Chapter 18
“SUICIDE GRIP” PIERCETHESKIES
I could sleep for a week, and even then, I still don’t think it’ll make up for staying awake for twenty-four hours.
I’m not sure how much time passed while I was out, but when I rise from the sticky depths, my eyes are too heavy to open.
It takes a minute for everything to catch up with me. Where I am, who I’m with.
Madison’s whispered confession as I fell asleep wiggles its way to the front, bringing the same strange emotion with it. My chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe.
Nope. Fuck that. I can’t think about it. I’m supposed to hate my stepsister, not empathize with her and wonder who made her feel like she has no control. It’s clearly not Mickey since they haven’t kept in touch since graduation, and he’s, oh yeah, dead.
A gust of wind blows against me. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs from the chill. The temperature must’ve dropped while I slept because I don’t remember it being this cold.
A shiver rolls through my body, and I clench my teeth to prevent them from chattering. I crack open my eyelids and inch my head to the side to peek at my stepsister. Madison still sits beside me, this time facing the table. Her phone screen’s light reflects on her face as she scrolls on Instagram.
I frown.
Shit, I was out for a couple of hours if it’s already past dusk.
Madison taps her notifications, then taps again. The screen switches to her most recent post with comments flooding in. My muscles stiffen at the brief flash of the picture.
That can’t be her. It just can’t.
She’s posed in the sauna room at her father’s house, with the hot tub behind her. She’s wearing a barely there bright-blue bikini, with the small waterfall serving as her backdrop.
What in the actual fuck is she doing posting pictures dressed like that?
I don’t move a muscle, not wanting to reveal that I’m awake.
Fury floods my veins, burning every inch until it’s charred.
Jealousy follows, which infuriates me even more.
I have no right to be jealous. However, I have every right to be fuming about strangers on the internet seeing her like this.
I don’t know if I should explode and demand to know why she’s posting shit like this or remain quiet and hold this bit of information for later use.
I don’t know how I’ll use it, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out down the road.
But I’m a masochist just as much as I am a sadist, so I remain quiet and continue staring at her phone screen, drinking up every detail I can make out.
Madison scrolls through the hundreds of comments, none of which I can read because of the small print. I catch a few heart-eye emojis and one or two red-faced, panting emojis. She breezes past them, then scrolls back to her picture and lingers on it.
I would be lying if I said I’m not getting hard while looking at the image.
Even from this distance, I can still make out her curves.
Madison posed with her arms raised, disappearing out of shot, along with her face.
The blue triangles of her bikini top strain against her chest, the material bumping over her hardened nipples.
My eyebrows pinch together when I spot the bar outlines; she’s pierced.
Her bikini covers the bottom of her stomach and her pussy, the side straps sitting higher on her waist, making it appear smaller than it actually is.
Does her fiancé know about this?
My molars grind together at the thought of the motherfucker.
If he knows, I’m still beating his ass. I already have a list of reasons, but what happened earlier is at the top.
Madison didn’t run from him because of some misunderstanding .
I can’t unsee the terror written all over her tear-stained face.
Or unhear her having a panic attack. I know damn well she wasn’t panicking because of the asshole who almost hit us.
It went deeper, and her fiancé’s name is written all over it.
Madison exits the picture and scrolls on the feed. Images blur together, and none of them catches my attention or interest. As much as I’d like to continue snooping, my back is killing me and it’s getting harder to stay still.
Turning my head forward, I unlock my stiff muscles and unfold myself from the bench. Madison locks her phone screen and looks at me with the same doe eyes she uses whenever I’m near her. Her perfect, innocent mask once fooled me, but she’s freakier than she lets on, and that’s dangerous.
“Oh, good,” she says with a hint of a smile. “You’re awake.”
I stretch my arms above my head, working out the knots in my muscles.
My hoodie and shirt ride up my stomach. I bite back a smirk as Madison’s gaze drops to the sliver of exposed, tanned skin.
She catches herself staring and shoots out of her seat, busying herself by smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes.
I used a woman I don’t give a shit about to take care of the problem my sister created, and Madison watched the entire show and still wants me. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why can’t she see that I’m not a good man?
Madison shivers as wind blows beneath the gazebo. She wraps her arms around herself to keep warm.
Goddamn it. How the fuck did I not notice she’s wearing a light jacket over a thin T-shirt and jeans?
I peel my hoodie over my head and toss at Madison. “Put this on.”
She catches it with wide eyes. “Why?”
“Because it’s cold and will get colder when we ride.”
She eyes me warily. “But what about you?”
“Put the hoodie on, Madison.”
She sighs and threads her arms through the sleeves, then carefully pushes her head through.
As she pulls it over her chest, it struggles to go any further.
I didn’t think about my clothes being smaller than her.
I close the small space between us and help her.
My fingers curl under the hem on the sides of her breasts as I tug it down.
Madison doesn’t tell me to stop. If anything, she urges me on by placing her hands on my shoulders, giving me free rein to feel her up like a filthy freak.
I tug at the hoodie, slowly working the material over her tits. Madison jerks with the rough movements but doesn’t protest. She completely and totally trusts I’ll help her.
She whispers something, and I pause.
My gaze rises to her face. “What did you say?”
Madison shakes her head, keeping her eyes downcast. “Nothing.”
“No, I heard you before. I just need to hear it again.”
She takes a fortifying breath before she meets my stare. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
Pink tinges her cheeks as she struggles to get the words out. I don’t know what’s going through her head, but it’s obviously killing her. She opens her mouth, then shuts it.
I shake my head and return to working the hoodie down her chest. It needs one good tug for it to come down, but something keeps catching it.
“You wearing a padded bra?” I ask.
Madison freezes. “Why are you asking that?”
“If you take it off, it’ll help with getting this hoodie on.”
“I don’t need to wear the hoodie. You can take it back.”
My finger taps against her side. “You’ll regret it once we’re going eighty down the road.”
She raises her chin and squares her shoulders. It’s cute how she thinks she can stand up to me. “Like you won’t?”
I shrug. “I ride shirtless sometimes. It’s nothing new to me.”
Her head rears back, full lips parting in horror. Her reaction brings an odd feeling into my chest. The same one as earlier, when she learned I didn’t care if I died in an accident.
“I’m not taking off my bra. It’s not like it’ll make a difference since my breasts are already too big,” she says.
My gaze drops to her chest, and I bite my tongue to keep from telling her they aren’t too big. They’re perfect the way they are. Instead of voicing my thoughts, I roll my eyes and tug off the hoodie.
“I’m not doing it!” She crosses her arms, protecting herself from a fight that won’t happen.
I pull on my hoodie and stuff my hands into the front pocket. “Wasn’t going to force you, sis.”
Madison blinks, shocked that I’m not demanding she do something she doesn’t want to do.
“Let’s go,” I say, and walk toward my motorcycle.
The helmet is still on the ground near the bike, so I scoop it up and hand it over to Madison. She looks at the gear, then at me, and blinks.
We don’t need to say anything to know we’re thinking the same thing.
Empathy I really shouldn’t feel creeps up on me. I didn't realize I moved closer to her and plucked the helmet out of her hands until it was too late for me to stop. I lower it over her head and work the straps beneath her jaw.
“Wait.” Madison pushes my chest—a weak fight she has no chance of winning.
“I’m not taking you home until you’re safe.” I fix the straps beneath her chin and tilt her head as I work it through the loops.
Madison huffs but doesn’t remove her hands from my chest. She keeps them there, and it’s all I can focus on.
I hate how good she feels while touching me.
I hate how right it feels.
I especially hate her for still tempting me and making me forget why I can’t have her.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Madison says, her voice softer than before.
I ignore her.
What the hell am I supposed to say? If I get hurt, I don’t care. As long as you survive ?
Her warmth seeps beneath my skin, and it’s enough to light me on fire.
I can’t feel the cold anymore. Not when she’s so close to me.
Madison is wiggling her way beneath my skin, making herself at home in my soul.
It’s not right. It’s not what I want. Yet, it’s still happening.
This is the same girl who was friends with the assholes who made my life miserable in school.
She’s the same girl who dated Mickey after telling me she couldn’t stand him.
A sick glee fills my chest at the thought of her dead ex. Murdered by sourdough. I wonder if she’ll cry when she finds out.