29. Claire
I’m high on the looks both Remy and Wes are giving me, and I guarantee it puts Remy’s expensive weed to shame. I almost think this must be what it feels like to take something like ecstasy. Every part of me is alive with intoxicating possibilities. I’m not in control, and somehow that is the most glorious feeling. It doesn’t make sense, given how hard I have to fight when I’m not in control, but it’s almost like I’m in the passenger seat of my own body, acting on what feels good. Maybe something in me snapped when Rhea told me Wes was coming to dinner, or maybe nearly dying again just gave me permission to stop thinking and start doing.
Whatever happened, I love the freedom I’ve given myself.
I’d never admit it to Wes, but I’ve been strung up from the moment I walked out on him, wetness pooling between my thighs. He’s attractive enough—I was taken with him until his brother came along. But it’s not him that’s got me feeling like I’m standing at the end of a blade with a sweet abyss at my back and the desire to jump coiling low inside of me. It’s the things we said—what I did.
I must be as vicious a monster as him to feel like I’ve turned to putty from our earlier encounter. He likes to see people hurt, and apparently, I am no better. His groans of pain and the profane things that came out of his mouth should make me feel horror, like I’m being victimized again. Instead, I feel slippery and vicious and more alive than I think I may have ever felt before. The closest I’ve ever come to this was when I took a life and then threw myself at Remy. That bliss faded quickly, and I’m not sure it was as sweet as this.
Maybe there’s a little hope for me yet since the pleasure of getting revenge through death is eclipsed by the euphoria of making Wes hurt. As if that wasn’t damning enough, the desire comes to a head when I turn my eyes back to Remy.
The way he watches me makes me feel like I’m naked… but not in a vulnerable way. It feels more like I’m the muse in an art class, and he’s studying me so that he can bring me to life through the stroke of a brush. I’m spring-loaded, ready to throw myself at him again the way I did the first time. I’m not sure where our chemistry comes from—it’s been hot from the moment he stopped me in his room and looked at me like a gift he hadn’t asked for but had no intentions of returning. Maybe it’s because he oozes sex appeal and he’s just willing to take what I’m willing to give. Rhea gave me her blessing to make my own choices, and I’ve already decided I want him.
I bite my lip hard, needing a little pain to temper the rising tide of my libido. I should walk away from them, check on Rhea (though she’s in capable hands) and take a cold shower. I’d jump in the pool and go for a swim if we weren’t in the middle of a wake.
“Wes,” I say, breaking the silence between us. “You alright? You look a bit pale.”
“Haven’t been sleeping well.” Wes says pointedly. I feel Remy shift and wonder if he’s uncomfortable with me talking to Wes or just confused. I also wonder if he has a gun tucked inside that jacket pocket or if he’s planning to keep Wes in line on the threat of violence alone.
“Shame.” I sigh, taking a sip of my champagne and savoring the burn of the bubbles against my tongue. I’ve definitely acquired a taste for pain. “You seem really… frustrated.”
They’re standing close enough together that I can see both of them at once.
It’s a ruinous sight. They are both so devastatingly beautiful, sharing some of the same strong features and yet possessing their own differences too.
An angel and a demon, a god and a devil.
I see Remy’s jaw clench at the same time a smirk flickers in the corner of Wes’ lips.
“Quite frustrated, truly. I was having a lovely dream before I was pulled from sleep and stabbed.”
I don’t know what possesses me. I lean into him and press a kiss to his cheek. “Funny, I felt the same way when I was enjoying vacation with my best friend one day and then I woke up tied to a table.” It’s a whisper just for him, but either my words or my breath against the shell of his ear do him in. He groans.
Remy shifts on his feet. I can feel the tension rolling off of him like a dark cloud getting ready to swallow us all. If Dimitri hadn’t left, I am certain that Remy would have stalked away from Wes by now.
“Now I’m picturing you tied up again.” His voice is hoarse as he strains to contain himself. A big bad man like Wes surely isn’t used to being so helpless, and probably not used to being unable to do anything about his desire.
“Shut up,” Remy growls. “Or I’ll let my blade slip over your tongue ‘til it’s forked in two to look like the serpent you are.”
Wes’ grin deepens. “Careful, brother. You’ll make your whore come in the middle of your father’s wake if you keep talking like that.” There’s the barest pause before he continues. “Look at her. You’d never know just by looking at her, but violence turns her on.” His eyes shift to me, laying me bare. “I felt how wet you were against me baby. I bet you’re dripping for me right now… for us. Maybe Remy will share if you ask him nicely?”
I suck in a breath, but it makes me feel like I’m about to pass out.
Wes glances around. Somehow, we’ve been uninterrupted all this time, but I’m suddenly aware of how many people are around us, watching, maybe listening. He seems to be in agreement, because he steps forward. Remy catches him roughly against his side, though Wes wasn’t going far. His voice is low for me now, returning the favor from a moment before. “I bet your cunt was dripping for me before… when I had you on the other end of the blade, tied up on that table. You don’t have to be ashamed of it, Claire.”
“You’re right,” I whisper, letting my eyes flutter closed. Maybe if I don’t see the self-satisfied smirk on his lips, it will make my lie easier to swallow. I dust my fingers along his arm, hidden under the heavy suit jacket I assume came from Remy. “I am dripping right now.” My words come out unintentionally breathy—the result, I’m sure, of everything in me swelling with need and squeezing the air out of my lungs to accommodate space for everything else.
I brush my thumb over his wrist gently enough that when he hisses at the sting of my touch on his raw skin, he doesn’t automatically assume it’s intentional. I close my hand around his and squeeze with every bit of strength I have in me, until I feel warmth spread out beneath my fingertips.
Wes’ knees buckle and he’s just about to fall to them when a man swoops in and catches him under the arm. Remy makes a move for something inside his jacket, but the man turns and shows him something on his phone. Whatever it is, it’s good enough for Remy to pawn him off on the stranger.
Remy stalks away before I can even say anything in my own defense. Wes is moaning in pain, but the man who’s with him pats him on the back, telling him to ‘let it out’ and I realize that Wes just looks like he’s grieving the man he’s here to grieve.
Well played, stranger.
I glance down at the blood on my hands—it’s not a lot—and drain the rest of my champagne, letting the condensation on the glass lubricate the blood so that when I wipe my palms over the back of my dress, they come mostly clean.
I’ve got to find Remy and—
What? Make sure he doesn’t think I want Wes? Tell him his sister told us it’s fine to fuck around? Beg him to take me out of my head for a few minutes? A night? The duration of my time in Costa Rica?
I don’t honestly know what I’ll do when I find him, but I need to be near him the way I need to breathe.
I’m halfway across the room when a man steps in my path, barring my exit.