
Oakley’s face is red, but he stares me down, muttering something so softly I don’t hear it.
“What?” I ask, grabbing for his shirt to rip it off so I can see his pretty, tattooed chest.
He just bats my hands away. “I don’t deserve for it to go away!”
I blink at him.
“I’m a bad person, Ky.” Oakley won’t meet my gaze now. He just sits on the bed, running his hands through his hair.
Annoyance flares hot under my skin, and I snap, “You think anyone here is a good person, mousey? Why do you care?”
His gaze darts to mine, and he holds it, angry.
There’s too much here, too much…everything.
Snatching up his jaw, I force him to look me in the eyes with those pretty blues.
Those tortured pretty blues that reach right into my soul and call me out.
That look at me and see me for who I am: a shit ass person who runs every chance they get.
Oakley doesn’t respond, and I just grip him hard enough that those pouty lips part. I have an odd urge to plead with him. To plead with him to run with me. To let me touch all over his body and pretend like none of this is happening. Then that desperation turns angry.
Oakley needs to let me help him this way. There is no surviving otherwise.
Unbidden, the feeling of the cool water from my pool pops into my head.
The silence that comes with almost drowning.
The warm fuzziness that comes from little white pills.
The only escape from this reality. A reality Nellie taught me, and then she just…
disappeared. Never been able to track her down after all these years.
I assume one of her boyfriends got hold of her in a permanent kind of way.
Fear, desperation, and disgust rip through me, and I shake, trying to come back to reality. Then guilt follows closely after. Guilt that I couldn’t help Nellie the way she helped me. Guilt that I survived and she…didn’t.
Oakley’s warm skin presses against my fingers.
“Why?” I demand again, roughly, shaking him a little. Why does he insist on suffering when he could escape with me?
“Because!” Oakley snarls. “Maybe if I were good, they wouldn’t leave me!”
The room is silent for a beat, then Oakely’s cheeks flush even more pink than they already are. He yanks his face away from my grip.
For a second, I’m lost. “They?” I ask, then unreasonable jealousy hits me. Is this about Holli? Manson?
My body responds like he hit me, leaning away from him. Normally, I don’t give a fuck. Why the hell am I giving a fuck? Giving a fuck is dangerous, and I can already feel the flood doors opening and a wash of all kinds of emotions I try to keep at bay roaring in.
I’m starting to lose it, my heart rate beating fast and my fist clenching, starting to spiral into that blackness that comes when I lose control.
But Oakley loses it first. His face cracks, then he lets loose a muffled sob as he shoves me back. “Get off me!” He scrambles back on the bed. “I will never be good enough!”
There’s a tingling of something in my chest. There’s something else there, and I’m not sure exactly what it is. But it makes my hand itch. It itches to touch Oakley. To smooth down the shirt over his back. To get him something to drink. A pill to take it all away.
Only, I don’t have substances to give him. Annoyance flares, and I clench and unclench my hands. The pure pain twisting my little mousey’s body makes the floodgates of my own control budge, as if they’re about to burst all over the place.
Fear rocks me at the idea. I can’t let that happen. Nothing good ever happens when I lose control.
So instead, I shift toward Oakley, unsure exactly what to do but knowing I have to do something. I lean over and pat Oakley on the back. Once, twice, and then his crying picks up more. I panic a little more. What else can I do?
Looking around, I suddenly have an idea. Grabbing Oakley up, I put him over my shoulder. He gives up a strangled sound, but I get him to the bathroom and turn the shower on, waiting impatiently.
“Ky, what—”
I don’t even take our clothes off. I just open the shower door, shove Oakley into the spray, and step in after him. It’s still cool, and he makes a startled sound. Then, I’m pinning Oakley against the side of the shower, water running down both of us, wrapping us in its cool embrace.
“Kyan!”
“Shhhh.” I close my eyes, feeling the patter of the water over my back. It’s already starting to warm, and the water falls over both of us, washing away all the yuck, like water always does. It’s battering our heads, making the air easier to breathe. Loosening the tightness in my chest.
Oakley is still stiff, chest heaving, and I don’t know whether it’s because he’s upset or shocked. Taking the hand that was on the wall, I pat his shoulder, slowly, running circles over the muscles there. Slowly, he relaxes, and as he does, it calms the panic in me as well.
Oakley clasps onto me, gripping me in a hug. I grind into him, expecting him to make a move on me. But Oakley doesn’t try to grind into me, nor does he grope me. He just…holds me.
I’m wrapped up in the arms of another man, and it isn’t a sexual thing.
And I don’t know what to do with it.
Oakley buries his face in my chest, feeling everything. And that makes the floodgates of my control want to burst. But as soon as the giant wall of fear hits, the water and Oakley’s warm presence brushes it down, his grip around me almost like the warmth that alcohol brings.
And so, slowly, I relax into him. It feels odd as parts of my body relax, sans substances. What is this?
We stand there for a while, water dripping off our clothes and hair. I’m unsure what’s happening to me. It’s uncomfortable and foreign.
Finally, in a soft voice I can barely hear over the water, Oakley asks, “Why does everyone leave me?”
I blink the water out of my eyes, staring at the wet ends of Oakley’s hair.
Everyone leaves him? Why the hell would he care? People leaving means safety.
But Oakley seems to care. He seems to care a shit-ton. He won’t even look at me.
As I think about it, my chest gets tight. No wonder Oakley looks tortured. Putting your trust in people just means you’ll get hurt. How did he not already learn this? Nellie was the first person I trusted. And she’s gone. And I never did it again.
The silence stretches on, and I realize Oakley is waiting for an answer, and I have absolutely no idea what the answer is. It’s like all the words are lodged in my chest and nothing will come out, which is the weirdest sensation. I always have something to say.
So, I clear my throat and default to what I know. “If you won’t put purple in your hair, red would be sexy.”