Chapter 11 #2
“Twice, Blair. Twice she overdosed. And both times I found her. On the floor, cold, barely breathing. And I pulled her back. I held her while she seized. I screamed at her to wake the fuck up. And I thought—next time? There won’t be one.”
My hands flex into fists. “So I stopped selling to her. Told my guys if I caught them giving her anything, they’d be dealing with me. I tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough. And now she’s gone.”
I meet her stare. Force her to feel the weight behind mine.
“So yeah. I lied to you. I kept shit from you. And I’d do it again. Because if lying is the only thing that keeps you out of the ground, Blair, then fuck it. I’ll lie to your face every damn day.”
I sit back, exhaling slow.
“Because I never claimed to be a good man. I’m a selfish prick. And when it comes to you?” I shake my head. “I think I’ve already proven just how fucking selfish I am.”
Her eyes don’t soften. They sharpen.
Like she’s cutting through every lie I told and weighing it against the truth I just dropped in her lap. I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just let her take it in.
Because this part? The aftermath? It’s hers.
She crosses her arms, pacing once across the room, then back again. Her boots scuff the floor like she’s dragging lightning with her. And then she stops. Right in front of me.
“You don’t get to control me like that,” she says, voice low, rough. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
I nod once. “Maybe not. But I did it anyway.”
A bitter little laugh tears from her throat. “God, you’re such an asshole.”
“I know.”
She stares at me, mouth open like she wants to say more, but her jaw clicks shut. Her hands twitch at her sides.
And then she moves.
Blair steps between my legs and grabs my jaw, rough. Tilts my face up like she’s inspecting damage. Or deciding where to strike next.
“You lied to me,” she says.
“I did.”
“You used me.”
“I didn’t,” I growl.
She glares. “Then what the fuck was that night at the motel?”
I grab her wrist, not rough, just firm enough to make sure she hears me with her whole fucking body.
“That?” I murmur, my voice low and wrecked. “That was me losing my goddamn mind over you. That was me proving I can give you what the pills do ten fucking times over.”
Her lips part like she’s gonna say something, but nothing comes out. Just this shift in her breathing. Sharper. Hungrier.
She hates this. Hates me —what I pull out of her.
But she’s still here.
Still standing in front of me.
Not walking away.
She leans in. Slow. Intentional, and when her mouth meets mine, it’s not soft.
It’s punishment.
Teeth clashing. Tongues battling. Her fingers tangle in my shirt like she wants to tear it off or strangle me with it. She climbs into my lap without a single word, straddling me like we didn’t just tear each other apart seconds ago.
I groan against her mouth as she grinds down, her heat seeping through the denim between us like a fucking curse I’ve been begging for. My hands slide to her hips, fingers biting in. I need the pressure. The weight. Something to hold onto while she drags me under.
Her breath ghosts against my lips. “This doesn’t change anything.”
I smirk—dark, slow, like I already know how this ends.
“That’s where you’re wrong, little relapse,” I murmur, dragging my mouth along her jaw. “This? This is about to change everything.”
Because she’s the one vice I kept just out of reach. But now she’s in my lap, biting my tongue with hers, and I already know—one hit won’t be enough.
She’s my fucking drug.
But I want to be hers too.
Because if she’s full of me—if I’m what she needs to get high—maybe she won’t reach for anything else.
Not pills.
Not parties.
Not anything but this.
Us.
She rocks her hips, slow, hungrily, right over my hard-on, and my head drops back with a groan.
Fuck.
Her hands roam—shoulders, chest, then down, undoing my belt with a vicious kind of precision. My pulse pounds in my ears. My grip on her tightens.
I want to ruin her. Break her open and watch what spills out. But I want her to want it. Need it like I do.
“Admit it,” I growl, my voice low and rough as gravel. “You want this.”
She doesn’t answer, just stares me down, lips parted, chest rising like she’s trying to breathe through the heat between us.
So I reach between her thighs. Cup her through her panties. She’s soaked—dripping, warm and wet and trembling. I drag the fabric aside and slide my fingers through her slick heat, slow and taunting. Her body jerks. A gasp escapes her throat, sharp and needy.
“Say it,” I rasp, curling a finger inside her, just to watch her eyes go wide. “Say you want me to fuck you.”
Her hips grind down, chasing more friction, more depth, more me .
“Dagger—”
“Say it, little relapse,” I whisper against her neck, teeth grazing her skin. “Say you want me like a fucking fix.”
She chokes on a moan, clutches my shoulders, her voice wrecked and raw. “I want it. I want you.”
My smile is slow. Dark. Addicted.
“Then hold on,” I murmur, dragging my mouth along her collarbone. “Because I’m not giving you a taste. I’m giving you a goddamn overdose.”
Her mouth crushes mine, bruising and breathless, as I fumble with my belt, my fingers working clumsily through lust and adrenaline. She doesn’t wait. Her hand slips down, takes over, popping the buckle with ease like she’s done it a hundred times in her head already.
Then she’s inside my jeans. Wrapping those slick little fingers around my cock and freezing.
“What the fuck?” she breathes.
She pulls me out, and there it is, laid bare in her palm. Thick. Veined. Pierced.
A row of silver bars gleaming along the underside of my shaft. Five in total. Evenly spaced. A full Jacob’s Ladder, each one catching the light and her attention in equal measure.
Her jaw drops. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
I smirk, cock twitching in her hand. She stares, wide-eyed, like she can’t decide whether to be horrified or impressed.
“Jesus, Dagger,” she mutters, fingers trailing up the ladder.
I lean in, mouth ghosting her ear. “ This ” —I thrust gently into her hand, letting the metal glide against her palm— “this is why you’re gonna lose your fucking mind when I’m inside you.”
She tries to play it cool. Really does. But her breath hitches. Her pupils blow wide. Her grip tightens like she wants to test every single bar.
And fuck me, I hope she does.
Because if she thinks my tongue drove her crazy, she has no idea what’s coming.
I already know how much she loves that piercing—how she moaned the first time I dragged it over her clit, how her thighs clamped around my head when I flicked it just right. If that wrecked her, this is gonna obliterate her.
“You good?” I ask, voice low.
Her hand strokes once—slow and curious. “You’re fucking insane.”
“Yeah,” I say, watching her line me up like she’s about to ruin herself on purpose. “And you’re about to love every second of it.”
She grips my cock—tight, reverent—and shifts her hips over me. Her eyes never leave mine as she lines me up at her soaked pussy, dragging the head through her slick, teasing herself on the ridges of the piercings like she already knows she’s about to come undone.
Her mouth parts. That bratty confidence faltering for just a beat.
Then she sinks down.
Inch by inch, her body swallows me—every silver bar, every goddamn vein—like she was made for this. Made for me.
A groan tears out of my throat, raw and low. I bite it back, but fuck, she’s tight. Too tight.
Hot. Slick. Wrapped around him like a velvet noose.
And those piercings?
They drag.
Each one catching on her soft inner walls just enough to make her hips jerk, just enough to rip a strangled moan from her throat as she bottoms out.
“Holy fuck ,” she gasps, trembling on my lap like her legs are threatening to give out.
I grip her hips hard. Anchor her in place. Hold her there, stuffed full and pulsing.
Her breath hitches. Her nails dig into my shoulders like she doesn’t know whether to fight or beg.
I lean in, voice gravel-thick and sharp against her ear.
“You feel that?” I growl. “That’s what real addiction feels like.”
She shudders, full body. Her walls flutter around me like she’s already close just from the stretch, the pressure, the drag of steel through silk. Then she moves.
Grinding first. Slow, taunting circles that make my spine snap tight. Every fucking ridge of my Jacob’s Ladder catches inside her, scraping nerves she didn’t even know she had.
Her mouth drops open. Her head tips back. A filthy little sound falls from her lips.
“Fuck—Dagger?—”
She starts to ride. Raw. Furious. Like she’s mad at me, mad at herself, mad at the whole fucked-up war we’re in, and she’s gonna burn it all down with the way she fucks me.
God , maybe she will.
Because she’s not just riding me—she’s unraveling. Clawing at my chest, biting my neck, moaning into my mouth like she wants to crawl inside me and detonate.
My hands slam her down harder. Again and again.
“Take it,” I rasp, jaw clenched. “Take every fucking inch.”
And she does. She fucking does.
Her rhythm falters, breath catching like she can’t take anymore but she keeps moving. Chasing that high like it’s the only thing left in this world worth touching.
Like I’m the only thing, and I am.
Because this is it.
Her. Me. These piercings she’s about to dream about. This filthy fucking connection we’ll never come back from.
Fuck if I don’t want to watch her fall apart right on top of me.
She bounces—harder now—driven by something that feels like desperation wrapped in rage. Her thighs flex, her ass slapping against my lap, and those soaked little sounds every time she drops down around me? They’re going to haunt me. Fuck , they’re going to ruin me.
Her fingers fist my hair, yank my head back just enough to bare my throat, but it only makes me growl. My mouth drags along her collarbone—biting, tasting, claiming.
“You’ve been aching for this,” I snarl against her skin. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
She doesn’t. She fucking thrives in it, riding me like she’s got something to prove. Like this is war, and her pussy’s the weapon.
Christ , she’s good at it.
I slap her ass once, hard enough to leave a print. She gasps, nails digging into my shoulders like she wants to draw blood.
“You going to come for me?” I grit out.
She bites her lip. Nods. Then chokes out, “Dagger?—”
That’s all it takes.
Her whole body locks up, thighs trembling as she crashes into her orgasm. She clenches around me like a vice, velvet walls fluttering, milking me for everything I’ve got. Heat. Pressure. Fucking oblivion.
I snap.
One arm clamps around her waist. I slam up into her, pounding through her aftershocks, deeper, harder, chasing that final crash. My cock throbs, bars of steel dragging against her every nerve ending until?—
“Fuck,” I groan, slamming her down one last time, and then I come .
Spilling deep.
Pouring every ounce of restraint I ever had into her until there’s nothing left.
My jaw goes slack. My vision fuzzes. My chest heaves as I stay there, buried to the hilt, wrapped in her heat like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
She’s panting. Glowing. Wrecked in the best fucking way.
Her smirk returns—bruised and dangerous. “Guess your tongue wasn’t the only thing pierced.”
I grin, crooked and half-feral. “Told you you’d love it.”
She barks a breathless laugh, lips curling with that signature bite. “Yeah, well… I’ve had worse surprises. Like your attitude. Or your fucking morals.”
Then she rolls her hips again—slow, deliberate, smug as hell—and fuck , I almost spill again, already half-hard inside her.
“Jesus,” I rasp, head tipping back.
But when I look at her again, the heat starts to slip into something else. Something heavier.
I wrap my arms around her, not like I’m trying to pin her, like I’m trying to hold her together . One hand at her nape, the other on her lower back, grounding us both.
“Hey,” I murmur, my voice raw now. “I’m sorry.”
She stills.
“I should’ve told you everything from the start. About Brynn. About what happened. About why I kept you at arm’s length.”
She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t pull away either.
I brush my knuckles along her cheek. “But you need to know something. I don’t want you using anymore. I don’t care if you’re sad, or numb, or angry, or you just want to fucking float—don’t go to the pills.”
My grip tightens slightly, protective. Fierce.
“If you want to feel nothing—come to me. If you want to feel everything —fuck, come to me. Just… don’t poison yourself to get there.”
She blinks, lips parted. Caught off guard.
I hear the irony in my own words. A drug dealer preaching sobriety? Fucking rich.
But when it comes to her?
I won’t risk it.
I can’t .
Because I already know what it feels like to lose one sister. I won’t lose the other. Not when she’s the only thing keeping my hands steady in a world that’s shaking itself apart.
A knock hits the door, sharp and urgent.
“Dagger,” Link calls. “Bruh, we gotta handle some shit. Now.”
Blair’s still draped across my lap, flushed and smug, lips parted like she’s ready to go another round.
She glances at the door. “What shit?”
“Just… drop shit,” I say, standing as I speak. My tone’s flat, casual, like I’m not internally replaying Dante’s voice saying he’d kill her to relive Brynn’s death. Like I’m not mentally preparing to murder someone before sunrise.
I grab a shirt from the chair, toss it at her as I reach for my jeans and tuck myself back in. My cock’s still hard, twitching against the zipper, but I grit through it and button up.
When I look back, she’s wearing it.
My shirt.
“I gave you that to clean up with,” I say, deadpan.
She smirks, rolling her shoulders like she owns the whole fucking room.
“Yeah, well, I like the way your cum feels inside me.” Her eyes flick down to her thighs.
“Feels like a souvenir. Besides…” She swings her legs off the bed slowly.
“I’ve got quite the collection going. Might as well make it a full wardrobe. ”
Jesus fucking Christ.
My cock kicks again at that. Hard.
But I don’t move. Not yet. Because if I do, I’ll forget the real shit that’s breathing down our necks.
Dante. The threats. The bodies piling up.
I grab my hoodie. She grabs her bag.
We head out the back, and the second I see my bike, all I can think is: Get her to the motel. Get this handled. Then burn the whole fucking world down if I have to.
Because she’s mine now, and I’m done fucking sharing.
Especially not with the fucking devil.