Chapter 45
CHRISTOPHER
I wish I could say I didn’t remember what happened.
Humiliation and a heavy dose of self-hatred rains down from Calista’s bedroom ceiling and covers me in the reek of pity. Pity that stems from the woman who won’t look at me, the reflection in the mirror who’s got her eyes glued to my throat.
“This is the worst part.”
She pinches the skin and slides the needle through. I flinch against the sting, wishing I wasn’t so fucking weak in front of this woman.
“You said that about the alcohol swab too.”
A ghost of a smile hits her lips, “Just making sure you’re ready for it.”
The air feels thick and heavy between us, the playful innuendo lost to the weight of this evening. I’m barely staying afloat, my mind is still locked in that stupid fucking closet and all the memories that came with it.
Memories I thought I had covered up a long time ago.
The notion feels as superficial as the stitches Calista sews into my neck. Her touch is surprisingly tender as she works her way around the signs that point to a broken boy.
“I’m sorry.”
Forcing my eyes back to the ceiling, I pretend I can’t hear the quiver in my voice.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Squinting at nothing, I stare and pray the tears have dried up for the night, “I should have said something. The ventilation system-
“Isn’t our only access point. We can find another way.”
It’s a blatant lie but I don’t call her on it. We both know how much is at stake and what has to happen for this plan to work.
We’re down to less than thirty-six hours before the heist, and I’m getting patched together like a ragdoll, pretending I’m not the reason everything is falling apart.
Pretending like I’m not one breath away from tearing myself apart.
Again.
“Shh.” Calista rubs my shoulder gently, soothing the growl from my throat, “Let’s not worry about that right now.”
I close my eyes and lean into her touch. Wishing we had more time to be just us, a couple of scarred people searching for the love we can’t find in ourselves.
Hunting for the beauty nobody else sees in our scars.
“My stepfather had these hunting dogs. Big, vicious things that were a lot like your Ronan.”
Ears flick in my direction, the dog in question watching us from the other side of the bed.
“Yeah, I’m talking about you.”
He huffs, a hoity sound that puts a smile on Calista’s face. I reach out and touch her smile, tracing the curve of her lips and the crinkle of her eyes like they’re the courage I’ve been searching for.
“Not as friendly as Ronan, of course, but there was a lot of them. Roger – my mother’s husband at the time – was a hunting fanatic and spent months prepping these hounds for the upcoming season.”
The needle glides through my skin, and for once, I welcome the pain.
“I was a cheeky shit back then. Still am, but I had a chip on my shoulder for being carted around from place to place. Exchanging one stepdaddy for the other.”
Calista snips the thread and I let out a rueful laugh.
“Not an excuse, really, but you can imagine their displeasure when they’d find a troublesome teenager on their doorstep. Roger was used to getting his way so we butted heads a lot. He roughed me up on occasion but nothing serious.”
I trail off, losing the nerve and finding it again in a set of emerald eyes.
“He was playing poker with his buddies and I heard him talking about Cruella. The kind of stuff no husband should say about their wife, let alone my mum.”
Anger twirls around the hurt, a volatile emotion that’s done it’s best to protect the softer parts all these years.
“I called him on his bullshit. He said it was none of my business, called me a few names and I spat in his face. It was a dick move but I wouldn’t stand for the things he was saying about my mum.”
The fire in my belly fades as the darkness creeps in, the tight quarters of the closet threatening to suffocate me right where I stand.
Calista’s hand wraps around mine, an anchor keeping me in the present.
I lift her hand and press it against the stitches lining my neck. Her eyes follow the movement, the harsh jut of my Adam’s apple scrapping her palm with every swallow.
“He put a collar on me. One of those studded ones that dig into the animals fur.” I close my eyes and press her fingers into my skin, letting her feel the marks the metal spikes left behind, “It was too tight. So was the cage he put me in.”
Guiding her hand down my chest, I point out each and every scar.
“Got his buddies to pitch in. Using whatever hunting equipment they could find to beat me in that cage. And when that wasn’t enough, Roger went and got the branding iron from the stables.”
Rounding the curve of my ribcage, I let her fingers hit the ridge along my back. The raised skin that bears my stepfather’s prized brand, the initials of his pack of wild beasts.
My chest collapses beneath the weight of my breath, the ink spilling across my body not strong enough to keep my pathetic self from leaking out.
“He said if I was going to act like an animal then I’d get treated like one.”
A tear slinks down my cheeks as I look at the one person who understands what it’s like be tied down and ripped apart. Dismantled and disfigured until you forget what kind of person lived there in the first place.
“Did you tell her?”
“I was embarrassed.” Empty laughter escapes my chest, “I didn’t want to admit I’d been overpowered, you know? Took me a few days to seek medical attention on my own and then a few more to work up the courage. But by then...”
My words dry up, the most painful part of the story ripping a new hole in my hole-ridden body.
“By then she told me not to make a fuss. To watch my mouth around Roger because he doesn’t tolerate that sort of behaviour.”
Calista sucks in a breath, her eyes alight with a flame waiting to set fire to the world.
“I told my crew I came here for them.” The fracture in my chest widens with each word, “But the truth is, I came here to see my mum. To see if maybe after all these years she would finally choose me.”
“Christopher-
“It was stupid. I knew it was stupid when I left but here I am. Stomping around, pretending to be mad about a decision from ten years ago when really, it’s me.
I’m the one who can’t let go. Can’t throw away the key to our old apartment like it might be more than a piece of garbage that weighs me down. ”
I didn’t think I would have this many tears but those fuckers just keep coming.
“The only person I’m mad at is myself. For putting myself in the exact same situation and expecting a different outcome. For holding onto the hope that one day somebody will pick me. That my presence will ever amount to more than just a stain on the shoe mat you notice walking out the door.”
Calista is nothing but a blurry silhouette, a mere figment of my imagination reflected through the mirrors around us. Her fingers swipe the bulk of my sorrow away before the slide of her tongue follows suit, licking the leftover residue clean from my face.
“Nobody.” Her voice sharpens even while her lips press against mine, “In their right mind could walk away unaffected by you.”
“Don’t be so sure about that, darling.”
It’s an insecurity she chases away with her kiss, a ravishing snarl that’s filled with so much anger and aggression I can’t help but lose another piece of myself.
To her. To the strength she exudes.
“I’ll kill them.” She whispers into my mouth, an exchange of saliva and vows that exists only between us, “I’ll kill them all for what they did to you.”
“I know you would, darling. I know you would.”
She climbs onto my lap and presses her chest flush against mine. Eyes blazing with the life I’ve been chasing, Calista Drache looks like everything I’ve aspired and failed to be.
“You’re my good boy, Devil.” Her eyes darken when she says it, her nails digging into my hair to hold me in place, “Don’t forget that.”
Her praise feels like a long overdue painkiller. Soothes the aches and pains, taking every stitch and bruise and putting them back together again.
“As if I could ever forget you, Miss Drache.”
Instead of answering, she kisses me. Savagely, viciously with the fire that makes a person feel alive.
Our mouths meet in a ferocious clash of tongues and teeth, a couple of wild animals clawing at each other until our clothes are torn off and tossed aside. We dry hump the fuck out of each other, replacing desperation with the kind of pleasure worth remembering.
Exchanging the past for a present that tastes a hell of a lot sweeter.
“I need to be inside you.” A plea I breathe into her mouth, the stitches on my neck straining against the blood rushing south, “Right. Fucking. Now.”
“Then what are you waiting for.”
She pulls me down on top of her, our bodies as close as two souls can go. Her entrance is wet and so fucking swollen already, a pretty pussy begging for my cock to slide right on through.
So I do.
“Fuck.”
A curse that gets pressed against her neck, the scent of her lotion engulfing me entirely. I thrust forward, burying to the hilt before drawing back out and doing it again.
And again.
And again.
Out of all the positions, this one feels the most vulnerable. Calista is on her back for once, staring up at me while her claws scrape the scruff along my jaw. She peppers kisses along my new scars and my old ones, taking away the sting of humiliation and replacing it with something less painful.
“Touch me, Devil.”
A command I am happy to obey, my thumb slipping between us and stroking her clit. She shifts beneath me, widening her legs until her knees are pressed flat against the mattress.
Holding herself open for me to see.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” My fingers dip between the apex of her thighs, gathering her cum before smearing it across the inside of her thighs, “Strong. Powerful.”
The angry juts of skin and torn tissue press up beneath me, the scarred body marked with blood and ink that doesn’t do shit to erase the past. Her tattoo snarls and purrs beneath my touch, the vicious tail falling short of the marks I fucking treasure.
“A dragon just waiting to take back her kingdom.”
Calista watches me touch her scars, spreading her arousal across the damage that will forever linger. She lays herself bare for me to inspect and admire, stripping off layer after layer until both of us are nothing but an ugly cluster of broken flesh.
“Say it again.”
Her lips curve as she catches my eye, victim and predator tied together in one gorgeous, messy fucking package.
“Except this time, look in the mirror.”
My thrusts falter, my dick almost falling out of her completely.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I stare at her, my heart pounding in so many places it’s hard to pinpoint just one.
Her eyes dance across my face, painting every divot and line with an appreciation that can’t possibly be real.
“Strong. Powerful.”
“Mirror, Devil. Look in the mirror.”
It feels like the worst form of torture, having to drag my eyes from the woman beneath me to the reflective walls of her bedroom. To see the full extent of the damage I did to myself, the signs of a desperate madman clinging to every inch of my reflection.
Wide, bloodshot eyes. Messy, too-long hair.
I look like the animal my stepfather branded me. The label I struggled to carry until the day I covered it up with ink and a false sense of security.
The weight I’ve avoided carrying for this very reason.
“Go on.”
Blonde hair melds with mine as Calista wraps herself around me, a vicious creature promising to protect my own.
“Strong. Powerful.”
A flinch hits me when she tilts my head. Exposes my neck to the mirrors around us, the cool cast of light illuminating the damage I left behind.
Red, furious skin screams through the tattoo on my neck, the wolf who used to fight back hanging on by a thread. His eyes look different than I remember, the anger that fuelled me for so long now a hollow glow.
It’s going to be a bitch trying to cover this up.
I blow out a breath, wishing the collar around my neck didn’t look so raw and fucking vulnerable.
“You missed one, baby.”
She presses a kiss against the wound. Molds the soft pad of her lips around the claw marks, sucking each one gently before removing the ache with the stroke of her tongue.
I stare at our reflection in the mirror, the imperfect fold of our bodies and the uneven textures that shouldn’t be so sensitive to touch. It’s a mural no one would ever want to see, the broken boy being coddled by the monster who makes him feel like a man.
It’s Calista’s strength that keeps me from looking away. Her resilience and willpower that bleeds into my skin, settles itself deep in my bones and makes a fucking home.
More tears slink out but it’s hard to feel embarrassed when someone else catches them.
“And so fucking beautiful.”
Her eyes crinkle with a genuine smile, the kind of smile that makes it hard to remember there was any pain in the first place. She praises me with her mouth and then her pussy, taking everything I have to offer and then a little bit more.
And I give it to her.
Every scar. Every fractured piece.
I hand it all over, letting our words fall second to sex because throughout it all one thing remains true.
Good boy, bad boy, I’ll be anything Calista Drache wants.
Just so long as I’m hers.