by Chloe Walsh
"And for always." Exhaling heavily, I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes, absorbing this moment, taking it all in. I tried to loosen my hold on her waist, desperate not to hurt her or our baby, but I only ended up tightening my hold on her instead.
Christ, I was drowning in my feelings for this girl.
"I love you more, Romi Dillon," I admitted hoarsely. "With everything I have inside of me."
"I know you do," she replied, her voice a breathy whisper, barely audible above the sound of our frantic heartbeats, but I heard it.
Her hands were still on my face, thumbs tracing my cheeks, as she locked her legs around my waist.
"Fuck, it's not enough," I groaned, aching all over with need. "I need to get deeper."
"Deeper?"
Nodding, I tugged her closer. "Deeper." She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Bu she was ugly and fractured on the inside. Just like me. Her broken pieces matched mine. We completed our own jigsaw. "I just want to fall into you, Ro."
"Imagine if we could just get lost," she said, thoughtfully. "God, that's appealing."
"I can get you out of this," I promised. "I know I can. You just have to trust me and not hate me for doing the hard things that nobody wants to do. Because I will fix this for you, Romi."
Her eyes bored holes deeper inside of me than any bullet ever could. "What kind of hard things?"
I opened my mouth to answer her, but the sound of the ladder creaking caused my entire frame to turn rigid.
"Oh my God!" Romi hissed, eyes locked on mine in horror. "They found us…"
I had my dick out of her in an instant. Balls naked, I shoved her roughly behind me and reached for my gun.
"Sketch," Romi sobbed, finger nails digging into my arm from the force she was using to grip me.
"Shh." Shielding her body with mine, I pushed her into corner. "Quiet, Ro."
Keeping her small body tucked behind mine, I slowly cocked the hammer, hand steady as a damn rock, gun aimed at the entrance.
Come at me, fuckers.
I dare you.
"Oh well, this is just fucking lovely, isn’t it?" A metal railing came through the small entryway first, follow swiftly by a flustered looking Presley. "I'm running around into life or death situations, trying to save your ass from extinction, and all the while y'all are copulating in the damn treehouse like a bunch of horned-up lab rats!" Chest heaving from exertion, Pres crawled into the treehouse and then collapsed face down on his stomach. "Congrats on the impending bundle of sleepless nights and vomit, by the way. I can't wait to tell little Sketchy junior that I was there the night his hung-like-a-horse daddy tapped his mama's ass. Alas, another family based on teen sex." He sighed dramatically and offered a weak thumb's up. "Weird question, but you wouldn't happen to have some aspirin up here, would you? Or an ice-pack? No? Didn’t think so." He whimpered loudly. "That's okay, I'll just shut up and die now."
24
Romi
"Pres!" I couldn’t believe my eyes. "Oh my God." Slipping around Sketch's broad back, I rushed towards him, only to be quickly yanked behind Sketch's big body. "You're a little naked there, Ro."
"God." Mortified, I scrambled to catch my clothes that Sketch was thrusting behind his back. "Sorry," I mumbled, dressing quickly.
"Miss Dillon," Pres wheezed from his perch on the flat of his stomach. "How the hell are you, baby girl?"
"I left you in Colorado for a reason," Sketch growled, eyes locked on Presley. "To keep you safe. What the hell are you doing back here, dumbass?"
"The same reason you are," Pres groaned, rolling onto his side. "To save someone I love. Except I love you both, so I guess I have two reasons."
Presley's words obviously caught Sketch by surprise and it took him a few moments to compose himself. "It's not safe here." Snatching his jeans and boxers off the floor, he quickly threw them back on. "Goddammit, Pres, I can't watch your back as well as Romi's."
"No shit, Sherlock," Pres countered, still breathing hard like he'd just run a marathon. "And you don’t have to." Rolling onto his back, he waved his handcuffed hand in the air. "Surprisingly enough, I can take care of myself."
"Like hell you can," Sketch hissed. "What the fuck happened to your arm?"
"What – this?" Pres dangled the metal railing attached to his wrist. "Romi's evil twin lured me into a closet, and then he locked me inside of it!"
Sketch frowned. "He lured you inside a closet with… handcuffs?"
"No, Sketch, he didn’t lure me inside with handcuffs." Pres rolled his eyes. "My name isn't Georgie Denbrough and I don’t have a penchant for paper freaking boats, dude."
"Then why would you –"
"Dick, Sketch," Pres declared miserably. "He lured me with his big damn dick."
Sketch's mouth fell open. "You let him fuck you?"
"Only a lot," Pres admitted sheepishly. "But he's a bad fucking devil, buddy. He wants to kill you. Getting y'all here was all a big ploy he thought up with Cal. They're going to kill your dads and then they're coming for you."
"And you were alone with him in a damn closet?" Sketch looked like he was about to blow a head gasket. "Dude, are you insane?"
"No, but I was horny."
"Wait, wait, wait. So, let me get this straight here," Sketch growled, reaching for the railing still attached to Presley's wrist. "You let a guy you know wants to kill me, fuck you?"
"I'm weak, okay!" Pres wailed dramatically, holding his wrist out for Sketch. "I'm an unfaithful friend. But you can't break up with me. No, sir. Not when I've come to warn you."
"I am breaking up with you," Sketch snapped, twisting and jiggling the bobby pin sticking out of Presley's handcuff. "Consider yourself dumped, you little cheater."
Click.
The handcuff opened and clattered to the floor.
"How the hell did you do that?" Presley demanded, eyes glued to his free wrist. "I tried everything to get that off. I even watched a damn YouTube tutorial!"
"Maybe I would've told you if you hadn't cheated on me," Sketch huffed, pulling on his shirt and hoodie. "Now you can go fuck yourself. Enjoy the feeling of finally not knowing everything, nerd."
"Okay, I know you're pissed, but can we at least hug it out?" Pres asked, holding his hands out to Sketch. "I've missed you, buddy."
"Quinton Presley, if you touch me with those hands after I know where they've been, I will throw you out of this damn tree."
"Well," Presley huffed, looking outraged. "I could say the same thing about you, pussy fingers!"
"I could use a hug?" I offered, closing the space between us and throwing my arms around Presley. "God, I'm so glad you're okay, Pres."
"A little violated and a lot tender, but I'm good, baby girl," he replied, squeezing me back.
"We need to move," Sketch announced, sliding his gun into the waistband of his jeans. "Edward fucking Scissorhands over there made enough noise climbing up that ladder to wake the dead." Reaching for the gun I had dropped, he swiped it up, pressed some buttons that made weird clicking noises and then held it out to Presley.
Without thinking twice about it, Pres mirrored Sketch's actions and slipped the gun into the waistband of his jeans, and then concealed it with his hoodie.
Catching ahold of my hand, Sketch looked at us both and said, "let's bounce, y'all."
"Yes. Let's," an eerily familiar voice said, causing all three of us to spin around.
The air deflated from my lungs in an audible gasp when my eyes landed on Seth blocking the entryway of our treehouse, and armed with a gun that was pointing straight at me.
"Drop the gun, Giacobbe," Seth ordered, glaring at my boyfriend who had drawn his gun in defense. "Or I will put a hole in my lovely sister's face."
"Ah hell," Sketch grumbled, dropping his gun instantly and putting his hands up.
"Yep." Presley sighed heavily and held his hands up, too. "I would call that the understatement of the century, buddy."
25
Presle
y
That was it.
I'd made my decision.
I had to take a vow of abstinence.
Sex had no place in my life anymore.
Nope, not when it always led to unparalleled danger.
My first lover had been blown to shreds by a loaded gun.
Now, my second lover was threatening to do the same to my friends.
Ugh.
I had the worst taste in men.
Carrie freaking Bradshaw couldn’t hold my coat.
"Can we at least talk about this?" I tried to negotiate when a group of men led by Lance and Seth marched us through the doors of Romi's childhood home.
I was walking to my death. That, I was sure of. Still, instead of freaking out like I had always assumed I would, I managed to keep it together.
Besides, the knowledge that there was a pregnant girl being shoved along with me was sobering.
Sketch and Romi had been separated by the guards and every time one of them put a hand on her, Sketch snarled like a ferocious lion protecting his lioness. He looked truly livid as he tried and failed to break free from the four men holding him back from her.
"She's pregnant, you fucking cunt!" Sketch roared when one of the goons shoved Romi so hard that she fell forward, landing roughly on her knees. "Ro, baby –"
"I'm okay, Sketch," Romi croaked out, staggering back to her feet.
"Touch her again and I'll slit your throat. Do you hear me? I will gut you like a fucking pig!"
"You'll do nothing of the sort, Giacobbe," Seth chuckled darkly. "Because we have your beating heart walking around outside of your body in the form of my sister. One wrong move and she will suffer."
A truly feral roar of pure anguish ripped from Sketch's throat and I had to turn my head away. I couldn’t look at the pain in his eyes. It was bad enough that I had to hear it.
"Why are you doing this?" I demanded then. "Helping Cal? He's a piece of shit, Seth. You know this. For Christ's sake, he killed your mother –"
"On whose orders?" Seth hissed. "Who ordered him to kill my mother?"
"He had a choice," Romi was the one to respond and her voice was laced with venom. "He could have let us all walk free. You, me, and our mother. He didn’t. He chose himself, Seth. Our father will always choose himself."
"Then he and I have that in common," Seth sneered. "Now, keep walking."
"Fuck you," Sketch hissed, resulting in both him and Romi getting shoved and pushed around by the guards.
"Not him," Seth commanded, when one of the guards grabbed the back of my neck. Pointing right at me, he growled, "Any man that puts his hands on this one will be skinned alive."
I gaped at him, stunned by his possessiveness.
Seth winked back at me.
Well.
Alrighty.
Then.
26
Romi
"Ah, our final guests have arrived," my father declared in feigned cheeriness when we stepped inside the great room. I called it the great room because it was the biggest room in the house, and was always used when Daddy threw balls or dinner parties. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see both of my children in one place without a gun pressed to their heads," he added. "Well, without a gun to my son's head, at least." His eyes flicked to me. "Sweet pea, you are simply glowing. Pregnancy clearly agrees with you. Too bad it doesn’t work for me."
"Touch her and I'll fucking kill you!" Sketch roared from the other side of the room, where the men had taken him to keep us apart. Presley had been ordered to the corner, and I had been left in the middle of the room with my so-called twin. "Do you hear me, asshole?" he continued to roar. "Lay one finger on her, and I will fuck you the hell up!"
"Yes, we all hear you, Giacobbe," Seth drawled in a bored tone. "Smoke and mirrors."
"To you, maybe."
"You're not having her back."
"Then you might as well kill me now, because that's the only way you'll keep me away from her," Sketch roared. "So just do it already!
"Sketch, no!"
"Giacobbe," my father stated and I could hear the hatred in his voice. His eyes were poisoned orbs of venom and directed entirely at Sketch. "I have a special gift for you. Or should I say, a special game for us to play."
"Fuck. You." Sketch countered, enunciating each word before hacking up a phlegm ball and spitting it in my father's direction. "No good piece of shit."
One of my father's guards rewarded Sketch by cracking him on the side of his head with his gun.
"Don't!" I screamed, terror filling my chest when blood immediately began to trickle down the side of his face. "Sketch!"
"I'm alright, Ro," he called back to me. "Your daddy's bitch boy hits like a girl."
Another blow to the head and Sketch fell to his knees. "This bitch boy will bash your brains in," the guard hissed, kicking him in the back and causing him to fall flat on his face.
My father laughed in delight.
"Go for it, bitch," Sketch recklessly challenged, as he spat a mouthful of blood on the floor and climbed unsteadily to his feet. "You wouldn’t be the first to try."
"Don't," my father warned, when the guard moved to strike Sketch again. "I want him in his full senses for the next part."
"Dad, what are you doing?" I croaked out, trembling. "This is madness."
"No, Ramona, this is business," he corrected coldly, inclining his head to one of the guards.
Moments later, the double doors of the great room opened inward to reveal Raffaele and Mr. Capaldi, both badly beaten. Mr. Capaldi had a look of resignation etched on his face, while Raffaele had one of pure hatred. Both men were flanked by guards and had guns pressed to the backs of their heads.
Trailing after them were both Victoria and Mrs. Capaldi.
The minute they noticed our presence, both Raffaele and Mr. Capaldi's attention switched to Sketch. I could see relief, love, and utter reverence shining in both men's eyes.
Immediately, my gaze shifted to Sketch, frantic to gauge his reaction.
Surprisingly, he wasn't looking at his bitch-mom or either one of the men that claimed him as their son.
Instead, his entire focus was on me.
His wild blue eyes kept shifting from my face to my stomach and back again. His entire body was trembling with the need to inflict violence, as he clenched and then unclenched his hands over and over.
"It's okay," he mouthed, snaring me with his heated stare. "I'll get you both out of here."
"No," I mouthed back, giving a small shake of my head in warning. "Don’t be reckless."
"Now, isn't this a lovely family reunion? Three generations of Dillons and Torettos all under the same roof," my father announced. "What has it been, Raff, at least fifteen years since you saw your baby boy? Does he match up with the image you painted in your mind? Does the boy whose only talent in life is drawing pictures pass the bar for you?"
When nobody answered him, my father turned his focus on Sketch.
"What about you, Giacobbe?" he goaded. "Has everything become a little clearer for you – now that you are standing in the same room as the mirror image of yourself in thirty years."
Nostrils flaring, Sketch reluctantly tore his gaze off my face and locked eyes on Raffaele.
I held my breath, fearful of what might happen.
Sketch was unpredictable.
He could – and would – say whatever he was feeling in that moment, and I didn’t want Raffaele to get bruised in the explosion. Because I just knew that Sketch was going to blow soon.
Sketch surprised me again by turning back to my father and shrugging. "Am I supposed to feel something? Are you expecting me to fall at your feet and beg for a stranger's life? Because I won't. Because I don’t give a damn about him."
Instead of looking crushed by his son's words, which I had expected him to be, Raffaele beamed with uncontained pride. I could imagine he was saying that's my boy in his head.
"Oh, so you don’t care about your father?" Dad
hedged, taking a menacing step towards both Raffaele and Mr. Capaldi. "You have no feelings on whether your father lives or dies?"
"Nope," Sketch deadpanned. "Couldn’t give a damn."
"Well," Daddy mused. "That's a shame." Not a second later, he withdrew a blade from his pocket and slashed it across Mr. Capaldi's throat. Blood gushed from the opening in this throat; thick, red, and oozing.
"No!" I screamed, hands shooting up to cover my mouth, when the man that had raised my two best friends collapsed in a heap on the floor.
"What did you do!" Sketch roared, breaking free from his captors' hold. "Dad!" Barreling towards where Mr. Capaldi lay face down on the red velvet carpet, Sketch collapsed on his knees beside him. "Dad –" his voice cracked and his pain poured out. "Dad, no, no, dad…" Crying hard and ugly, he pulled the older man's lifeless body onto his laps, smearing his hands, face, and clothes with blood in the process. "Wake up, Dad. Please wake up…" Cradling his dead father in his arms, Sketch bowed his head and continued to whisper to himself as he rocked their bodies back and forth. "It's okay. You're okay. Just find Chris, 'kay? He'll look after you… fuck, Dad, I'm so sorry I brought all of this horror to your door." Sniffling, he pressed a kiss to Mr. Capaldi's sunken cheek. "I love you so much…"
"Giacobbe," Raffaele choked out, voice cracking with emotion. "Son."
"Dad," Sketch continued to chant, fruitlessly willing his father back to life. "Please come back."
"How can you just stand there!" I cried, glowering daggers at Olivia Capaldi, who looked on emotionlessly. "He was your husband!"
"He chose the wrong side," was all she replied, and it was a cold, heartless response.
"No, you're the one who did that," I squeezed out, desperate to get to Sketch, but the hold my brother had on my arm made it impossible for me to do so. "And you," I seethed, glowering at the red-haired whore in the flesh. "You should be ashamed of yourself."