18. The Drop
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE DROP
Orion
Six Months Ago
Everyone claps as I finish my best man speech. Liam pats my back, raising his champagne to my water, and we drink to his impending wedding with the delightful Zoe—who is watching me with misty eyes.
Thank you , she mouths, smiling and holding her glass up from where she’s seated next to Liam. The wedding is tomorrow, and as I look around at my brothers and their spouses—except Kai, who will probably belong to God forever—something empty and unfulfilling slithers through me. It’s not that I want to be married tomorrow, but I’d like to do this whole song and dance with someone one day. I’d like to have a rehearsal dinner where everyone is laughing, and we can joke and be a family.
I sit down next to Liam and force myself not to look across the table, but it doesn’t matter. Regarding my stepsister, it never matters how much I try to stay away.
It never works.
I take her in and let my eyes soak everything up. She’s talking to Juliet, sitting next to Chase, her husband and my brother. Stella, Miles’s wife, is on the other side of her, and the three of them gab like they’re all best friends. Layla throws her head back and laughs, and it takes me a second to realize the three of them are holding tequila shots. A smile plays on my lips as I watch Layla lick the salt off her hand. She brings the small glass of amber liquid to her mouth and throws it back without making a face, even as she sucks on the lime.
“Layla is a fucking superstar,” Stella says, her British accent slightly slurred.
Layla smirks. “I can hold my alcohol… unlike you, it seems.”
Stella swats her shoulder before all three of them laugh together.
“Another,” Juliet says, holding another shot up.
“It’s a good thing you live so far away. You’re a bad influence,” Stella says, and the three of them throw back another shot.
“Something interesting catch your eye?” Chase asks, having grabbed a chair and moved over between Liam and me sometime in the last twenty seconds.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, sipping my water.
“It’s nice to see them all together, you know?”
We watch as Zoe walks over to Layla, Stella, and Juliet. The four of them do another shot, and I can’t help but envision a future where all four are sisters-in-law.
Except that’ll never happen.
It doesn’t matter how much I want it to happen or how often I dream of the day when Layla looks at me with anything other than contempt.
She’ll never want me like that.
What keeps me up at night is knowing that she has no idea why—the real reason I interrupted her audition for the Paris School of Ballet. If she hates me forever, then so be it. At least she’ll never have to know what those vile judges said about her. She can and has directed all of her rage at me, and it’s preferable than to see her questioning her talent or value.
I’d take the bullet for her if it meant those words never caused her to have harmful thoughts about food again.
“Yeah. It’s nice to see them all together.”
“Best man and maid of honor.” Chase leans back in his chair.
“What are you insinuating, Chase?”
He shakes his head and looks away. He’s the most playful out of all of us, but he and I are a lot alike. He obsessed over Juliet for a long time before they got together since she was his best friend’s sister.
“Nothing. Just that … Liam seems to think you have a thing for your stepsister.”
“What the fuck, man?” Liam leans in closer to the two of us. He glares at Chase. “So much for keeping secrets,” he growls.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell them, standing up. “It’s never going to happen. I need some fresh air.”
I walk away from the rehearsal dinner table and down a random hallway of The Black Rose, passing an office and a storage closet.
“Orion.”
I turn around to see Miles jogging after me.
“What’s up?” I ask, shoving my hands into the pocket of my dress pants.
“I just wanted to make sure… you know…” He winces. “Chase told me.”
I roll my eyes. “Wonderful.”
He takes a step forward and claps my shoulder. “I remember how close you and Layla used to be. And though I don’t know exactly what happened, I do know one thing.”
“Is this where you give me unsolicited, older brother advice?” I ask, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. Out of all of my brothers, Miles is the most serious. And the grumpiest. It still astounds me that he and Stella work so well together since she’s so bubbly and effervescent.
His lips twitch. “Perhaps.” He looks down and begins to speak. “I think the two of us are the most alike,” he says slowly. “We’re softies underneath our hard shells. We put up armor so that no one can hurt us. Whatever happened between you and Layla…”
He pauses, searching for the right words. “Look, we both have darker interests. We both find solace in the shadows and the complexities of the world, things that people like Chase and Liam wear proudly on their sleeves. It’s so easy to descend into that darkness, to let it consume us. But sometimes, if we’re lucky, we’re shown a light. My life wasn’t easy before I met Estelle. I never expected anyone to love me like she does. But… she does.”
He looks over at me, his expression sincere. “It’s rare, brother. But it’s also scary as fuck.”
I swallow before I answer. “That’s all good and well, Miles. But she hates me. And it seems like she always will.”
Miles huffs a laugh. “Trust me. She doesn’t hate you. You should tell her.”
I look down at the ground. “It’s not that simple.”
“I never said it would be simple,” he replies. “But it’ll be worth it. One day… maybe a week, or a month, or a year from now, I want you to remember this conversation. When you finally pull your head out of your own personal pity party, you might find that she doesn’t hate you as much as she says she does. And when that day comes, I expect a thank you.”
Did I mention he’s also the brother most prone to gossip and nosiness? If there’s drama, there’s a good chance he’s the culprit. He loves to meddle.
I smile. “You’re a fucking bastard.”
He laughs and claps me on the back. For a moment, we stand there in silence, the weight of his words settling between us.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“Anytime, little bro. Don’t forget to get your light.”
He turns and walks away, and I continue walking down the hallway. Shoving the back door open, I take a few calming breaths and suck in some cool air. It’s unseasonably cold tonight—almost freezing out—and I begin to shiver almost immediately. Leaning against the back wall, I run my hands down my face. Only another hour, and then I can go somewhere to take my mind off this whole fucking wedding, and the fact that Layla and I, as the best man and maid of honor, have to walk down the aisle together tomorrow.
My fingers begin to ache with the cold, so I turn to open the door, but it’s locked.
Fucking wonderful.
I feel for my phone, groaning when I realize I left it on the table when Zoe and Liam wanted a selfie with the three of us. I walk around the side of the building, but it’s gated off and doesn’t connect to the main street of Crestwood.
Guess I’ll freeze to death.
Just as I’m considering hopping the fence, the back door squeaks open, and Layla walks out. She doesn’t see me at first—she just stares straight ahead, unsure of if she’s going to chance freezing to death or take a step back into the warm building.
She chooses the former, stepping into the cold.
“Wait, don’t let it close?—”
The door slams shut, and she whirls around to face me. “What the hell are you doing here?” She turns around to try to go back inside, but the door doesn’t budge when she tries it.
“I warned you,” I murmur, walking up to her.
“Whatever, Orion,” she says, her words slightly slurred. “It’s really freaking cold out here.”
“Do you have your phone?” I ask, shrugging my coat off.
“No,” she says glumly, turning to face me just as I hand her my jacket. “No thanks. I’m fine.” She lifts her chin and crosses her arms.
“Wear the fucking jacket, Layla. You’re wearing less clothes than I am.”
She grinds her jaw as she drinks me in with an unfocused gaze. I let my eyes roam over her gold silk dress, which brings out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. Snatching the jacket from my hands, she throws it on and pulls it around her slim body.
Fuck. She looks really good in my jacket.
“Have you checked to see if there’s another way back inside?” she asks.
My lips tug into a lopsided smile. “I have. We’re stuck here unless you feel like scaling a wall in those shoes,” I add, glancing down at the black pumps. When I lock eyes with her again, she’s watching me with furrowed brows.
“Why are you out here in the freezing cold?” she asks, teeth chattering.
I shrug. “I just needed some air.”
“Right.”
We’re quiet for several seconds, the sound of her chattering teeth the only thing I can hear besides my breathing.
“Remember that time Dad caught you smoking when you were twenty?” she asks suddenly.
I huff a laugh. “I do. My mom didn’t talk to me for days after that.”
Her lips twitch. “I’ve never told anyone this, but after that, I asked one of my friends for a cigarette, just to try it.”
I’m grinning, hanging on her every word. “Really?”
She laughs. “I wanted to be like you so badly. When I was fourteen, you were my favorite person.” I swallow thickly, trying to push down the anguish that fills me when I remember how close we used to be. Her eyes darken with pain as she takes a shuddering breath. “I miss it sometimes.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “I miss you.”
Her words are thick. She’s drunk—perhaps more than she’s letting on. Somehow, she’s always been able to handle her alcohol. Not that she drinks a lot. I can count the number of times I’ve seen her drunk on one hand. But it’s quite impressive how much she can drink.
“I miss you too,” I tell her, stepping closer. I swallow the nerves working through me, the way my hands begin to shake—though perhaps it’s the cold.
Trust me. She doesn’t hate you. You should tell her.
I want to tell her everything from the time we were apart. I want to confess my sins, drop to my knees, beg her to look at me with something other than hatred. I’d do fucking anything to be in her life again—even if just as her stepbrother.
My heart broke that day, and life hasn’t been the same since.
I miss her, sure.
But I also need her.
And that scares me so fucking much.
She’s watching me with careful concern—a crease between her brows as she studies my face. I’ve never really been able to hide my emotions, so maybe she can see exactly what I’m thinking. Maybe she can feel the torture it causes me to stand so close to her.
“How drunk are you?” I ask, my voice low.
“Very,” she answers, eyes piercing into mine.
“I should get you inside,” I tell her, stepping closer so that I back her up against the back wall of the restaurant.
“You should,” she agrees.
I place a hand on the wall above her head, and she sucks in a sharp breath. My heart is pounding inside my chest, and my nerves are frazzled and electric with every second that passes between us.
I’m entranced by the silent sadness of her face, and being near her makes me want to hold her and never let go.
I’m sorry, I think.
Reaching up, I place my other hand against the side of her face. “Layla,” I say, eyes tracking down to her lips.
“Orion,” she breathes, chest rising and falling. She smells like a mixture of strawberries, tequila, and smoke—our scents combining and reforming into something that compels me to dip my head lower.
“Tell me not to kiss you,” I say, breathing her in.
“Don’t kiss me,” she whispers, her pupils dark as she scans my face.
I don’t listen.
Instead, I gently press my lips against hers. Layla immediately opens her mouth and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer.
I am so fucked.
My tongue traces the soft fullness of her lips, though I want to lick and devour every inch of her.
One time, in college, I did ecstasy. It felt like my whole body was on fucking fire—like just touching someone would make me come.
This is a hundred times better.
She moves against me with a hunger that contradicts everything I thought I knew about her, about how she felt about me. It’s hungry, crazed… demanding.
I move my hands behind her head, fisting her long, wavy hair with one hand as the other skims down her back. Gripping her waist, I pull her into me, and she gasps into my mouth when she feels how fucking hard I am.
This is how much I want you, I want to whisper against her neck.
But I don’t say anything—too dazed by the fact that I’m finally kissing her to do anything other than to savor it completely.
Savor her completely.
This might be my only chance.
She quivers in my arms as I kiss her jaw, her neck, her collarbone… I want her. I’ve always wanted her. There has never been anyone else but her, and it’s very fucking evident by the way my heart is beating a thousand beats per second, as my hands shake as I touch her, as my hips rut against her. I plant kisses on her bare shoulders, letting my jacket fall to the ground. She moans and runs a hand through my hair as I come back up to her face, recapturing her lips with mine.
“Oh God, Orion,” she whimpers, her hands exploring the muscles on my chest.
“Tell me what you want,” I say, my voice breaking as I press myself against her and grip her dress with both hands.
She inhales sharply, pulling my mouth back to hers.
Suddenly the back door slams open, and Layla pulls away, panting.
“There you—” I pull away from Layla to face Liam, and my brother’s grin is wide and conspiratorial. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he says, propping the door open and walking back into the building without saying anything else.
Layla and I both stare at the open door, and as her hand comes to her lips, something light and hopeful sparks inside of my chest.
Maybe … just maybe …
I step closer. “Layla, there’s something I should tell?—”
“I told you not to kiss me,” she whispers.
At first, I think I mishear her. “What?”
Her eyes shine with tears, and suddenly, I’m reminded of the audition. She has the same accusatory look in her eyes, and I know she’s going to reject me again.
I take a step back as hurt lances through me. “Go back inside.”
She doesn’t move. “You can’t just keep doing whatever you want.” Her voice thick with unshed tears.
She felt it, too. Whatever the fuck is between us, she felt it. I know she did.
Bending down, I grab my jacket and straighten, looking down at her.
“Trust me, sis . You’ve made your point very clear,” I practically snarl. “It was a mistake.”
Her mouth drops open, and I recognize the hurt splayed over her face. Good. If I hurt her, she can’t hurt me.
Her hands shove my chest, and her eyes well up. “I don’t want to see you ever again.”
There’s no conviction in her words, but they still fucking hurt, nonetheless.
“You know,” I say, my voice sharp with cruelty as I step back from her, “I should know better than to think you would ever admit how you really feel about me. No, that would require letting someone in.”
She flinches as a tear rolls down her left cheek, and my heart squeezes at the pain marring her expression.
That’s what I do, right? I hurt people.
The sting of my own words hangs in the air. Layla takes a shaky breath, but I can’t bear to hear her push me away again.
I’m not sure I’d survive.
So I walk away from her.
I can’t focus.
My emotions are running ragged, and as I bring the riding crop down on my submissive, I feel nothing. Usually, hearing them whimper and squirm is enough to get me hard, but nothing is working. I feel numb, like there’s a cage around my emotions, and I’m just going through the motions.
“Yellow,” she says, turning around to face me.
Her name is Nadine, and her long, red hair is damp with sweat. We’ve always had a good time together, but I can’t separate myself from the other person with long red hair who occupies my thoughts.
“Talk to me,” I say, crouching down. Going through the motions.
“I need a break,” she says, sitting up and grabbing some water. I watch her as she takes a sip from the glass on my bedside table. I called Nadine because she’s the sub with the least number of limits—someone who lets me indulge in my sadistic tendencies without having to stop. She knows her limits—as do I.
But she’s not who I want right now. And that makes me want to punish her for it.
“Ready?” I ask her.
“Yes. Harder this time, Master,” she tells me, bending over and exposing her bare ass. “Use the paddle, please.”
I throw the riding crop off to the side as I reach for the paddle. “Good girl.”
I bring it down with a heavy thwack, and she cries out. There’s no recovery time—as soon as I lift my hand, I bring it back down against the globe of her ass.
“Color?” I ask, practically growling as sweat clings to my hairline.
“Green, Master,” she sobs.
“That’s it. You’re so good at taking pain, love.”
I bring the paddle down again—and again, and again, and again.
Her ass cheek blooms bright red, and when I’m one whack away from breaking skin, I switch to the other cheek. I check in with her color-wise, too entranced to look at her. To get a visual of her face, to gaze into her eyes to make sure she’s not in a frenzy like I know she’s prone to be.
“Please, Master,” she sobs. “More. Harder.”
My brows furrow, and I keep going—down her legs, one at a time. My cock doesn’t respond at all, but it still feels good—so much so that I lose myself and go into autopilot.
I think of Layla’s words.
I told you not to kiss me.
My lips curl away from my teeth as sweat beads down the sides of my face.
You can’t just keep doing whatever you want.
Like fuck I can.
I grip the paddle, my fingers curling around the slippery leather as I bring it down hard and fast against Nadine.
I don’t want to see you ever again.
The smack of the paddle breaks me out of my stupor.
“Color?” I ask, my voice monotone.
“Green.”
She sounds weak and feeble, so I set the paddle down and walk around to face her.
Her pupils are nearly black, and her cheeks are black from her mascara. Layla’s face comes into view for a second, and I crouch down to take her face in my hands.
“Look at me.”
She doesn’t. Instead, when I move closer, her whole body goes limp as she falls onto her stomach.
“Nadine?” Turning her over, I brush a hand along her hairline. It’s wet, and she looks pale. “Color?” I ask, guilt threading through me.
“Green,” she whispers, lips dry.
Fuck.
“We’re going to take a break,” I tell her, rolling her back onto her stomach and walking over to my side table for the soothing balm I use during aftercare.
She doesn’t move as I rub it into her sore spots, and the guilt gets heavier as bruises begin to bloom along the entire backside of her legs.
This is my fault.
She’s been giving me her colors, but I haven’t been doing my duty as a Dominant and visually confirming that she’s okay. Nadine tends to go hard, always to her detriment, and I should’ve been more careful with her.
Instead, I got lost in my own intrusive thoughts, not checking that she’d gone into a submissive frenzy. She knows her limits—but only when she’s of sound mind.
She would’ve kept saying green until she passed out or worse.
I gently rub the cream into her skin, out of view, so she doesn’t see me and beg me to keep going.
She can’t.
I can’t.
My chest aches as she eventually falls asleep, and I do everything I can to make her comfortable. Setting out some ibuprofen and water for when she wakes up, I let out a heavy sigh and run a hand over my face.
I try so fucking hard to keep my fragile control, but I lost it tonight. And now Nadine will face the consequences.
Walking out of my bedroom, I hear Earl squawking from the kitchen. When I enter, he’s sitting on the island with a rubber band stuck around his feet.
“Earl stuck,” he says, his voice frantic.
“Shit, sorry, buddy,” I say, walking over as he lifts his leg out. An old rubber band is wrapped around his twiggy leg and handle of a drawer, and more guilt washes through me. It’s an easy fix for me, but it makes me wonder how long he’s been calling out for me. Once I’m done, I carry him over to his aviary, shutting him inside and ensuring he has enough food and water.
“Pretty girl?” Earl asks, his voice warbling and unsure.
“No. Not tonight.”
“Earl sad,” he croaks.
I swallow as I walk away. It’s well past midnight, but I need to do something to clear my head. Stripping down to my boxer briefs as I walk to the pool, the icy cold bites down to my bones.
“Fuck,” I hiss, jumping in and swimming.
I swim until I’m gasping, until my arms feel like jelly, until my whole body trembles. While I sit in the water, my breathing turns shallow, and I can’t stop shivering.
Top drop.
The realization hits me as I get out of the water. Of course because I didn’t plan on swimming for two hours, I don’t have a towel. My teeth chatter as I grab the clothes I tore off earlier, feeling lightheaded, cold, and really fucking shitty. Just as I’m about to walk inside, it begins to snow.
In fucking Crestwood, California.
I stop walking and turn around as the snow begins to fall in earnest, soft drifts clinging to my patio furniture and the concrete. I’m too shocked to move.
I was a young kid the last time it snowed in this part of California.
It’s so easy to descend into that darkness, to let it consume us. But sometimes if we’re lucky, we’re shown a light.
One day… maybe a week, or a month, or a year from now, I want you to remember this conversation. When you finally pull your head out of your own personal pity party, you might find that she doesn’t hate you as much as she says she does.
One day.
Despite feeling emotionally depleted and on the brink of hypothermia, I smile. It’s cathartic. Everything about tonight feels cathartic.
I could choose to let the guilt eat me alive, or I could keep trying.
I know in an instant that I’ll never stop trying.
I’ll never stop loving her. My obsession might be unhealthy, but I can’t imagine my life without Layla.
She pushed me away tonight, but one day, she’ll kiss me first.
One day.