The Opposite Effect

by Shandi Boyes

  “You’ve got it all, Princess. Every fucking drop. Every fucking inch.” I thrust in and out of her, smearing the walls of her pussy with my cum. “Not just my cum. You’ve got me all. You hear me, Princess? I'm not ever giving this up. Tell me you understand what I'm saying?" I mutter, still pumping into her, my cock unable to stop now he has finally claimed the pussy he’s been yearning for the past six months.

  I come for the second time when Clara says, “I hear you, Brax. I hear every word you're saying.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Propping myself on my arm, I adjust my eyes to the darkness of my bedroom. My eyes drop down when the same pained murmur I heard thirty seconds ago sounds through my ears again. With the moonlight shining into my room from the rooftop window, I can only make out some of the features of Clara’s face. Although disoriented from the darkness, I can’t miss the heavy set of wrinkles lining her forehead. She looks scared and frightened. When she whimpers again, reality smacks into me. She's having a nightmare.

  I give her a gentle nudge with my arm to wake her up. Her skin is clammy and warm as she claws her way through the dark pit of a nightmare. Guilt riddles me, hating that her safety was compromised so much it is hindering her sleep. Her face contorts as she pulls her legs up into a tight ball. I put a little oomph into my next nudge. This time, she jerks awake, springing to a half-seated position.

  Remorse and maybe a twinge of jealousy twists my stomach when she painfully whispers, “Remy.”

  I lean over and switch on the bedside lamp when the heavy pants of her breath increase. She's gasping for air so fiercely, I'm afraid she's about to hyperventilate.

  “It’s okay, Princess. You’re okay,” I soothe when her massively dilated eyes filter around my room. She looks both lost and confused. “You’re in the bedroom of my loft.”

  Her head snaps to the side. Confusion and another look I can't work out mars her beautiful face. The jealousy squeezing my heart eases when she feebly mumbles, "Brax," under her breath before she throws her arms around my shoulders. I catch the remaining tears from her nightmare with my thumbs before drawing her into my chest.

  Several minutes pass with me just holding her. She gathers her bases while I give into the fact that as much as I'm falling for Clara, I still have so much to learn about her. I was certain her nightmare was from her mugging. Now, I'm not so sure. It isn't just her mention of Remy that has me backpedaling on my initial assumption; it is the fact her eyes lost the glint I worked so hard to put in there the last forty-eight hours.

  In all honesty, although Clara said she heard what I was saying last night, I was still expecting her to flee once she came down from cloud nine. I said what I did as I knew I had her in a moment of weakness, but she continues to shock me more and more every day. Not only did she not flee, we spent all day yesterday like a normal couple. We cooked breakfast together before making love in the shower. We ate lunch on the patio of my apartment before we fucked like rabbits on the couch in my living room, and we ordered takeout for dinner before we. . . yeah, you guessed it, we fooled around in my bed. My cock has spent the last twenty-four hours in heaven. Clara's-sweeter-than-nectar-pussy-heaven.

  Even though I've loved our vigorous sexual activities the past forty-eight hours, I also cherish moments like this. I love being the man Clara can find comfort with. And I'm as happy as a pig in mud that she trusts me enough to spill her deepest and darkest secrets without fear of rejection. These are the moments that will tether us closer together; these are the moments that will see us growing into a strong, unbreakable couple, and these are the moments that have me falling in love with her even more.

  Several hours later, I wake up startled. It's not a nightmare waking me from my sleeping state; it is the alarm on my phone hollering loudly. Careful not to wake Clara, I slip out of bed, snag my phone off the drawers and pace onto the front patio of my apartment. I squint as my eyes adjust to the brightness of the mid-morning sun before dropping them to my phone. Reality smacks into me hard and fast when I realize why my phone was hollering. It is Tuesday. Dammit!

  I was so wrapped up in Clara, it feels like months have passed instead of just two measly days. Scraping my hand over the stubble on my chin, I dial a number I know by heart. Diesel answers on the very first ring.

  “No closer to finding the third assailant yet, but we have our ears to the ground.”

  A car whizzing by sounds through the phone, proving he's already out looking.

  “Ryan called yesterday; he got some grainy footage of the men leaving the alleyway from an ATM camera. He’s going to see if Hunter can clean up the image enough to run it through facial recognition.” My voice is gruff from just waking up. “Give Ryan a few days to see what he can come up with. If he doesn’t get any closer, I’ll call in a few favors.”

  Although Diesel doesn’t reply, I can imagine him nodding.

  “Talking about favors, I have one I need to ask.”

  “Anything,” Diesel replies without a smidge of hesitation.

  “Clara is doing well, but I don’t think it’d be wise to throw her back into Inked so soon after her attack.”

  “That’s understandable. We held down the fort months before she arrived, so I’m sure we can keep things going until she feels comfortable returning.”

  “I also don’t want to leave her alone,” I add on quickly.

  Diesel is so quiet, I can hear the smile etching onto his face.

  “Do you think you could handle taking the reins at Inked for a couple of days?”

  Diesel chuckles. “I hope so, considering I already rescheduled your appointments.”

  I smile. I shouldn’t be surprised. Diesel is always one step ahead of the pack.

  “Call me if anything urgent comes up.”

  “Call me if you want a real man to show you how it’s done,” he replies, chuckling.

  Laughing, I pull the phone away from my ear. I push the phone in closer to my ear when I hear Diesel calling my name. "Yeah?"

  "Give her an extra pound just for me," he adds on since his first tease didn't have the effect he was aiming for.

  His hearty chuckle is barely audible over my furious growl. My attention is diverted from ways of seeking my revenge on Diesel when a car honking shrieks through my ears, closely followed by crunching metal. Pacing to the end of my patio, I spot the cause of the commotion. A white sedan has run up the backside of a black truck. I’m about to call for assistance when I notice a steel gray Audi parked at the curb. It is the same steel gray Audi I spotted two days ago when I returned from visiting my grandmother. A sense of dread washes over me when the occupants of the car fail to exit their vehicle to aid the people involved in the crash. Shouldn’t a police officer’s priority always be helping civilians?

  I stand out on my patio, watching the scene unfold for the next twenty minutes. Not once do the suit-clad men in the silver Audi step out of their vehicle. Not even when the female driver of the sedan stumbles out of her car with a massive gash on her forehead.

  No longer able to restrain my curiosity, my finger slides across the screen of my phone before I punch in a well-used number.

  “Ryan Carter.”

  “Ryan, it’s Brax.” My voice is gritty as concern strangles my vocal cords. “I thought you were holding off on putting a unit on Clara.”

  “I did,” he replies with confusion in his tone. “You said you’d take care of her. Did something happen? Do you need a unit assigned?”

  I grit my teeth. “No, Clara is fine. I need a favor.”

  Ryan delays in replying. He hates being asked a favor.

  "I had my guys call you when they found two of the men who attacked Clara. That wouldn't have happened if you didn't ask me a favor. Besides, if you can't do this, I'll call Hunter."

  “Fine,” he breathes out heavily, hating that I'm considering taking a non-legal approach. “What do you need?”

  I adjust my position so the Audi is directly in my line of sight. "I ne
ed you to run a license plate for me. . ."

  Two hours and thirty-nine minutes later, I'm pulling my bike onto the curb of Destiny Records in Hopeton. Charity did a mighty fine job pretending she needed to speak to Clara alone for a one-on-one girl talk when she arrived at my apartment an hour ago. She was so convincing, she had Clara begging for me to give them some private time.

  “Just for an hour or two,” Clara pleaded, her begging eyes adding to the strength of her plea.

  I acted disappointed before nodding my head. I'm not going to lie; a shit-eating grin etched on my face when I saw a petrified mask slip over Charity's face as Clara led her to my rooftop garden. Although I’ll be kissing Charity's ass for the next six months, it will be worth it. The instant I discovered who the owner of the steel gray Audi was, there was no chance of ignoring my naturally ingrained protectiveness of Clara. And since she had a nightmare last night, I didn’t want to leave her alone. Hence Charity’s sudden desire for girl talk.

  A pretty receptionist with unique yellowish-brown eyes greets me with a smile when I saunter deeper into the foyer of Destiny Record. She has a tight, fit body; luscious caramel skin; and dark, rich hair.

  “Hello. Welcome to Destiny Records. How can I help you?” she greets me, her voice as absorbing as her eyes.

  “I need to speak to Cormack McGregor.”

  The receptionist’s eyes widen before she curtly nods. “I’ll see if he's available.”

  She lifts the receiver of her phone to her ear as my eyes run around the space. Destiny Records headquarters is an architectural wonder with large glass paneling and expensive features. The floors are lined with reclaimed wood, and I’ve spotted numerous expensive paintings lining the walls. The premise screams wealth. Wealth Clara’s brother is keeping to his greedy self.

  My eyes return to the receptionist when she says, “I’m sorry Mr. . ..”

  “Anderson,” I fill in.

  She smiles. "Anderson. Mr. McGregor is unavailable to speak with you at this time. If you’d like to make an appointment, I can check his calendar, or if you want to leave a CD, I can forward it to the creative artist team."

  “I'm not a musician,” I interrupt. “I'm here regarding his sister.”

  The receptionist’s eyes bug. “Okay,” she replies softly before lifting the receiver back to her ear.

  Her eyes shift between her desk and me as she speaks in hushed whispers. “I understand,” she replies before disconnecting the call. “Is this regarding Cate or Clara?”

  I arch my brow. "Does it fucking matter?"

  She balks, shocked by my foul language. “Not to me, but to Mr. McGregor it does,” she replies, her lips quivering.

  Blood roars through my veins, thick and fast. Ignoring the security officer standing on the door of Destiny Records, I make my way down the corridor hidden behind the reception desk. The receptionist calls out for me, but I can't hear a word she's saying, too blinded by rage to hear anything.

  My long strides have me walking the length of the hallway in two heart-thrashing seconds. I'm not at all surprised to spot a gold plaque with the name Cormack McGregor on a wide wooden door at the end of the hall. The important people always make you come to them.

  I swing open the door with brutal force at the same moment my shoulder is seized by a burly-looking security officer.

  “You either leave of your own accord, or I’ll throw your ass onto the curb.”

  “You have two seconds to get your hands off me before I show you that bad genetics won’t be the cause of your ugliness. My fists will be.”

  Our little tousle is interrupted by a deep voice inside the office. “Let him in, Pablo.”

  The security officer loosens his grip on my shoulder, but he doesn't entirely remove his hand. I arch my brow and glare into his eyes. My stare is dark and brimmed with danger. When Pablo lifts his hand and takes a retreating step, I swing my eyes to my right. I don't need to see his identification to know the gentleman standing in front of me is Cormack McGregor. He's the spitting image of Clara, just a manlier version. Same wintry blue eyes, same defined facial features, and same platinum blond hair.

  “When you look in the mirror every morning, do you feel remorse? Or are you too busy counting your millions to be worried about the safety of your little sister?”

  Cormack cops my snide comment on the chin before gesturing for me to enter. I step three paces into the room before stopping and crossing my arms in front of my chest. I didn’t come here to drink tea and eat cucumber sandwiches.

  “You have enough money that you can put a tail on your sister, but you don’t care enough about her to make sure she's safe and well.”

  Cormack smiles. It is a pained and bitter smile. "I didn't put a tail on Clara. The men are there to ensure she's safe. I'm not a monster, Brax. I didn’t send her out into the world completely alone."

  I suck in a deep breath, surprised he knows my name. But my shock isn’t great enough to leash my anger. “You’re not a fucking monster? You’re sitting in an overpriced leather chair in an office the size of most people’s apartments while your little sister works at a tattoo parlor for minimum wage. You’ve got a fancy ass mansion with a butler and a handful of maids while your sister is living in an apartment which is about as fancy as a crack house. Your security team is getting around in a brand spanking new Audi for fuck’s sake while your sister is driving a piece of shit car that is older than she is.”

  He attempts to interrupt me, but I continue speaking, foiling his attempts, “And while you're out eating meals worth hundreds of dollars a plate, your sister is getting jumped in a fucking alley by men wielding guns. Yeah, I guess you’re right. That doesn't sound like a monster to me. It sounds like a coward."

  Cormack balks as his face goes ashen. "Clara was mugged?"

  I smile a conniving grin. “Yeah. All while your men probably stood by and watched it happen. What fucked up game are you playing that you’re willing to risk your sister’s life?”

  “It isn’t a game. It is a lesson.” His words come out weak, like the man he is.

  "A tough fucking lesson."

  “I never wanted Clara to get hurt. I wanted to teach her not to take everything for granted. To be grateful for the life she was born into. I never wanted her to get injured. That is why I put the security detail on her. But every time they were about to step in, you were one step ahead of them. The night she took the bus, they were following her. They were about to react when the teenage boy approached her. You beat them. When she moved into the apartment, they were going to have security installed. You beat them again. I didn’t want Clara hurt, but I wanted her to be taught a lesson. I wanted her to be grateful.”

  "Then where the fuck were they the night she got jumped?" I shout, my loud voice ricocheting off the pristine white walls and shrilling into my ears.

  Cormack’s face goes whiter. “I don’t know. But I will find out. I guarantee you I will find out.”

  He locks his remorse-riddled eyes with mine. “Is Clara okay? Is she safe?”

  “Maybe you should ask her that yourself.” I spin on my heels and amble down the corridor, needing to leave before I break the promise I made to Ryan.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  My brisk pace down the hallway of my apartment building slows when the vibration of my cell phone shakes in my pocket. I'm not at all surprised when I see it is a call from Ryan. When he discovered who the Audi was registered to, he pleaded for me not to take the issue any further. My consideration of his plea only lasted as long as it took for me to remember the bleak look in Clara's eyes the night she was mugged.

  Ryan's pleas settled when I promised I was only going to “talk” to Cormack man to man, not have a “word” with him. Considering I left without a single drop of blood being shed, I kept my word. I won’t lie, it was hard. The only thing that stopped me from pounding some sense into Cormack was the look of repentance in his eyes. He was genuinely horrified that Clara had been assaulted. He was
so upset, he looked physically ill.

  I don't have any siblings, so I can't say I comprehend Cormack's logic of wanting to teach Clara a lesson. But even without siblings, I still think he has gone about it the wrong way. Clara's life was jeopardized. That is not something I’ll ever be okay with.

  Swiping my finger across the screen of my phone, I press it to my ear before throwing open the front door of my apartment.

  “Not a drop of blood was shed,” I mutter, not bothering to issue a greeting.

  “Have you seen Damon?”

  I throw the keys for my bike onto the entranceway table. "No. I was set to put a couple of hours into his back tattoo later this week, but I canceled my appointments to spend more time with Clara."

  Ryan’s deep sigh sounds down the line.

  “Why? What’s up?” My lips purse when my gaze locks in on Damon's ocean blue eyes sitting across from Clara. "Ha. You won’t believe this. He's here. Did you want to talk to him?"

  “Damon is at your apartment?” Ryan’s words come out hurried.

  “Yeah. He's here with Clara.”

  Feet stomping bellows down the line before Ryan yells, "I'm on my way. Keep him calm," before he disconnects the call.

  A sick feeling spreads across my stomach when I drift my eyes to Clara. She's nursing the same set of eyes she wore in the alley the night she was mugged. Her cheeks are stained with tears, and her face is as white as a ghost.

  Hot anger boils my blood. “It was him, wasn’t it? The third man in the alley.”

  My stomach winds all the way up to my throat when Clara nods, spilling fresh tears down her cheeks. I'm going to fucking kill him.

  Clara squeals and my quick charge to Damon comes to a dead stop when Damon lifts a gun I didn't notice he had until now and points it at Clara's head. Clara freezes, her chest the only thing rising and falling as her massively dilated eyes lock with Damon’s. When I take another step closer, Damon pulls back the hammer on the gun and curls his index finger around the trigger.