Silence
Once Xavier arranges security for Monica, he leads me across the foyer and down a long, plain hallway.
We don’t pass side tables or art, just an unpolished floor and dirty windows with a view of dead and dying grass.
The door at the end of the hall is coated in a film of dust, the hinges creaking as he shoves his shoulder against the wood to dislodge it from the frame.
He steps inside and flicks on a light, and I follow.
Most items are covered in dust sheets, and as Xavier whips them off and dust dances between us, my eyes widen with excitement.
There are medical supplies, a bed, desk, and boxy computer monitor.
The wall to our left is stacked with glass cabinets heavily stocked with vials, bandages, tape, syringes—everything we have at the hospital.
“This is like Christmas come early,” I breathe. “I need one of these at home.”
Xavier grunts as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Sure, you can fix Yale’s boo boos when he falls off his bike.” I flip him off over my shoulder as I open a glass cabinet. “Got anything good? I’m dying over here.”
“The pain is that bad?”
“I got stabbed, Silence.”
I roll my eyes and mumble, “Maybe I’ll stab you again before the day is over.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I sing. Snagging everything I need, I set up a tray beside him. He removes his T-shirt, unbuttons the top of his jeans, and leans back on his hands, ink-covered abs flexing. I examine his bandage the best I can, considering his jeans are still on. My brows rise. “You did a good job.”
His demeanor softens, and he glances between me and his wound. “I did?”
“Yeah.” I smile up at him.
And fuck me.
He blushes.
It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, and I look away quickly before the urge to tease him ruins the moment.
Taking my time, I peel off the bandage and hiss through my teeth. “This is inflamed. No wonder you’re in pain. I’ll give you some morphine.”
“Lots of morphine,” he corrects.
I draw the liquid into the needle, preparing two, just in case. “Not lots. I’ll give you the right dosage depending on your weight.”
“I’m a big guy.”
“I know,” I say pointedly, and a slow grin creeps across his face. Now I’m blushing, but he isn’t as gracious as me.
“You thinking about my dick, Little Q?”
“Absolutely not.”
He laughs. “You so are. Did you like my piercings?”
My interest piques. Seeing him naked and touching himself that morning had bowled me over—I wasn’t exactly taking note, but now I wish I had. “I didn’t notice them. Did they hurt?” He shrugs. “How many do you have?”
“Nine. One for each inch.”
A laugh escapes me, and his grin widens. “You’re such a cocky asshole, you know that?”
“I’m well aware, Q. It’s all part of my charm.”
I grumble and push the needle into his arm. He watches my face as I do it, and my neck warms. “You could try being nice, y’know,” I suggest, placing the needle aside.
“Why?”
“Because you were kind in the car.”
“And?”
“And … I liked it.”
He falls quiet, and as I stand up straight, I realize how close we are. I’m standing between his knees, and his emerald eyes are locked on mine.
“You want me to be nice to you, Silence?” His voice is low, and I don’t look away, too determined not to lose whatever silent battle we’re having.
“Yes.”
“Tell me how.” He sits up, and even on the bed, he’s taller than me. My heart races, the warmth of his skin seeming to curl from his body and press into mine. He smells good, and my attention shifts to the intricacy of his tattoos.
“Answer me something.” I say, and he nods, encouraging me. “You barely had any of these when we met.” I place the tips of my fingers against his ribs, drawing them across one of many tattoos. “What made you decide to cover yourself in them?”
“I like pain.”
“Why?”
“Look at me and I’ll answer.” The air feels charged, each word a biting static between us, but I do as he asks and meet his eye.
He wets his lips, and it takes everything in me not to look at his tongue.
“I like physical pain because I know how to deal with it. Time. Rest.” He picks up the second needle, turning it in his fingers.
“Medicine. It’s a distraction from the real pain. ”
“What pain is that?”
He takes hold of my hand and passes the needle to me, our fingers brushing. “It’s this … aching. Throbbing. And it’s only gotten worse,” he whispers. “A real pain in my ass.”
I tut. “You prick.”
He grins. “A case of Silence, I’ll call it.” I jab him with the needle, pushing more morphine into him. He winces. “Ow, what the fuck?”
“It won’t cause you any harm. Maybe it’ll teach you not to piss me off when I’m holding something sharp,” I say, pointing in his face. “Now, will you please take off your jeans?”
“I told you, no. You can work without me doing it.”
“It’s so much harder!”
Xavier glares at me, then presses the tip of his finger to my chest and gently pushes me back. “Fine.”
He stands, unbuttons his jeans, and shoves them down—except his boxer briefs go with them.
“Oh my God.” I look away. “Xavier, put your dick away.”
“My lick is away.”
Slowly, I look back at him. “Your what?”
“Lick.” He frowns, sticking his tongue out again. “Flick.” He smacks his lips together. “I feel good.”
Uh-oh.
“Okay, maybe I gave you a little too much morphine. Let’s …
get you dressed—” I crouch quickly, grabbing his jeans, and as I go to stand, his dick hits me in the face.
I slap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing, because he hasn’t even noticed.
I stand, pulling his boxers over his muscular thighs.
He’s grinning wildly. “I like morphine.”
I laugh and sit him back down. “Yes, it seems you do. Let me just sort your stitches, okay?”
“No,” he groans. “No stitches. You know what I want? I want you to sit on my face.”
My stomach is aching from holding in laughter. “Xavier, you’re super high right now—”
“And you’re super fucking pretty. Take your pants off.”
He tries to pull me close and I erupt into laughter, trying to bat him away. “I’m married to your brother!”
“He can join in. Fuck it.” The world suddenly flips as he stands, grips my hips, and throws me over his shoulder. “We’re going to bed. Prepare your vagina, Q.” He slaps my ass, and I’m shaking with laughter as he carries me out of the medical room.
“Zayden!” I call out as Xavier plays what I think is the Happy Birthday tune on my ass cheeks. “Zayden, help!”
As we reach the foyer, Zayden and Yale appear. The latter barks out a laugh. Probably because Xavier’s jeans are still around his ankles.
“What is going on?” Zayden asks, also grinning.
“Sex,” Xavier announces. “You in or you out?”
Through my laughter, I say, “Xavier seems to be having a strange reaction to the morphine.”
He slaps my ass again, and I squeak. “My dick is having a strange reaction to your ass, little Q. Are we doing this or what, boys?”
“Put me down, please. We’re not having sex.”
“Making love, then?”
“Xavier.” He huffs and places me on my feet. “Stitches, then bed.”
He groans and this time I successfully pull up his jeans. “But I don’t want to go to bed.”
I point in the direction of the medical room, and he slinks away.
“Thanks for all your help,” I say to Yale and Zayden. Yale laughs and returns to the kitchen, but Zayden looks more than amused. I put my hands on my hips. “Got something to say, Mr. Silver?”
“Nope. Just surprised.”
“About what?”
His smirk grins. “That you didn’t take him up on his offer.” He winks and follows Yale into the kitchen, leaving me flustered, my toes curling in my socks.
Xavier reluctantly allows me to stitch his wound and cover it properly but insists on keeping his jeans on this time.
After I finally get him back into bed, I find Yale and Zayden in the living room.
The deep, overstuffed couches must have been covered well, because they don’t seem to be damaged from the years this place has been locked up.
Yale is on his laptop, and Zayden is beside him.
The fire is lit, but it’s nowhere near as warm as the bedroom.
“I cannot believe that just happened,” I say, slumping into an armchair. “His hands are huge. I think my ass cheeks are red.”
Yale chuckles. “I can’t believe you turned him down.”
“Only because my sights are set on you.” I wink, and he gives me an overly seductive grin, bobbing his eyebrows. “This room is nice. Shame it’s a damn ice box.”
“It is,” Zayden says. “But it’s gonna take forever to fully heat this whole place.”
“Why don’t we just stick to keeping a few rooms warm?” I suggest. “The kitchen and bedroom, this room if we have to? Other than that, what do we need?”
Zayden gives me a heated once-over. “You want to keep sharing a bed with all of us?”
I ignore the suggestion in his tone, hoping that Yale doesn’t pick up on it. “I don’t care. And it means Yale can work without freezing to death in the largest murder house in North America.” I gesture around us. “Because people definitely died here.”
“Only a few.” Yale grins and stands. “I’m working from the bedroom, then. I want to be the first to remind Xavier of his antics when he wakes up.”
He closes his laptop and leaves me alone with my husband.
Zayden runs his hand down his face, stubble bristling against his palm, and I go to him and straddle his lap. He rests his head against my chest, and as I run my fingers through his hair, I feel his body relax somewhat.
“You’re stressed.”
He hums quietly. “Understatement.”
Worry unfurls in my stomach, because he takes so much of this on alone. Even I ask too much of him. “You need to delegate more.”
“I can handle it.”
“And when you can’t?” I kiss his temple. “Yale and Xavier are more than capable, Zayden. You can’t do this forever.”
“Except I always have. And even if I wanted to, now is not the time to put more on their shoulders.” I sit up and he runs his fingertips over my necklace, the blue swallow pendant in midflight resting against my chest. “Should we talk about this morning?”
“You want to discuss our sex life now?”