by Ivy Fox
“He’s my brother. I love the guy. If this isn’t what he truly wants, then I know he’ll be miserable if he does it. I want to see him happy, not a miserable sod.”
There is another small smile that lights up her whole face, and it tears something inside of me to witness it. How can such a gorgeous girl look even more beautiful just by smiling? And why the fuck is it such a rare occurrence that I have to memorize it into my head, like a fucking snapshot, so I don’t forget it even happened?
“You’re a good friend, Cam,” she whispers, and I think in her own reserved way, she’s thanking me for trying my best to be a good friend to her, too. I don’t say anything to her observation. There really is no need for it. I’ll only embarrass her and myself if I bring any attention to her subtle thank you.
“What about Gabriel? Is he from a founding family, too?” she queries, hoping to get insight on my brooding friend since I spilled the beans on Michael so easily. Yeah, regarding Michael’s shit, I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but maybe Hope would have gotten it from Aurora or someone else. She’s a very resourceful little devil. Gabriel’s past, though? No way am I going to talk about it. Especially with her.
“Gabriel’s story is his own. If he ever wants to tell you about it, he will,” I reply, even though I highly doubt Gabe willingly wants to hash out his own demons to Hope any time soon.
“He hardly talks to me,” she hushes out, looking a bit defeated with the idea of getting Gabe to open up. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s unlikely that Hope can get him to open up. It’s taken Michael and me years to accomplish such a feat.
“Don’t take it too personally, darling. He hardly talks to anyone. Lucky for you, I talk enough for the both of us,” I quip, trying to move off the topic and get back into a place that won’t get either of us in hot water with my club or my brothers-in-arms.
“Yes you do, don’t you?” she teases back, rewarding me with yet another lift of the brow and sneaky grin. I shake the urge I have to take out my phone to actually take a picture, just so I can show her how amazing she looks when there is life in her. She should always feel like this. Alive. Even if it’s brought on by teasing me.
“Now that we got that out of the way, how about a game of checkers? I found some board games up in the attic, too. You up to getting your butt kicked, darling?”
“Bring it,” she taunts back, with her brow up in the air, promising one hell of a game.
I laugh out loud and get to it, happy that today’s been a good day for her at least. She doesn’t even seem to mind that I had to cut the story about the club and my brothers a bit short. I don’t want to betray my best friends’ confidence by giving her such personal details on either of them, no matter how sweet-looking she is. I’ve given enough for her to at least have some answers to the long list of questions she must have in that brain of hers. Hopefully, it will satisfy her for the time being. She’s got so much stuff on her plate as it is, I’m sure the Archangels and its members is the last thing she needs to worry her pretty head about.
Soon she’ll be all healed up, and then she’ll probably be on her way to God-knows-where. She’ll become a memory, a story the three of us will share, about the almost-dead girl who made her way to our house, and found in us her avenging Angels, without her even knowing it. Even though she is clueless about it, Michael will find out who hurt her, and why, and both Gabe and I will be all too happy to give the fuckers their own wretched wings to the underworld. Gabe will use his fists to make them bleed the same way Hope had done, and I’ll end their suffering with a bullet to the head.
She asked if we were criminals.
I asked her to define it.
Why?
Because everyone has different interpretations of what is right and what is wrong. We, the Archangels, have our own moral compass.
Beating on an innocent is wrong.
Trying to kill a helpless woman is wrong.
Killing whoever did this?
To us, that isn’t wrong.
It’s fucking justice.
Plain and simple.
Chapter 11
Hope
“I don’t need another sponge bath. I need a proper shower,” I tell him, only to be confronted with a grunt.
Gabriel continues to slather my wrist with the cool wipe, and I slap his hand away. His caramel eyes look deep into mine, and I hold on to his stare, showing I’m not one bit intimidated by him—something I’m sure he’s not used to. Gabriel lets out another gruff grunt and sets the washcloth into the basin beside the nightstand, leaving the room without giving me a second look. I sigh, frustrated that my impatience of not being able to have a proper shower made him leave. I stare at the ceiling, thinking that maybe I should have just gone along with Gabriel’s usual care, but the smell of my hair is nauseating enough. I know that he’s trying his best—that they are all trying their best. But a selfish part of me wants them to try harder. Moments later, Michael shows up, leaning on the door jamb.
“You giving Gabe a hard time, sweetheart?”
Great. He went and tattle-taled on my childish antics to Michael.
“I just want a proper shower,” I huff out, defeated, not looking at him. He walks unhurriedly over to me, and I grow rigid anticipating his next move. Strong hands pull me close to his chest, and quickly my whole frame is in his arms. My chest aches a bit with the sudden movement, but it’s manageable, and I grab onto his neck for support.
“Couldn’t wait to ask for Aurora to give you one?” he breathes out, and I feel his heartbeat next to my ear, drumming away.
“She’d need help, too,” is my only reply.
“Humm,” he murmurs beneath his breath as he moves along the long corridor. My eyes yearn to travel and see what the outside of my room looks like, but being this close to Michael is wreaking havoc on my senses. He smells like wood and earth, a scent all his own and not bottle-bought. I close my eyes just to take in the soothing aroma, but quickly open my lids when I feel my feet touching a cool tile floor. The first thing I see is Gabriel’s scowling form in front of me; the second is a bathtub filled to its rim with clear, sparkling warm water, begging for my entrance.
“We’ll try a bath first, but if it hurts too much, then we’ll stand you up, and a shower it is,” Michael explains, leading me to the bathtub in small steps. He lifts me up in one smooth stride and places me inside, right smack in the middle of the white porcelain tub. I feel the hot water move up my toes and legs immediately. I almost moan at how good the sensation feels on my skin. Michael is still holding me up at my waist, careful not to touch any injured part of my body, but when I see Gabriel moving in my direction, I fix my eyes on him instead.
“Raise your arms,” he orders, and my breath hitches at his command, but I do as I’m told. Every time Gabriel speaks even a word in my direction, every part of me aches to hear more. His warm fingers trace the seam of my t-shirt and lift the material off my body, leaving me fully bare for both men to take in. I’m not bashful, although I should probably be, with their wide eyes surveying every naked part of my body. I see Michael’s Adam’s apple bob, and Gabriel’s eyes take on a different sort of haze, but neither comment on my nudity or the brown-yellow traces that my skin still holds. Gabriel tosses my t-shirt to the floor and places his steady hand on the nape of my neck while Michael guides me down ever so gently.
Once I’m fully submerged in the water, Gabriel passes Michael a loofa and some soap. It takes but two seconds for Michael to realize what his friend wants him to do. He takes the objects from him and starts his ministrations. Gabriel picks up a shampoo bottle and to my chagrin, walks behind me to where I’m unable to see his face.
And then the orchestra starts. A ballad I’ve never heard before but will be carved in my memory from this day forth. The symphony they both play on my body with their care takes my breath away, and I no longer feel the pain my ribs constantly remind me of. All I feel are their hands on me.
I
t starts off with Michael’s ever-diligent light scrub. He commences his care with my toes, moving from one foot to the other as if it was the most precious part of a woman’s anatomy and deserving his full attention. Even though I love his soft massage, leaving me loose and limber, I know he’s only gaining the courage to move up to parts unknown. But sure enough, his curious fingers make their way up my calves, ever so slowly going higher to my thighs. Even though he’s using the loofa, I still feel his rough fingertips lightly caress my skin, leaving in their wake small sparks which heat up my bloodstream. I feel my core tighten and my skin blushes profusely, all of which I hope they mistake for a reaction to the warm water heating my skin.
And then there is Gabriel, the silent shadow behind me. I throw my head back further, relishing the feeling of his fingers weaving through my hair. Cleaning and caressing my scalp, making me droop contentedly, loosening the tension in my shoulders. First, he rinses my hair with water, and once he’s happy it’s thoroughly soaked, he places a generous amount of shampoo onto his hands and starts to lavish my hair with the honey scent. It smells of Cam, and it’s like a little bit of him is inside this heated room as well. Unexpectedly, my core tightens at that thought, and a small whimper escapes my lips, making both men stop instantly.
“Is it too much? Do you want to stand up?” Michael’s husky voice comes out, and I’m sure he thinks my stupid outburst was brought forth by pain instead of the real culprit at hand. But thinking better of it, I lie and nod my head, imagining a shower might be a better solution to this torture. Michael unplugs the tub, and I feel Gabriel’s arms pool beneath me. Bravery takes hold of me at that moment, and I turn my head to take a look into his eyes. A firestorm leaps out at me, and my chest constricts at the sight. His front is pressed to my back, while Michael fidgets with the shower head at my front. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all. Once he’s happy with the temperature, Michael places it up high, and the water sprinkles down on all three of us—me naked in between both clothed men.
“You’re going to get wet,” I hear myself say. Why, I can’t fathom, since Michael’s t-shirt and jeans are already sticking to his body, so my comment is far from perceptive. Still, he peels away the blue t-shirt from his chest, revealing sculptured abs I already imagined existed underneath. He doesn’t make a move to take off his jeans, but instead places his hands on my waist, replacing Gabriel’s. From the corner of my eye, I see black material being thrown to the side as well, and I bite my inner lip at the urge to turn my head to see what Gabriel looks like without his shirt on.
“Is that better?” Michael asks, a smile playing on his lips when he catches my wandering eyes travel his impressive, inked form. There are two large black wings on both biceps, fully covering them, reaching his shoulders. No other tattoos mark his skin save for them. Still, the design is so distinctive and well elaborated, resembling the image Aurora has on her wrist. It’s almost as if it’s a brand of sorts. I know now it must be some sort of tribute to their club, The Archangels MC, but I still cannot deny the beauty of the drawing. As if sensing what has gotten my attention, Michael takes my hands and places them on his shoulders, while Gabriel holds me steady in place.
“Hold on to me. If you’re hurting, let us know, okay?” he tells me in a soft whisper.
He replaces Gabriel’s hands with his own again, and I feel Gabriel’s tender wash of my hair once more. I close my eyes and just let myself enjoy it this time, uncaring that I’m naked between two men who are still very much strangers to me, and who are involved in a club that most likely deals in criminal activity, making them criminals themselves. I even forget that I am vulnerable because I don’t feel like it right now. Yes, my body might still be bruised and broken, my spirit might still be wrestling with its demons, but at this moment, I feel something different—a small taste of empowerment. These men are tending to me with all the care they can muster. Care and devotion they probably didn’t even know they had within them, yet here they are, offering it to me in spades. I’m sure they don’t even understand the reason behind it. I sure as hell don’t. Still, I’m going to take advantage of it.
Was I an opportunist in my other life?
Did I use people for my own gain?
The way I want to use these two men to make me feel good now?
These doubts and jumbled thoughts only confuse me more, but with each tender caress Gabriel offers, they quickly disappear into thin air. Whoever I was is not here anymore. I am. My eyes remain shut, but I feel Gabriel’s breath on my skin. It’s just as ragged as my own heartbeat. I didn’t mean to be cruel to him earlier. But this heavenly touch outweighs a sponge bath any day. No longer is he being methodical or distant in his touch. But I feel him. Maybe it’s because Michael is here. Or my back is turned to him. Whatever the reason, Gabriel is here with me, too. He’s just as present as I am, and judging by the way his breathing has deepened tenfold, he’s finding this little shower play just as exquisite and sensual as I am. When I feel a small pinch of Michael’s fingers on my waist, I see Gabriel and I aren’t the only ones who aren’t immune to the erotic atmosphere of the room. Another tortured sigh leaves my lips, and I shut my eyes, incredulous I let it out in the first place.
“Are you hurting?”
“Yes,” I breathe out, no longer hiding how much I’m enjoying both sets of hands on me.
“Where?” Michael whispers in my ear, and his scent overtakes all my remaining lucidity, causing my senses to go null and void, and useless to me.
The ache is so strong, and the need to prolong this feeling is so great, that lust-filled courage I didn’t account for takes over. With my hands still on his shoulders, I press on until Michael is on his knees. I hear Gabriel’s intake of breath, only igniting me further.
“Does it hurt here?” Michael taunts me, tracing a finger along my inner thigh. I shake my head, turning until it rests on the crook of Gabriel’s neck, as he leans down to hold me still in place. I see a vein bulge in his strong masculine neck, and I have to stop myself from licking it.
“What about here? Does it hurt here?” he asks again, only this time it’s with a chaste kiss at the bottom of my belly, closer to where I need his lips and tongue to be. Gabriel’s hands hold my waist ever so tightly; I know there is no way I’ll ever fall, so I remove my hands from Michael’s shoulders and instead rake my fingers through his wet blond hair. Michael’s hands have now found my asscheeks, and he massages each globe to near perfection, leaving me even needier.
“I ache here,” I tell him finally, right before I place his face at the edge of my now-soaked core. My eyes are still fixed on Gabriel’s throat when I feel Michael’s first teasing stroke. Soft and inquisitive at first, just like his first touch on my body, but once he feels the terrain is open to his will, there is no turning back and each languid stroke becomes fiercer in its need, matching my very own.
I continue to hold on to his hair, guiding him along the way, even though Michael has little need for the assistance. He strums me like a cellist would his instrument, making the most beautiful music out of me, while Gabriel anchors me to the ground, breathing raggedly into my neck, creating a symphony of his own. But just as I’m falling in line with this dance, in one quick movement, both my legs are on Michael’s shoulders, and his hands are firmly gripping my ass, clutching me with an urgency I didn’t even know it was possible to have.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he slurs, and the dirty compliment only fuels my desire, making me do the unexpected and biting Gabriel’s throat in the process. He hisses in turn, and grabs my hair tightly, but doesn’t move me away. Instead, he delivers his own brutal kiss to my shoulder, marking me just as I’m marking him. Gabriel keeps his hold on me, and my tongue and teeth imagine that this little part of his body is something much more mouthwatering. Just the thought of it alone, of having Michael on his knees eating me out like a savage while Gabriel feeds me his own cock has me thrashing with the thunderous orgasm my body had been starved of for most of i
ts life. A howl rips through my throat, echoing through the room and undoubtedly through the whole goddamned forest outside.
My eyes get unexpectedly heavy, and Gabriel, sensing my drowsy state, takes me in his arms, and I feel my limp and sated body curl to his. Michael turns off the water and all three of us get out of the tub in one smooth swoop. Michael grabs a fluffy white towel, which he uses to cover me fully, even though there really is no need to safeguard my modesty. Apparently, I have none. Even though my eyes strain to keep open, I see their slow appraisal of the damage they’ve done to me. And how I seem more at peace with this type of torment than the one I’ve been living with for the past two weeks. Michael kisses my brow and leads his friend into my bedroom, but I don’t register much else. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, not even uttering a single word of gratitude for the best shower I remember ever having.
I wake up in a cold sweat, the scream still locked in my throat. Every night is the same thing. Nightmare after nightmare, but the moment my eyes open, the images that frighten me so evaporate in the moonlight. My heart beats madly inside my chest, and I breathe in erratically, trying my best to calm both my heart and lungs down.
My eyes are still getting acquainted with the dark when I see a large shadow in the corner of the room, watching me. I slant my eyes and make out Gabriel’s silhouette, his elbows on his knees and his hands gripping each other, making a large fist. I’m startled awake now, with the rage I see boiling inside him. He doesn’t have to say it, but I know his anger is toward his inability to fight off my ill-tempered dreams. Still, he must mistake my gasp with an unwillingness for him to be in my domain at such a vulnerable time. He starts to get up and move past me, but I grab his hand instinctively.
“Please don’t go,” I hear myself beg. I need him to stay. I don’t want to be alone with these ghosts still climbing out of my soul and into the very air I’m breathing. I need him to stay here and fight them off with me. He looks at me, confused, but I can’t explain the desperation I have for his company right now. I don’t think anyone in their right mind could understand me at all at this very moment. But I need him here. Without him, the second I close my eyes, the devil will come back for me.