Losing It All

by Wilde, Kati

  About an hour passes before Victor bangs on the forward wall of the cargo hold, telling the guard in the cab to pull over. Reception must be shit inside the van, because he opens up the back doors, unlocks my ankle shackles, and shuffles me out.

  Middle of nowhere again. A two-lane road stretches through a whole lot of nothing. And it’s fucking freezing.

  The guard from the cab hands Victor a shiny new phone—probably an untraceable burner, because these assholes are damn good at covering their asses. “What’s her number?”

  I tell him and he dials it in, then hits the speakerphone. Not letting me get my hands on the device.

  I wish to hell they weren’t so good at this.

  The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Fuck, if the Riders have Anna hidden out at the clubhouse, the call might never get through. Reception out on the ranch is shit.

  And that would be just my goddamn luck.

  Then I hear a hesitant, “Hello?”

  My stomach hollows out with relief and my throat closes up. Shit. Ah shit. All that planning to say just the right thing and the sound of my sister’s quavering voice just knocked the wind out of me.

  A sharp “Stone?” follows a second later.

  No wavering this time. Only fear and worry.

  I can’t bear to hear how afraid she is for me. “How you doing, pipsqueak?”

  There’s a sobbing breath and then a quick, “I’m all right and I love you. Daisy’s okay, too.”

  “Good.” Damn good. And I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that. Emotion burns in my throat, but I can’t waste more time. “Now tell Gunner that me and Crash had a real bad argument, so I had to knock him down.”

  Even before I finish speaking, Victor drops the phone to the blacktop, then stomps on it. Fuck. How much got through? Enough? Tell Gunner. A bad argument. Knock him down. That’s enough to tip her off, as soon as she starts to think about it. And she will think about it. Because they’ll expect me to try and get a message through. But did she get it all?

  I just don’t fucking know.

  13

  Stone

  It’s nearly dawn when we arrive back at the barn. Sitting in a van for hours has stiffened up every muscle that took a hit last night.

  Every hit that Crash laid on me.

  And he keeps laying more on me. Every time I think of him, the hole inside me tears open wider.

  I’ve had one good thing to fill that emptiness with: the realization that Anna had her phone with her. She’s not locked up or being held by the Iron Blood, because there’s no fucking way they’d let her keep a device like that with her.

  So she’s safe. There’s no doubt of it now.

  But it’s knowledge with a sharp, jagged edge. Because she’s safe. And if I’d known that, if I’d been as certain in the Cage…I wouldn’t have let Crash sacrifice himself for me. I’d have gone out with him.

  It doesn’t matter that means we’d both be dead. Better dead than betraying a brother. But it’s too fucking late now.

  And a part of me is dead anyway. The part of me that used to be worth something.

  But at least she’s safe. Now Papa has no leverage to make me fight again. Except I will fight at least one more time. Not for Papa, though.

  I’ve got a goddamn hole to fill—and a promise to keep.

  In the barn, it’s too early for Elton. It’s dark except for the recessed lighting that offers enough illumination to walk down the wide aisle between the stalls.

  First cell on the left is Tusk’s. He’s awake, doing pullups using the bars over the stall with his dick hanging free. The sick fucker doesn’t look over and I don’t try to get his attention, don’t give him any reason to look at me. Better if he never sees me coming, never realizes I’m a threat.

  Farther down the aisle, Cherry and a guard come out of Airbag’s stall. Even in the dim lighting, I see the way her eyes widen and relief fills her expression. Like maybe she thought they’d taken me out to put a bullet in my head instead of letting me make a phone call.

  “You done in there for now?” Victor asks. When she nods, he says, “Then see to Mr. Wall’s injuries.”

  Fuck that. “They don’t need seeing to.”

  “The nurse will determine that,” the bastard says. “Get into your restraints.”

  Goddammit. This is the last thing I want—Cherry touching me. Trying to heal me, to make me feel better.

  Nothing could make this feel better. Nothing should make this feel better.

  But I don’t have much of a choice. I step in the restraints, hands over my head, manacles on my wrists. Chains securing my ankles. They don’t let her come in until I’m locked up. She sets a little medical kit at the foot of my bed and comes to stand in front of me.

  “Bend your head a little, please.”

  Because even in those heels, she’s about six inches shorter than me. And standing so damn close, reaching up to skim her fingers over my scalp as if searching for lumps.

  “Any tender spots?”

  Not in my skull. And Christ, she looks like hell. Makeup mostly gone. Cried off, probably. The skin around her eyes looks tender and swollen, her face pale with exhaustion.

  I’ve never seen her like this. Not even the first night at the tavern. She looked vulnerable then—but this is another level entirely. As if she’s not just vulnerable but fragile, on the edge of breaking.

  And I’m such a sucker for it. Even now.

  But the empty stall across from mine reminds me why I shouldn’t be. “Where’s Handlebar?”

  “In the other barn.” She rips open an antiseptic pad and begins dabbing a deep cut over my eyebrow. Quietly she adds, “They thought it best to separate him from you.”

  After his threat to kill me. That pit opens up in my stomach. But not as deep. Because she’s looking up at me with those big eyes, tending to my wounds just like she did in the tavern. And despite the sting of the antiseptic, her hands are so fucking gentle. That softness seeps in, tending to the ragged wounds inside me, too. Filling me up with her sweetness.

  But that’s not what I want in me. When she opens up a butterfly bandage, I tell her, “Don’t close it up. I want to wear these scars.”

  The marks Crash put on me. I want to wear these wounds for a long fucking time.

  Her hand stills, her sad gaze searching my face. Then she nods like she understands. “All right.”

  Even her fucking voice is gentle. So goddamn sweet. I don’t want that.

  “I’ll add them to my collection—all the scars I’ve got because a woman was saving her own skin.”

  Her expression tightens. But her touch never roughens. Neither does her voice. “Is that what these others are?”

  “Yeah.”

  Antiseptic burns my lip as she says, “You said that you went through a window.”

  While telling her not to be smart and pretty. Because all that wounded vulnerability already got its hooks into me. Throw in the rest and I knew that I’d be fucked.

  Got fucked anyway. “There was a window. But first there was a gorgeous girl who took me home. Back then, you might say I was real handsome myself.”

  Her lips twitch. “Still might.”

  “Only if you’re a fucking liar.” The way her amusement blinks out deepens the hole again, fills it with rot instead of her softness. But it only takes another second for her warmth to start seeping in again. “Long story short, her abusive asshole of an ex showed up with some friends, she got scared and saved her own skin by telling him that I’d slipped something into her drink. Cue a brawl, me going headfirst through a window, and leaving her bedroom not nearly as handsome as I went into it.”

  She bites her lip. “That’s shitty. I’m sorry.”

  A harsh laugh escapes me. “Yeah, she said sorry, too. A few years after, that ex was locked up because he took his temper out on someone else, she said sorry and maybe we could try again. Thing was, her face hadn’t changed—but she looked a lot uglier to me than she
had before. So I passed up on that offer.”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “Someone fucks you over once, you’re not going to let them do it again. No matter their reasons.”

  “The reasons matter. Because I get it. Being afraid. Saving your own skin. But no one comes out looking prettier than they went in.”

  Her breath trembles. “I just want to get out of it. Pretty or not.”

  “Do you? Funny. That’s what Crash wanted, too.”

  Grief slashes across her face. Like I slapped her with it.

  Because I did. She might have been the bait who brought us here, but nothing in that Cage was her fault. I was the one who betrayed a brother. And it was playing real dirty, hitting her with that.

  Because I want her to hit me back. To put some hurt on me. Because it’s hurt that I should be feeling.

  But she just continues tending to my wounds. Standing there drowning in grief and sorrow while smoothing the sharp edges of my pain.

  I can’t fucking take it. “We’re done,” I tell her hoarsely. “I don’t want you touching me.”

  She freezes before nodding. Lips pressed tight, she tapes on another bandage, then begins packing up her kit. “I’ll leave you an ice pack for your jaw.”

  From the open door of my stall, Victor says, “You’re not done.”

  You’re not done. It’s like a punch to the gut. For an instant, I’m back in the Cage and feeling so goddamn good, because I got shit done, and grinning while Crash asks the guard whether he’s waiting for Santa to bring him a brain. Then realizing what’s coming when Victor tells us, You’re not done.

  But there’s only two of us in here now. Cherry and me. And there’s not a fucking thing in this world that will make me lay a hand on her. I’ll just lie down and let her take me out. She’ll probably do it real gently.

  More gently than I deserve.

  “Did I miss an injury?” She’s looking me over, her brow furrowed. “Do I need to look at your back?”

  So Victor hadn’t been talking to me. Now he tells her, “Papa was pleased with Mr. Wall’s victory. He decided that it earned him a reward.”

  As if in confusion, she blinks at him, then glances back at me. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, either. I heard him say something about a reward, but figured he meant the call to Anna.

  But there was something else. Punishment. For disobedience.

  Fucking hell.

  Realization widens Cherry’s eyes, then her face goes utterly still. “You mean…?”

  “Give Mr. Wall his reward, Cherry.”

  Panic sharpens her voice. “But Papa says I’m not supposed to—”

  “Not in his bed.” Victor gestures to the floor in front of my feet. “On your knees.”

  Fuck no. “I don’t want her touching me.”

  Not to heal me. Not as a reward for killing Crash. And sure as fuck not because they’re punishing her.

  Relief lightens her voice. “He doesn’t want—”

  “Then you’ll give Tusk the reward.”

  That sick fucker must have heard his name. He calls out, “You’ll give what to me?”

  Her face goes white when Victor adds, “Considering where his cock was earlier tonight, I don’t think you want to suck that off.”

  Horror fill her expression. “No.”

  “Number thirteen also won.” Victor’s eyes narrow. “Maybe we’ll make you reward him.”

  The neo-Nazi. And Cherry’s reaction to that suggestion seems more frantic and horrified than her reaction to Tusk, shaking her head wildly as she backs up a step. And Christ, my stomach’s all twisted up in sick knots. I don’t know how much of that rot is the thought of this being a punishment or because I can’t stand the idea of her touching someone else.

  “I’ll take the reward,” I grate out and her frantic gaze shoots to my face. “I’ll take it.”

  Gratitude fills her expression. Fucking gratitude. And sheer relief. She starts toward me, then halts when I tell her, “Grab the pillow and put it on the floor.”

  Or else she might be kneeling on that cold concrete for a long time. Because I don’t want a blowjob. Not tonight. Not after Crash. And not while chained upright in a freezing cell, my wrists and ankles in restraints.

  Except my dick doesn’t give a shit. I watch her bend over to snatch the pillow off my bunk, that tiny nurse’s uniform riding up to give me a glimpse of tight little ass and all that smooth skin above the lace tops of her stockings. The weight between my legs grows heavier, thicker.

  Christ. I glance over at Victor. The fucker must be made of ice. He’s not checking out her ass. Instead his watchful gaze is still on me.

  Where he’ll see more soon. “This reward ain’t a fucking show,” I tell him.

  He shrugs. “I’ve got to see it done.”

  “I’m sure as hell not going to come with you watching me. My dick’s tiny, so it’s real timid.” And I don’t share. Another man looking is too damn close to sharing. I don’t want anyone to have any of her. “And it’s going to shrivel if I have to look at your face.”

  Fucker doesn’t leave, but he turns sideways so we’re only in his periphery. Good enough.

  Cherry all but runs back to me, drops the pillow to the concrete and sinks down—as if afraid I’ll change my mind and send her off to blow Tusk or Hatchet.

  She’s shaking all over. Her hands as she reaches for the front of my sweats. Her every rapid, shallow breath. Her soft lips as she looks up at me.

  Shaking like she’s never done this before. Like she hasn’t lured in a million guys with that mouth.

  Maybe even me. “Did we get this far that night?”

  “No,” she says softly. Her trembling fingers curl over my waistband.

  “But you would have, yeah? You were so wet and hot for my cock when I was kissing you.”

  Her pale face pinkens. That sweet blush surges straight down the length of my dick, leaving me hard and aching. Without her even touching me yet.

  “I would have had you on your knees that night. After I’d eaten your pussy. And after I’d fucked you good and hard, stretched your hot little hole with every inch of my dick.”

  Those were my priorities. The blowjob could have waited until round two.

  Her blush deepens but she still doesn’t do anything else. Because she’s waiting for permission, I realize. Looking up at me, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

  “Go on, then,” I tell her hoarsely. “Give me a hot, wet hole to fill.”

  Freezing air surrounds my cock when she drags down the front of the sweats, but I don’t feel the cold. Not while watching her eyes go wide as her gaze measures my erect length.

  Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she whispers, “You’re not tiny.”

  “And you look like a greedy girl who likes them long and thick,” I rasp. “Now show me how you use that pretty, pretty mouth as bait.”

  That makes her lips press tight again. But her hands come up and take hold of my shaft, and that’s…ah fuck. Awkward. Her palms are soft and dry, but her fingers are freezing in the cold air, and her grip is so damn light. I can barely feel the stroke of her skin over mine—yet it’s also all that I feel. Like a tease of sensation that my entire body craves more of. More of this sweetness, more of this softness.

  Ah Christ. I clench my teeth against a groan, everything in me focused on the slight pleasure of that touch.

  Those emerald eyes meet mine, shining with a light I haven’t seen in them before. Something bright and hopeful. “You like this?” she asks breathlessly.

  I laugh. “Fuck no. As hand jobs rate, this is the worst I’ve ever had. No wonder you have to drug them.”

  That light blinks out and her gaze drops.

  That rot rolls back in. But for the best. For a moment there, I forgot what this was. Because she was making me feel so fucking good. Chasing after the pleasure of her touch. Pushing away the pain.

  But it’s a reward. For killing Crash.
>
  I can’t let the pain filling me up vanish. Because I know now what would replace it—what I’d need to replace it. Cherry. And all her softness.

  “You call this a reward?” I throw at Victor. “She’s got hands like a dead fish.”

  She releases my cock like it burned her, bowing her head.

  “For fuck’s sake, Cherry,” Victor snaps. “Just suck him off and get it done.”

  “Cherry’s sucking who off?” Tusk’s demand cuts through the quiet in the barn. “That pussy’s mine! That mouth is mine!”

  “Is it, Tusk?” Cherry says softly and laughs, but when her head comes up there’s no amusement there. Instead there’s just…rage.

  Oh fuck. I like that. So much better than wounded. Better than sorry.

  I like that rage a hell of a lot.

  Sparks fly through emerald as she calls out, “You think this pussy is yours, Tusk?”

  “I earned it!” he roars.

  “But he’s the one who got the reward!” she calls back, then leans in to rub her cheek against my cock, moaning loudly, “Oh, Stone. Your dick tastes so good. Mmmmmmmm. I just want to slurp up your cum again and again.”

  Oh shit. A laugh rolls through me as an enraged bellow echoes from the rafters. The fucker sounds as if he’s losing his mind.

  Smiling viciously, Cherry moans again. “I need this big dick in my pussy. Please, Stone. Hold me down and make it hurt so good.”

  A crash comes from Tusk’s stall, as if he just slammed his bed against the wall. And I can’t stop laughing. I really like her when she’s angry.

  “Oh god, yes!” She gives a breathy little cry. “Push it in so deep!”

  Then she raises those furious eyes to mine and sucks my cock all the way to the back of her throat.

  The groan tears from me before I can stop it, because her mouth. Her sweet goddamn mouth. Her hands were cold and awkward but her mouth is so fucking wet, so fucking hot.

  So fucking good.