Chapter 20
FORD
The first thing I register is the throb in my skull, a dull, persistent ache radiating behind my right eye.
The second is the sickly sweet smell of cinnamon and butter wafting toward me, thick enough to make my stomach lurch.
The third is Wes sitting across from me, staring down into his coffee mug, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s such piss-poor company I actually just fell asleep at the kitchen table.
If I were a sentimental guy, I’d say this is what peace looks like in our house. A rare, quiet morning, all three of us alive and more or less intact. But since I’m not, I’ll just say it’s weird. It’s weird as shit.
I slug back the rest of my screwdriver, the vodka burning a brief, clean line through the haze of the hangover. The glass is almost empty, and I swirl the melting ice cubes around just to make Wes look up.
He does, eyes bloodshot and a little wild, the way they always get after a late night.
“You look like shit,” he mutters, voice gravelly.
I grin. “That’s rich coming from you, pretty boy. I’m not the one who drank an entire bottle of cherry vodka from the ice luge.”
He flips me off, but it’s half-hearted.
At the stove, Raf is making French toast– real French toast, not the pathetic egg soaked bread Wes passes off when he tries to make breakfast. Raf cracks the eggs with brutal efficiency, then whisks them with a focus I haven’t seen since we intercepted that weapons shipment to fuck his dad over.
He hasn’t cooked for us in weeks. I know exactly why he’s doing it now.
Raf finally stuck his dick in Ava last night, and the bastard is more relaxed than I’ve seen him…
fuck, maybe ever. His whole vibe is looser, like someone swapped out his normal simmering aggression for something almost approaching ‘good mood’.
It doesn’t suit him, honestly. I half expect him to start humming or some shit as he flips the French toast.
A door creaks open down the hall, and we all turn to look in unison as muffled footsteps pad against the hardwood toward the kitchen.
Ava shuffles in wearing a pair of tiny gray sleep shorts and a t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, the hem falling just barely past her hips.
Her hair is twisted up in a messy bun, and she’s got the rumpled, sleep-dazed look of someone who spent most of the night getting destroyed and loving every second of it.
She hesitates a step when she glances up to find us all looking at her, but then lifts her chin higher, squaring her shoulders as she continues toward the table.
“Well shit, boys,” I announce, raising my empty glass in mock salute. “Looks like she can still walk this morning. Guess we didn’t do our jobs right last night.”
Ava shoots me a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but doesn’t dignify my ribbing with a response. She passes right by me and slides into the chair beside Wes, wincing as her ass hits the seat.
“Are you sore?” Wes asks.
I fight the urge to gag at the way his voice goes all soft and boyfriendy.
“A little,” she admits, shifting her weight to one side. “I think I pulled a muscle.”
“Sure,” I snort. “A muscle.”
Wes leans in like he’s going to examine her for signs of damage, and I’m two seconds from calling him on it when he pushes off from the table and stands up.
“Want some coffee?” he asks, already crossing to the counter for a mug.
Ava nods, rubbing her eyes. “Yes, please.”
He fills it for her, even adding the creamer she likes before handing her the mug and retaking his seat.
She wraps her hands around the cup and takes a long, slow sip, exhaling a happy little sigh as she swallows.
She looks exhausted, but also satisfied, a smug little smile curving at the edge of her mouth when she catches me staring.
“Aw, isn’t that sweet,” I croon. “You two gonna start holding hands now, or just braid each other’s hair?”
“Jealous?” Wes fires back, but he’s smiling too, the edge of tension he usually wears seeming duller.
Raf clears his throat, turning from the stove with a spatula in one hand. “Knock it off,” he growls, but even that has less bite than usual.
Fuck, this is so boring.
Ava looks to Raf. “What are you making?” she asks, and there’s something soft in her voice that makes all of us take notice.
Raf glances over his shoulder, then back at the pan. “French toast,” he mutters.
She straightens, eyes wide and hopeful. “You remembered?”
He freezes, just for a second. The muscles in his arms go rigid and the spatula hovers over the pan, unmoving.
I raise both brows, my gaze flicking between them. There’s something here, something I’m missing.
“Remembered what?” I ask, stretching my legs out under the table.
Ava shifts, her gaze dropping to the mug as a smile pulls at her lips. “French toast has always been my favorite breakfast food,” she replies quietly. “Me and Raf used to talk about it when we were kids.”
My head snaps toward Raf, who finally turns to face us, arms folded across his chest. He’s got that brooding, haunted look dialed up to eleven. “I don’t remember my childhood,” he says flatly. “Blocked it out. I only made French toast because we don’t have pancake mix.”
Ava’s face falls, shoulders curling in. “Oh,” she says, sagging like a puppet with its strings cut.
Raf shrugs, turning back to the stove, but I can smell his bullshit a mile away.
Both of my boys are falling under Ava’s spell, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t catching something, too.
Not feelings, obviously, since I’m incapable of those, but there’s just something about her.
Maybe the way she gives as good as she gets, or the way she doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what she is.
It makes me want to ruin her in all new ways.
Last night was epic. Not just the fucking– though that was top tier– but the way she handled all three of us.
The way she came apart for Raf, then let me use her mouth while Wes filmed.
The way she took my cock after bleeding for Raf, clenching around me so tight it felt like I stuck my dick in a vacuum.
The way she didn’t say no, not once, not even when she was so wrung out she could barely move.
I want her again. I want her alone. I want to see what she looks like when I take my time and push her to the absolute edge.
But for now, I’m content to sit back and watch while these idiots fall all over her.
“Hey Raf,” I call, tapping the table to get his attention. “Did you send the video from last night to Voss yet?”
He doesn’t turn, but his jaw flexes. “Yeah.”
Ava tenses, hands tightening around her coffee mug. She’s thinking about it– the fact that some sadistic stranger is going to see her get wrecked on camera, that her humiliation isn’t just a private thing anymore. For some reason, that knowledge makes my cock thicken.
“You think that’s gonna be enough?” she asks quietly.
I set my empty glass down and lean in, elbows braced against the table. “That’s the plan, Ava baby. As far as the Dollhouse is concerned, your cherry’s been popped and your value has dropped through the floor.”
“Gee, thanks,” she snorts.
I wave a hand dismissively. “Your value at auction, not as a fucking person, babe. And hey, now that I can actually fuck you, your value’s skyrocketed in my book.”
She cuts me another glare, unamused.
“Anyway,” I continue, “we’ll clear your debt with the weapons money by tomorrow, and then you’re off the hook. At least for now.”
She lets out a relieved exhale, but doesn’t say anything. Wes immediately slides a hand onto her thigh, really playing up the concerned lover angle.
Pathetic.
Raf finishes cooking, dumps the stack of French toast onto a platter, and sets it in the middle of the table with a grunt. “Eat up, fuckers,” he says, then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and starts toward the hall.
Ava looks after him, brow furrowed. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
“Not hungry,” he mutters, not breaking stride.
The three of us watch as he disappears down the hallway, then a second later, the distant sound of his door slamming shut reverberates through the apartment.
Ava turns to me and Wes, eyes rounded in concern. “Is he okay?”
I shrug, grabbing a piece of French toast off the pile and tearing into it with my teeth like an animal. “Just that classic Raf charm,” I mumble around the bite.
“But why’d he cook if he’s not even hungry?” Ava asks, oblivious to her stepbrother’s motivations.
“Sometimes he cooks as a way to decompress,” Wes says, pulling a slice of French toast onto the empty plate in front of him.
Ava flinches as the muffled sound of drums starts up down the hall.
Wes chuckles to himself, gesturing vaguely toward Raf’s room. “Another thing he does to relax.”
I shake my head, chewing another bite of French toast. “Sex and violence are the only things that truly take the edge off. He’s booked for another fight soon, so that’ll help.”
Ava blinks. “Well what about last night?”
I snicker. “Honestly, this is the most relaxed I’ve seen him in a while. Maybe you should go in there and fuck him again, see if it calms him down for good.”
She narrows her eyes at me, flipping me off.
I grin, delighted, nudging her leg with mine under the table. “Or you could just fuck me instead. Less drama, way more fun.”
She gives me a look of pure exhaustion, then leans back in her chair and sips her coffee. “I need a day to recuperate, Ford. Maybe even a week.”
Wes and I both respond at the exact same time, him saying, “that’s fair” while I say, “no you don’t.” We lock eyes across the table, and the moment stretches, awkward and territorial, before Ava rolls her eyes and stands up.
She reaches for the platter in the center of the table, plucking a piece of French toast off the top. “I’m taking this to go,” she mumbles, already backing out of the room. “I have a bajillion hours of reading to catch up on, so if anyone needs me, I’ll be locked in my room.”
I watch her go, admiring the way her shorts ride up as she walks, the bottom of her ass cheeks peeking out. “Want company?” I call after her.
“Nope,” she clucks, not even slowing down.
The door to her room clicks shut, and I sit back, feeling the weird tension in the room dissipate.
I turn to Wes. “Gym?”
He glances at the clock, then nods. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
We finish eating, then clear our plates, heading off to our rooms to get ready. The apartment is filled with the sound of Raf’s drumming, Ava’s door staying firmly shut and the promise of a new normal just waiting to be fucked up.
Good thing I love to watch the world burn.