23. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Theo
"Keep still," I growl at Avery. She tilts her head back, peering at me through her lashes.
"It's not that easy," she shoots back, ignoring my scowl.
When we came into the library at the start of free time, her eyes lit up at the sight of the tattoo kit. But even though she begged me to do a new tattoo on her, apparently it's my fault for not warning her that it was going to hurt like a bitch.
That's generally the case with rib cages. I don't make the rules.
Grey is perched by her knees, munching on a chocolate bar that he whipped out of nowhere. He gives her knees a playful slap. "It's going to be all wonky if you don't control yourself."
"It fucking hurts," she hisses, covering her eyes with her forearm.
"I know," Grey says. "I have the same placement. Suck it up."
Avery grumbles something to herself and I resist the urge to laugh. That was the exact reason she opted to have a tattoo on the side of her torso—because Grey and I both have one there too.
"Love is pain," I tell her, pressing my hand against her waist to steady her. "The sooner you keep still, the sooner it will be over."
Her body stills and I quickly resume before she starts moving like a drunk octopus again. Grey pats her knee in a soothing gesture, watching the needle closely.
"You're doing well. Hang in there," he says encouragingly.
She mumbles something against her arm that sounds oddly like 'fuck my life' but I keep going. As I start to move over a bonier part of her torso, she tenses up. I have to hand it to her—she's fighting the urge to move.
Grey frowns, looking at me for support. I shrug, nodding my head toward her skirt. Maybe if she's distracted from the pain she'll focus on something else.
His eyes light up, a sly grin crossing his face as he pushes off from his chair, moving to the end of the table where her feet are positioned flat against the wood. We had her lay on the table so I could access her side more easily, and in hindsight, it also gives Grey the perfect height to distract her.
As he changes chairs, sitting in Damon's usual spot for meetings, I lift the needle away from her skin, already anticipating what's about to happen. Grey's hands grab her knees and widen them, giving him a literal front-row view of her pussy. Avery shoots up onto her elbows, glancing at him.
"What are you doing?" she squeaks.
Grey blinks at her innocently, a small smile on his lips. "Distracting you. I recommend staying still though."
"Are you insane?" she hammers out. "I'll move even more."
"You followed instructions well the other day when reading the book. I'm sure you're more than capable of controlling yourself now," he teases.
Her cheeks flush as she clenches her jaw. Slowly, she turns her head to me.
"Please don't let me fuck it up."
I laugh at her. She's downright adorable and every day I fall even harder. "It will be fine," I promise her, giving Grey a nod.
Avery lets out a little sound of surprise as Grey grabs her underwear, pulling them down her legs. He bunches them up in his hand, tossing them to me across the table. I catch them easily, wrapping them around my left wrist like a bracelet.
I wait for his head to disappear under her skirt, and as soon as her head falls back and a moan spills from her lips, I carefully put the needle tip back to her skin. She barely acknowledges the pain, but her breathing gets heavier, rib cage expanding and contracting against my hand.
"How does she taste?" I ask Grey with a smirk, eyes laser locked on the half-completed tattoo.
"Fucking incredible," he murmurs from under her skirt. "You can really taste the pineapple."
Avery breaks out of her trance, snorting as she laughs.
My nose wrinkles in disgust at the mention of the fruity abomination. "Funny."
Her laughter quickly turns to breathy moans again and for a split second, she jerks an inch up the table. Looking at me with big eyes, she smiles sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Get back on my tongue," Grey growls, wrapping his arms around the back of her knees and yanking her forward again.
Shaking my head, I move my hand to the top of her body, applying pressure to keep her still. I do my best to finish the tattoo, noticing her legs shaking. Her torso pushes against my hand, and I carefully put the needle down, inspecting my work. Satisfied, I run my hand down her body, cupping her breast through her shirt.
Gray stormy eyes find mine as she looks at me with a silent plea. My thumb strokes her nipple, noticing that it hardens instantly under my touch. I give it a small tug, making her back arch to chase my hand.
"You're all finished," I tell her, standing up to get a better view of her face. "That wasn't so bad."
She nods, cheeks flushed as she wets her lips. I lean down, kissing her and she moans into my mouth, arm shooting up to blindly grab my bicep.
My tongue pushes through her lips, slowly sliding against hers as if I was flicking her clit. I continue to tease her while my hand fondles her breast, giving it a light squeeze before tugging her nipple sharply.
I can tell she's getting close, her body stilling as she chases the high. Pulling back slightly, I flick my tongue over her cupid's bow. "Come on his face, Aves. Let him taste that sweet fucking pussy."
Avery lets out a cry, pushing her mouth into mine as her back arches off the table. Her orgasm hits her hard, body shaking as Grey relentlessly keeps going until she's flat on the table again.
Pulling back, I smile at her, taking in her post-climatic, glowing face. Grey stands up at the end of the table, grinning at her.
"Definitely sweeter," he muses, walking around the side of the table. "I think Theo should see for himself."
There's a strange glint in his eye and when he stops in front of me, I shake my head, amused.
"Taste our girl," he says, throat bobbing as he grabs my jaw.
Resisting the urge to laugh out loud, I open my mouth just as Grey spits into it. Avery lets out a startled, throaty whimper at the scene, and I turn my head to face her.
"He's right," I say calmly. "You do taste fucking incredible."
Her eyes are wide, breathing shallow as she tries to comprehend what just happened. The two of us laugh, stepping away from each other as I grab a new needle and start sterilizing it.
"Grey's turn next?" I say, her head snapping to look at me with disbelief. "For ink."
Avery manages to collect herself together, sitting up as she snatches the needle from my hand. "My turn to draw. It's payback time. And you may as well keep my panties. They suit your skin tone."
I'm lined up, waiting to enter the showers with my usual group when a guard taps me on the shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts—all of which involve Avery.
Turning around, I give him a bored, pissed-off expression, noticing that I'm at least a head taller than him. It doesn't take much to intimidate him, his eyes flashing with fear.
"What?!"
He recoils slightly as if I've slapped him, but quickly pulls himself together, straightening up.
"Come with me, please. Mr. Whittingham would like a word."
Does he now? Well, this ought to be good.
I stay in place for a few seconds, watching as panic fills the guard's face as he contemplates how he's going to get me to move if I don't comply.
Narrowing my eyes on him, I step out of line, walking down the corridor without him. He quickly catches up, hand placed tightly over his gun as a precaution.
When we reach the end of the corridor, I look at him expectantly while he fumbles to swipe the tag and punch in the code. Somehow, he manages to drop the card twice, and I roll my eyes at their so-called security. If this is the best they can recruit, then it's no wonder they have problems.
"Hurry the fuck up," I hiss at him, making him jump.
"Right, yep," he mutters to himself, swinging the door open.
I don't wait for him yet again, crossing the threshold to Whittingham's office. I've only been in here twice before—once on my arrival, and the first time I broke another patient's nose for getting in my face. Given how little remorse I showed—along with the fact I threw Whittingham's paper weight into his glass window as I was aiming for his head—I was no longer welcome in here. It was straight to solitary confinement, which worked great for me.
So, I can't help but wonder why I'm here now.
If I had to guess—either they know I went downstairs, or they are trying to hunt for information from someone other than Damon and Grey.
The door is open as I approach and I barge straight in, not stopping until I'm at the edge of his desk. It happens so suddenly that Whittingham barely has time to react, his chair rolling backwards as he quickly stands to his feet.
"Mr. Ashwood," he growls, frustrated.
"What the fuck do you want?" I snap at him.
Clearing his throat, he points to the chair beside me. "Take a seat."
"No."
"Fine, suit yourself," he grumbles, sitting back down. His eyes dart to the door where the guard lingers back. I don't turn around, but I know his tiny hand is still resting on the top of the gun. Judging by how close he was to shitting himself, I doubt he'd be much use if I did start a fight. Still, Whittingham motions for him to stay put.
"Can we get this over with?" I say sternly. "I'm allergic to your presence."
Whittingham scowls, flipping open a folder on the desk. There are photos inside—and it's easy to recognize my own figure in the video still.
"We have repeatedly told you not to go out of bounds," he scolds.
"I couldn't give a shit what you have asked," I shoot back. "Are we done?"
He leans forward, glaring angrily at me. "We know you killed that doctor."
I shrug. "Prove it."
Whittingham looks like he's been slapped with a fish, mouth agape. Of course, he has the evidence right in front of him. But that still doesn't mean anything. That's why I'm here and not in police custody. Because the only evidence they currently have is tied to their secret operation. If he wants me to go down for a crime, it would mean revealing their source of income.
While I have no doubt the contract is legitimate, they still have a reputation on the line. If people found out their wonderful rehabilitation center was just a ruse to cover up inhumane treatment of victims let down by the system, they would lose everything.
Whittingham's mistake is banking on the fact that I won't see through his bullshit.
Sadly, that's not the case.
"We have video evidence," he throws back, flinging one of the photos toward me.
I casually pick it up, smiling at the still. Dr. West is strapped into the chair, my hand on the machine, accidentally increasing the voltage.
Ahh… good times .
"Can I keep this?" I ask warmly. "Souvenir?"
"You're disgusting!" he yells, jolting to his feet. "Have you no decency?"
My eyes darken as my smile vanishes. Instantly, my change in demeanor hits him, his feet taking two steps back. "You want to argue about decency ?" I ask in a low tone. "Really? How about we start with the fact that you are torturing individuals here for money?"
His eyes flash—but I suspect it's just confirmation. It's obvious I would know since I'm with Avery often. Still, he seems troubled by my knowledge.
"You have no idea what you are talking about," he sneers. "You've left me no choice—either you confess and spend a week in solitary confinement, or I report this to the authorities."
Smiling, I lean forward, placing my hands on his desk. He steps further back, a look of concern appearing on his face.
"You decide, you old washed-up cunt. Because I don't play these games. You and I both know you have nothing in your hands. But if you even think about coming after anyone I love, you better run fast. If I get my hands on you, I'll gut your Achilles tendons so you never run again while ripping out your tongue with my bare hands so that no one has to ever listen again to the bullshit that comes out of your mouth."
A moment of fear crosses his face before he quickly composes himself, straightening his jacket. He clears his throat, motioning for the guard.
"Take him to solitary confinement. And if he tries anything, you have permission to shoot him."
I laugh loudly, startling both of them. A gun presses into my lower back, and I turn my head to send an amused look to the guard. "Do I scare you, little one?"
The guard feigns confidence, jabbing it harder into my back. "Move."
Sending Whittingham a quick wink, I head toward the door, the gun still pressed to my spine. Just as we start to exit, his gravelly voice calls out, making me see red.
"You can't protect her all the time," he taunts. "Let's see you try when you are locked up."
I'm jolted forward by the gun, the guard sensing my growing rage. Against my better judgment, I keep walking, despite the urge to turn around and slaughter him.
Because it's only for the simple fact that I pressed the speed dial on the cell hidden in my pocket, calling Damon before I entered the office, knowing that he just heard everything.