Chapter 16
Justice awoke to the sounds of sex dancing all around him.
He frowned, wondering where the hell he was and why he didn’t have the strength to move more than an eyelid.
His body felt like it weighed a ton.
He turned his head to the right…
and immediately knew exactly where he was…
what had happened.
He was in Malachi and Megan’s bed.
They had all three made love to one another, Megan between them, giving both of them her body.
When he’d drifted off to sleep, it had been the happiest moment of his life.
Waking up, seeing them in bed next to him, kissing and whispering their sweet nothings to each other made him feel cold and empty.
He watched, without them paying him any attention at all, as Malachi’s lips, swollen from all the mouth action he’d missed while being asleep danced erotically with Megan’s mouth.
The man, skilled at every fucking thing he did, was clearly an expert at kissing too.
His lips were hungry one minute, claiming her, demanding that she give him whatever he wanted, and the next minute, they were worshipping her.
Words of love were being whispered, but they didn’t need to be.
Malachi’s kisses would have been enough.
There was no doubting the depths of his love for Megan.
He’d never kissed him on the lips, not once.
Justice had tried a couple of times but Malachi had turned away, always seeming to be focused on something else.
He’d tried to tell himself that’s what it was, an innocent slight, nothing meant.
Maybe he didn’t like to kiss?
Maybe it was too personal for someone as tightly reined in as Malachi always was?
Watching him now, he knew neither of those excuses was viable.
The man clearly loved to kiss, just as clearly as it was meant for only one person, and that person wasn’t him.
His fingers tapped his right wrist, outlining the letters.
He’d done it again, imagined something that didn’t really exist.
Hadn’this father warn him at the trial?
He’d made him promise he was being careful, staying focused.
Fuck, when had he lost focus?
The first time you laid eyes on Malachi, his mind screamed.
“Hey,” Megan peeked around Malachi’s muscled body, her blue eyes searching Justice’s face.
“What’s going on, babe? You okay?”
Her voice, laced with concern, made this so much harder.
He should have known…
should have watched himself more closely, but he’d wanted them so badly.
He’d convinced himself this time would be different.
He knew the rules, knew his place .
He’d been wrong, so fucking wrong.
Wanting more, always wanting more, he’d turned things around in his head.
He had lost focus.
His fingertips kept tracing the letters tattooed on his right wrist.
Focus.
He’d fucked up…
which meant now he had to go to his left wrist.
Fuck, the cold emptiness had lived in his heart for so long, he should be prepared to deal with it again.
He wasn’t.
“Justice! What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
He squeezed his eyes together, blocking out the sweet concern.
Love was there…
at least he thought it was love.
What the fuck did he know about love?
Damn, he didn’t want to let this go.
He wanted it to be love.
Drawing a deep breath, he forced a fake smile on his face.
“I’m okay, Mistress. Just tired…and I’m not a cuddler.” He winked at Malachi, hoping a stupid fucking tear didn’t slip out when he performed the fake task.
Malachi frowned.
“Pet?”
“Just drop it, guys. I’m fine. Stop acting like I’m broken.” He pushed away and stood up, offering them his back, hiding his face.
His nakedness suddenly felt ugly…
humiliating.
With quick movements, he hustled into his clothes.
Malachi shook his head at Megan, indicating he was totally clueless about what was troubling the kid.
Broken?
An odd choice of words, especially coming from Justice.
“Nobody thinks you’re broken, Justice,” he said calmly.
“Do you?”
Shit, he needed to stop talking.
Every time his mouth opened, dumb shit seemed to roll out.
He was better than this.
Hell, he should be a fucking expert at this.
They needed to stop looking at him like they were.
Didn’t they know how easily he would misinterpret it for something it wasn’t?
Fingertips massaged the tattoo.
The more they dug around in his mind, the uglier it would get.
Angry and frustrated, hurt and betrayed, Justice eased back onto the bed and captured Malachi’s face between his hands and dropped his mouth down to the lips of the man he loved.
It was a deep, all-consuming kiss that said all the words that he couldn’t speak.
His tongue traced Malachi’s lips and then dipped back inside, plundering every inch, relishing the seconds of peace the kiss offered.
Again and again, he pressed in harder…
taking the kiss that his lover wouldn’t willing give him.
Finally, the need to breath forced him to pull away.
He gasped in gulps of air and wondered if his heart was going to burst straight from his chest.
He turned away, embarrassment mingling with his damned insecurities.
“You guys cuddle up. I’m going to hit the sack and get some rest.” He tossed them a look over his shoulder.
“Today totally sucked the life out of me. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
Walk.
It was probably no more than twenty steps.
Walk.
“We want you to sleep in here with us, babe,” Megan called out.
If he let his mind have its way, he could convince himself she sounded sincere…
disappointed that he was leaving.
Yea, they wanted him to sleep with them.
That’s why he had his own room…
with his own bed.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he whispered just loud enough for them to hear.
Then he was at the door.
It had only been seventeen steps after all, but they’d been the hardest he’d ever taken.
Let Go .
He lay on the bed, twisting and turning, angry with Malachi for shutting him out…
angrier with himself for falling apart over it.
It hurt, hurt so fucking bad, worse than it had ever hurt before.
Beneath the soft sheets, his right leg stared jerking with the usual nervous twitches that always accompanied an episode.
With sheer will power, determination, and years of practice, he forced it to lay still…
lifeless like his heart felt at the moment.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he muttered into the darkness.
“Don’t do this. Don’t throw this away.” He slammed his fist down on the empty space next to him on the bed.
Empty.
The way it would always be because he couldn’t hold his shit together.
“Please don’t fuck this up,” he whispered desperately.
The quietness mocked him, laughed at his feeble attempt to try to be loved.
People like him, throw-away drug kids like him, weren’t worthy of love.
He was meant to be used, not loved.
But, fuck it, he couldn’t even be used right.
He had to go and fall in love and fuck that up, too.
No matter how hard he fought against it, the harsh ugly reality of what he really was always revealed itself.
He couldn’t hide it for long.
He’d been such a fucking fool.
Why the hell had he thought someone like Malachi could want him for something other than a fuck-toy to be punished.
That was what he was for.
Nagging warning bells echoed from the darkest corners of his mind.
Angrily, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and dug around in the drawers until he found some workout sweats and a T-shirt.
Sliding his feet into tennis shoes, he headed to the gym two floors above his room.
Hard, physical labor could clear his head, help him focus again.
If the ropes and soothing commands of his master and Mistress weren’t available, he could find another form of intense physical abuse.
Vomit threatened up his throat when he walked past the door of Malachi’s room and heard the distinct sounds of lovemaking…
not fucking like they did when he was there.
Forcing the bile back down and his feet to move forward, he tried to ignore the taunting sounds.
Six hours later, sweat dripping off his body and every muscle screaming in agony, he could still hear the moans and grunts weaving in and out of his mind.
Six hours of physical torture hadn’t dulled the pain in the least.
His mind wasn’t calm and clear like it always was after a scene with his masters.
The doubts and insecurities still bit away at his self-esteem to the point that he feared the darkness might take over and consume him…
destroy every hour of therapy he had suffered through over the years.
The sound of the gym door opening and slamming shut sent his pulse racing frantically but at the same time, he felt his cool, indifferent mask slide over his face.
Using one of the towels hanging near him, he swiped the sweat from his face, neck, and arms while mentally preparing for one of his award-winning ‘I’m-fucking-fine’ acts.
Hell, he should be an expert at them by now.
Dante.
Thank the fuck for that.
He wasn’t prepared to face Malachi or Megan…
not yet, at least.
“Morning,” he said as cheerfully as possible as he drug his weary body past Travis’ Dom, his father’s friend.
Bright blue eyes studied him closely as he passed.
Almost.
He’d almost fucking made it to the door when he heard the sharp order directed to him.
“Stop, Justice.”
His feet desperately wanted to keep moving, to bravely rebel against the confidently arrogant voice that did not belong to either of his masters but instead of rebellion, he froze in place.
His mask threatened to slip away but he forced it to hold firm, to hide his pathetic weakness.
“Did you need something, Dante?” His voice sounded casual.
He watched Dante eye him critically, eyes searching for any hint of…
what-the-fuck-ever, he didn’t know, just felt like the Dom was digging into his very soul, shuffling his secrets like a deck of cards, preparing to spread them out for everyone to see…
expose him.
“How long have you been working out, son?”
The voice was soft and low but his damned blue eyes were sharp and way too inquisitive.
“Long enough,” he answered politely.
“I wanted to get in some weight training before my morning run.”
He blinked slowly, eyes widely innocent and body perfectly still.
Dante’s head tilted to the left and then to the right.
It was bloody unsettling.
Fuck, his right leg begged to start bouncing.
“Kneel for me, Justice.” The order was issued calmly but in a voice much different than the usual friendly tone he had learn to associate with Dante.
This tone, accompanied by a fierce scowl, demanded submission.
He’s not my master.
He’s not my master .
The defiant chant looped over and over in Justice’s mind.
He dropped to his knees.
Dante stepped closer.
He felt a hand brush hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear.
“Breathe. In and out, calm and steady.”
Justice tried to breathe properly.
His body wanted to grasp the help being offered but his mind still felt so fucking muddled and blurry.
Malachi’s betrayal lingered in its continual pursuit to hurt him.
“Did I do something to displease you, Dante?”
“Did you do something to displease Malachi? Is that why you’ve spent the entire night in the gym, trying to punish your body?” His hand cupped the side of Justice’s face in a very non-sexual touch.
“Or did Malachi unknowingly do something to displease you?”
Justice raised his eyes and glared.
Naturally, it would be unknowingly if Malachi had been the transgressor.
“That would be our personal business, wouldn’t it, Sir?” He mocked.
A finger under his chin tipped his head back even further.
“What did Malachi do, Justice? What happened that made you hide?” He tapped the side of Justice’s head.
“What made you hide away in your mind?”
Justice snorted and tried to look away but a sudden grip on his chin, much more forceful than before, forbade the escape.
“Nothing happened,” he hissed between teeth clinched together so tightly he feared his jaw might snap from beneath the pressure.
“Breathe,” Dante coaxed again.
“Deep calm breaths for me, son,” he added.
A long minute passed with the only sound being Justice’s deep breaths.
“Think before answering me, Justice. Did Malachi do something wrong…or did he inadvertently hit one of your triggers?”
Blue eyes snapped toward Dante and grew stormier with each breath.
Trigger?
Fucking trigger?
What the fuck did he know about what he was feeling?
“Fuck off.”
Panic started settling in.
A small smile tugged at Dante’s lips.
“I’ll ensure Malachi punishes you for that smart mouth, young one. Now, was it one of your triggers?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play games with your health, Justice. I’m referring to your Reactive Detachment Disorder and the personal triggers that can lead to an episode if you aren’t careful. You damn well know what I’m talking about!”
Justice felt every last ounce of his confidence and security erode beneath him.
Dante knew .
Shame.
Self-hatred.
Undesirable.
“Please, kid,” Dante whispered.
“Please tell me this isn’t something you’ve kept from Malachi.”
“He…he doesn’t need to know. They don’t need to know,” he argued, his own fucking voice trembling as panic now rushed the door to his heart.
“I can handle it.”
“Whether you can handle it or not, kid, is irrelevant. A dominant/submissive relationship must be built on trust and honesty. It does not have a chance of survival without those two foundations!”
“Please don’t tell. I’ve got this. I always do.” That’s a fucking, fucked-up lie !
“Not only would that be unfair to you, Megan, and Malachi, it would be unhealthy, as well.” He put his hand on the back of Justice’s neck, using his tight grip to attempt to calm Malachi’s boy.
His dear friend was going to be fucking, royally pissed about this.
Those types of secrets were dangerous in their world.
Hell, everything about RAD screamed that a Dom/sub relationship could lead to disaster…
or utter bliss.
Malachi just had no idea what a thin rope he’d been balancing on.
“I’m ashamed.”
The heart-wrenching admission caused Dante’s heart to literally break into a thousand pieces.
This poor kid, strong enough to cause the great and mighty Malachi to fall in love, but too weak to realize he had no reason to be ashamed.
Of all the suffering he’d face in his young life, none of it was his fault.
“You’re ashamed of your master and Mistress?” Reverse psychology, maybe?
Hell, he didn’t know how to properly deal with this shit.
Blue eyes flashed angrily.
“No! Of course not!” He paused and tugged at his bottom lip.
The innocent act was so sensual, Dante almost pitied his friend.
When Malachi did get this boy properly trained…
“Son, Malachi can handle anything in this world, he just needs to know how to prepare. You’ve already bewitched him with those big blue eyes and pouty lips. I don’t understand what would motivate you to keep secrets from your Dom.”
Dante was certain of two things: Malachi was in love with the boy and he had to know about the RAD.
Justice’s mind scampered around, desperately trying to come up with a delay tactic that might work.
They couldn’t know.
He couldn’t live with the look of either pity or disgust that would be in their eyes when they looked at him, when they realized how broken he was.
“I’ll tell them,” he lied quickly.
“I promise.”
“You’ve had your chance to tell them, Justice. I can’t risk anymore damage being done by delaying this.” He forced the kid to look him in the eyes again.
“I promise you, it will be okay. Malachi and Megan love you. This is something you all will work through but it will take all three of you working toward the same goal.”
Justice felt the man studying him and he forced himself to remain perfectly calm…
outwardly.
Inwardly, he was already in flight mode.
He would not look them in the eyes after they heard he was broken.
It wouldn’t happen, it couldn’t happen.
It would destroy him.
“Go back to your room, son. Shower and wait for Malachi and Megan to come get you. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” he answered obediently.
In his mind, he was already in the next fucking state.
“It will be fine, kid. I promise.” Dante leaned over and kissed his forehead and gave his upper body a tight hug.
“Wait in your room.”
“May I get a drink and a bite to eat first? I’ll be in my room by the time you are finished,” he lied .
Run.
Run.
Run.