39. Kaitlyn
THIRTY-NINE
Kaitlyn
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Why I’m still here.
Why I can’t stay away.
If Brock finds out about Went—or God forbid my father…
Dad is gone and besides, he’s the one who sent you up here in the first place.
“Maybe so, but he wouldn’t have if he knew Damien’s rich art friend from California looked like that .” Aiming my gaze across the water, I shake my head. “If Brock finds out—”
Fuck that asshole. You should’ve told me the truth about why you broke up with him when I asked you. If you had, you wouldn’t have anything to worry about.
“Why’s that?” Gaze still aimed across the water, I hear the front door slam shut, a few seconds before I hear the crunch of feet walking across gravel.
Because if I’d known that piece of shit hit my little sister, he’d be as dead as I am .
“Luke…” Shaking my head again, I drop my tone when I hear the hollow thud of Went’s footsteps on the dock.
You should’ve told me Kaity. I was your brother. I would’ve believed you. I could’ve protected you.
I don’t answer him because I’m suddenly in Went’s shadow. I look up to find him towering over me, his wide, powerful shoulders blotting out the sun. Lifting a hand to shield my gaze, I force myself to forget that not only is he still wearing nothing but a pair of worn, gray sweats, he just got finished telling me how much he wants to fuck me and exactly how he wants to do it.
…and then when you leave I want to draw every second of it so I’ll never forget what you looked like the first time you came for me.
Suddenly so flush, I feel like I might pass out, I look away from his face, my gaze skittering along his shoulder and down his arm, trying to find something I can look at without feeling like I might die. Finally letting it rest on what he’s holding in his hands, I feel my forehead crease with confusion. “Markers?”
“No.” Hunkering down next to me, Went gives me a grin. “Well… yes. But not just markers.” He sits down, sliding himself across the dock to sit behind me. “They’re tattoo markers.”
“Tatt...” My voice trails off when I feel him shift and position himself behind me, moving his legs to either side of mine so that I’m sitting in between them. “Tattoo markers?” This time I manage to say it without sounding like a bumbling idiot.
“Yup.” He sets the case on the dock and opens it. “I use them when I draw designs for work.”
“Work?” I aim my gaze across the water and try to remember how to breathe. “I thought you worked in black and white—pencil,” I clarify while I listen to him organize his case.
“I do on paper—when I tattoo, I prefer color.”
Without thinking, I turn myself to look at him, the move bringing us face to face—or really, face to chest. Forcing my gaze upward, I find his. “You’re a tattoo artist?”
“Almost.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “I’m a tattoo apprentice—I work summers in a shop back home.” Reaching up with his free hand, he brushes the hair away from my face like he did earlier. “I know it’s not a real tattoo but I think under the circumstances it counts…” His devil black gaze falls to my mouth for a moment and heats before he lifts it to find mine. “There’s only one catch.”
“Catch?” Jesus, I can’t think. Why can’t I think when I’m around him?
“Yeah.” He reaches out and tugs at the hem of my T-shirt with a crooked smile that curls my toes. “You’re gonna have to get half naked for me.”
“My shirt?” I shake my head. “You want me to take my shirt off?”
“Well… these markers are semi-permanent,” he tells me, that smirk of his back in full force. “It’ll take a few days to wash off—I don’t think you’d want your mother or anyone else around here, to see a tattoo, fake or not. That means I’ll have to draw it somewhere you can cover it up.” He tugs on my shirt again. “So, it’s either your shirt or your pants. I can draw it on your ass if you want...” His gaze heats and he gives me that grin again. “Or maybe the inside of your thigh.”
I have a sudden mental image of Went between my legs, head bent low while he skims the tip of his tongue along the inside of my thigh. Fingers wrapped in his hair while he licks and nips his way along the seam of my pussy…
“Shirt.” I give him a jerky nod. “I’ll take off my shirt.”
“Are you sure?” His gaze dips to my mouth again like he’s reading my mind. “Pants are sounding like the better option to me.”
Turning away from him, I aim my gaze across the water in a desperate attempt to keep myself together. “I’m sure.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Maybe next time.”
Before he can say anything else, I wrap my fingers around the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head. Setting it on the dock, I clear my throat. “Bra too?”
For a second he doesn’t say anything. Just sits behind me, his warm breath against my shoulder before he finally answers me. “No.” I feel his large, blunt-tipped fingers slip beneath my bra strap. “This is good enough...” Went pulls it down, letting it hang against my arm before he leans into me and presses a soft kiss against my bare shoulder that has me turning toward him again. “For now.” Lifting his head, he presses another one against the corner of my mouth. “Eyes front, Sunshine—and don’t move until I say so.”
“Okay…” Doing as I’m told, I stare out across the water, clutching my discarded shirt to my chest. “What are you going to draw?” I feel something cool swipe across my shoulder and catch the astringent sting of rubbing alcohol.
“What do you want?”
You.
I want you…
“Surprise me.”
“One surprise, semi-permanent tattoo coming up,” he says on a laugh. “If you hate it, don’t blame me.”
“I won’t hate it…” I want to turn around and look at him so maybe he’ll kiss me again, this time for real, but before I can, I feel something press ag ainst my shoulder before sliding across my skin. “Can I ask you a question?” I ask instead. “About something Damien told me.”
The pressure lifts and Went goes still behind me. “I guess… as long as you’re willing to answer mine.”
Giving him a slight nod, I agree to his terms.
The pressure resumes. “Then ask me anything you want.”
“He told me that before you came here, the two of you hadn’t seen or talked to each other for seven years.” When he doesn’t say anything, I give him a prompt. “Well?”
“I’m still waiting for the question,” he tells me, his tone laced with amusement. And relief, like what I asked wasn’t the question he expected.
I give him a frustrated huff while fighting the urge to turn around again. “Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true.” The blunt pressure against my shoulder stops for a second and I listen to him recap the marker before trading it for a different one. Just when I think I’m going to have to prompt him again, he speaks. “It’s not as weird as it sounds—Damien and I weren’t raised together. We have different mothers.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek and wait for him to elaborate.
“Our father met Damien and Kota’s mom—”
“Kota?” I forget myself and start to turn and the legs I’m sitting in between immediately squeeze. Powerful muscles grip my hips, silently reminding me to be still, the hard pulse of them instantly stiffening my nipples before sending a warm rush down my spine. “Sorry…” I mutter it, embarrassed and turned on in equal measure. Clearing my throat, I try again. “Who’s Kota?”
“Dakota…” He switches pens again, his tone detached, like he’s listening to me and answering my questions from a different room. “Dakota Bravebird—Damien’s twin sister.”
I didn’t know Damien had a sister, let alone a twin sister. “Oh…” Feeling salty about it for some reason, I frown. “He’s never mentioned her.” Saying it out loud makes me realize that there’s not a whole lot that Damien has shared about his personal life. All I really knew before Went showed up was that his mother works in Helena and he spends weekends on the reservation with his grandfather.
“Anyway, our dad met their mom when he was in Helena doing a chef residency at some fancy hotel—”
“What hotel?” I interrupt him again, my curiosity getting the better of me.
For a second he doesn’t answer me and I start to think he doesn’t know. “The Hawthorne,” he finally says, naming the biggest luxury hotel in Helena. “Suzi—Damien’s mom was a sous chef at the time and like I said, our father was doing a residency for the hotel—he traveled around the country, developing regional menus for each hotel and training their staff on how to execute them.”
“Your dad must be a very talented chef…” Instead of answering me, Went makes a neutral noise in the back of his throat that tells me his feelings for his father are complicated. I can relate. “So what happened? With your dad and Damien’s mom—I mean obviously something happened or—”
“Or I wouldn’t be here?” I hear a click while he recaps another marker before swapping it out. “My mother happened. When she met our father she decided she wanted him—so she took him.” There’s bitterness in his tone. Maybe a little shame. “She didn’t care that they were married or that Suzi was pregnant and neither did he. There’s barely a year and a half between Damien, Kota and me.” There’s more. I know there’s more, things he’s not telling me but I don’t push. I have a feeling I’ve pushed Went as far as he’s willing to go.
“Your turn,” I tell him, my guts twisting, the squeeze of it making me sick because I already know what he’s going to ask me.
“Why is your father making you marry him?” The press and slide of the marker tip on my shoulder lifts for a second. “And don’t give me that I’m a Barrett and he’s a Morris bullshit—there’s more to it than that.”
For a second I don’t know what to say—or maybe I do. Maybe I just don’t want to say it because I’ve never said it out loud to anyone but Luke and he doesn’t count. Not really.
“He’s punishing me.” Staring out across the water, my throat starts to ache and my vision swims. “For what I did to them.”
The pressure lifts again.
“Them?” This time when he recaps his pen he doesn’t reach for a replacement. “Who’s them ?”
“Luke and our mother…” I want to turn around to look at him but I can’t because the shame I heard in his tone only moments ago burns in my gut. “My father is punishing me because I killed them.”