“You were a virgin before tonight?” There’s venom in his voice, and to be quite frank, it’s almost scary. If I had to pick one of these four men that I was most likely to be scared of, it might actually be Crown. “Are you kidding me?”
“Wow. I guess you all just assumed I was as loose as Nellie.” My nostrils flare, and I tear Crown’s belt from its buckle. He lets me do that much, but then he shoves me away again, taking another drink. “Why? If you’d known it was going to be you or Grainger, would you have fought for the right?” My mouth curves up in a mean smirk, but I’m only teasing. I know Crown doesn’t like me, despite what he says. I just figured that he’s a guy, and a Daybreaker at that. Sex is like, well, alcohol to them. They don’t mind drinking several bottles a night, even if the bar is out of the stuff they prefer. Anything will do.
“You let Grainger …” Crown pauses to drink yet again. I hope the alcohol gets to him soon. Considering the second empty bottle on the table, I’m guessing he started as soon as he heard the Grey Wolfe Mafia was on their way out of town. “Anyone but him, Gidge.”
“It’s not like we’re an item or anything,” I grind out, reaching for the bottle. Crown resists at first, and then finally lets it slip into my fingers. A quick swig gives me the burn in my throat that I’m looking for, and I pass it back. “He was proficient.”
“Proficient?” Crown asks, and then laughs, a slightly happier sound than before. He’s clearly drunk, or on his way to drunk. “Fucking please. That man is a sloppy fucker. You just don’t have anything to compare him to.”
“I have Beast,” I retort, lifting my chin and putting my fingers on Crown’s fly. He looks down at them, but he doesn’t stop me as I pop the button and lower the zipper. “I have Sin.” My hand slips inside his jeans, and he groans, taking another drink. My fingers curl around his cock, and a hot flush colors my cheeks. “I could have you.”
This … this is my father’s VP right here, his righthand man. Getting Crown into bed is like kicking my father in the metaphorical balls. That’s right, Cat. You only think you own these men. My hand strokes him up and down, slowly but confidently. There’s a feeling inside my chest that says if I act weak or unsure around Crown, he’ll push me away permanently.
After a moment, the bottle falls from his fingertips and shatters on the pavement, sloshing whiskey across our boots. When Crown takes my wrist and pushes it from his jeans, I open my mouth to protest. Instead, he sweeps down and kisses me.
My toes curl inside my boots, and my heart screams in my chest. Kissing an outlaw shouldn’t feel this good. Kissing an outlaw should be like licking the sharp end of a rusty nail, not this liquid molten heat and ardent, wild energy. It feels good, too good, like he’s pulling me into him.
Crown kisses me until my knees buckle, and then he wraps an arm around my waist and sets me on his bike, looking down at me.
“Could have me, huh?” he asks, and then he’s making quick work of my clothes, leaving me naked on his bike. I wiggle on the leather seat, and it squeaks, making me swallow with nervousness. Crown puts his hands on my shoulders and kisses my forehead, my cheeks. It’s almost … nice, the way he touches me. It’s confusing as hell.
The sunrise is creeping its way into the world, but it’s still too dark for me to get a good read on Crown’s expression as his hands travel down to my shoulders, my arms, hands palming my breasts before he steps back and undoes his jeans. Unlike Beast, he doesn’t forget a condom. He slides it over his cock and straddles the bike, turning me toward him so that my back is against the handlebars.
When he pulls me forward and slides into me, a sigh escapes me, my breath rushing out in relief. My legs go around him, and we end up tucked together on the seat of his bike. Crown leans forward, breathing against my ear, stirring my hair with his breath. He kisses my earlobe, trailing his mouth along my jaw until he finds my lips again.
His hands settle on my hips, encouraging me to move, and I realize that this time, I’ll need to do at least some of the work. My own hands curl together behind Crown’s neck, fingers teasing his dark curls. He helps me settle into a rhythm, working my body against him in the cool morning air. It’s still raining, but we’re protected beneath the awning, our own private little spot for sex.
Looking down, I can see our bodies joining, and it gives me this huge thrill, especially when Crown begins to explore my body with his hands, tracing his palms down my arms, cupping my breasts, teasing my nipples. He finds my ass next, squeezing and kneading the flesh, splaying his fingers against my back as he thrusts forward and fills me.
There’s this worshipful quality to him, like he can’t get enough of me, like he’s trying to memorize every curve of my body. It’s so different from the other guys, like he’s absorbing every moment of this to file away for later.
We kiss again, mouths burning one another with ardent heat, the slickness between my thighs growing by the minute. I’m so turned-on, I’m shaking, quivering with need. Crown feeds off of that, taking my breasts in his hands and sweeping his thumbs over my nipples before dropping his mouth to one and taking it between his teeth.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” he murmurs, but then he grabs my hips and pulls me closer, so that we’re joined, fully and completely. He grinds against me in time with his moans, kissing the edge of my lips as I strain for his mouth, wanting more, needing it.
When Crown comes, his entire body goes hard, my palms sliding down the inked muscles of his chest. I wish I could see him better, wish I could worship his ink the way he’s worshipping my body. Gee, Gidge, that really sounds like a quickie, huh? You’re getting too carried away. Even though I know I’m right about that, I keep going, moaning and letting myself get lost in Crown’s arms. I bet hundreds of girls, maybe thousands, have gotten lost this way.
And then been left to find their way home.
I don’t want to be like that.
But when the orgasm comes up on me, I don’t fight it, letting myself fall over that sharp edge with Crown, the mingled sounds of our pleasure loud in the quiet morning air.
We sit there joined for quite some time, not moving. But then Crown clears his throat and pulls back, looking down at me. My cheeks flush with heat, but no words will come to me. None seem appropriate. I got what I wanted tonight, right? A method to forget my sisters, my pain, an outlet for my anger.
It worked.
Maybe too well.
Crown stands up, taking me with him, and then slides out of me, setting me back on my feet and making sure I’m steady before he lets go. His face is almost sad as I pull away, but as I watch, it hardens up slightly.
“Gidge.” Just that one word, and then Crown is turning away and fixing his jeans. In the distance, I can hear the rumble of a familiar motorcycle. That sound used to lull me to sleep when I was little. As I grew older, the sound changed a few times with each new bike Cat bought, but somehow, they always seemed to be able to soothe me.
Until recently.
I don’t remember when exactly, but one day I just woke up and realized what a sham my life was. Cat is not a hero, riding to rescue his princess on a metal steed. His officers are not knights sitting around a table, deciding how to best protect me. They’re all monsters, and while they’ll protect their property, that’s all I am to them: property.
“Crown,” I start, but the way he looks at me then, I can see it in his eyes. That’s all I’ll ever be to him. That’s all I’ll ever be to any of them.
“Go to your room, Gidget, and keep your mouth shut.” His words are so harsh they burn.
Yanking my clothes on as fast I can, I turn and head back into the house, rushing up the stairs and locking myself in my room.
My heart is pounding as I slide to the floor and cover my ears with my hands.
I don’t want to hear the sound of that bike anymore. I don’t want to believe in bullshit.
And I know … that in my heart, I really have hit rock-bottom.
It’s then that I de
cide I’m going to kick off that stony shore and swim, swim as fast and hard as I can, until I’m oceans away from this ruin.
I might’ve been born ruined, but I don’t have to die that way.
Tuesday night.
Nellie is cooking dinner, and Gaz is here. That’s not good. It’s quite clear in his gaze that he wants to kill me. I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.
“Your mom’s made spaghetti,” Cat says, standing in my door next to Crown. The vice president’s been watching me all day, looking at me with disapproving eyes, giving off little sighs of disappointment. Once, he opened his mouth to, I think, lecture me, but I shoved my noise-cancelling headphones over my ears and lay facing the wall.
Cat, though, I’m not allowed to ignore.
“So?” I quip, because even though Fem’s got a nub for a leg, and I had a gun pressed to my forehead, there’s no such thing as submission in my blood. As Eminem might say, I’ve got spite inside my DNA.
The sperm donor frowns and rubs his hand over his beard, studying me. I don’t like that, the calculating way he’s looking at me. Usually, Cat is punch first and ask questions later. Right now, it seems as if he’s testing my mettle. That’s fucking scary.
I lean back on my elbows and stare him down. If he thinks I’m afraid or that I might bolt, I’ll be handcuffed to my bed. As things stand, it’s going to be hard enough for me to get away from here. I’d be better off escaping during the school day maybe. Although that doesn’t solve the problem known as Grey Wolfe. Damn me for having a conscious. Life must be so much easier without one. Cat should know the answer to that.
“You know, all horses can be broken, Gidge.” Cat smiles at me, and goose bumps spring up across my skin. I wonder if my face is as white as my knuckles, gripping my black bedspread. From the direction of the bathroom, I can hear Fem snarling. He hates my fucking dad, even after being shot. He’d go for the throat if I hadn’t tied his leash to one of the bath’s clawed feet. “So,” he repeats my quip with a sneer, “get your ungrateful ass downstairs and sit at the dinner table with your family.”
“I don’t have any family left,” I whisper, but unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, considering the circumstances—Cat is already turning away, and he doesn’t hear me. Dinner. Please. After he put a gun to my head and pretended to pull the trigger? Mutilated my dog? Tried to force me to kill a kid? My instincts are on high-alert. Whatever happens tonight, it’s not just going to be a spaghetti dinner, that’s for fucking sure.
“Why do you insist on provoking him like that?” Crown asks, spreading his hands helplessly as I stand up and watch his eyes slide from my face, past my breasts, and come to rest on that tantalizing bit of skin between my tank top and my low-cut jeans. I slip my thumbs into the loops and let them slip just a little bit lower. Swear to god, I can see his nipples pebble beneath his white t-shirt.
“Why?” I query, raising both brows and doing my very best to forget how good those hands of his felt when they were exploring every inch of my body. Shit, it was pitch-black that night, but I feel like Crown memorized my every curve by touch alone. “Because he’s a monster. You know it, even if you won’t admit it.”
Crown’s face hardens, and he looks away sharply, his chocolate hair catching the light and shining with auburn highlights.
“He’s my president. I can’t let you talk about him like that, Gidget.”
“Really? But you can let him put a gun to my head and pull the trigger? You’d probably rush off to Costco to get him industrial cleaning supplies, so the prospects could clean that shit up.” Crown gives me a hard frown, and I feel this pang in my chest, wishing he was giving me that Cheshire Cat smile of his instead.
“I advised him against that stunt,” he starts, but I’ve already heard this excuse from Beast. I don’t care. I don’t care if the boys knew the gun was empty. They all stood there and watched me suffer at a bone-deep level. I’ve never believed they actually cared about me, that the sex we had that night meant anything more. And yet … the sense of disappointment I feel towards them is overwhelming, a tidal wave of blue-black water crashing down on my half-dead spirit.
“And if he’d actually wanted to kill me, what then?” I interrupt, and Crown pauses, his green eyes taking me in, sweeping down to my feet and back to my face. There’s shame in his gaze, and that tells me all I need to know. “No, don’t answer that.” I put a palm up, and push past Crown into the hallway.
Gaz’s obnoxious cackling echoes around the stairwell as I head down, my hand sweaty, slicking down the banister as I make my way to the living room. There’s an archway behind the stairs that leads to the formal dining area, a room we’ve used less times than I have fingers on my right hand. And even then, we’ve never actually eaten in here. Cat has lectured me at this table, but that’s about it.
Nellie’s wearing a pale pink dress with short sleeves that shows off the scars on her inner elbows, needle marks from all the drugs she used when I was a kid. Even though she’s more or less sober now, the damage has already been done. Her face is drawn and tired looking, and even with all the fancy dental work my father’s paid for, there’s a considerable lack of fullness in her lower jaw.
Cat is sitting at the head of the table (of course he is) with my brother, Gaz, on his right. Crown follows in behind me and takes up the seat to Cat’s left, out of habit.
Just to be contrary, I sit at the opposite end of the dining table. It has six chairs which makes my heart hurt so goddamn bad that it feels like I’m about to throw up. Six chairs. Six family members. My eyes latch onto the empty chair next to Crown, and my heart skips and jumps inside my chest. That should be Queenie’s chair, I think, and the one Crown’s in should be Posey’s. But my sisters will never sit at this table again, never smile at me over a bowl of Queenie’s spaghetti, never share a new shirt or critique a daring outfit.
My hands curl into fists on my thighs as Nellie places a plate in front of me, and the familiar smell hits me in a rush.
“Where did you get this recipe?” I ask, and my voice is so tight and strained that Gaz and Cat pause their conversation to look over at me. Even Crown is staring. Me, I’m too focused on the noodles with their red, red sauce. The color of blood.
“I …” Nellie, poor stupid Nellie who’s always been the last person to get the joke, she looks at the food and then over at me, blonde and blue-eyed like my dead sisters. “I found it written in a cookbook—”
I don’t wait for her to finish, shoving up from my chair and racing into the kitchen to find Queenie’s favorite cookbook, the one with all the handwritten notes, lying next to the stove. There’s a splatter of red sauce on one corner, and a glass of wine sitting on the opposite page, blotting out my sister’s words with a purple-red ring. Swear to fuck, I see red.
Nellie follows in after me, thoroughly confused, and when I slap her, she has no idea it’s coming.
The harsh smack of my palm against her cheek rings loud in the quiet kitchen, my feet standing in the very same spot Queenie’s body slumped when she died. I can see the pantry from here, the one I hid in, the one that saved my life and cost hers.
“You went into my room and you took this,” I growl, shoving the wineglass off and letting it roll onto the floor. It shatters to pieces and stings my toes, but I don’t care. This book, it’s one of the few parts of Queenie that I have left. To see it disrespected like this infuriates me, stirs up some of that wild rage I felt that night, when I fucked four Death by Daybreakers until the sun came up.
“No,” Cat says, appearing from around the corner and putting his hand on my mother’s thin shoulder. “I went into your room and took it. Everything you have is mine, Gidget.” He steps toward me and reaches out for the cookbook. When I hug it close to my chest and move back, his rust-red eyes flare with anger. “Give your mother the fucking book.”
That’s a direct order.
Crown appears in the entrance to the kitchen, looking at me with a gaze that�
��s almost pleading.
“What else did you take?” I whisper, realizing that I haven’t checked my dresser drawers since I got home from school. The smile that lights up Cat’s face is not a pleasant one.
“You think I was gonna let you off that easy?” he asks me as Gaz appears beside Crown, staring at me with cold, dead eyes. My brother’s hatred isn’t burning hot anymore. Instead, it’s like ice, and that’s so much worse. My skin prickles with goose bumps, and the hair on the back of my neck rises as my instincts kick in.
Fuck.
Why couldn’t I just play the good, little submissive and bide my damn time?! I keep challenging Cat and instead of ignoring me like he used to, he’s taking me up on every single one.
“Crown,” Cat says, and his vice president comes to like he’s waking from a dream, tearing his eyes from me to look at his president. “You’re excused for the rest of the night.”
“Sir?” Crown asks, his voice low and cautious. When he looks back at me, I can see in his gaze that he doesn’t want to leave. He knows as well as I do that as soon as he walks out of that door, things are going to get bad for me.
“Gaz and I will be here all night. We’ll be fine until Sin gets here in the morning. Go home.” Crown pauses for a moment. It’s just a split-second, but Cat notices, and his face tightens, the deep wrinkles on his forehead pulling taut. He saw, and he doesn’t like it.
Unfortunately for me, Crown’s hesitation is just enough to piss Cat off, but not long enough to make any difference in my fate. With one, last look in my direction, the Death by Daybreak VP steps back, turns, and heads for the front door, locking it behind him.
My focus returns to Cat. Gaz is a leashed dog; he won’t lunge unless our father sends him for my throat.
“Apologize to your mother and hand over the book,” he repeats, voice as cold as ice. He smells like leather and motor oil, a smell that used to comfort me. Once upon a time, I saw my father and his men as heroes, knights in black ready to fend off a dragon. In reality, they were tempting the dragon to our doorsteps. In reality, they breathe just as much fire, flay just as much skin.
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