Chapter 17 #2
“What?” The question makes absolutely no sense, and I feel my brows knit in confusion. “What does that mean? I want to go home to Nashville, to my apartment, to—”
“No one has called your phone.” His words aren’t truly unkind. In fact, they fall flat between us, full of reluctant honesty. “Not one person has called, texted, or left a message.”
The silence filling the space between us has me dropping my eyes when I find I can’t hold his gaze anymore, and my discomfort only grows.
I’m not surprised. How can I be? My only friends are dead, and my parents haven’t spoken to me outside of my birthday and Christmas in three years, after I refused to follow their plan for me.
After I disappointed them.
My stomach twists, hot and painful, and I feel nausea in the back of my throat, threatening to make me sick. My grip on the knife loosens a little, but Fox doesn’t take advantage of it while I try to get a hold of myself.
“So what?” I whisper finally, when I’m sure I can speak without crying. “Do you want a medal for going through my phone, Fox?” I don’t mean to throw the words at him, but my fear and resignation have me lashing out.
No one has called my phone.
For some reason, I expected something. Maybe not my mom, but my dad, yes. While he doesn’t text me back, I still text him weekly.
Hadn’t he noticed that I haven’t texted?
“It doesn’t matter.” Forcing my voice not to shake, I push away the ache of resignation.
“I don’t need anyone checking on me. What I need is your keys, and I need my phone, since you apparently have it.
” Trying to seem threatening, I jerk the blade a little harder against his throat, and this time, Fox sighs and gives a small jerk of pain.
“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he says, as a tiny bit of blood wells up at his throat. “Now how am I going to convince him to take it easy when you’ve made me bleed?”
“What?” The words make no sense, but a sudden noise behind me has me turning, or starting to.
But there’s suddenly a body at my back, and a hand lunges down to grab the knife from my fingers. I yelp at the pain of being forced to drop it, and I don’t even think to hold on more tightly before the knife is ripped from my hand and out of sight.
“I told you she’d cut you,” Deacon growls, one hand going around my waist when I try to move. “No, you aren’t going anywhere. I’m done playing this game with you. It was fun until now. Until you brought a knife in here.”
“She wasn’t going to kill me.” Fox sighs, propping himself up on his elbows.
His thick lashes fan against his cheeks as he blinks a few times, and the blankets fall to his waist, revealing that he’s shirtless.
“Ugh.” He reaches up with one hand and runs his fingers across his throat, grimacing at the bead of blood.
I didn’t mean to.
Guilt and horror twist inside me, and I try to move, only for Deacon to snarl and hold me tighter. “Say you’re sorry,” the blond snaps in my ear. “Or it’ll be your throat that gets cut next, little prey.”
Fear sends a shiver down my spine, and I look up at him as much as I can, twisting to glance back over my shoulder even though he’s fitted so well against me I can barely move. “I’m sorry!” The words are barely a gasp as I catch the heated look in his blue eyes. “I just—”
“Not to me.” He suddenly shoves me forward until I’m sprawled out over Fox. “To him.”
“Fox, I’m sorry,” I say again. “I-I just want your keys. I just want to leave, okay!” While I hate how I feel the need to be defensive, when I try to push away from his warm, solid chest, his hand moves to tangle in my hair.
“It’s not very nice of you to cut my throat after I’ve been trying to take care of you,” he muses as his nails scrape pleasurably against my scalp in a way that feels affectionate.
But there’s a darkness in his eyes that I barely recognize, and when he tilts his head to study me, he’s more predator than man.
“Apologize better,” Fox suggests. “Or I’ll let him decide how to make you sorry. ”
I don’t know how to apologize better, though my mouth is open again, lips forming the words to try again. My heart hammers against my ribs, and my brain screams about how this is a mistake.
“No.” His grip tightens, cutting me off with the sharp pain of the motion. “Not like that. I don’t need to hear your apologies, Sadie-Rae.” His grin grows crooked and mischievous. “Apologize better.”
But when I just stare at him, he chuckles, and it’s Deacon who leans over my shoulder to mock whisper in my ear, “Maybe you should kiss it and make it better.”
What?
The suggestion has me dumbfounded, but I’m moving before I can stop myself.
I tell myself I’m not sorry. That this is me doing whatever I need to do in order to survive.
Carefully, I shift, using my palms against Fox’s abdomen to reach his throat.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe against his neck, pausing until he tilts his chin up just enough.
Somehow, through my stunned and fearful state, I do it.
I kiss the small cut on his throat that’s barely bleeding, feeling his rough stubble against my nose when it bumps his chin.
“I didn’t mean to cut you.” The words are soft and barely audible as my lips move against his skin so he can feel them, rather than hear them.
I’m doing this to survive. That’s all this is.
Fox’s grip loosens, becoming less painful, though he doesn’t let me pull away. “Kiss it and make it better,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating in his chest. “Come on. I know you’ve got it in you.” There’s something tight and restrained in his words, but I don’t give myself a chance to examine them.
More than anything, I wish I could see Deacon. Out of the two of them, he’s the one who scares me more, and with him behind me, I feel vulnerable. But I do what they say, my mouth finding the cut and kissing it gently, almost sweetly.
“Now clean it up for me.”
I freeze, chest tight, and my fingers curl slightly against his body. Surely he can’t mean—
“With your tongue, Sadie-Rae.”
God, I’d hoped that wasn’t what he meant.
Gingerly I try to sit up instead, but Fox’s grip tightens again, making me wince. A small hiss leaves me, but I can’t do much else when I’m trapped like this. My mouth opens, just enough for me to lap at the cut with tiny kitten licks.
The taste of his blood on my tongue is coppery and sharp, though I tell myself it’s the same as when I bite my nails and suck until they stop bleeding. It’s the same thing and means even less.
Surely I can convince myself of that.
Surely it really is the same if I tell myself it is.
But something about this doesn’t feel the same. I can’t tell what it is, though the way his body tenses under me has my muscles stiffening in response.
When his grip tightens again, I brace myself, expecting the anger that hasn’t truly shown itself as he drags my face up and up and—
Instead, his mouth finds mine and immediately invades it with his tongue to lick away the taste of his blood.
I gasp against his lips, which he takes advantage of to deepen the kiss while dragging me against him with his other arm.
I make a soft noise in my throat, something between a protest and a whine, but that doesn’t stop Fox.
If anything, it encourages him. The sweetness of his kisses is still there, like before, but this time there’s a hunger thrumming between us.
It isn’t until another pair of arms suddenly wraps around me—one across my shoulders and one across my hips—that I remember Deacon is here, just waiting to pounce.
“You just can’t resist, can you, Fox?” He chuckles as his lips brush the side of my throat. “Can’t even let her grovel properly. You’re soft on her.”
“Soft on you, too,” Fox huffs lightly, though his mouth doesn’t leave mine. “But you don’t usually complain.”
Deacon nips my neck, making me yelp, but Fox is there to quickly soothe it with another kiss that has me breathless.
Try as I might, I cannot figure out a good reason to explain why this is happening.
There’s no way they actually like me. No way they want something more than this.
I tell myself it’s a game. A competition between them.
Especially when their actions make it feel like they’re competing with each other.
A bite from Deacon that has me jerking back against him.
Followed by soft praises from Fox as he massages my scalp with his long fingers, then gently finger combs my hair to work the tangles free.
It keeps going, until finally I open my hazy gaze to see that Deacon is leaning over my shoulder, his mouth on Fox’s. The aggression in his kiss is accompanied by soft, feral growls as he bites down on Fox’s lower lip hard enough that I swear I see blood.
But Fox doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he leans into it, breathing out a soft chuckle, and lets Deacon have his fun while I’m trapped between the two of them with no option except to watch.
And God, I can’t help but watch, no matter how fucked up that makes me. My fingers curl against Fox’s warm skin, and his movements push them downward without me realizing it, until I eventually snatch them away once I realize something very important.
Fox isn’t wearing pants. Or underwear. Nothing separates us except for the comforter, and immediately I feel like my fingers are burning and my face flushes with heat.
When I glance down without meaning to, the V of his hips is revealed by the pooling comforter, though thankfully nothing except the beginning of a trail of dark hair underneath his navel is visible to me in the moonlight.
“What’s wrong, Sadie-Rae?” Deacon teases, a little breathless from their kisses. “You want to see more already? Are you that greedy for the sheriff of Wolf Lake?”
“N-no, I—”
But I don’t get to protest. Deacon’s arm snakes around my waist to grip the comforter, and I can’t help the way my eyes stay glued to the sight, to every inch that’s revealed to my gaze as Deacon takes his time.