14. Hyacinth
FOURTEEN
HYACINTH
When I get back to the hotel, I finally check my phone. It’s been buzzing incessantly with new messages since I retrieved it from a bush a block away from Zane’s house. Also five missed calls, all from Chrys.
Chrys
Avery said something went down today?
Are you okay? What happened?
I will kill you if you lost your phone somewhere.
I snort at that one. She’d never manage to kill me. I scroll through the set until I get to the latest one.
Chrys
Mom called???? And she said she talked to you? Seriously, call me back. Or text me.
I sigh and type up a response.
Hyacinth
Texting. Tired. Bye.
I toss my phone on the bed and strip out of the stolen clothes. I’d made the guy remove them before I’d slit his throat so no blood would get on them. A few drops managed to splash on anyway.
At least I feel more settled now.
This is what I’m made for. Killing people. Watching the blood gush out of them. Laughing when they beg for me to have mercy.
Nobody ever had mercy on me, anyway.
I go to the full-length mirror and crane my neck to get a view of my back. It’s really not bad at all. A lot of raised welts, and—I carefully count—five open cuts. The blood still seeps out of them.
I’ll need to do something about those.
Later.
I flop down on the bed, face down, burying my head in the pillow.
It’s been a long fucking day.
There’s a knock on the door. It’s light at first, then a little heavier, then I hear my younger brother Lionel calling out, “You can’t ignore all of us forever, Hyacinth! Open the door!”
I groan and shake my head. “No! Fuck off!”
I’ve had enough of family for the foreseeable future, or at least until I’ve shaken off all these shit memories and erased Zane’s scent from my mind.
“Nope!” The lock beeps, and the door opens.
I glance up at him. My younger brother looks nothing like me or my mother, with strong features and dark eyes and curly reddish brown hair.
I assume he takes after his father, but we’ve never met him to know for sure.
“Chrys is worried about you. Therefore, I am worried about you. You’re welcome. ”
I flip him off, but don’t bother to get up. “You saw me. I’m alive. She already knows that.”
“Which is why your back looks like you had a run-in with a lawnmower or some shit,” he remarks. “The hell did you do?”
“What kind of lawnmowers do you use?” I ask. “This is not lawnmower damage.” I look over my shoulder to glare at him. “How did you get a key to my room?”
“Charm and persistence,” he says, locking the deadbolt. “Let me see your back.”
I place my head onto the pillow again. “I was going to bandage it in a bit. After some resting.”
“Do you even have a first aid kit?” he asks. “Or am I going to have to have some shit delivered?” He crosses over to stand by the bed, pulling the sheets up over my bare legs and my ass before peering down at my back. “Is this what has you cranky? Or was it just really disappointing sex after?”
Disappointing?
No.
I’d been blissed out of my mind, the pain and the pleasure melding into something so breathtaking I couldn’t even think.
Even if I hadn’t orgasmed, I would have enjoyed it.
Then Zane had grabbed my cock, and the shock had sent me careening over the edge faster than I thought possible.
“It was good sex,” I mumble. “And yes, I have a first aid kit. Check the cabinet in the bathroom.”
“If good sex makes you sulk like this, I’d hate to see how you’d look after bad sex, then,” Lionel remarks.
He heads to the bathroom, and I hear water running. He returns with the first aid kit and a damp cloth, and he sits next to me on the bed.
“So, wanna talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really,” I mutter. “Did Avery snitch to you, too?”
“You know how this family is.” Lionel shrugs. “They don’t tell me the details, but I know enough.” He carefully wipes my back down, and I hiss in a breath as the rough cloth rubs against the open wounds. “You probably should’ve showered,” he remarks.
“I like the red dye in my hair, thank you.” I clutch my pillow tighter. “I was going to shower. Later. I’m tired. I’ve been running around all day. Thanks to the family.”
“Cry me a river,” he retorts, but he sets the cloth aside, and a moment later, he’s rubbing an ointment into my skin. His voice is softer as he says, “Mom tried to call me.”
My body tenses. “Yeah. She asked me about you.”
“Did you—”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t tell her anything. I said she should talk to you directly.” I wait for the usual bitterness, but I’m too tired to feel resentful.
Lionel can get away with not talking to her, because I’m there to redirect all her attention. As long as I’m here, he can go to university and pretend to be a perfectly normal guy.
A perfectly normal guy who charms hotel staff into giving him a key card to a guest’s room.
“Well, I’m not talking to her,” he says. He starts to apply bandages to my back. He hesitates a long moment before finally asking, “Is this… She didn’t…”
“Fuck no.” I laugh. “Don’t worry, the whipping was consensual and mutually pleasurable. Mom would never hurt me, you know.”
Lionel hums in a sound that makes it clear how little he believes me. “So why are you here instead of with this mystery man?” He stops abruptly, his voice getting sharp as he asks, “It wasn’t Harrington, was it?”
“No!” I sit up and turn around, several bandages falling from my back. “Who told you? Chrys? Forest?” I narrow my eyes. “Or did you get cozy with Mom after all?”
Lionel reels back like I’d just slapped him. “Get cozy with…” he echoes, only to give a fierce shake of his head. “No. No! I’m not interested in making nice with Mom. You know that. But… Chrys was worried about you. I guess I wasn’t supposed to mention I knew.”
I clutch the crisp hotel sheets. “No, you weren’t. You aren’t supposed to know about any of that at all.”
The shame of it all floods me.
Keith fucking Harrington.
He’d promised me so much.
He’d given me so little.
And I’d worshipped him anyway, like a fucking fool.
“At least there’s that,” Lionel says, pulling away from me. “So… Who was it? Someone hot?”
I laugh. “Yeah. Of course he is. But it’s over. I’m never going to see him again.”
I’m never going to let him whip me, and I’m never going to let him kiss me.
Unless it’s a farewell kiss.
My eyes threaten to water again.
“Why not?” Lionel asks. He sets the first aid kit on the bedside table, his eyes intent upon mine as he sinks down onto the bed beside me. “You let him whip you and fuck you, but that’s it?”
“Well, since you know what happened with Keith, that’s why not.” I let go of the sheets and look down at my hands. “I can’t get caught up in another person. I’m not built for it. I’m so… broken, or whatever, that I can’t figure out how to be somebody in a relationship.”
“So you’re letting one bad relationship dictate everything?” Lionel asks, arching a brow. He reaches out to touch my hand. “It’s been how many years?”
“Five.” I glare at him. “And you’re an expert on relationships now? How many have you been in, oh wise college kid?”
His cheeks flush red. “Maybe I haven’t been in a ton of relationships, but I’m not inexperienced. And there’s one guy—” He bites his lip. “Never mind. We’re not talking about me.”
“Ooh, now I do need to know.” Anything to get the attention away from me. “Do you need tips? How to prep for sex? I have lube recommendations. And I can give you a few toys to stretch yourself out.”
Lionel smirks. “Why do you think I’d be bottoming?”
My mouth drops open. I realize appearances can be deceiving—I’m proof of that—but my little brother is a very classic ‘twink.’ Okay, more well-muscled than most twinks, because some of Mom’s training did stick.
“Is this some sort of twink-for-twink situation?” I ask. “You can find yourself a nice top. I probably know—okay, I don’t know any nice tops. Only mean tops.”
“Why would it have to be twink-for-twink?” he counters. “Someone’s got stereotypes.”
“Everybody always makes assumptions about me. Why shouldn’t I make assumptions about them?” I roll my shoulders, and hiss at how that pulls at my wounds.
Maybe Zane hadn’t been soft at all.
Lionel eyes me. “I know you too well to think you’re a stereotype, big brother.”
“I’m a walking cliche,” I argue, then I lie back down on my stomach. The blanket slides far enough to reveal more of my ass, and Lionel carefully pulls it back into place. “I always get way too invested in the ones who are bad for me.”
“Yeah? How many times in the past few years have you gotten invested in anyone?” Lionel responds. “Or have you been too determined to stick to that ‘I don’t need anyone but myself’ schtick?”
The problem with pleasuring myself—which I’ve done plenty—is that it isn’t as satisfying.
I have the momentary bliss, but I can’t lose myself in it.
The few times I let other people fuck me or whip me, I was still hyper aware and ready to defend myself. I couldn’t relax.
Then I did something stupid like let Zane Vilani cuff me and whip me.
“I need you and Chrys,” I point out. “My two favorite siblings in the world.”
Lionel huffs out a laugh. “I’m sorry, but Chrys and I are not going to do it for the sorts of things you need.” He gestures to my back. “Like that. Love you, but not that much. Besides, you should do things for you. All you do is worry about us.”
I sniff sharply. “I do plenty of things for me. Like snuff out somebody’s life because he was being a dick to me.”
And because he’d been within ten feet of Zane.
It’s ridiculous.
“Which is a perfectly valid reason to kill someone,” Lionel says, deadpan. “Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. Is he really bad for you, or are you just trying to tell yourself that?”
I clutch the pillow again and shrug, undoing more of Lionel’s work on my back. “I don’t know. I’m supposed to kill him, so there’s no way this goes anywhere.”
That gives Lionel pause. “Okay, so maybe that’s a slight problem.”
“A slight problem?” I retort.
He levels those dark eyes on me, intent in a way that he usually isn’t with me. “Let me guess. That’s why Mom’s suddenly up everyone’s ass?” He shakes his head. “You aren’t a robot for the family, some murder machine they can just deploy for everything.”
I scoff. “I’m not a robot. I enjoy doing it. That’s why I’m Mom’s favorite.”
Except I’m not her favorite.
I’m simply the one who didn’t throw up during training.
“And being Mom’s favorite is a good thing?” Lionel asks, his lip curling in distaste. “From where I’m sitting, I’m glad I’m not her favorite.”
“Yeah, well.” I sigh. “I’m fine now. Thanks for checking on me, but I can handle myself. I’ll need to redo your shoddy work later anyway.”
Lionel grumbles. “It wasn’t shoddy work. You just don’t know how to lie still, that’s all.”
“Is this how you’re going to care for your guy? He’ll end up dead of gangrene or something.” I smile at him. “If he’s not a twink, what’s he like? Where did you meet him? Can I terrorize him for you?”
“Nope,” Lionel says. “I don’t need your help for that.” A smile plays at the corners of his lips, one that’s strangely cruel in its intensity.
Yeah, that’s my little brother. He’s charming and knows how to make people like him, but he’s still part of our family.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I say.
“Like avoid the person you clearly have feelings for?” Lionel counters.
I glare. “I don’t have feelings for Za—” I cut myself off. “For anyone.”
“Uh huh.” He doesn’t sound impressed. He gets up, though, before adding, “You should at least get more out of him before you kill him. If that’s even what you want to do. Fuck everyone else.”
I immediately shake my head. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t. If I don’t do what they want—”
“How long are you going to use that as an excuse?” he demands. “Chrys and I can take care of ourselves. She made sure of that. Don’t let yourself be steamrolled because you’re thinking of us as little kids. We aren’t.”
But if I’m not taking care of them, there’s nothing left.
I’m simply a tool for Mom and the Family to use.
I’d be even less of a person.
There’d be nothing to keep me from falling to my knees and drowning myself in another person’s desires.
And I can never, ever let that happen again.