Damaged: The Dillon Sisters

by Layla Frost

  And probably my life in the alternate timelines.

  “That’d do it. Based on your results, I believe the symptoms you’re experiencing are your body’s way of letting you know you need to relax. Sleep better. Give yourself a break. It’s important you listen to your body and treat your mental health with the same priority as your physical.”

  Basically, untie the knots and unwrap the thorny vines and stop trying to carry the world on my shoulders.

  Taking out a small pad, he wrote down how much iron my vitamin needed to contain and handed it to me. “Increasing your iron should also help. If you’re having trouble making the adjustments, reach out to your PCP. Don’t push it off. The same goes for contacting me. It’s better to repeat tests and be safe than to wait and be sorry.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  When Alexander and I got outside, I grabbed his hand to stop him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I breathed deep. It was the deepest breath I’d taken in a long time. And then I grinned. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “So damn happy, flower.” He tipped my chin up. “What do you want to do to celebrate?”

  I thought for a moment before answering. “Take a nap. Doctor’s orders.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Surreal

  Briar

  For business cards

  “I’D LIKE TO give meds another try.”

  Once again, I managed to surprise Dr. Linda and make her bland mask of professionalism slip. “What brought this on?”

  I almost ruined the best thing I’ve ever had because my brain is an asshole.

  “I think it’s time?”

  Her lips tipped. “Is that a question?”

  “No?”

  She tapped her handy-dandy notebook. “Let’s go at this from the other direction. Why are you apprehensive?”

  “I should be stronger. Like, all I need is to go for a hike, be one with nature, snort lavender essential oils. I should be able to overpower my depression and anxiety through sheer willpower and stubbornness. By taking meds, it’s like I’m admitting I’m weak.”

  “Would you tell someone with diabetes they should smile away their disease instead of taking insulin?”

  “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “Do I like the person?”

  “Briar,” she chided.

  Alexander would’ve laughed.

  “Your brain is like any other organ in your body. It’s susceptible to injuries and illnesses, both physical and invisible.” She skewered me with a look and told me exactly what I needed to hear. “You wouldn’t be taking drugs for the high, the stupor, or because it’s the easy thing to do. You’d be taking them to help your brain function as it’s,” she did finger quotes, “supposed to. To correct an imbalance the same way someone with diabetes would need medication to correct their levels. You’re not giving yourself an edge, you’re simply leveling the playing field.”

  “I know that. Logically, I get it. But since my brain is the one doing the thinking, and my brain is messed up.” I twirled my hand. “You can see how that muddles my thought process.”

  “But you’re willing to try again.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “I trust you. I know you’ll listen to how I’m feeling and won’t overmedicate me.”

  “I’m glad you trust me because you’re right, I wouldn’t.”

  “So, I’m ready to try again because…” I hesitated before saying something that, while true, was so surreal it almost felt like a lie on my tongue. “Because I’m in control.”

  Alexander

  “FUUUUUCK,” I GROANED.

  “I’m already doing that,” Briar teased as she rode my dick in front of the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Seattle.

  Since we were near the top of the high rise—and the window was heavily tinted—no one could see. I’d never let anyone see what’s mine.

  But that didn’t stop her from getting off on the risk.

  When I’d planned on bringing Briar to the office with me, I’d known it was a win-win. I’d get to spend time with her in between consultations and working on the development of a new interface for a rideshare app. And she wouldn’t fall asleep without me.

  While she was awake, Briar was happier. Sure, she still had shadows in her eyes. She still got anxious and depressed. She’d still asked me to cut her once after a rough group therapy session—and once for depraved fun. But in the week since finding out she was still cancer free, she was happy and snarky and beautifully fucked up.

  Exactly as I loved her.

  When she slept alone, though, was a different story.

  If the ghosts who haunted her nightmares weren’t already dead, I’d kill them myself.

  As Briar dropped her head back and fucked me so hard, my desk chair rocked, I realized I’d been wrong.

  It wasn’t a win-win.

  It was a win-win-fucking-win.

  Working her clit with one hand, I wrapped the other around her throat, squeezing just a little. Just enough to make her movements frantic.

  Nothing in my life was as potent as the power I had over her body. And nothing was more satisying than when I played with her just right, making her pussy squeeze me like a vise without her having to work for it.

  When she was too lost to keep the rhythm she needed, I released her throat to grip her hips and shift her up my cock before slamming her back down. I lifted to meet her, putting even more power and force in my thrusts until I couldn’t hold back my own orgasm.

  “Can I come to work with you all the time?” she asked once we caught our breath.

  “God, yes.”

  “Can I wear a suit and everything?”

  “I don’t, but go for it.”

  “Can I have a desk and a phone with a ridiculous amount of buttons?”

  “Will you answer it?” I was very aware of her hatred of talking on the phone.

  “I will not.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Can I have business cards for the phone calls I will not answer?”

  “You got it.”

  “Awesome.”

  At least that’s what I thought she’d said. It was hard to tell because her face was against my chest and her body was practically melted into mine.

  Happy.

  Relaxed.

  Alive.

  She barely trusted anyone.

  But she trusted me.

  She barely loved anyone.

  But she loved me.

  I held a beautiful, fragile flower in the palm of my hand.

  And I hoped like hell I didn’t damage her worst of all.

  Chapter Thirty

  Final

  Briar

  For the cat cave, loyal citizen

  MAYBE I COULD get a dog.

  Or a cat.

  Oh, maybe I could get pigeons.

  I watched Aria and Muppet drive away. I’d offered to drop him off after work, but she’d turned me down since she was heading to spend her Saturday night with Brand. She didn’t say as much, but I got the feeling she spent all her nights with him.

  Alexander was overseeing the installation of something or another at a, and I quote, ‘hipster startup’ in Seattle. He wouldn’t be back until after dinner, so I’d be spending a wild evening at home. Alone.

  Crazy how what once had been my perfect night lost its luster when I knew I could have Alexander’s cooking and company.

  And a third thing that started with a C, too, because he was turning me into a sex fiend.

  I was heading back to work when Sue called, “Briar!”

  Still hate it.

  Carrying a load of boxes, she grinned huge. “Just who I wanted to see.”

  I’d already been her favorite employee. Thanks to Aria’s donation, I was beginning to worry Sue would start a religion around me. I wouldn’t be a good cult leader. I hated public speaking, compliments made me anxious, and I didn’t like Kool-Aid.


  “Can you transfer the cats from row six into the playroom? They’re all shouting at one another. I think they need to stretch their paws and play for a bit.”

  Thank goodness, it’s work related.

  “No problem.”

  “You’re a peach. I totally owe you more than a money tree.”

  “Don’t forget about the picture of me and Mr. Worldwide.”

  Sue’s head tilted to the side, her brows lowering. “What picture?”

  She didn’t send…

  Alexander. Of course.

  I really have to talk with him about his stalking.

  Or at least about timing his pictures so I don’t have a bag of poo in my hand.

  “Never mind. I’ll be in the cat cave if you need me.” I walked backwards and kept talking. “It’s like Batman’s Batcave, except with feather mice and laser pointers.”

  Sue laughed.

  I seemed to be making that happen more and more.

  And I couldn’t say I minded.

  Alexander

  BRINGING UP THE camera feed, I checked to see that Briar was home safe from work.

  She had to know I’d put the cameras back up. She had to know I was watching.

  But she moved around, pretending they weren’t. Pretending I wasn’t. She was at ease and completely herself in her home. Her fortress of solitude, as she called it. Except she wasn’t in solitude. Not anymore.

  And never fucking again, if I had my way.

  I closed the app and drove through the winding streets of an upper, upper, way fucking upper-class Seattle neighborhood. My bank account likely rivaled or topped some of these assholes, but at least I had some taste and humility. Each mausoleum was more ostentatious than the last.

  As I drove, the jammer discreetly mounted on the dash blocked security cameras. When all was said and done, there’d be no evidence I’d been there.

  Other than the dead body.

  I went by my target’s house, but he wasn’t home yet. Parking a few streets away, I waited impatiently. Usually, I enjoyed it. The anticipation. It made the end result better. But I’d already spent the day in meetings. The last fucking thing I wanted to do was spend the night waiting for a bastard to drag his dick out of his mistress and come home.

  Not when I could be with Briar, with my dick buried in her.

  But this last one was important. After it was done, I was out. Finished. Never taking the risk, never looking deeper, and never looking back. I’d spent years trying to do the right thing. Then I’d spent years doing the right thing, even if that meant doing it in the wrong way.

  It was time to be selfish.

  Let someone else handle the scum of the world.

  Fighting the urge to leave—and fighting a hard-on—I brought up Briar’s cell screen on mine. Like the previous fifty times I’d looked in the last damn hour, she was scrolling through mind fluff. I was glad. She deserved a break.

  I switched to my calendar and emails, taking care of some work while I waited. Finally, the gleaming Beemer sped by, blowing through stop signs and squealing its tires.

  Making sure everyone knew he was there.

  I waited a few minutes, allowing him to get home and settled before following.

  Letting myself in, I strolled through the house that was even worse inside. Cold and impersonal and hollow.

  Like owner, like house.

  Reaching his office, I leaned in the open doorway, waiting for him to notice me. When he didn’t, and instead began undoing his pants, I cleared my throat.

  No fucking way I wanted to see that shit.

  “Who the fuck are you?” His hand went under the desk, likely to touch the silent alarm that was already disconnected and not his dick again, but who knew. Everyone had their own kink.

  Mine was Briar. Everything and anything Briar.

  Maybe his was break-ins.

  “You hired me,” I said.

  Realization widened his eyes before his face went red with fury. “You stupid mother fucker. You’re not supposed to be here. She’s across town.”

  She being his wife.

  His pregnant wife.

  The woman he’d put a hit on.

  And the reason he’d driven home so obnoxiously. Although I’d put my fortune on him always being a dick, even when he didn’t need an alibi.

  “Oh, hell, did I get it backward?” I shook my head. “My bad. It’s hard finding a good hitman these days, amirite?”

  His gaze darted to his phone then back to me.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” I lifted my gloved hand that held a gun—his gun, to be exact—and rubbed my jaw. “But, whatever. You do you.”

  “This is all a misunderstanding,” he backtracked, stupid enough to inch over.

  In a few long strides, I closed the distance.

  “Shit, I can pay…” His words trailed off as he got a better look at me. “Wait. I know you. Where do I know you from?” Snapping his fingers a few times, he pointed at me. “You contracted at my company. Something with the computers.”

  That something had allowed me to see all the plans he was stupid enough to think Incognito Mode hid. It allowed me to intercede before the wrong lives were taken.

  “You got it,” I said, snapping a few times like he had.

  Except when I pointed…

  It wasn’t with my finger.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Accepted

  Briar

  For the truth

  THIS ISN’T HAPPENING.

  This isn’t happening.

  There has to be some other explanation.

  I was good at denial. And I was a fucking pro at repression. But even I couldn’t ignore what I was seeing with my own eyes.

  Blood.

  A shit-ton of blood.

  So much, either Alexander had nicked an artery while shaving or it wasn’t his.

  And since he was unshaven as he worked in his home office rather than bleeding out on the bathroom floor, it was pretty obvious which one it was.

  The blood on the shirt I’d pulled from the bag buried in his closet wasn’t his.

  It was what I got for snooping. I’d wanted to switch into one of his shirts before going to tease him.

  A fun surprise.

  When I’d seen the bag buried behind stuff, I hadn’t been able to resist peaking in.

  A not-so-fun surprise.

  It was like the cliché moment when a woman finds out her man is cheating. Except Alexander and I were twisted and depraved and far from normal, so instead of lipstick on his collar, it was blood.

  My stomach churned violently until my throat burned with acid. My fingers were trembling so badly, I barely held on to the shirt that smelled like him. My legs were jelly, wobbly like a newborn deer as I forced them to move.

  Forced myself to walk to the office.

  Alexander looked up from his computer, a smile already forming. When he saw what I held, it froze in limbo on his handsome face before disappearing. “I can explain.”

  I was worried he’d say that.

  Because an explanation wasn’t a denial. It wasn’t confusion.

  It was an admittance of guilt, no matter the justification or intentions.

  “You killed someone.” I wanted there to be scorn or condemnation in my tone, but my words came out soft.

  Wounded.

  “Yes,” he admitted, standing.

  I took a step back.

  He rounded his desk.

  I took another step back.

  A big one.

  “Fuck, flower. Let me explain.”

  “I don’t want to hear your bullshit! I trusted you. You made me trust you. You made me love you. And this is what you do?”

  “Just listen. This was the last one, I swear.”

  I was trying so damn hard to be strong, but once my tears started, I couldn’t stop them. I’d cried more in the previous weeks than I had in years. It’d been for sadness. For fear. For mourning. For emotional progress.

/>   But right then it was for heartache.

  And betrayal.

  “I wasn’t worthy?” I whispered through the jagged shards of glass in my throat.

  Like he’d looked into Medusa’s eyes, Alexander’s body froze. Big and solid and filled with barely constrained power. After a long moment, his brow furrowed. “What?”

  “You didn’t think I was worthy of mercy, but you helped,” I shook the bloody shirt, “whoever this was?”

  I didn’t want to die anymore. It wasn’t about that.

  It was jealousy. Anger. The pain came from not being good enough. That he’d found me lacking.

  I was always lacking.

  “That’s not what this is,” Alexander claimed.

  Lied?

  I wasn’t sure.

  I couldn’t read him the way he read me.

  “Did you touch them like you touched me? Did you push your hand against their pussy while you sliced?”

  “Briar—” he tried.

  “Did you make them come? Make them forget their pain?” My stomach retched as jealousy slid through me worse than any poison or toxin that had rotted my insides.

  He was going to kill me after all.

  Painfully.

  Horribly.

  Without mercy.

  But not with a knife.

  He was going to kill me by breaking—no, by obliterating—my heart.

  How messed up am I that it isn’t him snuffing out a life that bothers me, but the idea of him touching someone else?

  “Briar, listen to—”

  “Is this your kink? Do you get off on…” a sob wracked my body, “making them feel normal and happy for the first time in their miserable lives?”

  Alexander stalked toward me so quickly, I didn’t have the chance to move that time. He wrapped his large hands around my upper arms to make sure I couldn’t. “He was a piece of shit.”

  It was my turn to freeze. “Wait, what?”

  “He put a hit on his pregnant wife.”

  “Then why would you help him?”

  “I didn’t help him. I killed him. He deserved a painful death for the fucked-up shit he did. Same as the others.”

  Others.

  The others?

  “But you’re an angel of mercy.” I was working to piece together the puzzle, but it was hard when I had no clue what the picture could possibly be.