50
THEA
I carefully check my reflection in the mirror, making sure there are no signs of what Cole did to me last night. Thankfully, he only grabbed me by the hair, so there aren’t any marks. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still feel the effects. My scalp is sore, my throat too.
Gently, I run the brush through my hair. I snag a knot and it yanks on a raw patch of my head, making me fight back a yelp. Fuck this. I slam the brush down onto the counter.
The rage inside of me is bubbling over. It’s an inferno that’s threatening to consume me and everything around me. I won’t be able to control it much longer.
“Is the liar cracking under the pressure?” A rough voice taunts.
Slowly, my eyes slide to the bathroom door. Leaning against the frame is Jessie, looking smug. I want to slam it in her face. She doesn’t have any right to be in my room, let alone my bathroom, at least while I’m still in it.
I already know she’s going to bitch about the pile of wet towels in the corner. I didn’t have any other way to clean up all the water from last night, so her complaints I’m prepared for. But additional mocking, I don’t have the patience for today.
I’m about to tell her to fuck off when she holds something up for me to see. Oh shit. Cole’s letters. That, I definitely wasn’t ready for.
“I—How—” My words falter as my mind tries to come up with some explanation.
After Cassie told me she found the letters, I brought them back home. I hid them well, or so I thought. I wonder if she stumbled upon them or if she’s been tearing apart this house looking for something incriminating.
She cants her head and raises a brow. “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I was right. You’re a liar and you’re bringing this whole family down. My family. It ends now,” Jessie threatens with a smile on her face.
The momentary shock of her discovery fades and is replaced by anger. She has no idea what she’s talking about. I have no sense or desire to lie right now. I stalk across the bathroom until I’m nose to nose with the old woman. Our warm breaths mingle and our chests are flush against one another in tenseness.
My instinct is to deck her. I let my nails bite into my palms as I clench them in restraint. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell her through gritted teeth.
She rolls her eyes as if anything I have to say is pointless or deceptive because that’s what she thinks of me. Jessie thinks that my presence here is pointless and that I’m a liar. And if that’s the case, I have nothing to lose in telling her the truth.
“I’ve been protecting the guys. I’ve been shielding them from Cole’s psychotic ass. I know you don’t have the common sense to see that, but let me enlighten you. Cole had evidence that could put all of them behind bars. I’ve been practically killing myself to get that evidence back so that he has no power over them.” I confess this as quietly as I can, unsure how much the camera in my room will pick up. “Cole has been raping me and is trying to force me to get pregnant. He’s evil and I’m going to take him down. If you get in my way, you’ll ruin all of it. You’ll be putting Damian, Wes, Sutton, and Adrian at risk. So if you’re so sure that I’m a liar and that I’m destroying this family, then go ahead. Show them the letters. Expose me. But if you do and they suffer, that’s on you.” I glance away and shake my head in disappointment. “What I’m doing is fucking selfless. I’m letting Cole abuse me, so he doesn’t target them. I’m willing to get his blood on my hands so that his brothers don’t have to live with that. I’m willing to take the fall and go to prison for them. And all you’re doing is sabotaging that. All because you don’t like me? Get the fuck over it, Jessie.” My eyes find hers, expecting defiance or suspicion. That’s not what I see.
Jessie’s staring at me wide-eyed. I can’t tell if it’s because I’ve finally stood up to her or because of what I’ve revealed. I don’t care. I just need to know what direction she’s going to take this in so that I can make my move.
We stand there for far too long. Then she steps away from me and pushes the letters to my chest. I don’t hesitate. My hand grasps them tightly, as if she might take them back as some kind of sick joke. She doesn’t.
Jessie lets go and walks away like nothing happened. And honestly, that’s the kindest response she could give me. I don’t want her sympathy or her pity. Her silence is enough.
If this encounter taught me anything, it’s that all of this is crumbling around me. Cole has to go before the end of the year… before Christmas… before he can execute whatever plan he’s come up with.
I have the key to his place, that’s my only option. I’ll have to ambush him there and hope for the best.
I have less than a week. Less than a week before I set fire to my life for the men I love. A tear springs free. The tightness in my chest and the emotion spilling over is the knowledge that I may only have one more week with them. One more week of loving them before it’s over. And that feeling of loss is worse than anything Cole’s done to me.
Fuck him for making me do this. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him. I chant the words over and over until they lose all meaning. I chant them until I feel nothing at all. And then I hold onto that nothingness because my life depends on it now.
I take a deep breath before pulling open the door to Dark Wolfe Tattoos. This isn’t what I want to be doing today, especially not after my run in with Jessie earlier. Although, getting out of the house is better than trying to avoid her while she cleans.
I told Damian I would do this, it’s the least I can do. I’ve gotten all the photos I can of the shop and anything that didn’t have to do with Adrian, but he’s the face of this place and he’ll need a presence on social media.
Pulling out my phone, I text the group chat.
Me: Just got to Dark Wolfe.
This should be quick, no longer than an hour, then I can get on with my day. All I can hope for is that Adrian keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t instigate anything.
Walking through the shop, I hear the soft buzz of a tattoo gun just above the low music drifting through the speakers. Following the noise, I find Adrian at the back of the shop, hunched over the arm of a man I don’t recognize.
His black gloved hand moves with purpose, his eyes never leaving the design. He wipes at the man’s skin, then inks some more, then wipes again. I watch silently, intrigued. I hadn’t given much thought to the skill it must take to permanently mark someone’s body—as much as I hate to admit it, it’s impressive.
Pulling my camera to my face, I snap some photos of him at work.
Adrian sits up finally and takes a damp towel to the man’s arm. When it comes away, I see a scorpion. It almost looks real with the shadowing. It’s beautiful, but I’ll keep that to myself.
“Let’s get you outta here,” he tells the man after wrapping his arm. They walk past me and I just barely catch him say under his breath, “Next time, ask if my client wants their picture taken.”
The comment catches me off guard, but I can’t say anything to him. One, it would be unprofessional. Two, as irritating as it is to admit it, he’s right. So I keep my mouth shut.
A few minutes later, he comes back alone. “I need to get some more pictures for content. Online content,” I explain in case it’s not clear.
He only nods, then sits down in his rolling chair. I look around awkwardly, waiting for him to say something. He doesn’t. Adrian takes a pull from his vape, then proceeds to clean up his work area, then he resets it. He must have another client coming in. “Can I?” I ask, holding up my camera.
Again, he nods. Jesus, I think I prefer him being an asshole to me. I begin to capture closeups of him wrapping the tattoo gun, pouring ink into a small cup, and laying out a thin sheet with a design printed on it. This all seems unnecessary if his client isn’t here yet.
Adrian stands and walks to the mirror mounted on the wall with a razor in hand. Pulling off his shirt, he begins shaving the area between his shoulder and his collarbone. It’s a tiny sliver of space that hasn’t been inked.
“Wait, is someone coming to tattoo you?” I peer around the booth we’re in, looking at the front door. I don’t see anyone.
He doesn’t answer. He puts the razor down on the tray and slathers some kind of gel on his skin before applying the paper with the design. Carefully, he peels it off, leaving the purple drawing behind.
Adrian drags the reclining chair over to the mirror. Suddenly, I know exactly what he’s going to do. “You can’t tattoo yourself,” I say incredulously. “You can’t.” This time, it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself. He glances up at me from the chair with a look on his face that’s almost challenging—like he’s daring me to stop him.
I cross my arms. That’s not going to happen. If he thinks he can tattoo himself or tattoo himself well, that’s his business. The buzz of the tattoo gun starts and as much as I don’t want to admit that it draws my attention, it does.
My eyes strain to watch him work, but it’s hard as he uses both hands, blocking most of what he’s doing.
Without realizing it, I move closer until I’m practically hovering over his shoulder. His dark eyes flick up and I notice just how close I am.
“Something of interest to you, Havoc?” His words come out low and almost strained. I wonder if it’s because I’m standing over him, practically cheek to cheek, or if it’s the pain from tattooing himself.
“Is it difficult?” I ask, then clarify. “Tattooing someone. Is it hard?” He chuckles, that catches me off guard.
Then Adrian’s face gets serious as he tilts his head. “Do you wanna find out?” I recoil. That makes him laugh harder. “Relax, it’s not that serious. You can try it, if you want.”
I don’t know what to think. My interactions with Adrian haven’t come close to being kind or even courteous. Is this some kind of trap? I eye him suspiciously. “Why would you let me do that? I could hurt you or something?”
A wicked grin carves across his face, his sharp canines glinting in the light. “Aw, Havoc, are you worried about me?” I scowl at his response. “There’s nothing you could do to hurt me. Get over here.” It’s hard to fight against the sternness of his voice and against my own curiosity.
I bite my lip nervously. “Are you sure? What if I mess up?”
“Then I’ll fix it. I’m not going to say it again.” I don’t have to ask what he means. Walking around to the front of him, I wait for instructions.
Adrian sets the tattoo gun on the tray next to the chair, then leans forward, hooking his arms around the backs of my thighs and pulls me onto his lap. I let out a surprised yelp and my arms fly out instinctively, wrapping around his neck.
“What the fuck, Sparky?” I try to wiggle free, but he doesn’t let go. “I thought I was going to tattoo you, not fuck you.”
He reaches over and grabs a pair of gloves, handing them to me. “You are. Don’t get so cocky. You’re not completely irresistible.”
This time, I smirk. “Awe, so you find me somewhat irresistible?”
“Shut the fuck up and put those gloves on,” he orders, his tone edging on annoyed. Secretly, I think he likes it. I give it to him just as much as he gives it to me.
I spend the next ten minutes listening to each step before he even lets me touch the tattoo gun. Dip the needle in ink. Stretch the skin. Hold the gun at a forty-five degree angle. If there’s too much bleeding, I’m going too deep. Dab away excess ink every so often. Work in small sections. It’s a little overwhelming.
Adrian smears a clear substance over the design. “You ready?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. Turning on the machine, he leans his head back against the chair and closes his eyes as if he trusts me completely to do this. He’s insane.
But what choice do I have? I’m in his lap, he’s told what I need to do, and he’s waiting. He’s waiting to see if I have the balls to do this. That thought alone makes me lean in and do just as he told me. I stretch his skin between my fingers and put the needle to the first line I’m going to work on.
I brace for his flinch at the initial pain of it, but he doesn’t. He lies there still as can be. That gives me a boost of courage. My eyes hone in on the needle’s path.
At first, I’m clumsy, nearly dropping the gun when I reach for a paper towel to wipe away the ink. My body’s tense and my neck begins to ache. I realize that instinctively, I’m trying to avoid sinking all the way into Adrian’s lap.
Taking a deep breath, I let myself relax into him. My legs slide down farther on either side of him. We’re aligned perfectly and I swear I feel his cock twitch as our bodies meet fully. His hands come up to rest on my thighs. I don’t know if he means to, but either way, warmth pools low and I resist the urge to grind into him.
Focus, Thea. I put the needle to another purple line. It’s a good distraction, although his sweet smokey scent tries to draw my attention back to him. Soon enough, I find myself lost in the need to make this design perfect and finding a rhythm of tattooing, wiping away ink, and apply more lubricant to his skin.
“No one’s ever told me the whole story. How did you meet my brothers? I mean, I know through Cole, but how?”
My hand freezes. It’s an unexpected question. I’m not sure if he’s genuinely curious or making small talk. I don’t want to open up to him in this way, although we could be here for a while and he is letting me tattoo him. Fuck it.
“Well, there’s two entirely different versions of that story. It depends on who you ask.” I glance at his face when I say this. It’s a fine line. He was close to Cole and anything negative I say could be taken the wrong way. He doesn’t react to my words. “Cole was working in the bakery my business partner and I would visit often. He asked me out one day. Then he introduced me to your brothers. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Except it was all out of the ordinary. Not long after, I’d be told about the pact and agreeing to date four men.
I pause. It’s the next part that makes me nervous.
“What’s the other side?” Adrian asks in a way that makes me think he’s nervous to hear it too.
Sighing, I reveal the truth. “Meeting Cole was never an accident. He planned it. He spied on me, created a reason for me to come to the bakery, and waited for the right time to make his move.”
I expect him to argue with me about this. At the very least, make a smart ass comment. It doesn’t come.
“Have you always lived in Willow Hill? I don’t remember you before I went away, but I was wrapped up in my own shit when I was a kid.” Another question? It feels strange talking like this—like there’s a genuine interest in getting to know me.
I lick my lips, careful not to give him any ammunition. “No, I didn’t grow up here. I grew up near Atlanta.” Then I fall back into silence, letting the buzz of the gun fill the void.
“Is that Gavin guy the reason you’re into all this kinky shit? Is it some kind of therapy for you?” The tattoo gun slips and I ink a stray line.
“Fuck! You made me screw up.” I sit up, using my free hand to push against his chest for balance. “What’s with all the questions?” That last was out of left field. Where does he get off asking something like that?
“What?” He shrugs as if it wasn’t intrusive. “We’ve literally fucked, but me asking that question was out of line? You’re sitting in my damn lap and if you hadn’t noticed, I’m hard for you.” He shifts his hips to slide a little lower in the chair and that’s when I really notice it. The bulge in his pants rubs against my pussy. Adrian leans into me, easily making my arm bend so there’s almost no space between us. “And I bet you’re dripping wet right now. Tell me I’m wrong.”
My throat bobs. He’s right. But I’ll never admit it. I try to turn the conversation around on him. “Is having me restrain and take advantage of you some kind of therapy? Who exactly fucked you up to cause that?” My voice is low and filled with venom.
“You didn’t take advantage of me. No one can take advantage of me. I let you do that. Don’t twist the truth.” For the first time, I see actual emotion in his eyes. Real, raw emotion. His gaze glasses over and he quickly looks away. He’s ashamed that I’ve seen that part of him. I know that feeling well.
I push him back down against the chair and continue tattooing. He doesn’t fight me. He also makes a concerted effort to not look at me.
After an hour, my body is stiff. I turn off the tattoo gun and stretch my arms above my head, arching my back. The motion forces me to push into his dick. He’s still fucking hard. Jesus. I’ve done nothing but sit here and tattoo him. He shouldn’t be that turned on by pain. It’s a hypocritical statement, even if it’s in my head. I love pain, at least nowadays I do.
My first thought is to get off of him. It’s the next thought that stops me. After Cole’s visit last night, I’m needing to feel in control again. I need to take back my power. Adrian can help with that, like he always does, whether he knows it or not.
Suddenly, his question about this kind of stuff being therapeutic hits home. Maybe it is. Maybe reliving the things Cole’s done to me on my own terms is helping me process that trauma. That realization alone should be enough to scare the shit out of me. It doesn’t.
Instead, I set the tattoo gun down and place my palms on Adrian’s chest. Slowly, rhythmically, I circle my hips, pushing into him just enough to tease us both. His eyes widen and if they were a lighter color, I’m sure I’d see his pupils blown wide. All I can see right now is swallowing darkness, hungry for what my body’s offering.
I dip my head, dragging my tongue along his neck, opposite the side I was tattooing. A groan rumbles in his throat, encouraging me. My teeth lightly graze his skin before I bite down. Adrian hisses in pain, then wraps his arms around my back, roughly pulling me closer.
“Take your fucking pants off. Now,” he growls against my ear.
He doesn’t have to repeat himself. I scramble off of him, pulling off my leggings down while he slides his jeans off. Climbing back in his lap, I center myself over him. With us, there’s never been foreplay and I don’t expect it now. My body’s ready for him.
I bite my lip, eyeing that silver piercing, knowing exactly how good it feels inside of me. Sliding down onto his cock, I let out a low gasp as I adjust to him filling me up.
Adrian’s hands land on my hips and he forces me to start rocking against him. His prompting ignites a fire in me. My mouth finds his. I slip my tongue between his lips, exploring every inch of his mouth while my hands run down his back before clawing their way back up. I’m not gentle with him. My nails dig deep and I’m almost sure that I’ve broken skin with the way he arches into me as a groan catches in his throat.
Pulling back, I look down and watch as I slide him in and out of me. The sight of it gets me so close. Just a little more , I tell myself. But I’m not just needing a little more time to get there. I’m needing more of something else.
Without stopping, I take Adrian’s hand and guide it to my throat. I push myself into his grip. He understands completely as he firmly grasps me.
I snake my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his inky black hair, then rest my forearms on his shoulders. I press into him to pick up my speed, needing the quick, repeated brush of him against my clit to get to my release.
“Fuck,” he growls, pulling away a little as he looks at his shoulder.
His new tattoo. “Shit, sorry,” I pant out and start to pull away.
“I didn’t say to stop, Havoc,” he mutters, probably enjoying the fine line of pain and pleasure.
Resting the full weight of my forearms against him once again, I keep moving my hips. I’m so close. I just need… more. “Tighter,” I tell him. He obeys, and I feel the coolness of his ring press hard into my skin. Suddenly, it’s hard to take a breath without struggling. It feels so good.
My mind drifts as I get lost in the rhythm of riding him and the lightheadedness begins to set in. Visions of being held under water slowly float through my head. Drifting in, then being carried away just as quickly as they came.
Euphoria makes my body feel light and tingly. “Tighter,” I barely croak out. I don’t think he’ll listen, but he does. My breaths become shallower and more infrequent. Darkness edges around my vision. I’m so close, though.
Suddenly, I climax. I hardly feel the buildup of it. My body tenses momentarily as waves of pleasure roll through me. Everything is dull, yet still feels absolutely amazing. I vaguely feel a smile creep over my face as I fall limp. Then darkness takes me.
ADRIAN
“Thea! Fuck. Thea!” I’m shaking her limp body. She finished and fell against me. It all happened so quickly. “Thea! This isn’t fucking funny. Wake up!”
Panic sets in. Shit, did I kill her? I’m still inside of her. My dick’s limp now—I didn’t even get to finish. It’s a selfish thought, but it’s true. I pull her off me, setting her on the chair before reclining it.
I don’t know what to do. Shit. Check her pulse? My fingers find the side of her neck. I feel the soft thumping of her heartbeat. Well, at least she isn’t dead. But what the fuck is her problem?
Drugging herself was one thing. This… this is some fucked up shit. She must have a death wish. What is going on with her?
We might have an unspoken agreement to work out our issues through fucking. However, she’s taken it too far. My mind races, trying to figure out what made her push herself to the point of passing out. I think back to the sleeping medicine. That happened right after I overheard her saying she thought she was drugged. But… if that was true… does that mean someone tried to strangle her or something?
My hand pushes through my hair. This is so fucked up. She put both of us in a bad situation. What if she died? What if I killed her? My heart pounds as I think of having to go back to jail. I can’t do this with her anymore. She needs help. She probably needs a lobotomy.
Thea stirs in the chair. She lets out a stifled groan as I come to her side. I watch her eyes flutter open and a weight lifts from my chest. It’s a strange feeling to care that she’s coming to. I just didn’t want to get locked up for accidentally killing her, I counter the previous thought.
“What happened?” Her voice is a little hoarse.
“What do you mean what happened?” Does she really not remember? “You passed out after telling me to choke you out. You could’ve died.”
Her deep blue eyes blink slowly as if me telling her this doesn’t concern her. There isn’t an ounce of surprise or regret. She just lays there for a while. Thea eventually pushes herself up to sit, though she’s wobbly. “I should go,” she murmurs distantly.
“You’re not going anywhere. At least not alone. Let me clean up and then I’ll take you home.” I anticipate an argument. That’s what she does. Instead, she puts her head back down on the chair and stares at the wall with a blank look on her face. I swear to God, if she has brain damage or something, I might actually kill her.
Thankfully, my name change was processed quickly and Damian insisted I get my license immediately after. Otherwise, I’d have to call one of my brothers to come get us. I need some time to think about what I’m going to say if they ask why we drove together or why she’s practically catatonic. I’m screwed if D looks at the video footage.
Thea’s quiet the entire time I clean up the shop. Finally, I tell her we’re leaving. She gets up, much steadier this time, but still silent, and walks to the front door.
“That wasn’t okay,” I finally say as we head out of town in my car. She’s staring out the window at the barren trees that border the road.
Thea’s head rolls over lazily to look at me. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making it one.”
I want to argue with her, but it’s probably pointless. She’s fine… well, she’s alive. And I’m not doing this with her again, so fighting isn’t going to matter. She’s a problem for my brothers to figure out.
Despite what I tell myself, I can’t stop my mind from wandering. More and more I’m trying to see the picture of the woman that my brothers painted when they picked me up from prison. I may have gotten glimpses of her a couple months ago, but she’s long gone.
There’s something going on with her. Is someone tormenting her? Or is all of this from Cole’s betrayal? Did he hurt her that badly all those months ago? There’s a war inside me and I can’t decide which side I’m on. Two months ago, it was so much clearer.
On the one hand, I hate Thea. She destroyed my family. She took away the one person I was looking forward to seeing most when I was released. On the other hand, I don’t know if I can keep defending him. It was easy when I wasn’t fucking her. It was easy when she was just some bitch I didn’t know. I know her now. I may not like her, but I know her. And that’s making it difficult to hold my stance.
The Cole I knew growing up wasn’t like this. He wouldn’t do the things they’ve accused him of. An ache in my chest begins to grow. The ache of knowing I’m wrong. He could do the things they’ve told me about. I just don’t want to believe he would.
Memories of that night push against my mind. Normally, I shove them down into the dark recesses, but now I slowly let them in. They don’t come violently like I thought they would, not like my nightmares do. The first thing I remember is driving in the van with my brothers, silent and tense.
We’d discussed the plan in detail, so there wasn’t much else to say. I spent the drive grasping at the same courage that made me rope my brothers into it in the first place. I had to force myself to not tell them to turn around, to call it all off. I should’ve. My life would’ve been so much different if I’d listened to my instincts.
But I was all anger and impulse back then. Nothing truly could’ve stopped me.
We had a plan. It was foolproof. Damian thought of everything. My mind shuffles through the events of that night, trying to piece together where things went wrong. It all leads back to one person. Cole. As much as I hate to admit it, he escalated things. He took it too far. I had to take the fall for it.
I hate that I feel some rage and bitterness at that. He’s my brother, that’s what we do. We take the fall for each other. So why does it feel like I got shortchanged? Why does it feel like my older brother was selfish and didn’t protect me the way he should’ve? I was only nineteen and I was going through hell.
Cole should’ve known better. For the first time in a decade, I let a thought through that I think has been inside me this whole time. Cole should’ve gone down for my uncle’s murder. It shouldn’t have been me.
I slam my palm against the steering wheel and see Thea jump out of the corner of my eye. Heat fills my cheeks and tears prick my eyes. I hold it in and force myself to calm down. She doesn’t say anything to me. I don’t apologize for my outburst. It’s just another one of those unspoken arrangements between us. I’m thankful for it right now.
Shoving those thoughts back down where they belong, I clear my mind. I pretend that night never happened and that my brother is innocent. It’s easier that way. It’s easier to focus on the road ahead, not the one behind.