by Sienna Evans
Yet, with her, I came alive like I was plugged into a wall socket. My limbs were on fire. I might not have been a super tall guy. What I lacked in height I made up for in build. Celeste has always been a tiny, little thing and close to a whole foot shorter than me. I could literally crush her with little effort. But all I wanted to do right now was pick her up off her knees and fall at her feet.
Not to worship her or relinquish power to her.
I wanted to carry her away from the memories and pain. She’s had a rough enough time of dealing with this the loss. We needed time to heal. Just maybe, this would help us move closer in to healing and redemption.
“Hey.” She pulled me back, She straightened up and whispered, “I can’t be without you now.” Her voice cracked. I could’ve answered, but her words were more like a vow than an in-the-moment thing.
I was over thirty and afraid I'd only ever be known as the family fuck-up. I did what I wanted, said what I wanted, and moved how I wanted. I learned at an early age that no one could ever make me do anything I didn’t want to. But with Celeste, there weren’t any boundaries. This only intensified whenever I’d visit her. I didn't want to admit it, but she had me from as far back as I can remember.
I’d fought this for a ridiculous number of years. I’d pursued others, in hopes of redirecting these urges. Women came and went. Their bodies were playgrounds I had no desire to explore any longer.
With Celeste, I felt right. For once in my life, things made sense.
Had I actually found someone to love me for all the right reasons?
And suddenly, a blowjob wouldn't do. I wanted to get lost in her aching pupils and swim inside of her warmth. I swooped down and took her into my arms, rolling us onto our sides. Her entire body melted into mine; her legs spread wide and took to my sides. I needed this, needed her; needed to make her know how much I cared.
“Take me,” she begged, her voice broke apart. “Please.” Her fingers gripped my arms.
There was no way to answer; instead, I swept our clothes from the bed to the floor. Those and the papers we were fighting over.
“There's no going back from this, CeCe,” I promised.
“I'm not CeCe anymore. I'm a grown woman.” To the contrary, she pouted.
“You’re right about that, Celeste.” I paused to smile. “Full speed ahead.”
“I know, Greyson.” She bobbed her head up and down while nibbling on my lips. “I know.” Her breath tickled. The feel made my insides burn.
We were at a standstill. Wanting this and acting on the urges were two different things. Our lives were at stake. Our families might suffer. And the connections she had with her parents might be destroyed to the point of no return. We were on dangerous ground, but still not willing to back away.
I slipped my arms around her sides. She arched up to meet me in the process. We didn't immediately attack each other, but instead allowed the fire to simmer.
To me, finally claiming my friend’s sister was like crossing the threshold into a forbidden land. It’s ironic because love shouldn't ever be off-limits. This, what we were approaching, was perfection in the making.
“Please Greyson,” she quivered. “I need to feel you.”
Did I want to? Of course.
More than want, though, I needed to fully know the only woman who could make me forget everything bad that has ever happened over the years. She’s always given me hope. When we were younger, I'd recognized her innocence. But now…now things were different. Celeste had kicked that girlie stuff aside.
She wanted to feel me. I would oblige. I needed her to feel the depth of my desires. I balanced her body against mine and made wide steps on the way to the futon, then laid down her silky body and started raiding her beauty. I kissed her lips and explored lower.
“Ummm,” she cried out. “Yesss.” Her chest shot up, blessing my lips and tongue.
My fingers slipped lower into her hot liquid. Her hands glided down in an effort to direct mine beyond the outside and deeper within. She gyrated her hips around and rode greedily. I knew what she desired: every inch.
But I wasn't ready. Not quite yet. As badly as I wanted to be buried deep, Little Celeste Morgan had me feeling like I was getting pushed to a cliff.
“Easy,” I warned. I shifted my efforts lower and lower still, until my tongue replaced the rawness of my fingertips. I fed, calling out her juices. Her clit met me with an urgency as she squirmed beneath my hunger. I devoured her.
My heart raced. I called out what was always mine.
“Ahhhhh!” Her cries shot through the air. “Greyson!” She eventually answered my command, and flooded my tongue with her juices, calling out my name again and again.
Only then did I bless her with my inches. I allowed her to remain on her back, while fitting on top of her. My cock felt out her entrance, pushing gently, then harder. I penetrated her walls, pumping deeper and claiming her body.
Her inner muscles pulsated and clenched on my flesh. She became liberated and, in the process, gave me permission to make a claim. Celeste Morgan became mine, wholly and solely, from her insides out.
Celeste
Ever since Greyson and Brendan Michaels came into my family's life when I was five and focused on bugging the crap out of my older brother Adam, I fell in love with the younger of the two. At the time, Grey was nine; Adam and Brendan were ten.
Greyson was the loose cannon with a temper, except with me. But my brother always made it clear to his friends: “Celeste is off limits.”
Just when I became bold enough to say to hell with the rules and Greyson got brave enough to take our destinies into his hands, I had no choice but to move onto something much bigger than either of us might've ever foreseen.
Quinn's death.
So, I snuck out from my apartment with the love of my life fast asleep. Leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. But I’d already set my mind on avenging my cousin’s death, and not even Greyson could keep that from happening.
—
I was on a mission to confront Quinn’s abductors, and all signs pointed to Matryoshka. When she’d first gone missing, I’d staked it out from a distance. After three months, I’d gone inside, all by myself. Over the months, it became exclusive and hopefuls needed to have a sponsor to get inside. So, I walked past it enough times until someone took interest and we exchanged numbers. Obviously, I wasn’t interested. I only needed a way in. The progress was slow and with the news of Quinn’s body being found, I decided to go all in.
I could lose my life. I could travel her path but with the rise in abductions and sex trafficking, I didn’t want to just sit around and not do anything. So, I left Greyson to settle a score.
Here I was with one of them, not far from the club turned lounge. Jamison's sweaty palm trailed down the side of my right arm. His touch clung like paste. I cringed as the bitter taste of vomit tried to escape through my throat. The remnants of his touch lingered after he passed scuffed-up fingers over my skin. I hated him so much I could’ve scrubbed away at my skin and never be satisfied that I’d gotten rid of the his sickening touch.
To think, only a few hours ago I was snuggled into Greyson's arms. I wish things hadn't played out this way, especially after making love with the only man I could ever want. But I had to make things right―or at least put a dent in this whole operation that robbed us all of an amazing human being.
My target wore musky cologne I might've liked if its owner wasn’t twisted as hell. I held my breath, wanting to cry, to fight, to scream and to run like hell. But as much as my gut soured over being close to this monster, he was in control for the moment. My insides got twisted up, but I kept it together for his benefit.
“Tell me you want me,” he demanded in that God-awful baritone voice of his. Twisted! For everything he was, his voice represented none of it. “Open your mouth and say it.”
My gaze was fixed on navy blue sheets on a full-size bed in a simple one-room apartment. Studying the room, I als
o noticed a navy blue ceramic lamp that sat lopsided on an end table. On the opposite side of the bed was a wooden chair.
Time crept like I was walking the final mile of my life before execution. Tiny drops of moisture trickled down my forehead. I raised my head, looking up from his loose gray sweats and slender waist. He wore a white A-line. He didn't have much meat on his bones, but there were hints of muscles. Furthermore, his frame was solid. His complexion was a toasty, overdone tan, just short of being burnt. I didn't stop the journey upward until my eyes connected with wild pupils.
"Be a good girl, Haven." This time he projected a softer side. I studied the darkness radiating from behind deep brown pupils, capable of sucking every good and pure thing from existence. His jaw was box-shaped and perhaps, in an alternate universe, he might've been appealing. Hell, he might've been good.
Not me. I knew better.
He blew kisses from thin, pale lips. His head leaned sideways and his eyes zeroed in on me. Jamison was a bastard―a standard he'd outlined, written and mastered.
“Say you want me,” he begged in a jumpy voice. He was trying to mask his accent. Several veins flexed along the side of his head. “Or tell me you need me. Maybe love?”
I slowly blew out. Love? Love was the furthest thing from my mind right now. And this twisted jerk would never get me to say that, even under this guise. With pursed lips, I rested one leg behind the other and exhaled again. He didn't fight the space, but instead began outlining his mouth with his tongue. I forced my lips to curve just enough to make him believe he truly had me excited.
This was getting flipped around, very soon.
“I want you. I need you, baby.” The words stung my throat. My only comfort was in knowing that this game would be coming to an end very soon. So, I purred and flashed him a fake smile.
"That's my girl," he stated, expectantly. Thick eyebrows lumped together to give him a devilish profile. “Love?”
I held the words. They were mine. No matter what, Jamison could never make me give into this twisted desire of his. He was a predator, searching out young girls who weren’t able to fend for themselves; they were clueless and unsuspecting. Girls like my cousin Quinn. At the mere thought of her, a lump formed in my throat and my tear ducts stung.
Quinn had disappeared eight months, twenty-three days and less than twelve hours ago when I last checked.
—
“Missing?” Walking over the threshold to my uncle’s posh home in Jersey, I still couldn’t believe what they’d said over the phone. I needed to see for myself that she was nowhere there. “How could she be missing, Uncle?”
“My baby girl...” He squeezed me in a wide embrace. This gigantic man - 6’2” in height and thick in every way possible was falling apart right before my eyes.
I couldn’t hold him up. He was grief-stricken and no good for anyone. My aunt sat in the formal living room, perched on the edge of the windowsill. When I approached her for a hug, she was fragile.
“My baby will be home soon.” Her gaze was fixed outside of the window. She was like a zombie. “Quinn... She’ll get home soon, right CeCe?”
There was no way to respond. A thick lump formed in my throat and all I could do was nod in agreement. I hurried off to keep from making things worse. As I climbed the stairs up to the top floor, I released a river of tears. This house had always given life to those that entered. Yet behind me, down on the lower level, my parents tried to comfort the family as reality set in for everyone except my aunt.
People didn’t just go missing like this.
Just a week earlier, I’d taken her to that club. Two days ago, she’d begged me to have her come back up to the city. I’d ignored the messages and calls. She’d snuck out when everyone was asleep.
Her iPad was hidden away in a secret compartment in the closet. Only two people knew about it: me and Quinn.
As I searched through her social media messages, everything pointed to one direction. That Russian club and those men I’d paraded my cousin in front of. There were only messages about meeting up, but no pictures and only random names with accounts that were suddenly inactive. Yet, as I read more, the person wrote about the bronze outfit she’d wore that night. And I, I enabled this to happen in the first place.
—
Quinn’s body was found seventeen days back, in the Pecos Pasture swamp in New Mexico. Brendan let the family know before the news outlets were notified.
While the majority of the search for her abductors now focused on the lower part of the country, no one new I'd gotten hold of her iPad mini with all of her stored passwords and found the links to her convos on social. The messages were short and to the point. There was mention of the night at the club and meeting up there. The person tempted; she fell prey. She never stopped to think the move would’ve cost her life. But she was young and wouldn’t have known that place if it wasn’t for me. The details played in my mind over and over again, from the first night in the club to the day I learned she was missing to when I’d taken her iPad to when we finally got that call. And I’ve planned my course of action since then.
My right hand went to to Jamison's chest. My fingertips inched under the elastic of his sweats. He moaned. I cringed inside.
According to the autopsy, they’d doped up Quinn so much that she was like a zombie. My once pure, beautiful cousin was gone. Those images in my mind gave me the strength I needed at this time, otherwise, I would be putting myself in harm’s way.
My fingers hit up against his flesh. I gaged and tried not to throw up. I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, drops of tears trickled down my cheeks. Pockets of air escaped my lips.
One. Two. Three.
I crushed his cock in the palm of my hands, grinding the weak skin that instantly lost all muscular components. I gained power over him―had him crumbling for all the wrong he'd probably done. I felt this was payback to narcissistic, manipulative, abusive men of the world, courtesy of the feminist movement. The feeling was awesome, fulfilling and breathtaking.
Sweet Revenge!
"Aghhhh." Jamison's agonizing scream was music to my ears.
My body filled with warmth and butterflies, in a sense of accomplishment.
His body thrust. Wild punches tapped me, but I squeezed harder. The hurt was minimal. I was willing to suffer over and over again, if I could rob him of this little piece of himself.
“Bitch!” he shouted, more muffled than clear.
“Yeah.” I sobbed.
Bittersweet satisfaction. Fucking revenge!
“Yesss!” I cried out in victory.
But before long, I was thrown. The back of my head connected with the edge of intersecting walls and stars danced before my eyes. I wanted Jamison to hate me. I wanted him to torture me just enough. I wanted him to take me to where they'd carried poor, innocent Quinn. I wanted to be surrounded by the men who'd felt it was okay to crush the life of a female. I wanted all they had to give―because only then would I be able to end some of them. I had one shot to make it count. And dammit, I was in until the very end.
I was ready to be judge, jury and executioner as I took out as many of these criminals as possible. Jamison was an idiot for allowing me to get this close. I knew his patterns and could mimic his behavior. The gun he always carried in a holster on his back could be easily accessible. When we get there, I’d be able to stab him with the knife in my bag and grab for his gun as we walk into the room. He’d take me to his boss, and in my mind, I’d reach for that gun.
I might not get to take them all out, but any bit of revenge would do. Furthermore, it had to be me since Quinn was dead because of me.
Greyson
Celeste’s silky skin, wild hair and sensual cries carried into my dreams. The memories were s vivid. I woke up with my hands stretching for her. The sheets held her flowery scent, but she was gone. Probably left the minute I'd passed out.
She could be stubborn as hell. I hammered the mattress with my fist. I was no longer ju
st interested in the life of an old friend’s little sister. She was mine, and I was all in.
And this wasn't going to fly.
—
After an hour of searching, I still couldn't explain how I figured she'd gone back to the club. Luckily, Brendan didn't ask many questions and was ready to roll when I told him Celeste needed us. My older brother was just as dedicated to her. Without ever coming straight out and admitting it to each other, we both kind of had a thing for her all along.
Celeste had been the only one to truly see me. Every day, as I forged my way through a world of torment, I knew better than anyone else how difficult it was to correct the mistakes of the past. God knows I’ve tried. But at my age, no one knew or cared to be told how I'd become a different man. My struggle wasn't only real. My struggle was my own.
Her acceptance made the difference.
“She's not here, Grey. I sent some men out. They’ll find her.” Brendan had made the rounds. He also touched base with the guys down at headquarters. No one had seen her on surveillance. “Get a drink. Relax.”
“Here?” I asked. I didn't want to imagine my “spotless” brother, who gets praised like the second coming of Christ, getting cozy with the Russians. He was the good son, I was not.
“There's a whole lot you don't know about me,” Brendan confessed, underestimating me as usual. He nodded, and then sent a sly, half grin. With the exception of a few wrinkles spread at the corner of his eyes, he was obviously my brother.
“Yeah,” I replied.
At the entrance, Matryoshka was scribbled in bold red lettering which cascaded out to an almost halo like effect. It was eerie, considering the term referred to a Russian souvenir of dolls nestled inside of each other. Eerie and ironic.
The club was dark enough that I shouldn't have been able to see the shiftiness in Brendan’s pupils, but I did. Snapping two fingers in the air, he caught the bartender’s attention. Just that easily, two seats became available close to the wall, in a less lit section. We were immediately supplied with two glasses of an amber liquid and two bottles of beer.