Chapter 29
Sebastian
I never understood the appeal of phone calls.
In this life, everything worth saying could be done in a text or an email.
But Dale was older than sliced bread, and I wasn’t convinced he knew how to text.
His preference for the most cumbersome method of communication felt almost poetic for his role in plaguing my life.
At least speakerphone existed.
“Uh, yeah, that’s because I’m not coming back to Hartwood anytime soon,” I snapped, watching myself in the bathroom mirror as I brushed midnight-blue dye into my roots.
Dale hated when I dyed my hair black. He hated it even more when my blonde roots started breaking through. This would probably send him over the edge.
Maybe if I strayed far enough from the Christ-like image he’d crafted of me, he’d finally back the fuck off. I had enough going on without anyone realizing I was leading the cult that had ruined Cameron’s life.
“You have duties to the lost souls you guide, Father Castillo,” Dale’s voice boomed through the speaker.
I bit the inside of my cheek until the taste of copper filled my mouth.
“Listen, I don’t need you. I could walk away whenever I wanted,” I bluffed. “you need me to spread your bullshit scripture.”
“Careful, Sebastian.” Dale’s voice slithered through the line, soft and deliberate, coiling in my gut. “Pride blinds the shepherd before it blinds the flock.”
“I’m no shepherd,” I grumbled, using the back of the dye brush to part my hair, exposing more blonde that needed stained blue. “and if you want me to keep playing along, you’ll follow my rules.”
I couldn’t demand anything insane, like telling him to stop pressuring me to get Mason pregnant. That was too baked into the cult’s DNA. But I could throw my weight around to keep him from dragging me back to Hartwood.
Everything I wanted to protect from him was here in Portland. There was no good reason to go back.
The line crackled as Dale let out a wet cough. My nose wrinkled, but part of me hoped he’d just keel over.
“You need to remember you don’t fucking own me.” My voice shook, even though the words were true.
I expected another cough or some sermon about knowing my place. Instead, Dale laughed. A real, amused laugh that made the hairs on my neck stand straight up.
“That’s what the weak say, until they find themselves alone,” he said smoothly. “wolves don’t search for flocks of sheep. They hunt the wanderers, lost and alone.”
“I’m not alone.” And I’d keep it that way.
“Tell me, Sebastian. If you lost a pen that had already run out of ink, would you bother to search for it?”
My blood froze, mostly because I had no fucking clue what he meant.
“Well… depends on the pen,” I muttered.
Dale hummed, pleased. My skin crawled.
“Well, if you’re certain you’re not coming back, I suppose there’s nothing I can do,” he crooned.
“Wait, no. Why are you–”
The line clicked.
My hands shook. The brush slipped from my grip, dropping into the half-empty bowl of dye. My chest squeezed too tight to breathe. Even though I’d gotten what I wanted, it felt like I’d walked straight into a trap with no way out.
“Fuck!” I screamed, snatching my phone off the counter and hurling it at the tub.
Plastic cracked against porcelain, too loud in the bathroom. My palms pressed into my eyes, breath sputtering in shallow bursts.
Dale was far away. Hartwood. Not here. My property was fenced, locked.
I wasn’t alone. Lucian was in a guest room, sweating through his second shirt while battling a panic attack. Sophia was–fuck.
Sophia was a glorified serial killer.
And I didn’t know her motives. She was furious with Lucian. And while I hated my brother, I didn’t want him dead.
My breath came faster. Shallow. My mind spun like a tire stuck in mud; no matter how hard I revved the engine, it would only turn in circles.
Okay. Good thoughts. Cameron was with Mason. Talking things out. He was good with words. The restraining order and emergency custody plan hurt, but he was fixing it. He would fix it.
Unless Mason made it worse.
Cameron was smooth, but Mason was convincing. Her emotions bled into people. It was what made her music so powerful.
What if she turned him against me?
What if I lost him?
What if I lost the kids?
What if?
What if?
What if–
My back hit the wall. Knees buckled. I slid down fresh white paint–fuck, white paint–and remembered the dye in my hair.
I’d just redone the bathroom. I was going to stain the wall.
Lucian was going to die.
Sophia would kill him.
Cameron would leave.
Mason would die.
Dale would kill her.
My chest ached with each inhale. I forced my gaze to the marble tile. Too clean. Too reflective. My wide, crazed eyes stared back from the polished surface.
I couldn’t breathe.
No, worse, I was breathing too much. My lungs dragged in air until my ribs ached. Each greedy inhale hurt.
My hands clutched my throat. My pulse hammered against my fingers.
The walls pressed closer. Footsteps echoed in the distance, slow, heavy, deliberate.
Dale.
His voice slithered through the static of my thoughts.
Alone. Alone. Alone.
I curled forward, forehead to my knees, nails clawing at my scalp like I could dig the noise out. My stomach lurched. I wanted to scream, or rip out of my skin, anything at all just so long as this feeling stopped.
“Seb?”
The sound sliced through me. My head jerked up.
Cameron stood in the doorway, hand braced on the frame, brows knitted together. I probably looked like hell–slumped on the bathroom floor, hair half-dyed, trembling like a soaked cat in the rain.
But the sight of him silenced everything.
“Hey,” I breathed.
“Hey.” He stepped closer, hand extended.
I grabbed it, not caring if I smeared dye all over Cameron, and he pulled me to my feet.
“Did you, uh… spill your dye?” He nodded at the overturned bowl of azure slop.
“I, uh…” My gaze dropped. “Yeah. How was Mason?”
Cameron scratched his beard, tapping his foot. Hesitating.
“I–” He let out a dry laugh, the kind that hurt. My stomach dropped. He was leaving. Taking the kids. “This is gonna sound bad, and I ain’t forcing you into anything.”
“What is it?” I asked, desperate to sound calm.
“I… I need a distraction,” he admitted, resting his hands on my shoulders. “My mind is loud, and I don’t wanna think for a few minutes.”
My eyes searched his face. Earnest. Needy.
“And I think you need one too.”
“Are you asking for sex?”
His lips twitched–half smirk, half grimace.
“I’m asking for you,” he corrected, voice low, rough. “Whatever that looks like. I just need my baby boy.”
The ache in my chest loosened. My hands still shook, but they fisted in his shirt.
“You really want this?” My voice broke, almost begging.
“I want you.” He dipped close, nose brushing mine. “Don’t make me say it twice.”
My fingers tangled in the curls at his nape as my mouth crashed into his and my back slammed against the wall.
I gasped, and Cameron used the opening to slip his tongue between my teeth. His beard scraped my skin, his grip on my jaw making my pulse thunder.
My head tipped back for just a moment to catch my breath, and he responded by showering my throat in kisses.
“I love you, Sebastian,” he mumbled against my skin.
“I love you more.” The words shook, but I meant them.
Against all odds, I loved Cameron Cole more–more than our fights, more than the pain, more than I loved myself. Not the obsessive love I still carried for Mason. Something purer. Sweeter. The kind that made people do terrifying things, like grow old together.
I shoved my hands up his shirt, grabbing at the solid muscle under soft skin. I clung to him like a drowning man to a life raft. His hips bucked against mine.
We wrestled his shirt off, and before I could process, he spun me, bending me over the counter.
The tipped bowl of dye clattered to the floor, but I barely noticed.
My palms slapped against the counter, and Cameron’s slammed on the mirror.
“Take a good look at yourself, baby boy.”
I reluctantly raised my eyes. He adjusted my glasses so I couldn’t avoid the reflection.
Piercings glinted. My hair was a slick mess of black and blue dye smudges staining my forehead and ears. I looked like a wreck.
The clean-cut golden boy my parents once praised was gone. In his place was a degenerate, desperately fucking his brother’s boyfriend in a bathroom.
And yet, staring at the reflection–Cam’s hands bruising my hips, dye streaking my skin–I didn’t feel shame. I felt alive. Like every mask I’d ever worn was finally breaking.
Cameron yanked my jeans down so hard the button snapped off, clattering to the tile. My knuckles blanched against the counter.
Cold air hit my skin for one second–then his palm cracked against my ass. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot, causing my cock to twitch.
“There’s my good boy,” he growled, rubbing the sting before striking again.
I gasped, trying to speak.
Another smack. Harder. A warning.
His hand slid around my waist, down my abs, until it wrapped around my cock. He teased the barbells, rolling the metal until I shuddered.
“You don’t get to quit on me. Not now. Not when I need my good boy.” His face buried in my neck, breath scorching. “I need you to chase out the bad thoughts. All I wanna think about is your tight ass and my cock buried in it.”
I nearly collapsed from his words alone.
His hand stroked with practiced control, keeping me on the edge. He worked the piercings like he’d put them there himself.
“Cam–” My voice cracked under the weight of need.
“Shut up,” he growled, teeth sinking into my shoulder until I yelped. His clothed cock ground against me.
“You’re mine right now, Sebastian. And if you’re not gonna call me Daddy, then keep that pretty mouth shut.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, forehead pressed to the mirror, glass cold against my burning skin. “Fuck, I’m yours, Daddy.”