34. Theo
Chapter thirty-four
Theo
We box her in all the way back to the gravel road, but when she slips over the loose rocks and takes a minute to pull herself up, I sigh. Killian rolls his eyes when he realizes what I'm about to do, but he doesn't object as I grab her around the middle and toss her effortlessly over my shoulder. She doesn't fight me when I skate a hand under the dress and help myself to a handful of her ass, and by the time we make it back up the mountain, I'm fairly certain she's passed out. And if it had taken us a moment longer, she wouldn't be the only one. Monty looks like he's fighting for his life as he sways on his feet, exhaustion knocking him off balance.
When Killian throws the door open, Monty trudges in and collapses on the couch, unable to go any further. I'm tired, myself, and I've only been the giver. Monty's used to taking Killian and I in the same night, but we're usually never so insatiable as we are tonight, and I think Monty may have tapped the reserve a while ago. It works to my advantage when I fling Ivy over his lap, her bright hair spilling down his thighs as her head lolls to the side. I watch his hand come to her head, fingers tangling in her hair despite his closed eyes as I pull the mask over his head moments before my own and place a gentle kiss on his mouth. I adore him, much the way I always have.
When I retreat to the kitchen, following Killian, I drop my mask to the ground, letting it clatter between us as Killian does the same. His dark hair slips into his face and his eyes look haunted in a way I haven't seen before... a way that makes my gut twist.
"Now what?" I sigh, scrubbing a palm over my face as I look to Killian for answers.
She's never fought us, never resisted. Sure, I figured that killing her husband could maybe upset her for a minute but given that he was an absolute piece of shit, I doubt all of her fight is coming from that decision. The more likely truth is the one she gave us... that she thinks we betrayed her. And to be fair, she has a point. Even without the letters that I still don't know really exist, she's right that we didn't come for her.
When we watched her in the back of the car, leaving us for the last time, we should have known something was wrong. I did know something was wrong, deep down. I just didn't realize what it was... or how bad it was. As wicked as we were to her, and as violent as Killian can get when the need strikes, we grew up sheltered by our love for one another. I knew from the first time I saw her that she was just like me... a disgrace in the eyes of her family. She hid the abuse well, staying inside her own prison for weeks at a time as bruises likely faded, but I knew it was there all along. Deep down, in a part of me I refused to let out, I knew she was the bane of her parent's existence, just the way I was mine. I ignored it because it's what I wanted Monty and Killian to do for me, to pretend they didn't notice the shiner when I put myself between my mother and father after he returned from a bender. I wanted them to pretend not to notice when I missed school because I couldn't explain another broken arm. And they did, for me.
But what never occurred to me was that Ivy may have been one of us, but she was also different... softer. I didn't need them to acknowledge my bruises because I didn't want anyone to protect me. But Ivy needed someone, and where were we?
We were just kids, at first, growing up and ignoring the fucked-up world around us. If we didn't think about it, it didn't exist. By the time we were old enough to know better than to turn a blind eye, the habit was too hard to quit.
All those years, we let them take her away from us. All those years, we stood by while they hurt her, ignored her, treated her like a thing that could be put away when they didn't want to deal with it any longer. To think that the man who made her afraid and uncomfortable in her own home came into ours and hurt her? It makes me sick with rage I can't muster, wishing I could change it, go back and fix the past.
The last time she left us, Killian told us not to worry, that she'd be back. She always comes back, he promised us. But it was years before that happened, years before his words could be proven. We could have hunted her down sooner, and we should have.
"It's up to Ivy," Killian licks his lips as he glances at her on the couch, passed out with Monty. "None of us are willing to let her go again?"
"We never should have the first time."
Killian grunts, but I can't tell if he's agreeing with me or showing his dissent. "I should have killed her parents that first time I met her. She was trying to run away from home... from them."
"You were thirteen," I roll my eyes, not willing to indulge his self-pity when I'm already drowning in my own. Because I know what she said was the truth, as much as I don't want it to be. And I understand Killian's point. If we'd killed her parents, who knows how much pain we could have spared her? But also, at such a young age, she'd have simply been passed to another family member and who's to say that wouldn't have been worse? If she'd ended up in the care of her uncle, it would have certainly harmed her more than helped.
"I just feel like we failed that last time. I believe her."
Killian nods. "I know. I wish we..." I watch a muscle in his jaw tick as he strains to control it. His knuckles flex, and I recognize the pain that needs an outlet. My gaze flicks to his taut stomach, the rivulets of blood trailing down to disappear behind the waistband of his pants.
He doesn't say what he wishes we had done as I drop to my knees in front of him, threading his fingers in mine, taking the pain and helping him hold it. "We can't change what we didn't do any more than we can change what we did."
My words are a whisper against his warm flesh, and I press my lips against the top of his abdomen, planting a light kiss there.
"I can't come again, Theo." He groans, his voice whisper-soft. I'm not sure if he's worried about waking the two on the couch or about admitting that he's tapped out for the night. But I know better.
"You can," I promise him. "And when your head is clear, maybe you can decide where we go from here... how we make it up to her?"
As our unofficial leader, I know he'll be the one to come up with a solution. He always is.
When my tongue darts out over the wounds he inflicted on himself, lapping up the blood that has stopped flowing, he shivers against me, fingertips flexing on my face as he frames it with his hands.
"I can try." He says, softer than he usually lets anyone see him get. I'm not even sure if he's talking about coming again or coming up with a plan to earn Ivy's forgiveness, but I'm open to both as I wrap my fingers around the band of his shorts. He springs free when I tug them down, his cock ready despite the hesitation in his words.
"That's a start," I tell him, just before I take him into my mouth.
He groans as I move him to the back of my throat at my own pace, content to let me have this. I know by now that no matter who's on top or who's on their knees, Killian is in control. I relinquished it to him long ago, and while I occasionally play at pushing him, I always remember that when I think I am in control, it's at his mercy. We've never adopted a traditional BDSM approach. How could we when we've given ourselves to one another so irrevocably? The blood pact we made one another as children turned us from friends to brothers, but when the sex started and we pushed each other's limits, we sort of became parts of a whole. Sometimes I don't know where he ends and I begin, where Monty becomes Killian.
I know others demonize our relationship, not understanding what we have, but Ivy doesn't. She appreciates us all for the ways we're the same as much as for the ways we're unique. And it's hard to feel bad about it when it feels so good. It's how I feel about watching Killian kill. He doesn't do it much anymore, choosing to get his fix in other ways, but when he first started, I knew what I was witnessing was wrong. Helping him cover up the deaths, stage bodies, and hide them was always fucking wrong, but how could I feel bad about it when it fed a part of him that needed nourished just as the rest of him? I think I've loved him since he first moved here, but I've been in love with him since I watched him kill my parents. Since that day, I've only fallen harder for him when he's fallen harder for Monty, for Ivy.
Our love feeds one another, just like our cruelty to Ivy always fed her. We gave her something she needed for so long, but now that she's out from under the shadow of her parents, her husband, what could our life look like together?
Killian whimpers as I increase the suction, pulling him deeper before pushing him out, the blood on his cock that belongs to him, Ivy, maybe even Cody. It mixes deliciously with the dried cum from Ivy's last orgasm, the salty trail of pre-cum that leaks as I skate him across my tongue. I get the greatest satisfaction from watching him falter, from cracking his beautiful facade and seeing him transform with the need. I close my eyes and focus on shattering him.
I don't jump when I feel the bite of the blade against my collarbone, the snick as it bites into my flesh and draws blood to the surface. I moan at the surrender, the bliss at knowing he's left me with another of his marks, and as my throat closes around him, it pulls a groan from him too.
The flat of the blade drags behind my back, and I tense my fingers on his thighs in anticipation, taking him deeper as his breathing picks up with excitement.
"Fuck," he moans, the blade slicing against my other collarbone.
I hear the clatter as he drops it to the floor and grips me by the shoulders, his thumbs diving into the freshly procured wounds and sending a shock of pleasure chasing the pain straight to my dick.
I take him harder, deeper and faster, his release so close that I can taste it. I can feel him holding on by a thread, and I sever it as I grip his balls in my hand and squeeze.
The first jerk of his dick in my throat tastes like victory, and I can't help smirking up at him, waiting for him to acknowledge that I win.
But before he can, the gunshot rings out in my ear and hot blood splatters across my face.