4 #2
At Cooper’s sneering question, the next exhale of mine mirrors the wind in a motherfucking hurricane, and it earns a slight tilt of Havoc’s helmet my way.
It’s subtle enough for no one else to notice, but it calms me enough, just for a moment, as I imagine her checking in on me, to allow me to see the true meaning behind those words: my brother’s probing, attempting to find out if what we feared has happened, if she’s okay.
“Delightful. I am still wonderfully sore. Thank you for asking.”
Two breaths hitching tells me Tiger and Alby are struggling to hold back sobs, and Scotty’s jaw turns to stone as he looks away. Cooper rubs a palm over his mouth, and hopefully any invisible cameras missed the fine tremor in his lips before they were hidden.
“Come,” Ezla says without inflection before I can do something stupid and let the vengeful wrath tainting my vision red take over.
Cooper glares at her furiously as she shoves her shoulder into his arm when she walks past us to our private training room. “We’re not your fucking dogs anym—”
“Shut up,” she cuts him off venomously while at the same exact moment, velvet and sin enters my mind, making me immediately light-headed, relief filling me to overflowing as I finally feel her again after not even a little burst of anger coming through the bond over the past too many hours: You fucking imbeciles.
Well, I never said the words were nice, but who the fuck cares?
She continues as she marches into the private room, ire lining every movement, You do not need to continue the act here.
That is only before my father. I was even about to applaud your intelligence.
I work to keep my brows from pinching in confusion as she says out loud, “Weights for you, Tate.”
Relief blows through me at the familiar syllable on her tongue, and I do as she says without question, placing my helmet beside the weight bench. The other guys obey when she orders them about too, though their slowish movements give away the fact that they’re just as lost as me.
In my mind, in all of ours, clearly, she reveals, It is true what you suspected: my father inadvertently revealed there are concealed cameras around.
My movements become rigid as I load my weights onto the barbell, and I have to force myself to relax, especially if the damn things are in here. But it’s ridiculously hard when my eyes want to flick around the room and seek out anything odd, any indication of something watching us.
Ezla’s giving instructions out loud to keep up the act, but she keeps giving us detrimental internal ones: I cannot explain all that happened now, but I will as soon as I can.
All you must know is that Father would want us to behave as we have over the past weeks unless we are completely alone, as we are now.
Like he said, we must still look natural to outsiders; a sudden change would not make sense.
It would arouse suspicion, bring forth confusion and disappointment from our fans across the globe, and he would not want to deal with that or have anyone see any part of the Games in a negative light.
But in here, and if you are ever before him and no other, you must behave as if you are falling for his lies.
Lies. I knew she was spewing bullshit, but fuck if I didn’t need to hear that after the freshly sharpened knives she jabbed into my chest yesterday morning.
Still barking orders out loud—which my body takes a notice to now that some of my panic has ebbed, hardening for her like it always does—Havoc sends down the bond, I do believe our Bonded chambers are not being monitored, so you are most safe there, though I am not sure when I will next be able to visit.
I am working on finding out more information about the cameras.
And before you suggest any, I cannot accept help. I must do this alone.
But, Vengeance—
Cooper, she cuts him off. Do not argue with me. I am doing all I can. And believe it or not, I do not want to split your skull down the middle. However, that does not mean that will not be the result if I lose my cool here, so I’d advise you to obey me.
He huffs, and I wonder if I can kick him out of here somehow.
Ezla’s evidently got the bond open in the way she’s recently learned to, but as handy as that is, I really want to hog our girl right now.
I’m doing much better with this whole sharing thing, but after the clusterfuck of the last twenty-four hours, the clusterfuck that’s still going on, I’m feeling extra greedy.
I’m on my back now on the weight bench, pushing the barbell in my grip upwards, and as my girl comes over to me, I obsessively take her in.
But along with the hunger, there’s a need just as desperate to make sure she’s unharmed.
I can’t feel any pain, but then, she’s always been good at hiding it from us.
The only times she couldn’t was when the agony was so bad, there was nothing she could do to stop it from trickling into us.
Still, it’s good enough for me, that lack of pain, and I’m too fucking starving for her to stop myself from repeating my actions from during one of our first training sessions:
Tossing the barbell over my shoulder without a care, I snatch my baby up.
Just like the time those short weeks ago, Scotty’s admonishment meets my ears, but unlike then, Havoc’s ready for me, and we go crashing to the ground as she rolls us.
I still make sure I end up underneath her to cushion her fall, and I’m unbothered by the harsh landing or the wind puffing out of me on impact.
“Do not touch me,” she seethes, and yet she deliberately sends her arousal through the bond.
Oh, fuck. I think I might like this game.
Don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on with the other guys, but I hear some vague sounds as if they’re arguing as I tackle my Havoc like a wild animal.
What? The sickness that is Joseph wouldn’t expect me to fall out of love with my girl so easily if he’s really been watching our every move over the weeks, so I’m allowed to have some moments like this.
Not that my motivation is to prevent suspicion as I manage to pin Ezla—or more like she lets me after a convincing fight where the throbbing sting in my lip lets me know she’s left her mark on me—and I thrust myself against her, finally getting to drench myself in all that thrill and love and rapture.
“But I just can’t help myself,” I moan, voice gravelly.
I’m throbbing between her legs as I keep rubbing deliriously against her.
She struggles as if she can’t easily break my hold, and in the back of my mind, I realise I do need to be more careful in case I cause her to slip up.
But I can’t pull myself away, so I make her efforts more believable as I press more weight down on her and capture both her wrists in an unyielding grasp, burying my face in her neck.
A rumble works through me at the fact I can hardly smell her hot-cinnamon scent, only her suit with her all covered up, and I roll my hips more deeply to make up for it, feeling myself leaking in my underwear.
Robotically warped, a quiet moan meets my ears.
My length twitches repeatedly, begging to sink inside of her again, needing to feel her, because once was nowhere near enough and I’m fucking addicted.
But I don’t have time to soak up that gorgeous sound because the moment she makes it, that’s when two sets of firm hands haul me up and away.
Something between a growl and a roar leaves me. Someone’s clearly eager to die today if they—
“Tate, stop,” Scotty hisses in my ear, and I freeze at the hint of fearful alarm that slips into his command. “Remember the cameras. As much as your behaviour won’t be questioned, hers will. There’s no doubt sound on them—what if Joseph’s watching and heard Ezla moan?”
He pushes me away, Cooper letting go of my left arm as I pant harshly, and I know I must look even more unhinged than usual.
I’m sure that wouldn’t be abnormal from an outside perspective anyway, but I do force myself to still, his words slicing through my pleasure haze enough to make me remember how much danger I could accidentally put my Havoc in.
Focus moving to my right, I watch as Tiger and Alby attempt to help her up, see their hearts sinking, their eyes dimming, as she makes a callous remark and dismisses them like they’re nothing.
Already sensitive as it is, Alby’s eyes fill with tears, and my chest squeezes and twists uncomfortably.
Tiger tries to take her hand as she spins away from him, voice unsteady as he attempts to joke, “Don’t you want to use me and my bestie as a throne again?
” And I can only watch as her hand snaps out and she twists his arm backwards, his cry splitting sharply through the air, mixing in with Scotty’s angry shout and Cooper’s icy-cold scolding.
I can’t even tell if the two of them are acting.
And all I can think as I watch this, as a chill settles deep in my marrow despite rooms always being kept at a neutral temperature, is . . . how long can we keep this up before our Bonded group once again crumbles to nothing but scattered parts?