by Elle Rease
“Maybe I should,” he whispered, pushing her onto the bed. “Light up, princess.”
Cass reached into the nightstand for a lighter and took a few drags before handing it to him. “God, that’s some good shit.”
He had to agree as he puffed on the joint. His senses were already heightened from the other drugs he’d taken, and he shrugged his cut and shirt off so he could run his hands over his skin. It felt so good, like there were sparks going off everywhere.
“You do have a six-pack; Piper wasn’t lying.” Cass sat on the edge of the bed and traced patterns on his stomach with her fingers. She accepted the joint back and kept it between her lips, standing up on the bed so they were face-to-face. “Want some?”
“Yeah,” he responded. He opened his mouth and she blew smoke towards him. He held her hips to steady her as they shared the remainder of the joint. He snuffed it out and pushed her back, getting on top of her. “So fucking horny.”
“Then stop talking and do something about it.”
He kissed her lazily. He could feel every inch of her tongue rubbing his and moaned at the sensation. This was one of his favorite things of being high: he appreciated every stroke, every touch, that much more than usual.
There was a knock on the door, followed by Zoey’s voice. “Byron, are you in there?”
“Second time someone wants to ruin the party today,” Cass giggled.
“Second time I’ll ignore them.” He nibbled his way down her neck. “You should strip.”
“Byron, is that you?” Zoey asked, wiggling the doorknob.
Cass helped him to get her clothes off. “You sure you don’t want to get that?”
He was instantly in love with her boobs. They were round, perky and gorgeous. He took a nipple between his lips and grazed it with his teeth. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“Player,” she breathed, arching her back.
“Princess,” he said as he shoved his pants down.
And, without a care in the world—exactly what he’d wanted—he proceeded to fuck Cassandra Abernethy for the second time in one day, savoring the effect of his high along the way. He forgot about everything that usually haunted him and, when he fell asleep in her arms, he wasn’t plagued by nightmares of being unable to rescue Cinnia.
He would face whatever troubles the future held, but only starting tomorrow. Right now, he basked in the nothingness that surrounded him.
Chapter Nineteen
“What the hell is going on with Byron?”
Brennan stayed quiet, his eyes trained on a design he was finishing up.
“I mean, messing around with that… little slut!” Cinnia felt angry enough to pull the hair from her head. She took her frustrations out on the breakfast she was preparing for her husband, instead. “He would’ve been a dead man, if he was any other patch member.”
“So, I guess Cassandra chose well,” he murmured, “knowing that By is a favorite in the MC.”
“She doesn’t deserve him. Especially now that she’s dragging him into drug addiction!”
“By was busy with that before her, Cin.”
“Then why did you allow it?”
“We’ve dealt with plenty of addicts and we’ve found it’s way less of a hassle if they decide to quit by themselves.” He sat back and stretched his torso. “When we force the issue, they just waste the club’s money and fall back into old habits.”
“We can’t just let it go, Bren. This is Byron we’re talking about.”
“I understand that you want to help him, lass, since he saved you.” He pushed his drawing aside and looked up when she approached with his plate. “I feel like we’re not really discussing the elephant in the room, though.”
Her cheeks warmed as she dished for herself. She joined him at the breakfast nook and dug in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Like hell.” She sensed his gaze on her face as he studied her. “Did you have that nightmare again?”
“Bren, I’m fine.”
“That doesn’t answer my question and you know it.”
“Look, I can’t decide what my subconscious—”
“You said you’d tell me if it happened again.”
She chewed her food and avoided eye-contact. “You already know, obviously.”
“Cin, you’re suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder—”
“No, I’m suffering from not-getting-sex-disorder.” Brennan banged his fist on the table. Hot, she thought longingly, slowly meeting his eyes. He was getting angry and it was turning her on. So fucking hot, all the time. It’s unfair.
“I know you don’t want me to worry,” he began evenly, although she could see he really wanted to pull her over his knee and spank the living daylights out of her for pretending to be so thick. Heck, she wouldn’t mind that one bit. “You’ll find out later today if you’re healed enough for sex, so don’t dare point the finger in that direction. We’re talking about your nightmares.”
She hated discussing this, even thinking about it. She wiped her clammy palms on her pants and inhaled deeply to calm her erratic heartbeat. “Babe, what part of ‘they’re horrible’ don’t you understand? I just want them to be over.”
“Then maybe you should talk to me about them. I don’t know what to do when you wake up screaming, or when you’re begging me to fuck you in a way that’s borderline rape.”
She winced at the reminder. Usually, she was so far gone after her nightmares that she had no clue what she was demanding of him. Earlier this morning, she’d grabbed him by the shirt and nearly forced herself on him. She was still embarrassed by her actions.
Dr. McKauley believed that the stress from Cinnia’s attack had upset her so deeply that she was trying to cope by getting Brennan to finish what her attackers had started that night. Cinnia didn’t need her shrink’s opinion to know that what she was doing was wrong.
“I told you, I’m sorry about that,” she mumbled, her appetite forgotten.
“Cin, you don’t have to apologize. You just have to talk to me.”
“I want to be over it.”
“One day, you will be, but the wounds are still fresh, lass.”
She stared at the fork in her grip, trying to push her feelings down. It wasn’t working, not with him being so supportive and understanding. She wanted to be the strong Cinnia Sloane again, the one who took no shit from anyone… It was difficult to come to terms with the fact that she had been damaged enough to forget how to stand on her own feet.
She knew she could rely on Brennan and that he didn’t mind helping her through this, but she hated that she needed the support. For so long, she’d been her own source of strength. It was hard to shift that responsibility to someone else, even if it was her husband.
“It always takes me back to that night,” she whispered, a tear slipping from her cheek.
Brennan tilted her chin up before she could remove the evidence of her emotions, searching her eyes with his own. “Go on.”
“Piper’s being beaten up too, though, in my dream… We’re both on the ground, crying as they kick us.” Bile rose at the back of her throat and she took another sharp breath. “And then I’m pinned down. I know I’m going to be raped. He rips my clothes off and…” She trailed off, shutting her eyes firmly. “And his face changes into yours and you rape me, and I… I deserve it. I want it.”
“Cin.”
It was a sigh of comprehension, of acknowledgement, of acceptance. She burst into a fresh set of tears just as he wrapped her in his warm embrace, bawling against his chest while he stroked her back. She hated being this person, so weak and emotional all the time, yet she adored him for not shunning her.
“You didn’t deserve any of that,” he murmured. There was a hint in his tone, as if he was struggling with his own feelings, but she couldn’t see his face so she didn’t know for sure. “You fought bravely, lass. Just because you were outnumbered, doesn’t mean that you deserved to be beaten or raped.”
&nb
sp; She slipped her arms around his waist and held him tightly, shuddering as she sobbed. That fucker was dead and gone along with the threat he’d represented, and here she was: trying to find a way to carry on. He’d succeeded in fucking up her life, and she will have to try for the rest of her days to pick up the pieces and carry on, win her own kind of victory. She knew she would find a way to live again, but the wound was currently still too raw.
“I thank the gods every day for saving you from rape,” Brennan admitted.
“Me too.”
He pulled back so he could look at her. “I know you’ll always carry these scars, even though the outside has healed, but I’ll be here for you through it all and even after that. Even if the doctor gives you the go-ahead to have sex from today… If you’re not ready, we won’t do it, okay?”
“Okay.” She gave him a quivering smile. “I really want to, though. I feel like it’ll… help, in some way.”
“I know.” He kissed her forehead. “Come on, finish your breakfast so I can take you to work.”
“Byron’s following me on the Harley, so you don’t have to worry about that,” she said, waving his comment away as she returned to her plate. “I know things are busy with the club after all the wedding’s expenses.”
“Cin, you don’t have to—”
“I know, Bren.” She gazed at him. “I’m not getting involved. I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Good, ‘cause you’d probably get mad when you find out how we paid for everything,” he chuckled. When he saw the look on her face, he held his hands up. “That was a joke.”
“It better have been,” she muttered. “If I find out that the club’s doing illegal things again…”
He inclined his head as she trailed off. “Noted, lass.” He swallowed his final bite of food and took their plates to the dishwasher, not commenting on the fact that she’d only eaten half of her breakfast. It was already a huge improvement from her appetite of a few weeks ago. “Will you stop by the tattoo parlor to let me know what the physiotherapist said?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good, I’m glad.” He lifted her back into his arms and kissed her softly. “I love you, wife.”
She giggled at the new endearment, one she was still trying to get used. “I love you, too, husband,” she whispered, catching his pierced bottom lip between her teeth.
“Fuck, I’m going crazy without you.”
She didn’t have to ask him to clarify: she knew exactly what he meant. She slipped her tongue past his defenses and kissed him deeply, the way she’s been trying to get away with since being discharged from hospital. But, as has become custom, he didn’t allow things to get too heated.
“I’ll see you later?” he asked huskily, breaking away from her mouth.
“Hmm.”
Brennan slowly let her back to her feet, keeping her front pressed to his all the way. He instinctively rolled his hips as she rubbed over his crotch. He was rock-hard behind the fly of his leather pants. She wanted to drop to her knees and service him. The glint in his icy eyes informed her he craved exactly the same thing, but that he was pressed for time.
“Bye, lass.”
“Bye, babe.”
She stood in that spot until she heard the deep rumble of his Blackline, fighting her desires. She really hoped that the doctor and physiotherapist would give her the go-ahead today. She had no idea how much longer she could last without Brennan’s lovemaking. Sure, they often divulged in oral sex, but it wasn’t the same. She needed him. All of him.
Hurrying upstairs to brush her teeth, she gathered her things and headed outside to her own Harley. Byron was already parked at the curb, arms reaching towards the sky, and her temper flared once she remembered the text message that had upset her in the first place.
Ever since the wedding, William Abernethy has asked Cinnia to provide more details on the “Hero”—as Byron had been dubbed by the MC—that could help him verify whether Byron was a good match for his daughter. Cinnia hadn’t wanted to become involved with William’s troubles but, because she cared so much about Byron, she made the effort.
This morning, William had informed her of discovering cocaine in Cassandra’s bathroom cabinet. He’d been aware of her marijuana habit, but suspected that she was only turning to hard drugs because of Byron.
Sadly, Cinnia couldn’t deny that Byron might be the reason. She’s heard the rumors in the club and it pissed her off that someone with such a bright future was being so stupid. The fact that he kept cheating on Zoey with the women that hung around the club, some of them years older than him, only added to her rage.
Draping her cut over the motorcycle, she marched to Byron, allowing that fury to fuel her. The stench of alcohol that hung around him didn’t do a thing to calm her down, either. “What the hell is going on with you?” she demanded.
“Good morning to you, too,” he mumbled warily.
“Don’t give me that, By! Answer the damn question!”
“Nothing’s going on with me.”
“Sure, that’s why you smell like a brewery!”
“Okay, yeah, so I partied a bit hard last—”
“On a weeknight?” she interrupted incredulously. “What the fuck, Byron!”
“School’s winding down—”
“That’s bullshit! I, for one, know that you’ve been failing your recent tests. Just because you’ve got a cut now, doesn’t mean you can neglect your other responsibilities!”
“I’m not. I’m just having fun, like a regular teenager.”
She reeled back, flabbergasted by his nonchalant attitude. How could he sit there and argue that he was right? He was probably in the same clothes he’d worn yesterday, and he was still drunk or, at the very least, hung over, in the middle of a goddamn workweek.
And she realized that Brennan was right about addicts, and how it would be a waste of her breath to argue with Byron. This saddened her even further. He was such a lovely young man, someone that she adored spending time with, and she didn’t want him to lose that.
He never spoke about why he was depressed, but she knew he was haunted by what had happened to her. Until he decided to get help, she couldn’t do anything for him.
“Go home,” she muttered, turning on her heel.
“Wha—” He broke off in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t protect me when you’re like this,” she snapped. “I’ll let Brennan know to send one of the prospects.”
“Cin, no, wait—”
“Go home,” she repeated firmly. She hated every moment of breaking his heart, but maybe a reality check was what he needed to figure out he should seek help. “I don’t need you while you’re like this.”
She was back at her Harley, dialing Brennan’s number, by the time Byron ignited his bike’s engine and sped off without another word. She was blinking back the tears, hoping he wouldn’t do something stupid, or get into an accident. She would never forgive herself.
“What’s up, lass?”
“Can you please send someone else to follow me to work and keep an eye on me today?”
Brennan was quiet for so long that she thought the call had dropped. “What did he do?” he growled in annoyance.
“He showed up smelling like alcohol.”
“He’s a dead man.”
“Bren—”
“Ryan’s in the area, so look out for him.”
Her mouth popped open when Brennan hung up without saying goodbye. She understood that he was angry, but that didn’t excuse the fact that he was being rude to her! She was going to lose her shit soon, she could tell.
As calmly as she possibly could, she typed out a text explaining he was being an asshole and sent it just as a Harley rounded the corner. She recognized Ryan immediately: he wore a red helmet, instead of the traditional black, with the Raptors’ crest on the back. She stuffed her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and mounted her motorcycle, ignoring the continual vibration o
f Brennan’s incoming call.
Her Harley’s rumble beat her phone’s, anyway.
She tried to keep her mind blank as she travelled to work, yet it constantly revolved around the two pains in her ass: Byron and Brennan. They were both extremely important to her, for different reasons, and they were both treating her like shit. She was going to give them hell.
“Everything okay?” Ryan asked once they were parked in front of Drummond’s Customs & Repairs.
“Oh, just swell,” she replied sarcastically. “I’m going to murder my husband.”
“Is there a reason why he sounded so pissed off when he called?”
“Yes.”
Ryan chuckled. “You two, I swear.”
She ignored that jibe. “Will you be here in an hour to follow me to the hospital?”
“Yup, I’ve already committed myself to you for the day, Cinnia.” Ryan’s eyes sparkled with mischief, but not the sexual kind. He was one of the more approachable members in the Raptors. “Good luck calming down.”
“Don’t,” she grumbled. She grabbed her bag and finally lifted her still-vibrating phone to her ear. “What?”
“I get that you’re pissed off with me, but never ignore my phone calls,” Brennan said firmly.
“I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“If not for Ryan, I would’ve assumed the worst! Do you not understand that I nearly lost you?”
Usually, she would back off after that, feeling horrible about her behavior, but she wasn’t the one in the wrong at this moment. “Get off your high horse, Bren,” she yelled into the mouthpiece. She pretended not to notice the shocked looks from the guys as she stormed across the shop floor to her office. “You hang up on me, but I should say sorry? You can treat your wife with more fucking respect than that!”
“Look, I’m sorry, but—”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “You let your rage rule you and steamrolled me in the process. I do not appreciate that.”
He sighed deeply. “You’re right, okay? You’re right. I’m sorry.”