by Bea Paige
With as much self-preservation as I can muster, I walk towards the studio door holding onto what’s left of my tattered heart. I won’t cry because we’ve surpassed tears at this point, they’re useless. Tears never saved me from my brother’s wrath and they never brought my Breakers back no matter how many I’ve shed over the last three years. Ironic then that once I finally stopped crying for their loss, they returned. My hand lands on the door handle, stilling when I hear angry footsteps approaching.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Xeno asks, his voice dark, ominous with threat.
Drawing on my last ounce of strength, I turn and face him.
“Why does it matter? This is what I do, isn’t it? I run.” I ask, feeling suddenly cold, all the internal fire I felt doused in sweat that slides over every inch of my skin.
For a beat we just stare at each other, and even though I can tell he wants me to, I refuse to look away. I’m unable to read him any better now than I could back when we were friends. Perhaps that’s a good thing.
When he doesn’t answer my question, when none of them make a move to approach me and bridge the divide between us, I raise my chin, draw on my last reserves of energy and yank open the door, David’s threat a dark cloud looming over me.
As I walk away, only one thought echoes in my head: how the hell am I going to make them love me again? More importantly, how am I supposed to live with myself if I fail, because it isn’t my life I’m desperate to protect, but Lena’s.
26
Three years ago
Dax’s fingers are warm, that’s what I notice first. The second thing I notice is that they’re trembling.
“Lift your arms up, Kid,” Dax instructs, his calm voice certain even though his hands aren’t.
I can’t see his expression, and maybe that’s just as well. I might lose my nerve if I looked into his eyes, I might tell him to leave me be, so I can lick my wounds and sleep.
Instead, I’m brave and allow Dax to remove my t-shirt.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” York mutters, his gaze fixed on my chest area, flickering between my bra covered boobs to the bruises that blossom across my skin. When his gaze finally lifts to meet mine, York is looking at me with a mixture of anger and desire. A strange combination that I’m not sure how to handle.
“That motherfucking, psycho bastard,” Dax growls behind me, his fingers are gentle as they push my hair forward over my shoulder so he can get a better look at the damage caused by my brother’s violent hand. “The next time he comes near you, I’m going to fucking kill him.”
My cheeks heat in shame but also in arousal. I have no business feeling turned on, especially after the beating I endured, but the desire in York’s gaze and protectiveness in Dax’s voice makes me feel loved in a way I haven’t really felt before.
Silently, York hands Dax the Arnica gel and he begins to rub it into the bruises on my back. When he’s finished he passes the tube back to York, his hand dropping to my hip as he rests it there. The heat from his palm has my heart battering against my ribcage as the tension in the room expands like a bubble about to burst. It’s a comforting touch, but I can tell by the way the pad of his thumb circles over my skin that there’s more to it than that.
“Here, lean back on me, Kid. Let York deal with the other bruises,” Dax instructs, his voice a low grumble as his breath flutters against the bare skin of my shoulder.
I don’t question him. I shift on the bed so that I’m laying back against Dax’s chest, my legs stretched out between his. My head rests against his upper chest and I turn my cheek to the side wanting to hear the solid beat of his heart. It pounds against my cheek. Thump, thump, thump.
Shutting my eyes, I let York deal with the bruises on my front and even though my cheeks flame as his fingers graze the skin underneath my bra covered tit, I don’t move or tell him to stop. His touch is gentle, kind, and tears clog my throat.
“Look at you, Kid,” Dax exclaims, his chest heaving, his breaths matching those of York’s.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner, Titch? Why didn’t you tell us what that piece of shit was doing to you?” York asks. I can hear the hurt in his voice, and I blink back the tears that I’ve been holding in all night as I look at him. He’s resting his hand on my thigh, staring at me intently. My hands are clenched together in my lap, and goosebumps rise across my skin as Dax’s fingers slide up and down my arms, comforting me.
“Because it wouldn’t have made a difference if I had. You’re one of them now, York. What did David say, Skins before whores?”
“You’re not a whore,” Dax grinds out angrily.
“How long has he been hurting you like this?” York asks, trying to hide the shame that creeps into his voice, but I hear it, see it written all over his face. Out of the four, he was always the most adamant that joining the Skins was the last thing he’d ever do, and yet here we are.
I blink back the tears, not wanting to give David any more power over me. Tonight is the last time I shed any tears for that bastard. “For as long as I can remember…”
“Fuck, Titch.”
“When he moved away, it got better. He only comes back to see mum occasionally. I avoid being home when he visits. I thought he’d finished with tormenting me. I guess I was wrong,” I explain, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
“Yet, you came to Jackson Street all these years knowing he was just a floor above us. Why put yourself in danger like that?”
“Because I trusted that I would be safe with you all. That you’d never let him hurt me,” I admit, realising how foolish that sounds now. How could they protect me when I never told them how bad things were?
“Like he did that night we met?”
I’m silent for a long time.
“Titch?” York prompts gently.
“That night was the first time he let go of his restraint. I’d been hit by him before then, but it was only ever a punch here, a slap there. My mum turned a blind eye to it. In her own twisted mind, I think she thought if he had me to use as an outlet for his rage, he’d steer clear of Lena. She loves her,” I say bitterly, then feel immediately guilty, because I love my little sister too and I would do anything for her to not suffer the same pain I do.
“Your mum needs to be shot,” Dax says darkly. I can’t disagree with him there. I’ve thought about killing both her and David over the years, but then that would leave Lena on her own, and I can’t have that. So I endured for Lena. Besides, thinking about murdering someone is one thing, actually going through with it, something else altogether.
“So that night…?” York, asks softly. I don’t know whether he realises he’s doing it, but his hand is rubbing up and down my thigh in time to Dax’s movements. Their touch makes heat pool between my legs and a rash of heat bloom over my skin.
“That night we first met; David came home drunk after partying with the Skins. I knew the second he came in that I was in trouble. Mum watched him walk into the living room with this cold kind of dread. She looked at me for a couple of seconds and I honestly believed she would stop him this time. She didn’t. She got up from the sofa, walked silently down the hall, grabbed Lena and locked them both in her bedroom.” My lip wobbles, but I bite down hard on it, blinking back the furious tears.
“She let him beat you?” York grinds out through gritted teeth.
“Yes.”
“What happened then, Kid,” Dax mutters, his lips finding my hair and pressing a kiss there. His mouth lingers, and I feel the expanse of his breath as he breathes in deep, as though he’s drawing in my scent to keep him steady.
“He was out of it. High on alcohol and a cocktail of drugs… I tried to get out of his way, to leave, but he was big, and I was so small…” Choking down the rising sickness of that memory, I grit my teeth, willing myself to go on. “I knew if I fought, he’d make it worse. I let him hit me, and then when he stumbled and fell, passing out on the living room floor, I grabbed my shit and ran.�
�
“Why did you come to Jackson Street, Titch?”
“Because I literally had nowhere else to go. Zayn was the first person who looked at me like I was something rather than nothing. Looking back now, I know it was stupid… Maybe it was the punches to my head affecting my decision-making skills.” I laugh bitterly, the sound coming out as a mixture between a sob and a croak. “Then I found you four. Complete strangers who didn’t question what had happened, who just knew I needed help. That meant, that means everything to me…”
“And this time, why did he beat you, Kid?”
“Because on New Year’s Eve he witnessed my happiness and that’s something David doesn’t allow me to feel for very long.”
“Fuck, Kid,” Dax exclaims, the shake in his voice evidence of his sadness for me and hate for David.
York swipes at his eyes, and I’m sure I see tears glistening on his lashes. “Come ‘ere,” he says, holding his arms open.
I sit up, shuffling forward and curl up against his chest, wrapping my arms around his back. Pressing my nose against his shirt, I breathe him in and try to rid myself of the memory of David’s scent. Dax shifts behind me until I’m enclosed between them both, their body heat and comforting hands holding me close.
I’m not sure when it changes from comfort to something far more intense, but before I can really think about what I’m doing, my lips find the crook of York’s neck and I kiss him there. A groan releases from his throat as my tongue flickers against his skin, his musky, manly taste exploding in my mouth.
“Titch…?” he questions, his voice wavering as he pulls back slightly, holding on to my shoulders. Behind me Dax shifts slightly, his hands gripping my hips above the material of the jogging bottoms I’m wearing.
“Please, don’t push me away,” I say gently, one hand covering Dax’s at my hip, the other resting on York’s chest, my fingers curling into his top.
“What are you asking for, Kid?” Dax asks carefully, the rumble of his voice seeping through his chest into my back as his lips whisper against my ear.
Swallowing down my fear of rejection, I decide to be brave. “To be loved,” I murmur.
Until this moment I didn’t realise how much I craved human affection. Used to being pushed away, beaten, belittled, and denied, I never once sought out any form of affection. Until now. All I know is that right here, right now, I need to be loved. I need to know what it feels like. I need to wash away the hurt and replace it with something else, otherwise I’ll go insane.
Dax’s fingers tighten over my hips as York’s eyes flash with the desire he’s been keeping a lid on. I can tell he’s fighting with himself, that he thinks he’ll be taking advantage of me in a vulnerable moment, but he’s really not. I want this. I want to forget my brother. I want to forget the Skins. I want to embrace these boys here and now. There’s a kind of desperation in how I feel, like they’re slipping away from me. It feels inevitable somehow.
“I want you to kiss me, York. I want to pretend for just one moment that I’m loved.”
Dax reaches up around me, his thick forearm flat against my chest as he grasps my chin gently in his fingers and urges my face to the side. I shift in his hold so I can look up at him. The pad of his thumb runs over my bottom lip as we stare at each other.
“See, here’s the thing, Kid. We don’t need to pretend… I don’t need to pretend.”
My heart hiccups in my chest at his words, my own response dissolving on my tongue as he leans down and kisses me, obliterating any rational thought with his plush lips as he shows just how much he cares for me. Dax has never expressed himself well with words, so to hear his honesty is a gift that brings me so much joy.
“Oh, fuck,” I hear York mutter as Dax adjusts me in his arms so that I’m lying across his lap.
Cupping the back of my head, Dax kisses me long and hard. I can feel his dick pressing against my hip and it both thrills me and scares me at the same time. When I reach up, clutching at him, my small hands running over his shoulders and neck, Dax breaks the kiss and rips off his t-shirt.
“Feel this, Kid. This is what you do to me. Do you understand?” he asks, reaching for my hand and placing it onto the centre of his chest. I can feel his heart slamming beneath his skin just like mine is now. Two hearts that have experienced what it feels like to be broken only to beat again for someone special. “Do you understand, Kid?” he repeats.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Dax nods then lowers his mouth back to mine and kisses me until I forget David’s fists and cruel words, until I forget my mum’s years of indifference and abuse. If a soul had a taste, it would be found in his kiss. In this kiss. Dax, my dark angel, my protector, my forever.
When he lowers his hand, smoothing over my collarbone and resting his palm at the base of my throat, my beating heart reacts, slamming against my ribcage wanting to break free and offer itself up to him. He pulls back, a small smile making his face less serious.
“Kid, I need to stop.” His voice is gravelly, pained almost.
“Why?” I ask, fully aware my chest is heaving, and York is watching us both, his own breathing matching the weight of ours.
“Well, for one, York here is desperate to kiss you and two, my dick is getting way over excited right about now…” He laughs at his own honesty and my cheeks flood with heat. Scooping me up gently, Dax hands me to York, laying me across his lap. “I need to go sort myself out,” Dax says, moving to climb off the bed.
“Don’t go,” I whisper.
“What?” he responds, snapping his head around to look at me.
“I said, don’t go. If your dick needs attention, then give it some,” I say, feeling brave.
Honestly, I don’t know what’s come over me, but any kind of awkwardness I thought I’d feel is gone in the heat of the moment.
I want Dax to touch himself.
I want to watch him touch himself.
I want to be touched.
Curiosity and a burning desire to blot any last lingering thought of David out of my head makes me brave. Sitting forward, I unhook my bra refusing to feel embarrassed. My tits are small, no more than a handful, but given the way Dax and York are eye-fucking them, they really don’t care. I want to get them off. I want to get myself off and I’ve watched enough porn to have some idea how this works. I think.
“Oh my fuck,” York whispers.
The only sound I hear coming from Dax is his fly unzipping. I turn to look at him, at his hooded eyes, broad chest and then, the shaft of his cock as he releases it from the confines of his jeans and boxer shorts. He’s big, scarily so, and I find myself wondering how something so large could fit inside another person.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Dax growls, his large hand fisting his cock as he leans back against the headboard. The head of his dick is a deep pink, almost angry looking. I swallow hard.
“You’ve done it now, Titch,” York mutters, his own pale cheeks blushing furiously. I know my Breakers are close, but I doubt very much they’ve seen each other’s cocks up close and personal like this. I almost giggle at the absurdity of the situation. Nerves flutter in my stomach but I push them away. I’ve been fantasising about a situation like this for months now. If that makes me the slut David accuses me off regularly, then so fucking be it.
I don’t care, I love these boys. If Zayn and Xeno were here too I can’t say that I’d act any differently, though I suspect Xeno would refuse to partake given his promise to me. In fact, I’m betting he’d try and break it up.
Resting his fingers against the side of my face and drawing me out of my thoughts to look at him, York smiles down at me, his white-blonde hair tickling my brow as he leans close. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” he asks, reading me expertly.
I nod, catching my lip between my teeth. York stares at me, looking between my eyes and my mouth that has now parted on an exhale of air. I really want him to kiss me, touch me.
“I want to touch you,”
he says, speaking my thoughts out loud. We’ve always had some weird kind of synergy, York and I. It’s never been more apparent than right now.
“So, touch me,” I urge him, allowing my legs to drop open, wanting him to touch my clit. I know what it feels like to come from my own hand, but by someone else’s, never.
York’s tongue sweeps across his lower lip, making it glisten in the low light. They’re pink against his pale skin and oh so kissable.
“Jesus fucking Christ, York. Kiss her, or I will,” Dax grinds out.
York doesn’t need to be told twice. His mouth slams down on mine, his tongue darting out and parting my lips. I groan then gasp as York’s scorching fingers slide over my chest and circle my nipple before cupping my breast gently, lighting me up from the inside out. I squirm beneath his hand, arching my back, telling him without breaking the kiss that I want him to keep touching me this way. Next to us Dax groans, the sound of his fist jerking his cock an aphrodisiac like nothing else. My knickers are wet with desire and I squirm in York’s hold, undulating my hips, needing to feel something between my thighs, loving this strange new feeling that I could very well become addicted to.
“Touch her, York,” Dax orders, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest at the sheer desperation in his voice.
York smiles against my mouth. “Xeno is going to fucking kill us if he finds out.”
Despite myself, I stiffen. I’d promised Xeno I’d make a decision about the boys. Being here with both of them is stretching his suggestion of spending time together to the limit. There’s only a month to go and I’m still no better off knowing what I’m going to do.
“Fuck Xeno and his restraint. The guys a goddamn martyr.”
“What about Zayn?” I mutter.
“Zayn isn’t here, but if he were, you can bet your arse he’d be fucking your pussy with his tongue by now,” Dax growls, sending my heat levels spiking.
York laughs, sliding his hand lower, kissing me. He doesn’t disagree, and the thought of Zayn’s tongue lapping at my pussy has me groaning against York’s mouth. I’ve never experienced it before but from what I can gather, if done well, it’s a pleasant experience. If feeling this turned on from a kiss on my lips can make me feel this needy then I’ve no idea what a kiss to my pussy would feel like, but I can imagine.