Kings of Anarchy

by Caroline Peckham

  I pushed through the door and shouts and grunts caught my ear. I frowned as I kicked off my shoes and jogged further inside to see what the hell was going on. Saint was on the floor in the lounge while Blake knelt over him, trying to force pills into his mouth and simultaneously wash them down his throat with a bottle of water locked under his arm. It was squirting everywhere, soaking Saint as he fought Blake off with his good arm. As I watched, Saint’s hand latched around Blake’s throat tearing bloody nail marks into his golden flesh.

  "What the hell?" I gasped as Kyan moved to my side, barking a laugh as he watched.

  Blake looked up, but Saint's focus didn't waiver. He managed to get his knee between Blake's legs and jammed it into his balls. Blake fell off of him with a yell of pain, cupping his manhood and rolling from side to side on his back as the water bottle tumbled away.

  Saint struggled to his feet and looked to me, his scowl lifting marginally in what very almost could have been a ghost of a smile. I noticed the place was generally a mess and Saint looked like he hadn't slept a single wink since we'd left.

  "He won't take his fucking painkillers," Blake snarled as he got up, one hand still on his junk. "And I'm done trying to make him." He tossed the pills at Saint's back, serving him a sneer from the devil he’d engaged as he strode to the refrigerator, took out a beer and twisted off the cap. Blake threw himself onto the couch and started playing an Xbox game, ignoring the furious wraith that was Saint Memphis.

  "This place has gone to hell," Saint snapped, his voice harsh and cold. "Rebecca is having time off for Christmas and Blake won't tidy a single fucking thing up. I can't keep up with the mess he makes because I've been too busy."

  "Busy doing what?" I asked in confusion as Blake stood up from the couch, striding towards me confidently. “Wait,” I gasped, holding up a hand. “I should wash my clothes and everything first and…” I looked to Kyan, the words on the tip of my tongue that I was immune from the Hades Virus, but what about him? “We should quarantine for forty eight hours.” I found I hated keeping this secret, but my dad had told me in confidence and it felt wrong to just blurt it out.

  “Right, yeah.” Kyan looked between his friends in concern. “You’d better come bunk with me for two days then baby and Blake will have to cook for us and use Saint’s bathroom until-”

  “No,” Saint hissed, his face twisting in rage. “I will risk the Hades Virus over sharing my bathroom with an ogre who will tarnish my clean space.”

  Blake scowled. “Well I’m not gonna continue waiting on Lord OCD. And anyway, I’m a Night Keeper. And I’m officially making a new rule of my own. If one of us gets sick, I’ll get sick too.” He shrugged like it meant nothing even though it absolutely did and Saint nodded his agreement.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I gasped. “You can’t risk catching the virus.”

  “We’ll keep our distance from them, baby,” Kyan assured me and I could see the decision in Blake and Saint’s eyes like a solid wall. They weren’t going to be swayed.

  “Fine,” I gave in, though I wasn’t entirely happy about the compromise.

  "Let me show you what I’ve been working on," Saint said smartly, striding to the stairs and I was glad to see that he at least seemed to be getting around alright on his own now.

  I followed him up to his room and fell still as I saw what he'd done. One whole wall was plastered with each of the email print-outs my father had given me and the notes on the virus. But there were at least a hundred other pages with it now and there were more carefully organised piles on his desk too, looking ready to go into a black binder he had waiting at the centre of it.

  "This is all of your father's work notes. I'm no virologist, but I am a fast learner so I took an online course on vaccines-"

  "When?" I gasped. "We've only been gone two days."

  "Forty one hours and thirteen minutes to be exact, and the course was fifteen hours so I had plenty of time to take it before I started reading through his work on the Hades Virus."

  "Saint." I turned to him, cupping his cheek to get his full attention. "Haven't you slept?"

  His jaw ground and he pulled away. "That's irrelevant," he snapped, his tone harsh.

  "It's not irrelevant, you're supposed to be resting. This is the complete opposite of resting," I said in exasperation. "And why won't you take your painkillers? You must be in agony!"

  “The pain keeps my mind sharp," he said simply then strode over to the papers on his desk and started carefully using a hole punch to prepare them for the binder then placed them into it one at a time. I couldn’t believe he’d spent Christmas like this. It made me sad that we’d gone at all.

  I shook my head at him then strode downstairs and hurried over to Blake who was focusing on his video game.

  "He's completely lost it," I hissed and he looked up, tossing his controller aside and dragging me down into his lap.

  He kissed me hard and I blushed as he shamelessly pushed his tongue into my mouth. I tried to resist for a second longer, but I guessed as I was immune I couldn’t pass the virus to him. I half wondered why he was so reckless though. It was his life he was taking into his own hands…was he that confident he wouldn’t get it, or did he just not care either way? The idea of the latter made my heart hurt.

  I moaned softly against his lips as he tugged me close and the knot in my chest eased a little. Blake’s kisses always felt like our souls were bleeding into one another, becoming one, beautiful blazing entity that filled me up to the brim. He released me at last, rubbing his nose against mine and Kyan shot us a look from a chair across the room that I couldn’t decipher.

  "Firstly, hi,” Blake murmured. “I should've said that when you walked in, but I was busy getting my balls crushed by our resident poltergeist. Secondly, yeah he's gone full Saint. I give up. I dunno what he needs."

  “Didn’t you have any fun over Christmas?” I asked with a frown.

  “It was alright. Monroe came over and we watched action movies and ate pizza. Saint just stayed up in his room being Saint. He wouldn’t eat anything until Monroe took pity on him and cooked him some pasta.”

  “Monroe did that?” I asked in surprise and Blake shrugged one shoulder.

  “He’s a surprisingly decent cook,” Kyan chipped in, looking to me with a smirk. “He chops those onions real slow. And you should see him stuff a pepper.”

  Blake snorted and I shot him a subtle glare at his suggestive tone, though nothing he said could actually give away mine and Monroe’s secret. Still, he didn’t have to talk about fucking vegetables like that.

  "FUCK!" Saint's voice split the air apart and my heart lurched hard.

  We all darted out of our seats, racing upstairs to see what had happened. I was terrified he'd fallen or opened his wound somehow and panic blazed through me.

  He was hunched over his desk as I got to him first, sliding my arm around his waist. "What's happened, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

  He was shaking, a single piece of paper clutched in his hand, his teeth bared and sweat beading on his brow as he stared at it.

  "Shall I call the doctor?" Blake asked in concern while Kyan glanced around the room as if there might be danger lurking in the shadows.

  "No," Saint breathed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the page tighter. I realised the hole he'd punched into it for the binder clips had torn through the edge and my lips parted.

  "Is this actually what's wrong?" I pointed at it and he nodded stiffly.

  "We thought you'd hurt yourself!" I snapped. Is he for real right now?

  "Get the fuck out!" he bellowed, twisting around and glaring at Blake and Kyan, waving the page at them like it was their fault there was a rip in it.

  "Come on, Cinders, Satan needs a time out," Blake said, reaching for me, but Saint stepped into his way.

  "Not her," Saint growled and Kyan folded his arms.

  "She's not staying here while you're losing your shit, asshole," Kyan warned, holding out his h
and to me in a command.

  "It's fine," I insisted, knowing exactly what Saint needed. "Just go. Trust me."

  "Baby-" Kyan started but Saint cut over him.

  "She's made her decision now get the fuck out!" Saint snapped.

  Kyan and Blake shared a look then gave in and left when it was clear I wasn't coming. I moved to Saint's nightstand, taking out the two types of painkillers and the antibiotic he was supposed to be on and popped them into my hand. I picked up the water bottle beside the bed and turned to him.

  Saint was rigid as I approached him and I felt like I was closing in on a deadly snake in the grass. But I wasn't afraid. Saint and I had a strange understanding between us. And for some reason, I got past his defences easier than the others did when he was like this.

  I took his hand, leading him to the armchair in the corner and encouraging him to sit down. He did so and I moved to straddle him, his throat bobbing as I settled my weight in his lap, careful not to put any pressure on his wounds. I pushed one of the pills between his lips and held the water bottle to his mouth. He tipped his head back and let me wash it down his throat then I did the next two. I pressed down gently on his uninjured shoulder so he rested back in the chair then reached towards the bandage covering the gunshot wound.

  "Have you changed this since we left?" I asked and he shook his head.

  I started unbinding it and he let me, his eyes on me the whole time as some of the cloying darkness left his eyes. I checked his wound for infection, but it looked clean and like it really was on the mend. Saint didn't even wince when I touched it, even though it must have been agony.

  I soon had a new dressing on it and I helped him to his feet. He clutched his ribs as he moved and I hoped the painkillers would kick in soon. It hurt me to see him in so much pain.

  "You need to rest," I said, leading him to the bed and pulling back the covers.

  "No," he grunted. "I need more than that. I need to punish you."

  I turned to him with my breath hitching even though I'd expected this. I nodded my agreement, waiting to see what he wanted and he eyed my damp hair and leather attire.

  "Go to the bathroom," he commanded and I didn't hesitate, letting him take control of this situation. And I immediately felt the shackles of my mind releasing. I didn't have to try so hard to keep my mind from turning to my dad. I just had to focus on what he told me to do. Nothing else. It was so liberating.

  I waited in the bathroom and he knocked on the door before long. "Can I come in?"

  I released a breath of amusement. Saint sticking to the rules as usual.

  "Yes," I called and he appeared holding a pale blue night dress with a black lace hem. He hung it on the back of the door and gestured to the shower with his chin. "Take your clothes off and get in. You can leave your underwear on if you want."

  "What if I don't want to?" I said the words before I could pause to consider them.

  "Then take them off," he said simply, but his eyes swirled with a thirst that made tingles rush down my spine.

  I kept my eyes on his as I shed my clothes, pulling off each item and tossing it in the laundry basket as he watched. He gazed at me without blinking, like he feared missing a single millisecond of this. Saint and I were always dancing on this line of our relationship being sexual or not. I knew it was, deep in my soul, but at the same time...he wouldn't touch me. Before now that had felt right, I'd feared him touching me, my own desire for him something I'd longed to cut out. But that was before he'd almost died for me. Before he'd shown his cards and made me question everything. The fact was, I wanted him more than ever. Blake was my comfort, Monroe my rock, Kyan my strength, but Saint? Saint was my freedom. He had the ability to take over every hurt I had, every decision, every torment. He could bear the burden of it all and offer me time where I could just be free from it all. And I craved that more than anything right now.

  I was down to my dark red underwear, standing before him and wanting to shed every piece of my clothing along with every emotion and hurt that kept me prisoner too. His eyes darkened to nightshade as he took in the marks Kyan had left on my body and his upper lip curled back as his rage spilled over.

  “Kyan-” I started in explanation, but he cut me off.

  “I know,” he hissed, his gaze moving from one mark to the next like he was cataloguing them, from the bites on my thighs to the finger bruises on my hips. “Do you enjoy being fucked roughly, doll?”

  I swallowed the ball in my throat as a blush rose in my cheeks. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Kyan knows I’m not breakable. I like that.” I shrugged.

  “I see,” Saint said quietly and before he could continue this conversation I unclasped my bra and shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor.

  Saint's features didn't even flicker, but his eyes gave away his lust and his silence spoke volumes. The dark ocean in his gaze was roiling like a stormy sea. His fingers flexed just enough to tell me how much he was itching to touch me. But he wouldn't. I knew that and yet I still ached for it.

  “I don’t like you calling me a doll,” I said to him, raising my chin and staring him down. If he could ask me about how I liked to be fucked then I could ask him to stop disrespecting me. “It makes me sound like nothing more than a possession to you. Like my appearance is the only thing you care about. Is that what you want me to believe?”

  I waited as Saint’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t do me the curtesy of responding to that request as he thought it over. Or maybe he wasn’t thinking it over. Maybe that was all he thought of me, that I was just something to own and look pretty for him. But I found it hard to convince myself of that now that he’d almost died for me.

  I slid my panties down my thighs, stepping out of them as my breathing became shallow.

  "In the shower…Tatum," he said, his voice dry like sandpaper.

  I tried not to flush with pleasure at the sound of my actual name on his lips, not wanting him to know how much I liked that and how much I appreciated him listening to my request, but I was fairly sure he could tell anyway.

  I did as he asked, stepping into the large unit and waiting for my next instruction.

  "Turn the water on. Cold," he growled, moving to the sink and resting his ass against it in prime position to watch me.

  I bit into my lip as I turned the cold water on and gasped as it rushed over me. Goosebumps tumbled across my skin and I shivered in the freezing flow.

  "Wash your hair first," Saint ordered and I reached for my shampoo. "No, use mine." He pointed to the products on the other side of the shower and I nodded, picking up his shampoo and squeezing some into my palm. I lathered the apple scented product into my hair, the icy water making my nipples pebble and my body pepper with tiny bumps. I knew this was another power play, a way to mark me out as his without ever laying a finger on me. Saint was creative like that.

  When I'd washed my hair and it hung over me in a heavy sheet, he gave me his next command. "Switch the water to warm and use my soap to wash yourself."

  I twisted the knob around and sighed as the warm water ran over me, chasing away the cold in an instant. I picked up Saint's soap, rubbing it over my body until a foam was bubbling over my breasts and running down my stomach between my thighs. My heart was thumping to a frantic, unknown beat at the feel of his eyes on me. It was so intense. I should have been ashamed or nervous, but I was neither of those things. I just felt present, focused on him and his orders and nothing else.

  Steam was fogging on the glass and Saint suddenly opened the door so he could keep watching me. He wet his lips, his eyes burning holes in my flesh as he devoured me.

  "Wash your pussy. Slowly," he gritted out, his eyes following my hand as I slid it between my thighs. My heart jack-hammered, my toes scrunching against the floor as I rubbed the bar of soap over my clit and a shudder ran through me.

  He surveyed me with an intensity that made me want to grab him, pull him under the flow and feel his mouth on my skin. I wanted to fall to ruin
for Saint Memphis. I wanted him to control my body and make me break and fall for him. I realised I was gasping for breath, my body tightening and clenching with need as I continued to circle that slick bar over and over myself.

  "Enough," he growled. "Get out."

  He stepped back and I dropped the bar of soap, trembling a little with the need for release as I did as he said, my eyes snagging on the huge bulge in his jeans. I froze before him, water streaming off of me as I waited for his next order, foolishly hoping that he might take this further. I was so close to him and his eyes on my body felt almost as good as his hands would as he trailed his gaze over each part of me. The air between us was electric, tangible. I could hardly breathe with how much I wanted to close the distance between us. And from the look on his face, he felt the exact same way.

  "Dry off." He pointed at a large towel on the rack, stepping back again with an almost pained expression on his face. He schooled it fast, but I'd seen the transparency of his desire. He wanted this as badly as I did. But whatever it was that stayed his hand was still firmly in place in him. Maybe his need for control ran so deep that denying us both pleasure was another way to do it. I knew he'd had women before though, so what was it about me that made him resist?

  I dried myself off with a towel and he directed me to put on the night dress hanging on the back of the door. I slid into it and he moved forward to arrange my damp hair over my shoulders and wipe a single droplet of water from my forehead.

  "Perfect," he announced, inhaling to smell his own scent on me. “Now help me out of this sling.”

  I moved forward to help him take it off and placed it down on the basin as he slowly stretched out his arm which was in a cast, wincing a little as he did so.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked, my voice strained.

  “Not as much as losing you would have,” he murmured and my heart thundered against my ribcage. "Go back to my room. Wait for me."

  I nodded, turning and leaving him there as he wrapped his cast in a small towel one-handed. I heard him step into the shower as I closed the door behind me with a sharp click. I moved to the bed, sitting on the end of it and waiting, unable to help straining my ears, wondering if Saint was pleasuring himself over what he'd just seen. But if he was, I couldn't hear anything from here.