by Nashoda Rose
Crisis had parts of him that the media never saw. But I did and that was why I said what I did to Kevin. It was just hard to trust when that piece of me was damaged. I lowered my head and for the first time, I reached out to him and placed my hand on his arm. “I know you care.”
And this was the Crisis I was getting to know. He didn’t take my words, my slight give in my armor, and push for more; instead, he nodded and opened the car door for me.
He waited for me to slide in, then shut the door and walked around the car to the other side. My stomach whirled as I watched him and it was a good whirl.
Kite chatted with Dana about the band that was on the radio and how they’d partied with them a number of months ago. Crisis and I remained quiet in the back, our hands next to one another on the seat. Close but not touching.
When we arrived at the farm, Kite helped Dana to the house as she stumbled and laughed, obviously having had one too many beers.
Crisis walked beside me up the path, the only sound that of our feet along the gravel and the slight rustle of the trees in the breeze. Normally, I’d shiver at the sound of the wind, but not now. Not with him next to me. He opened the screen door for me, but caught my arm before I entered.
I stopped.
“Tomorrow, nine o’clock.” My eyes narrowed with confusion and he smiled, the first time since we left the party. “First driving lesson. Be ready, Ice, and if you fail to show up, I’m coming for you.”
“Driving?” My heart raced and it wasn’t in fear, it was with excitement. The freedom that would come with being able to drive . . . more control over my life.
He let me go. “Yep. But when you’re with me, no gun.” He smirked. “I don’t need you shooting me when you get tired of me telling you what to do.” He was trying to make light of the gun scenario, so I gave him that and nodded. Then he went inside and disappeared upstairs. I heard his bedroom door shut then his music turned on.
I was going to learn how to drive. Crisis was going to teach me. I didn’t think he’d remember. I bit my lower lip to stop from smiling. There was a certain amount of exhilaration with getting my license because I’d been antagonized about it for years by Alexa, especially after the siphoning incident.
The shackles were releasing, slowly, but with each day, I came closer to having complete control over my life. I’d never belong to anyone again. I rubbed my finger over the branding on my wrist which read ‘Owned.’
Never.
“Haven, get in here,” Dana shouted. “Your phone’s ringing.”
I answered to Katy Perry after it rang through the chorus twice. That had been Crisis’ doing before he went on tour and I hadn’t figured out how to change it. I was technically unsavvy since Olaf never allowed me a phone or access to the internet and everything in the house had passwords.
I glanced at the screen—Ream. “Hello?”
“Where’ve you been? I’ve been calling for an hour.”
I hadn’t talked to him today. I talked to him every day. Saying my brother was over-protective was an understatement, but I couldn’t fault him for it. He’d thought I was dead for the last twelve years. He sacrificed his innocence for me. He killed a man for me.
“I went out with friends.” And this was exactly what he needed to hear.
Silence, but I could hear his footsteps and the slight jostle of the phone as he paced. “Why didn’t you take your phone with you? I was about to call Luke.”
“I didn’t need it. Dana had hers and Crisis and Kite were with—”
“What?” I pulled the phone away from my ear. “What the hell? Where are you? Why are Crisis and Kite with you? I thought Luke was.”
I’d known this was coming, and it was better he heard it from me now than walk in here tomorrow and find out.
Ream was saying something to someone and I guessed it was Kat who, I’d discovered in the few months before they left on tour, was pretty good at calming Ream down. Stubborn and determined, just like him.
“They’re at the farm?”
“Yeah.” And as I said the next words, I realized it was true. “Ream, it’s good. It’s . . . nice to have them here.”
“I don’t want him near you.” He made a rough growl noise. “If he lays his hands on you . . .”
“Ream.” Ever since Crisis jumped off the cliff with me, my brother had this idea that Crisis was interested in me. “He’d never do that and I think you know that.”
Silence. Then, “I still don’t like it. He has some chick he fucked following him around. I don’t want that near you.”
“I’m fine.” And I certainly wasn’t worried about some chick. “I have to go. Dana is here and we’re about to start a movie.”
“Shit, Haven. I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard on you with us around and I didn’t want them coming back to the farm. I wanted it just to be us and Kat.”
I didn’t say anything because as soon as I found a job and saved enough money, I’d move out. I wanted that for me just as much as I wanted it for them.
“I’ll be back tomorrow late morning. Sophie and John are having a big dinner for us. I know you’ve avoided meeting them, but they really want you to come, sis.” I closed my eyes briefly when he said sis. It was like a waterfall of warmth washing over me and yet I was afraid to feel it, to get pulled into the shelter of my big brother again. “I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it, but . . . shit, they were there when I needed someone after you were gone. I was in a really bad place and I don’t think I would’ve pulled through living that year in child services. They knew that when they saw me. Fuck, no one fosters a seventeen-year-old kid.” My hand tightened on the phone as I thought of what Ream had suffered. Maybe it all stemmed from our mother, but what killed us was my weakness to let Gerard do what he did and then my addiction that ended up separating us and taking us on vastly different paths.
I’d never let Ream hurt again because of me. Not the one person who had sacrificed everything in order to protect me.
“Maybe.” That was all I could give right now. I didn’t want parents, but I heard the pleading in Ream’s voice. He wanted this.
Crisis’ music cranked louder and I quickly said goodbye before Ream started in again about the guys being here. Dana sat cross-legged on the couch, the television on and the previews playing in the background. Kite surprisingly had joined her and sat in the leather chair, his legs resting on the coffee table while he sipped what looked like steaming coffee.
It was a strange feeling. Like I was missing something as I sat and watched the movie. I looked down at my phone in my hand as if hoping it would vibrate and I’d see a text from Crisis.
It didn’t and I wanted it to.
I WAS ACCUSTOMED to waking with a chick sucking on my cock or nursing a hangover that required a chick to suck on my cock. I had neither. My cock was rock hard and . . . I lifted the sheet, yeah pulsing and angry as fuck from lack of use . . . I needed to jerk off before I caught some strange disease associated with my recent cock-abuse. It had a purpose and not using it was just simply—abuse.
I reached for my phone and saw the time. Eight in the morning. When was the last time I saw that time? I’d fallen asleep last night lying on my bed with my headphones on, trying to forget about the girl downstairs who had scared the shit out me three times yesterday with whatever was fucking with her head. I was pissed-off, too. Not at her, at myself because I hadn’t been here for months. No one had. She’d been alone, except for Luke, and it was stupid for us to have gone on tour.
But I sure as hell was here now and I was going to do something about it. She may not respect me, shit I didn’t even know if she liked me, or just tolerated me. But she’d become someone I could talk to, even if it was only over text until recently.
I liked that she talked to me, not because I was Crisis from Tear Asunder because I knew she didn’t give a crap about that, but for me. I caught snippets of who she was underneath the fucked-up and I wanted more snippets. Damn it, I wanted all o
f them.
The smell of coffee wafted under the door and I shoved back the covers. I got up, brushed my teeth, and thought about jerking off, but the idea of Haven standing in the kitchen making coffee had me skipping the latter.
I walked down the hall, pulled the elastic band on my boxers and glanced at my hard throbbing cock. “You’ll have to wait a little longer, buddy.”
“Are you really talking to your cock?”
I let go of the elastic and it snapped hard on my abdomen. Haven wasn’t making coffee; she was coming up the stairs with an armful of clothes. Fuck, she looked hot, long blonde hair messy as if she’d tossed and turned in her sleep, and she had sleepy eyes—adorable.
“Yeah. He’s angry this morning.” I stood right in the middle of the top of the stairs so if she wanted to get by, she’d need to brush up against me. It was childish, but fuck, I was a guy.
Her brows lifted. “Why is he angry?”
I smirked, loving that she was down for a little play. “Placed an ‘out of order’ sign on him.” Her brows drew together and her eyes flicked to my tented boxers.
“Doesn’t look out of order.”
I laughed and couldn’t help myself as I stroked the back of my hand down her cheek. It took her by surprise and she swayed backwards. I grabbed her arm before she toppled down the stairs and pulled her up onto the landing next to me.
A white piece of clothing slipped from the pile she was holding and fell at her feet. I smirked when I realized what it was, and took great pleasure in helping her out since there was no way she could bend over and get it without everything falling from her grasp.
I let her go and crouched, picking up the white lace panties. I held them out and her nose twitched like a rabbit sensing danger. “I like white. Prefer pink though, for future notice. And lace I love.”
She was trapped because if she snatched them from my hand, she’d drop the clothes and if she didn’t then . . . I curled them up in my palm.
“They aren’t mine,” she blurted.
God, she was cute. “Darlin’ I know they are and I love that you’re denying it. Means you care.”
Now that raised a little heat in her cheeks and I liked it. Shit, I liked it a lot because when I left a few months back, that would’ve never happened and now that was twice. She was affected by me—good to know. “I don’t care.”
I shrugged. Then turned to head back to my room to hide my newly acquired treasure. I had no doubt she’d search for them the second I left the house. I looked back over my shoulder and caught her eyes staring at my butt; could’ve been my back, but unlikely. Really, it didn’t matter which. I was just impressed she was eyeing me up.
“You can look, but don’t touch,” I said.
Her mouth dropped open then snapped shut. I disappeared around the corner, then heard her stomping down the hall. Haven wasn’t a stomper. She was graceful, elegant and controlled. Too controlled. And that part of her was coming down.
I laughed to myself, then hid her lace underwear in my room. I went downstairs, and grabbed coffee that I knew Kite had made because he had his mug sitting beside the coffeemaker.
Dana, who had slept on the couch, must have heard me in the kitchen. I saw her arms stretch above her, then her head popped up over the back of the couch. As soon as she saw me standing half-naked in the kitchen, her eyes widened in what looked like horror.
Luckily, I was pretty confident—okay, overly confident—about my body and there was no way that was what scared her. She frantically straightened her hair and clothes, keeping her body turned away from me. My guess, she was more concerned about how she looked hung-over first thing in the morning.
“You look like hell.” Girls were funny about how they looked in the morning. Most of the girls I’d been with didn’t stay the night, but a few had and not one of them was confident about their appearance in the morning. “How do you feel? Want some coffee? Kite will be back down any minute.” I smirked. She looked as if she idolized Kite more than me, and that got her moving faster as she darted around looking for her purse. “On the floor by the TV,” I graciously offered.
“Ahhh, yeah, thanks. Tell Haven I’ll talk to her later.” She darted out the door.
“Sure thing, beautiful.”
She was already gone.
I drank my coffee while I watched the news for a half-hour, then went and showered. I jerked off in the shower thinking about Haven in that little black number last night. I hadn’t planned on it, but fuck, she was in my head and my cock was aching, balls hurting. There was no way I could hang with her today without being in physical pain unless I got myself off.
I tugged on a pair of worn-out jeans and a t-shirt, tagged my phone off the dresser, then headed downstairs to meet Haven for her first driving lesson.
I glanced at the clock on my phone—9:06 a.m. gleamed in the middle of the screen. After the panty incident I put a load of laundry in, but it was more like threw them in, taking out my frustration on the clothes. Why was I frustrated? There was no reason to be, except Crisis was getting to me. In one day. One day.
Of course, he knew the panties were mine. There was no one else currently living in the house. And why would he take them? It was silly. I was unaccustomed to silly and childish games. My entire life had been about survival right from childhood.
But Crisis was slowly showing pieces of a life that wasn’t all about being productive and survival. It was about the simple joy of living. I never could equate the two together before. But even looking at a cucumber made me smile because I didn’t just see its mundane function of being food. I saw it as something silly and funny. It also made me think about Crisis.
I rested my hands on top of the washer as it did the final spin and my body leaned against it as it jostled and shook.
He unhinged me. He teased, played, talked about chicks like they were playing cards, at least he had in the beginning, and then he pulled shit like he did yesterday and held me when I freaked out.
Crisis was supportive and knew what I needed even if I didn’t, because I would’ve never let anyone hold me. But Crisis . . . he was comfort and safety. He didn’t push me and yet he told me what he thought at the same time.
“Ice, are you really doing that? Jesus, even I wouldn’t get off in the fuckin’ hallway.”
I shoved away from the washing machine so fast and hard I hit the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Words lodged in my throat as I looked at him standing at the top of the stairs a few feet away.
“I wasn’t . . . it was almost done and I was . . .” Oh. My. God. I never stuttered. Ever.
But, he saved me from any further stuttering as he winked at me and turned away saying, “Come on, babe. Let’s get you driving.”
Facing my sexual desire was a subject I was still tackling on the confidence scale. To me, sex was cruel and vile and I never once enjoyed it.
This . . . the clenching between my legs, the butterflies flapping madly in my belly, it was new, well, new since Crisis, and to my mortification, it started over texts. Crisis’ texts. Words on a screen typed by him and they hadn’t even been sexual. It was just the thought of him sitting back with his long, lean legs outstretched, hair falling haphazard over his head while he typed on his phone.
“You coming, Ice?”
“Umm, yeah.” I straightened and pulled my shit together, except I couldn’t do anything about the butterflies; they were out of control.
I followed him downstairs. “Are we using your car?”
He came to an abrupt halt, eyes widening. “Fuck no. Do you know what kind of car I have? Shit, it’s not for learning to drive. It’s not for any chick to drive.”
Oh, my God, he was totally being a guy. I may have been sheltered from what most girls did growing up, but I still had ears and many conversations revolved around guys and their cars. It was like they were talking about the most precious stone in the world. My ‘work’ at the club had afforded Olaf a really nice Audi that he talked abou
t all the time.
We walked past the four-car garage that housed Ream, Kite’s, Kat’s and Crisis’ cars, but we failed to stop. Where were we going? We walked past the barn, empty of horses as they were all out in the pastures. I skidded to a halt, the gravel rolling beneath my feet as I saw exactly where we were headed.
Crisis stopped and turned. “What?”
“A lawn mower?” I choked out.
He shrugged then walked into the shed and threw his leg over the driver’s seat and started it up. It took a few tries before it smoked, rattled and puttered, then crawled toward me.
I stood staring at the little ride-on mower, Crisis sitting on it wearing his baseball cap and worn-out jeans with holes in the knees. Knees bent too high on the machine because he was so tall. It was ridiculous. The hot rock star with tats and the most stunning ripped body was driving a shitty lawnmower and he still exuded hot.
It was so ridiculous that I laughed. My smile widened first, then a strange bubbling in my chest that stole my breath and locked down in the center of my core as the sound emerged.
I laughed until my stomach cramped and my eyes watered.
The mower shut down beside me.
Crisis leaned back in the green plastic seat and crossed his arms over his chest. The tightness around my mouth felt funny as I stopped laughing and smiled. It was weird, smiling and laughing. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d laughed or felt the lightness hit me in the chest like it did now.
He cocked his leg and rested his foot up on the frame, appearing casual and relaxed but his eyes . . . they were intense as they drove into me. My smile faded and a tingling flared between my legs as I stared at him. We were both silent for a moment, merely watching one another, assessing maybe.
“When you laugh . . .” he paused as if thinking about it, “it’s like being handed a piece of you that no one else has ever seen.”
Those words held more truth than he could ever know and I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t.