Chapter 33 Cade
CADE
Another month later
“Are you sore?” I whisper to Ansel as my brothers make themselves comfortable. It’s game night; the first since Harley swallowed the iron token. Ansel hasn’t felt up to joining in, and my brothers postponed it until he could be included.
As they fucking should.
“A little,” he whispers back. “Nothing compared to what happened to my hands, though. Or what you did to my ass last night. My hole definitely aches more than my forearm right now.”
“Totally worth it though.” I chuckle, skimming my hands over the clear plastic wrap covering his new tattoo. “On both counts.”
“How about you?” he asks anxiously. “Is your arm okay?”
I roll my eyes. “Butterfly, you should know by now that I’m very good with a little pain.”
His gaze warms, and I know he’s thinking about last night. How he clamped my nipples, twisting them tighter as he rode me until I came screaming his name.
Ansel smiles shyly. “Still can’t believe you marked yourself with me.”
“Believe it, baby.” I grin, proudly peering at the ink through the wrap. “I can’t wait until it’s healed enough to take this off. I want everyone to see it and know who I belong to.”
“Same,” Ansel says happily.
The idea of matching tattoos is something we’ve been kicking around for a couple of weeks. Initially, we discussed having our respective nicknames tattooed, but then Ansel suggested something else.
Saturn for him.
Titan for me.
I insisted we add the names too, though. I didn’t want any confusion surrounding who the other belongs to. We went with our actual names. It’s sweet, but there’s also a possessive safety aspect of it for me.
Cade is a rare name in St. Dismas. Anyone who looks at Ansel will have no question as to who will be hunting them down if their gaze lingers too long.
Crazy? Perhaps. But I’ve never pretended to be sane.
Fortunately, Ansel loves me just the way I am.
“Can’t believe you’ve got matching tattoos,” Samson grunts as he takes his seat around the table. “You’ve been dating for, what, a few months?”
Ansel stiffens beside me, and I squeeze his leg gently in reassurance. Turning to my brother, I give him a dangerous grin. “When you meet the one for you, Samson, you’ll understand. Until then, you can fuck off.”
Matthias slides into a seat opposite, Wyatt and Jackson following seconds later. “Why are we judging them, exactly? They’re already living together. Why shouldn’t they get matching tattoos?”
Wyatt snorts. “Not that you’d be able to join in on the judging, given we started by getting married.”
“Must be nice to have a cute story like that,” Jackson says, watching Dalton wistfully. “So romantic.”
“Romance is overrated,” Dalton says curtly as he takes his seat. “It’s better to guard your heart and stick to hookups, Jackson. Take it from me.”
Jackson’s face hardens, his chair scraping the floor as he shoves it back. “I’m getting a beer.”
“You’re underage, Jackson,” Wyatt reminds him.
He reappears with a bottle in hand. “I’m almost twenty. If we lived in Europe, I could’ve been drinking for two years already. Besides, it’s hardly the most illegal thing that’s happened here this week.”
Wyatt looks like he’s going to argue further, but Matthias squeezes the back of his neck and shakes his head.
When Jackson returns to the table, he chooses a seat beside Ansel. Dalton frowns in confusion, glancing at the now-empty chair beside him and where Jackson is now sitting.
I shake my head with a chuckle. Dalton is so oblivious.
“When are we getting started?” Jackson asks, peeling the label from the bottle.
“We’re just waiting for Harley,” Wylder says, sitting in his usual seat.
“And Neo,” Ansel pipes up, smirking mischievously in Wylder’s direction.
Predictably, Wylder tenses. “Ah. Is he joining us tonight?”
“You fucking bet I am,” Neo sings as he saunters in and sits beside Jackson. “Can’t miss out on the infamous game night fun.”
Wylder clears his throat, apparently finding the tabletop very interesting. “Thought you might have a date tonight.”
“Nope.” Neo cocks his head, feigning confusion. “Why would you think that?”
Wylder shrugs. “Seems like you’ve been gone more often than not recently.”
“Aww, one might think you’ve missed me,” Neo purrs.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just track where you are because of the damage you tend to leave in your path.”
Neo sits back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. “Sure. That’s why.”
Ansel leans in to murmur in my ear, “I want to add another ten dollars to the pot on a date four months from now.”
I pat his knee. “You got it, butterfly.”
I don’t tell him that the bets surpassed his limits several weeks ago.
He knows what the pot is up to, but not that we’ve just increased how much we’re putting in.
Whenever he asks me to contribute for him, I just match whatever the most recent bet was.
Ansel has gone back to hacking, taking on low-risk jobs, and is bringing in his own money.
I’ve told him repeatedly that I have enough money for not just us, but half of St. Dismas, but he’s insistent.
It makes him happy to work, so I don’t argue. If Ansel’s happy, then I’m happy.
“Harley’s also missing,” Wyatt points out. “He was at our place earlier, flirting with Jules again.”
Of course he was. “Do we think he’s ever going to lock that down?”
Nobody answers my question. Like me, they have no fucking clue what’s going on with the two of them.
Harley finally strolls in with a wicked gleam in his eye. He saunters right up to Samson before delicately putting a silver object on the table in front of him. “Your precious playing piece, sir.”
Samson’s face goes through an amusing variety of colors. First white, then gray, purple, and then finishing up with a fetching red. “This better be a brand-new piece, Harley. I swear to fucking god.”
“I’d never disappoint you like that,” Harley chirps, taking his seat.
I notice he doesn’t pull it all the way to the table.
Almost like he’s waiting for the bomb he’s set to ignite.
“It’s the exact same one. Your favorite.
Had to wait a while for it to pass. Jules said it’s a sign I’m not eating enough fiber.
He’s given me a list of foods to add to my diet. ”
No one comments on that. We’re all too busy eyeing the tiny silver iron with disgust and awe.
“Is it… Please tell me it’s sterilized?” Wylder asks with a pained wince. “I might have to burn the table otherwise.”
“It is.” Harley rocks his chair back on two legs. “It traveled through my digestive system, but it’s probably cleaner than it’s ever been.”
Samson glares at him. “You can’t seriously think I’m going to play with this?”
Harley gives him an innocent smile. “Why not? What’s the problem, Samson?”
“I’ll tell you what the problem is,” he growls before prowling forward with his dagger drawn.
As they get into it, Ansel sighs. “They’re going to be at this for a while.”
“Probably.”
He chews at his lips, making me touch his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just…” He gives me a tentative smile. “Well, I have a surprise for you. I was kinda hoping this wouldn’t last all night so I could tell you about it.”
“Is it time sensitive?”
“Not at all, I’m just excited.”
I tug him to his feet. If Ansel’s excited, then so am I. “Be right back.”
When we’re in the corridor, I box him in against the wall. “What have you got up your sleeve?”
“Well.” He kisses me quickly before pulling back and grinning. “I may have managed to get us tickets to see Starboard Static next month.”
I’m so stunned that I can’t think of anything clever to say. “What?”
Ansel’s eyes are sparkling. “We’ve got tickets to go and see Starboard Static.”
“But I thought they were sold out?”
“Ah, a little fact like that can’t stop a hacker like me. I bumped some asshole politician and snagged his seats for us.”
I kiss from the hollow of his throat, up his neck, along his jaw before landing on his lips. “Fuck, I love you, butterfly.”
“I love you too, Titan.”