by K. I. Lynn
Once again: my fault. “I understand.” I stare down at my blood-covered hand because I can’t even look at him. The shame of what I’ve put his sister—and him—through claws at my gut.
He turns and leaves without saying anything.
I know where he’s most likely going. To get good and wasted so he can deal with how fucked up this all is.
My legs give out on me, and I let them drag me back down onto the floor.
Where I belong.
Blood gushing down my face.
It’s okay. As long as I know Ryan won’t get in the way of me going after Kira, I’ll take it.
And because I’m man enough to know he should’ve hurt me much, much worse.
After everything I’ve done, I have to pay some type of price before I can get my girl back. It’s logic. Like I said, I deserve much worse than a busted nose from Ryan. I’m lucky he didn’t decide to deliver.
Shit, I even deserve Kira sleeping with Austin. It was the perfect payback. She hit me right where it would hurt the most.
But never again.
Never.
I’ve made up my mind. I’m getting my girl. If that means that both she and her brother have to punish me countless times in the process, so be it. Doesn’t change the outcome.
As soon as Kira turns eighteen, she’s mine.
Before then, though, I know I have to reopen some form of communication between us. I can’t leave her alone, at the mercy of Austin’s attention.
Fuck no.
She’s not going to forget me. Just like I haven’t been able to forget her.
That’s when I finally drag my ass off the floor, wash my face, and head to the fridge for some ice. I’ve got shit to do. No time for moping around. There’s a girl I gotta win back.
What is one of the worst feelings in the world?
Pent-up anger.
My entire being itches for a fight, in the most biological, chemical level possible, and I have no outlet. Skin burns hot, heart pounds, and wave after wave of energy is unleashed inside me.
Trapped.
It’s been this way since last week. It’s definitely been worse for the last twenty-four hours.
The fury of a thousand burning suns, trapped inside one man’s chest.
I, that man, locked down by my promise, unable to go and hunt down the only two things that can ease this agony.
Vengeance.
And my woman.
I promised Ryan I'd wait until Kira turns eighteen before pursuing her. Before even going near her again. He doesn't know what's happened between us. At least, I don't think he knows. Yet, somehow he knows that I can't be near his sister without breaking down and touching her.
Feeling her.
Wanting to lick, kiss, and fuck her.
When I made that promise to Ryan, I knew it'd be difficult to keep. Fuck that. I knew it'd be more than difficult.
I underestimated the situation.
It's been twenty-four hours since we had our conversation in the bathroom, and already I’m falling apart.
The logical human in me knows that waiting is the right thing to do. I want my girl. All of her. I plan to own her in every way a man can possibly own a woman.
To do that, I have to wait a few more months. Until she’s legal. I know she’s no longer a virgin—shit, I can’t think about it. The bloodlust is too extreme. I’m going to fucking break every bone in Austin’s body. There’ll be no stopping, not until he’s wailing for mercy.
And then I'll only give him a few seconds respite—a taste of false hope—before going at him again. I might end his life. It might not be my intention going in, but the fury will demand it.
He took what was mine as his twenty-first birthday gift, not caring that my girl is still seventeen. The fact that he touched her alone would have guaranteed him an ass beating.
But he couldn't wait until she was eighteen, and that guarantees him the incoming coma/possible death he now faces.
My hypocrisy has reached new heights.
I haven't forgotten that I also touched her when she was still a minor. She'd been seventeen when I kissed her again—when I sucked on her juicy tits and clit.
My cock pounds in misery at the memory.
I was wrong to lose control with her the way I did, and I’m aware the only reason I didn’t take it all the way is because Sonia interrupted us.
One small shift of my hips. A single thrust away. One second and I would’ve been my girl’s first. It would’ve been me, not Austin.
Funny. I’d felt so much relief after that night when the call for dinner stopped us from having sex. Now, all I feel is the regret. The rage and heartache.
She’s delicious. He must have loved having his hands on her. His mouth. He now knows something I only ever imagined. What it feels like to be inside her.
I haven’t even had a finger in her, but that bastard has had his dick there.
The haze descends again.
The urge to jump in my car and head straight home chokes me. If I give in to it, though, I won't just go to find Austin and destroy him; I'll also end up hunting Kira down.
I'll claim her. Erase that asshole from her skin and mind.
That's why I have to stay here, like a good little boy, because my impulse control when it comes to Kira is nonexistent.
Ryan went home late last night, though. With any luck, he's beating Austin to within an inch of his life right now.
A small consolation.
I only asked him for one thing before he left: leave something left of Austin for me to wail on.
His response? “I'll try.”
I sit at my desk, foot tapping, teeth grinding, heart pounding as I swallow each wave of impotent anger.
My phone beeps. It's Ryan.
That fucker put up one hell of a fight.
The muscle in my jaw twitches.
Another text comes in.
Says he loves Kira and wants to do right by her.
I'm going to annihilate that son of a bitch, so help me God . . .
Kira got between us. Stopped the fight.
Why? Because she was worried about her brother? Or Austin?
I'm going to stay here another few days. Make sure he gets the point.
I finally text him back, my fingers shaking. Good call.
Austin loves Kira.
He wants to be her man.
I send my phone skidding across the desk and run my fingers through my hair.
It's not happening. I won't let him have her; won't let Kira forget me.
I won't.
Reaching for my phone, I send a text to Kira. Don't be mad at Ryan.
I fucking knew you two assholes planned this together. Both of you can go to hell.
God, I miss her. My whole body revs, aching to be in front of her. In the line of all that passion and anger. He's your brother. He has every right to be pissed.
All right, then YOU stay out of it.
I can’t.
Austin really likes me.
Not the way I do. It's taking every bit of strength I have not to confess how much I love her right now.
Not like this. Not via text.
Kira doesn't respond to that last message.
I smile for what feels like the first time in forever. I know my girl. She always has a comeback when she's angry. For her not to respond . . .
It means she isn't angry with what I said. Means my statement got to her.
I got to her.
And I'm not going to stop “getting” to her. I don't care how much of an asshole that makes me. As soon as her eighteenth birthday comes, I'll be there, taking what's mine.
Until then, I have one task, and one only.
Make sure I'm on her mind. As constantly as she's on mine.
Kira’s ignoring me.
She’s not responding to my texts. I know she’s seen my Facebook messages, but she hasn’t responded to those, either.
That’s fine. As long as she’s seeing w
hat I have to say to her, things are still on track. I let her wait a day after my initial messages to her. Her and Ryan no doubt had a lot to hash out together, so it was best to give her space.
But not too much space. I’ve given her way too much of that the last three years.
That’s why, the next day, I send her a text.
I meant what I told you.
It was the only time I got a reply from her.
Which part exactly?
He doesn’t feel for you the way I do.
And . . . that’s when she started ignoring me.
There’s a million things I haven’t told you. Things I should’ve told you. You don’t have to reply to me, but I do have a lot to say.
At least I warned her.
That was four days ago. In the last four days, I've sent her probably a total of twelve texts.
In each one, I've bared something to her. Forced myself to stop being a pussy and slowly open up to her.
Slowly.
For both her sake and my own.
This shit hasn't been easy. I'm not used to being honest about my feelings or even analyzing them long enough to put them to words. The one thing that makes it easier is that the girl had once been my best friend. I used to talk to her about almost anything.
I focused on that at first. Closing the seemingly never-ending gap I created between us.
Remember when you used to feed my X-Men obsession?
Then I sent her a pic.
Found this online yesterday. Reminded me of our play fights.
The picture was actually a fan art drawing of Black Cat on top of Wolverine, looking sexy as hell in her all-black spandex, claws out and aimed at Wolverine. Like she's planning to slice into him as much as she's planning to fuck him.
Okay. So maybe sending her that picture was a little unfair and nowhere near the vicinity of slow, but fuck it. I got hard just looking at it and imagining Kira crouched over me like that.
The following day, I sent her a picture via Facebook. It was her eleventh birthday party. She, Ryan, and I had just finished getting into one of the most epic cake fights in history. Both of her cakes had been obliterated before there was even a chance of us singing happy birthday to her.
Everyone in the pictures has pieces of cake all over them. Sonia had to put candles into a few cupcakes so Kira would be able to blow them out after we sang to her. Her mother was in the background, looking utterly frustrated with the mess we'd made.
Ryan, Kira, and I stood behind the table, in front of the cupcakes, wide smiles aimed at the camera. Ryan and I each had an arm around her.
I was happy back then. That’s funny, because I haven’t been really, truly happy in so long that I almost forgot I’d experienced that back then.
I had to dig through a box of old shit to get that picture, and seeing it again after so long was a real kick in the ass. Each time I pushed Kira away, I knew what I was losing. That ache haunted me for almost three fucking years.
That picture, though . . . man, it brought it all home.
Walking into the bathroom, I head straight to the medicine cabinet and pull out the tattoo goo so I can rub some onto the new ink I got two days ago.
It’s a small gray cat on the inside of my left wrist. I stare into the cat’s eyes as I smooth the ointment onto it and have to swallow back the pang that races through me.
The only spot of real color on the kitty is the eyes. I showed a picture of Kira to the artist and told him to get the color as exact as he could.
He did a really good job.
He’s the same guy that inked me at the end of last summer. I’d just returned from home, the decision to separate myself completely from Kira fresh on my mind—and her taste all over my tongue—and I stumbled into the tattoo parlor, one too many drinks in me, the next night.
I didn’t know what I’d wanted when I walked in, just the driving urge to carve something into my skin. Something that would be large, would hurt like a bitch, and I could carry with me the rest of my life.
Lifting up my shirt, I stare at the tattoo covering the entire right side of my ribcage, and another pang hits me. I remember flipping through the pages of the tattoo album in a haze, no clue as to what I wanted.
Then I saw it.
Sitting in the guy’s open sketch book was a drawing of a diver underwater in an old-fashioned diving suit. A mermaid is almost wrapped around him, her delicate hand braced on his arm as she kisses the window on his helmet. In the original drawing, the mermaid’s hair had been a plain brown.
I clearly remember pulling out my phone and showing the guy a picture of Kira back then, too. I’d asked for the mermaid’s hair to be the same exact shade of auburn as hers.
The thing is, he was only able to do the outline that night. I had to return another day to get the coloring done. Even sober, I’d insisted the mermaid have the same hair color as Kira.
I let the shirt drop and exit the bathroom, wondering if Kira already saw my latest text.
You look so beautiful in your profile pic.
I wanted to tell her since the day I saw it, the day I officially broke up with Amanda and finally realized what a dipshit I am, but I hadn’t had the chance.
Not for the first time, I wish I could see into her thoughts. That I had a straight connection with her mind so I could see what my confessions are doing to her.
I want her worked up. Emotionally, mentally, physically. I want her heart and body to understand what her stubborn little mind is going to have a hard time accepting.
I’m her man.
She’s my girl.
I’m coming for her, whether she wants me to or not.
Ryan and that promise. The law and it’s bullshit. Rape is rape and should be punished in the worst way possible, but if Kira is ready to accept me, I should be allowed to have her.
It shouldn’t matter that I’m twenty, almost twenty-one, and that she’s just shy of turning eighteen.
Austin got away with fucking her, and every day, it burns a little more that I have to stay here and wait.
Frustrated, I strip down to nothing but my boxers and slide into my bed. It’s early, only eight o’clock, but I have nothing to do but get my ass to sleep. Every second that I’m awake, I have to deal with the impatience that eats at me.
I turn to place my phone on the charger on my nightstand—it starts vibrating and lights up, Kira’s name flashing across the screen.
“I’m certain your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate you saying those kind of things to me,” I snap into the phone. “But of course you don't care about that, do you? No. You think you can do whatever the hell you want, whenever you want, and fuck how anyone feels about it.”
“I broke up with her.”
“What?” For a second, his softly muttered words pierce through the anger, leaving only an odd pulsation in its place. Something that makes me feel lighter for the first time in weeks.
The pressure in my chest finally eases a bit, enough for me to breathe deeply, and I'm almost weak with the relie—
Hell, no. I'm not going there. I am not relieved that he broke up with his girl.
It changes nothing.
Doesn't change who he is.
“I broke up with her, Kira.”
“I heard you the first time, asshole.”
His soft chuckle slides through the phone, into me, reaching cold, dead parts that none of Austin's touches had been able to reach.
I mash my molars together, feeling my nipples tighten and my pussy begin to throb again. All week it's been like this—gnawing at me. Building. Brayden's done nothing but remind me of the past we once shared, and I'm burning alive from it.
I don't think I've ever despised a human being more than I despise Brayden Hunt right now.
“You,” the word vibrates with so much rage, and I hate that I can't even pretend to be cool and unaffected by him. “Have no right to fuck with me like this. I don't care that you broke up with her.”
�
��Liar.”
My lips fall open. The fucking audacity of this guy! “I can't stand you.”
“I know.”
What the hell? Then why is he bothering me like this? “Are you drunk? High? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I told you years ago what's wrong with me. Remember?”
I do. I remember every single lie he ever told me. So I lie as well, because I'd rather face death in a fiery pit than admit anything to him. “I don't.”
“I think you do remember.” His tone becomes languid, soft, a verbal caress that sends tingles racing through my skin.
Fucking goose bumps.
I had another guy all over me, inside me, and I felt nothing.
Austin loved being with me, almost lost control before he was even inside. His expression when it was over and he realized I hadn't been into it, that he didn't make me come, is still fresh on my mind.
I tried to feel it. I really, really did. My body betrayed me, refusing to respond.
And now it's betraying me again, reacting to nothing more than the existence of the man on the other end of the line.
The same man responsible for every bit of heartache I've gone through the last three years.
“I have no fucking idea what you're talking about, and I'm hanging up now. I have better things to do than listen to your bullshit.”
“Like what?” he snaps, all traces of softness gone.
My skin pebbles even further with excitement.
I claw at my covers, hating myself even more than I hate him.
“Kira, answer my question.”
I mimic his tone. “Brayden, you're not going to like the answer.”
It's true. I don't know why the idea of me being with Austin bothers him so much—maybe he's just that greedy and doesn't want anyone to have me until he's through playing with me—but it really bothers him.
I hope it doesn't just bother him. I hope that somewhere in that fucked-up heart of his, it hurts him. Bad. Eats him up a little bit each second of every day.
It's the least I deserve after everything he's put me through.
In the silence that follows, all I hear are Brayden's slow, deep breaths, as if he's trying to calm himself down.