14. Rebel
Chapter 14
Rebel
When I pull into the garage after a long night of schmoozing rich fucks in expensive suits and their dick-starved, whoring wives, the club is in full swing. Music thrums through the walls and the floor vibrates with the club’s erratic heartbeat. Mikhail Monrovia insists that he had the “best of the best” architects build the place, but after a few years of excessive partying day in and day out, the cracks are starting to show. He wouldn’t admit it, but I see it.
I live here, for fuck’s sake.
It’s not my job to maintain a fucking building. We pay people for that shit. Still…
I glance up at the ceiling, knowing that somewhere up there, Celia is waiting. Likely brooding, much like Rage does, that little furrow between her eyebrows begging for me to smooth it over with a kiss. For an independent woman, she worries a lot. About her boutique. About her family. And now, about the baby.
As I toss my keys onto a workbench, I wonder what it will be like to have a baby around. Can you raise a baby over a club? What kind of life will the kid have if sex swings and strobe lights become the normal? Not that my upbringing was any more normal than its will be—but at least it won’t suffer abuse at the hands of its father.
Fathers. With an S.
I scratch the back of my neck as I ignore the party and trod upstairs to the second floor. If the baby is Rage’s, will he share responsibilities? Or will he expect Celia to do all the work while I sit around with my thumb up my ass? Shaking my head, I quickly decide that no matter what, Celia won’t be raising her baby alone. She deserves better than that. How shitty would it be to finally become a mother but have zero support?
Not that Rage wouldn’t support her, but the man is busier than he lets on. The club doesn’t actually run itself, and to top it off, we’re still at Ezra’s beck-and-call twenty-four seven. Our boss has cooled off since he got with the pakhan ’s girl Valentina, thank Christ, but it’s only a matter of time before the honeymoon phase ends and I’m smashing kneecaps with a baseball bat again.
I don’t particularly miss that part of my job.
It’s strange how much a single person can change everything.
It’s strange how much I like it.
As soon as I step inside our apartment, I strip down to my birthday suit, tossing my clothes wherever the fuck they land. I have no patience for stuffy colognes and cloyingly sweet perfumes, preferring a natural, clean scent, yet every time I come back from one of our gambling halls, I reek of them. Downing an entire water bottle and grabbing a second for the bedroom, I spare a moment to check on Celia inside her cage. She’s awfully quiet for a woman who hates the damn thing?—
I squint in the darkness, expecting to find her hiding beneath a mountain of blankets, only to notice that she’s missing.
My first guess is that she’s in Rage’s room, the fucking hog. The bastard’s probably got her wrapped up in his arms again, or cuffed to his headboard, or sucking his cock?—
I step into my bedroom and jump out of my goddamn skin. “Jesus, dude, what the fuck!”
Ruin is standing silently over my bed, staring into the darkness.
“What, did they fuck on my bed?” I give him a once-over, checking where his head’s at. Sometimes it’s hard to read him, but lately what’s been throwing me off is how often he’s been around. Ezra hasn’t been giving him targets, and the idle time could be fucking with his mental state. He’s usually best with a knife in his hand and a target to hunt. Everything seems normal, except—“What happened to you?” His gloves are suspiciously missing, and a bandage covers his right hand. “Did someone actually stab you back?”
He grunts.
Sighing, I shoulder past him and head for the bathroom. “Yeah, well, don’t let them get too close, alright? Do you have a new target, or something?”
“There is only one target.”
Ah, right. Dad.
I leave the bathroom door open and turn on the shower. “How’s that going?”
Silence. But I never expect too much with conversation from Ruin. I rinse all of the perfumes and colognes from my hair and soap up my entire body, ready to crawl into bed and pass the fuck out. Taking Celia to the diner and then the car lot last night was worth it—a thousand fucking times worth it—but staying out all night takes its toll. Not to mention the fifty ounces of vodka I drank twenty-four hours ago.
My stomach churns and I quickly switch to other thoughts. Like how happy Celia looked at the doctor’s office—no, not quite happy, maybe like… hopeful. She clearly knew Wren and they have rapport with each other, which is a good thing, because if she stays with us, he’ll be her primary and secondary doctor. Really, he’ll be her only one, more than likely, just like he is for the rest of us.
I wonder what it’ll be like, living with Celia full time.
Visiting her at home was fun and all, but it’ll be even better to keep her in my bed and show her what my life is all about. The diner was only the beginning—I can’t wait to show her all the other secrets the strip has in store.
I smile as I imagine her in the tattoo shop with me, a baby on her hip while I get new ink. Something significant. Maybe her initials—or the baby’s.
Who’s gonna name it once it’s born?
When I stumble back into my bedroom, I’m not surprised to find Ruin still standing there in the dark, but I am surprised once I realize what he’s staring at… or who.
I run my hand down my face, figuring she’s a figment of my sleep-deprived imagination. But no, Celia is wrapped up in my bedsheets, wearing my shirt—fuck yeah. Eyes closed, lips parted, body warm and waiting for me to slide up behind. I glance up at my younger brother. “You could have gotten in, dude,” I remind him, throwing my towel to the floor. “C’mon, I’ll slide up behind her, and you can take the front, or whatever, just get in with me. But take off your fucking clothes.” I wrinkle my nose. “Maybe take a shower first. Could you do that?”
Ruin’s gaze flicks up from Celia’s sleeping form. He nods. “Okay.”
Whoaaa, progress.
I find him a towel and wait until he’s in the shower before returning to my sleeping beauty. Ruin is a man of function—he won’t spend an hour wasting hot water—so I’ve only got a few seconds alone with her before he reappears. I slide between the sheets and shit, she’s a fucking furnace. A chill races down my spine, but I fucking love it. Wrapping one arm around her waist, I pull her against my chest and sigh into her hair. She smells like… is that…
A chuckle rumbles in my chest. She used my shampoo. Sandalwood and Madagascar Vanilla, or some shit. I’m told the ladies love it. Maybe Celia does, too. Warmth blossoms in my chest, seeping into my bones everywhere we touch. I press a kiss to her forehead and brush my fingertips across her cheek.
She felt safe enough to come to my bed, and somehow, that feels like the biggest win in the world.
As predicted, Ruin appears within seconds. He hasn’t bothered drying off, but at least he hasn’t put his clothes back on. I glance up at him and nod for him to join us. “C’mon, I left room for you.” Behind her instead of in front, but whatever. I’m prettier to look at. Besides, I wanted to see her sleeping face and kiss her sweet lips. Speaking of—I lean in and press my lips to hers gently while Ruin climbs in behind her.
It’s selfish to continue kissing her with Ruin watching, but fuck it, we’re in my bed. I sigh against her mouth and drag her body closer, cocooning my body in her warmth, because damn, is she warm. I used to slip my hands in her pockets any time we were in her freezer box of a house, so this is reminiscent of those early days. It’s kind of nice.
She stirs, slowly waking. It takes her a moment to adjust, but in that moment, she snuggles against my chest and takes my breath away.
“Hey, beautiful,” I murmur with a smile, “careful, or you’ll spoil me. I might need this to survive.”
Her voice is scratchy when she speaks. “Need what?”
I tilt her chin up and capture her lips in another kiss, loving the way she melts into me. This is what I’ve missed. These little moments when it’s just the two of us without all the bullshit in the way. She moans, and the sound goes straight to my cock. Fuck. Pushing her onto her back, I slide my knee between her thighs and crawl on top of her.
She looks up at me with those warm, brown eyes, and my heart does this stupid little flip inside my chest.
My answer comes easy. “You, baby, just like this.” I tug on her shirt, reconsidering. “Maybe naked next time.”
At first, she smiles back at me, her deliciously warm hands wandering across my torso, touching me for no other reason than she wants to. Once she realizes Ruin is beside us, however, she jumps out of fright. “Ruin! What—what are you doing here?”
Oh, yeah. I guess he is here.
Her cheeks flush as I look between the two of them. Hm. “Did something happen while I was gone?” I ask, slipping Celia’s fingers through mine. I pin her hand beside her head, and fuck , she’s gorgeous. She’s so fucking gorgeous like this. Thick waves of chestnut spiral out on the pillow behind her head, then she licks her perfect, pouty lips, and her body—she takes a quick little breath as our chests touch, tempting me to slip my hand up her shirt and caress that soft, caramel skin of hers. I was going to go to sleep, but now…
“Nothing happened,” Celia says quickly, squeezing my hand.
Ruin stares at our joined hands and lifts his own, carefully grabbing Celia’s right hand and lifting it beside her head. He wraps his fingers around hers and pins them down to the mattress.
She wiggles beneath me, giving my dick all kinds of ideas. “What are you two doing?”
“Don’t know,” I answer honestly, grinning. “But I wanna find out.” I glance over at my brother. “Hey, if I eat her out, you wanna kiss her? She’ll love it.”
I don’t actually think my brother’s ever kissed anyone. If he has, he’s kept that secret on lockdown, but I can’t imagine him removing his mask for anyone other than himself. Sometimes he’ll take it off when we’re home, but I know it makes him uncomfortable.
Unlike Rage and me, the fire really fucked him up, and he never really came to terms with the damage.
He’s silent for a long moment, and surprisingly, so is Celia. She’s staring at him like a curious little kitten, and hopefully, they’ll both agree. It would be good for them to become more familiar with each other—more physically intimate.
Hell, I want to see that shit.
“No,” he says finally, clutching her hand tighter.
Damn.
“Fair enough,” I sigh, a little more than disappointed. Crushed might be too strong, but still. The rejection stings. I thought it was a pretty good idea.
Celia feels the sting, too, by the looks of her. She struggles to free her hand from his, but he doesn’t take the cue to let her go. “Hey, hey,” I murmur, cupping her cheek. “Don’t worry, baby, he’ll come around. Won’t you, Ruin? You’ll let Celia see your face. You’ll kiss her too, won’t you? Like this. Watch.” I lean in and steal another kiss, this time slipping my tongue past her lips. She’s stiff and unresponsive at first, but I’m quickly becoming an expert in what she likes. I start gentle and slow, tasting her lips with reverence and teasing her tongue with mine, until she’s moaning and kissing me back, her body shaking, her breaths shallow and soft.
“See,” I murmur, breaking away. Her eyes are glossy, and it fills me with pride to see her wanting.
I did that.
Ruin tilts her chin toward him to get a better look, and her gaze wanders his naked chest. It’s too dark to see much, but it’s enough to pique her curiosity. While they stare at each other, I slowly let go of her hand and slide off of her. I’d much rather feel her body beneath mine, but I can’t be all over Rage’s ass about sharing and not do the same.
She reaches up and touches his chest, trailing her fingers across long stretches of scars. He doesn’t have many tattoos despite having an S-tier pain tolerance, because he doesn’t like people seeing what’s hidden beneath his clothes. Still, the same way Celia tracks the ink on my chest, she tracks the scars on his.
He remains perfectly still while she touches him.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, pushing up on her elbow to caress his neck. Her hair cascades down her back, and I greedily slide up behind her and bury my face in the soft strands. I slide my hand over her hip and kiss the sensitive spot behind her ear, unable to keep my hands off of her while she’s like this—not just in my bed, but opening up to Ruin.
And he’s letting her.
He swallows, and her fingertips brush across his Adam’s apple as it bobs. Then he reaches out and touches a spot on her neck, a cut I hadn’t noticed, and a sound catches in his throat. “Does it hurt?” he parrots back, thumbing the spot.
“No, it doesn’t,” she murmurs.
I kiss the tiny cut and she shivers. It wasn’t there when I left this afternoon, and I know damn well Rage wouldn’t make her bleed. Ruin got a hold of her after we explicitly told him not to use his knife. And yet, here she is, not freaking out about it.
She really is perfect.
Not just for me, but for all of us.
And I think, after today, she just might be starting to accept it.