Chapter 24 Fallon
Fallon
“You let me win,” I shout as Declan’s feet hit the driveway after our race around the property line again. I shove against his chest, but he doesn’t move an inch.
“What are you talking about?” he asks innocently, though there is a tinge of pink to his cheeks, giving himself away.
“You let me win,” I say again, frustration coating my words. “Look at you!” I gesture to his shirtless chest, his hair. “You didn’t break a sweat. You’re not even breathing hard.”
“So?” He crosses his arms. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t try.”
I narrow my eyes. “You walked the last twenty yards.”
Dec shrugs. “I was tired. It was a long run, and you’re… really fast.”
I side-eye Hades, who has taken to greeting us on the driveway after every run, with a look that says, Is this guy for real? If this is Declan trying to act like he’s telling the truth, he’s doing a horrible job.
“Is this what you did yesterday too? When you told me you twisted your ankle right before we crossed the finish line?”
Declan’s eyes dart to Hades, like the dog can save him from this line of questioning. He stammers, “W-What? No way. You really beat me then, too.”
I raise an eyebrow. Wow. Someone call the Oscars about this performance.
I bite back a bitter laugh. So he’s doing it too, treating me like I’m a fragile, porcelain doll. It’s what all the guys have been doing since the cop’s revelation.
While I admit, finding out that dick Clay Ensling was the one who not only assaulted me three years ago but also had my report covered up, made me emotionally raw the following days. I never expected that would make the guys treat me like I’m something breakable.
Akio is mother-henning harder than ever, and I swear, if he tries to shove more food or water down my throat I’m going to punch him.
Although, I admit it is nice to see his face first thing every morning when I step out of my room.
I can tell he just wants to make sure I’m okay, which is sweet, but I wish he would stop tip-toeing around what he wants to say to me.
Matteo hasn’t said a single rude thing to me since that night.
He’s actually been…nice. It's weirding me out, so much so that I’ve been trying to press his buttons all week just to see if he’ll crack.
Nothing I do rattles his cage, though, not even when I purposefully try to piss him off by rearranging his spice rack.
Seriously, the man just grimaced when he saw what I’d done and started putting things back where they originally went without snapping at me or pinning me with his signature glare. I miss our snarky banter, damn it.
But Declan… I expected more than this from him.
Running is my escape, a way to get out of my head and release the built up tension, and it’s been nice having him here with me to compete against. Out of all three of them, he’s the one who challenges me the most, at least physically. Until now, that is.
I pick up one of the water bottles we’d brought outside and hurl it at his head. “Fuck you.”
He dodges before it can smack him in the face, then stares after me as I whip around and stomp back inside. “Fallon,” he calls weakly, but even that, the lack of that damn nickname he’s always calling me – Poison – just shows how off things have been lately.
While I shower, I ruminate over what I should do about the guys.
Before we found out that Clay was the one who attacked me, I was starting to believe the four of us together could become something really special.
Call me crazy, but that torture session with the cop felt an awful lot like some fucked up bonding.
A voice in my head that sounds a lot like my therapist reminds me that the guys aren’t able to read my mind and that it's unfair to expect them to change how they’re treating me unless I am assertive with communicating what I need from them. Damn it, Jacy.
Knowing what I need to do, I dress and step out of my room, ready to hunt down the guys and confront them, when I hear the soothing chords of a guitar filling the air.
In all the time I’ve been here, I haven’t heard anyone play.
Interest piqued, I pad down the hall on silent feet, coming to a stop in front of Declan’s door.
I push it open just a crack, and the scent of sandalwood and something deep and earthy floods my senses, surrounding me in a warm hug that’s so intoxicating, I want to curl up in it.
Declan. That smell is all Declan.
I spot the subject of my thoughts sitting on the edge of his bed, a beautiful acoustic guitar in his hands.
There’s a crease between his brows as he closes his eyes and strums at the strings like he’s pouring his secrets into the music.
I don’t recognize the song, but it’s captivating, rooting me to the spot with the intensity with which he plays, in the way the notes seem to express a sense of melancholy and longing.
And then, be still my fucking heart, he starts to sing.
Low and gravelly, his words do something to my soul.
His voice breaks me open and stitches pieces of my heart I didn’t know were torn back together.
Tears sting my eyes as he plays for no one but himself, and I shift forward, drawn like a moth to a flame.
Declan stills, the song ending abruptly with an unresolved note. His eyes snap open and he turns those beautiful gray eyes on me.
Oh, shit. Busted.
He shoots up from the bed, his shoulders tense. “You ever hear of privacy?” he snaps, then tosses his guitar on the bed.
I arch a brow, my awe giving way to irritation. “You ever hear the term hypocrite?”
Boots stomp across the carpet flooring until he’s standing inches away, looming over me like a dark cloud. “Do you seriously have nothing better to do than sneak around spying on us?”
“Not really. Or have you forgotten that I’m stuck in this house unless one of you guys decides to reward me with outside time?
” My temper rises, matching his. “You know what? I was going to tell you that I think you’re really talented, but instead, I’ll just tell you to eat shit.
” I shove away from his door, turning back toward the hall.
A hand clamps on my wrist, stopping me before I get more than a step out of his room.
“Wait.” Declan’s voice has lost its rough edge.
I look over my shoulder at him with pursed lips.
“I’m sorry. That…Fuck.” He lets go of my wrist and leans against the door with his eyes downcast. “I suck at feelings, okay? I’m a fucking sledgehammer in a china shop with this shit.
” He looks up at me then, and I soften. He’s warring inside on how to handle me getting a vulnerable peek into his life.
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you when I saw that you heard me playing.
It’s just… I don’t sing for anyone. I hardly ever let the guys hear me play either.
It’s something for me, a way to express what I’m feeling without wondering if I’m fucking things up. ”
“Why would you think you’d fuck things up?”
“Because that’s what I do. Look what happened outside. I wanted to make you feel better, so I threw the race, but it only pissed you off.” He raises his brow, daring me to argue. “Like I said,” he places a hand on his chest. “Sledgehammer.”
I pull his hand off his chest, intertwining our fingers together. “Yeah, well, you’re wrong. You’re actually a really sweet guy when you’re not worried about walking on eggshells around me.”
“I’m not fucking sweet,” he grumbles, but tugs me forward against his body. His arms wrap around me, and I bury my face into his hoodie, breathing in his scent as he holds me in a, dare I say, sweet embrace. “Did you need something?”
“Actually, yes.” I gaze up at him. Damn, he’s tall. “I wanted to talk to all of you guys. It has to do with the eggshell thing I mentioned. Is everyone home?”
“Should be. Teo is probably downstairs starting dinner, and Akio is around here somewhere.”
“Great.” I step back. “Can you grab them and meet me in the living room?”
He nods, and I head downstairs, already feeling lighter.
I pass through the empty kitchen to get to the living room. It smells amazing in here, so I know Matteo has been around recently. The TV is on, playing the news on a low volume, like he needed the background noise. Matteo doesn’t like to cook in silence.
I settle onto the couch, waiting for the guys to show, when three familiar masks pop onto the screen.
What the fuck? When did they film this?
I grab the remote, bumping up the volume to hear the anchor of AHX News speaking.
“ –Cerberus, the vigilante group sweeping through Axton Harbor.
In their latest surge of justice, Officer Jason O'Brian, trusted and highly decorated officer in the Axton Harbor Police Department, was found dead this morning off the coast. Evidence of his crimes were stapled to his body, along with a video from Cerberus themselves. I must warn you, the following video is not for the faint of heart.”
I swallow hard as the three figures I share a roof with come on to the screen, filling the space of the dark room I know is the cement torture room downstairs in their basement.
Masks tilt as they stare down the camera, as if looking straight into each soul in Axton Harbor, judging them.
I almost forgot how intimidating they look in their masks.
And how much of a turn on it is. The one in the middle who I know to be Matteo starts talking, his voice warped, just like the previous videos, and my thighs squeeze together, that same strange throbbing lust I had in my room weeks ago sweeping through me.
“Citizens of Axton Harbor, we reach out to you now with another warning. Cerberus knows the atrocities that go on in this city. The ones that happen under the noses of those you elect, of those who took an oath to serve and protect.” Their hooded figures step back, revealing the man strapped to a chair behind them.