by Katie May
So why are only my brothers and father in that photograph?
“Hey, I was worried you got lost,” Ray teases gruffly from behind me, sticking his hands in his pockets.
“Couldn’t handle them anymore?” I tease, and we both knew exactly who “them” is.
Ray shudders. “That one guy, Arsin? He’s a little…fucked up.” His expression suddenly turns serious as he forces me to face him. “He doesn’t hurt you, does he? Do any of them hurt you?”
Tears spring to my eyes unbidden at the love I see emanating from his eyes. The worry.
“No, he doesn’t hurt me,” I say through a suddenly clogged throat. At least, not more than I ask them to. But you really, really don’t want to hear about the kinky shit I’m into. Clearing my throat against the onslaught of emotions, I turn towards the photograph on the wall. “I’m not in this.”
“Huh?” He quirks his brow at the abrupt topic change.
“This picture,” I explain. “I’m not in it.”
“That’s strange.” He squints his eyes as he stares at the photograph. “But then again, you never really liked having your picture taken.” He shrugs as if that’s the most logical answer. The only answer. Maybe for him, it is.
“You don’t have one photograph of me,” I continue. It feels as if my heart is physically breaking. I didn’t think that was possible; a heart can’t technically break, despite what everyone claims. But mine? It’s shattering with every word leaving Ray’s mouth. “Not even when I was a baby.”
“Are you upset that we don’t have pictures of you?” he asks incredulously. “Em…”
“You know what? It’s fine. It’s no big deal. I’m just being silly.” I wave my hand in the air dismissively as he removes his hands from his pockets. A piece of paper flies out and falls to the floor, but he pays it no mind as he pulls me to him. I immediately cuddle against his chest, reveling in the strength that only my big brother can provide.
Though…
He’s not technically my big brother, is he?
“Don’t be stupid, sis,” he murmurs against my hair. “We can get some damn photographs of you up on the walls if that would make you feel better. Honestly, I’m surprised Dad didn’t notice earlier. You know that man fucking adored you.”
That man didn’t even know I existed, I think to myself, self-loathing evident in my internal rant.
“Now, let’s get back to dinner before those…friends of yours go on a rampage.” His face twists in disgust at the word “friends,” as if even a term like that is too disgusting to hear in regard to the men who have claimed my heart and soul.
“Give me a second,” I say as he brushes his lips to my forehead. I need to get myself under control before I can face the others. The wound is too raw, still bleeding profusely, and I know that a mere bandage won’t be able to fix the damage inflicted.
“Yeah. Of course.” He eyes me warily, no doubt uncomprehending why the lack of photographs of me would set me off, before heading back down the hall. I wait until he’s completely out of sight before bending over, placing my hands on my knees.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I repeat that mantra in my head until I feel somewhat human. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get through the rest of tonight without tearing apart at the seams.
My eyes latch on the slip of paper that left Ray’s pocket. Curiosity getting the better of me, I pick it up to see a number written in a dark scrawl.
Their girl’s number, perhaps?
Grinning wickedly, my earlier melancholy dissipating for a brief moment, I grab my phone from my small clutch and dial the number.
Isn’t this what sisters do, blood or not? Irritate the shit out of her big brothers?
The phone rings once before going to voicemail, and instantly, a bucket of ice water is thrown over my head, dousing me with the surreality of what I’m hearing.
“This is Burke McCain. I’m unable to get to the phone right now, so please leave a message.”
Burke McCain? The man that paid the others to kill me?
Why would Ray have his number?
With shaky fingers, I quickly hit the red button, ending the call. My legs feel like jello, almost as if they’re incapable of remaining upright a moment longer. I need to get out of here; I need to sort through my feelings.
Because maybe, just maybe, I don’t know my brothers as well as I thought I did.
Maybe, just maybe, they’re not the doting men I thought them to be.
Maybe, just maybe, they’re the ones who want me dead.
CHAPTER 18
My feet pound against the woodsy path as I veer sharply to the right, taking the longest trail the park has to offer around the gorgeous lake. My lungs burn as I push myself faster and farther than ever before. The only sound is the steady thump of my heart as it races.
Betrayal.
Everyone betrays me in the end.
My stomach muscles tighten, momentarily stopping me mid-run, as I think of the phone number I found. Burke’s number. No matter which way I look at it, one thing remains painfully clear—Ray called the man who wanted me dead.
Tears burn my eyes, but I still don’t let up on my relentless, punishing pace. I don’t know who I’m trying to punish. The world? My brothers? Rebecca? My men? Myself?
It feels as if I’m always running—from my past, my present, and my future. And it feels as if someone is always chasing me.
Maybe I deserve this…this…betrayal. Maybe the decisions I made when I lived in the Realm of the Gods are finally catching up to me, barreling me over like an out-of-control bull.
Sweat slides down my forehead as pain lodges in my throat. Fucking pain. How can the physical type feel so damn good, while the emotional one destroys me?
Panting, I lean up against the nearest tree and remove my phone from my sweatshirt pocket. There are a few texts from the guys.
Arsin: Lookkkk I’m textingggggggg. Loveeeee me woman
Avery: You okay?
Desmond: I just put toilet water in Tate’s coffee. More details on how he reacts later. Love you! Stay safe!
Helio: where r u?
Nothing from Tate, though I shouldn’t be surprised.
And then, in a separate group chat, are numerous ones from my brothers. A smile springs to my lips before I can contain it, and tears prick my eyes as I read through their conversation.
Colton: We had fun last night, little sister!
Ray: I don’t like them.
Henry: Her “friends”?
Colton: Friends my ass! I think Emmy got herself a harem.
Ray: I can shoot them if you want. Make it look like an accident.
Henry: No need. I know how to dispose of a body without the cops ever knowing.
Ray: Burn the body and then crush up the remaining bones? Throw them in the ocean?
Henry: Yup. Or acid.
Ray: How the fuck would you get acid?
Colton: Y’all, I’m pretending I don’t hear this conversation. Deniability.
Henry: Coward.
Ray: Pussy
The laugh that escapes me is hollow and pained.
My brothers have always been three of my best friends. But, as Rebecca has taught me, I can’t always trust the bonds of friendship, now can I?
Placing my hand over my mouth, I release a muffled scream, channeling all of my pain and anger into that one, heart-wrenching sound. The anguish of their betrayal stops my heart. A sob tears past my lips, and my tears feel scorching hot on my suddenly icy skin.
But before I can give in to my grief, allow it to drag me away like a wave in the ocean, footsteps pound on the pathway behind me. Immediately, I whip myself behind the nearest tree, using it for coverage in case of an attack. I know, logically, that this newcomer could be just another jogger, enjoying the trails in the early morning sunlight, but I prefer to be cautious and alive than naïve and dead.
&n
bsp; Ragged breathing reaches my ear as the person gets closer and closer. I brace myself, one hand on the tree and the other on my pepper spray. Yeah, I know. The Goddess of Pain should definitely have something more badass than simple pepper spray. Maybe a knife or bazooka? Hell, even my trusty bat would be more useful, but it’s kind of difficult to carry one along with you on a jog.
I can feel my power percolating in my stomach, the dark residue twisting and churning with every passing moment. My heart roars in my chest as the familiar tendrils of fear grip the organ in a tightening embrace.
A figure appears on the top of the nearest hill, the sunlight silhouetting his body in murky shades of gray and black. Still, I recognize him instantly—though I don’t move from my crouched position.
As he passes the tree, maintaining a light jog, I lunge forward and wrap my arm around his neck, causing him to stumble.
“What the fuck?” Tate growls as his fingernails dig into my wrists. It’s not sharp enough to sting, though I wish it would. I really, really wish it would.
“Why are you following me, asswipe?” I hiss, releasing him and dancing stealthily away. He spins on the balls of his heels, his face contorted into a sexy as sin scowl. Really, it shouldn’t be fair that he can look that fucking gorgeous, even when he’s furious.
“Do you have to ask stupid questions?” he demands. I take a moment to eye his athleticwear, and my heart—which has steadily returned to a semi-normal tempo—speeds up once more with a damning vengeance. Fuck, Tate is a literal god, pun intended. The white shirt he wears conforms to his muscles, and with every move he makes, his biceps flex. He wears a pair of loose basketball shorts, despite the chilly weather. I’ve never been particularly attracted to a man’s legs before, but there’s no denying that Tate has great ones. Thick, with corded muscles and a prominent vein running down the side.
Suddenly, I’m exhausted, my body utterly spent. I can’t deal with Tate today and his constant mood-changes and his hot and cold attitude that never fails to send my thoughts into a tailspin.
“Just go.” There’s no hiding the enervation that has crept into my voice. All I want is to sleep the day away and forget everything that transpired the night before. Because pain? Emotional pain? It sucks.
Tate folds his arms over his chest and levels me with a cocky smirk. Normally, that smirk would both infuriate me and arouse me, but today, it only makes me even more tired.
“I’m not leaving,” he states firmly.
“I want you to go.” His gorgeous face, shadowed by the steadily rising sun, is suddenly too much for me. Everything about Tate is too much.
“Nope.” He pops the P, irritating me, and I throw my hands up in the air, rounding on him.
“I said that I want you to go,” I hiss, punctuating each word with a finger shoved at his sculpted chest. His cocksure smile remains firmly in place as he grabs the offending finger between his hands.
“And I said no.”
We glare at each other, a contest of wills. His dark, smoky eyes lock with my own, each of us begging the other to bend and snap. But I’ll be damned if I give into him again. Maybe the old me would’ve, but the new me is stronger than ever before. The pain of my brothers’ and Rebecca’s betrayal caused as much. There’s steel on my skin now, impenetrable armor that no one can destroy.
And that’s why I never lost myself to the darker urges of my sin—of pain. Because pain can be healing. It allows you to grow and evolve, becoming something even greater than you were before. A lot of people only focus on one aspect of it, unable—or unwilling—to see the internal growth a person experiences. Pain nourishes something inside of you, something I can’t name, and allows it to blossom into something beautiful.
Pain is beautiful.
If you allow it to be.
“I’m not dealing with you today,” I huff at last, my throat clogged with a myriad of emotions. So, so many emotions that it’s impossible for me to tell them apart. Pain bleeds into love, and that love transforms into blistering anger. They all churn in my stomach like a nest of live and angry snakes, hissing and slithering.
When I turn away from Tate, preparing to take off down the path once more, he grabs my arm and wrenches me to a stop.
“You don’t get to always walk away from me!” he bellows, and beneath his anger, I sense something else—fear. Fear and desperation, each one so potent that I choke on it.
“I never walk away from you.” I spin to face him, and he immediately releases my arm. “You’re always the one who shoves me away. As if you can’t stand to look at me. As if you can’t stand to be near me. As if you can’t stand me.” I’m panting, my chest heaving with each inhale and exhale. “Why do you keep pulling me back to you when we both know you’re only going to push me away again?”
The same panic I heard in his voice appears in his dark eyes. They flit across my face rapidly, almost as if he’s searching my expression for something. But what that something is, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
“Just let me go, Tate,” I whisper, venturing a step closer. “Tell me you don’t love me anymore.”
“Fuck you,” he hisses, but the words lack his usual venom and bite. He desperately grabs at my shoulders, kneading the skin there before dropping his hands once more. Shakily, he scrubs at the dark hair grazing his forehead.
“Say it. Say you don’t love me. Tell me that this time, you’re going to let me go. For good.”
Something wicked flares to life in his eyes. It reminds me of a candle being lit. The flame starts off small, a mere flicker of light on the wick, before it blazes into a kaleidoscope of colors. But like with any flame, a mere breath of wind is capable of distinguishing it. You need to tread very carefully in order to preserve the light.
“Emily,” he growls.
“Let. Me. Go.”
And then he’s kissing me, his lips moving desperately and feverishly against my own. Unlike the others, he wastes no time in claiming what he wants. His tongue immediately enters my mouth, and I’m helpless to resist. His smoky scent surrounds me as I cling to his broad shoulders, cling to him. I’m afraid that if I let him go, I’ll lose him for good.
He bites down sharply on my bottom lip, and I moan at the sting of pain. Immediately, he begins to lick at the blood on my lip, savoring my flavor.
“I hate you so fucking much,” I breathe when he pulls away, his eyes half-mast with lust and need. And…love. So much love that I momentarily lose my capability of speech.
“I hate you too.”
We always fucking say those words, hurling them at one another like poisonous arrows. But somewhere along the way, the connotations behind those three words have changed. I wouldn’t be able to tell you when or why, only that I could never truly hate the broken man standing before me.
“You’re such a brat,” he continues, voice a low growl. “A stupid, idiotic, selfish, obtuse—”
“Don’t you mean acute,” I jest, and when his eyes narrow further, I grin. “I’ll just let myself out.”
“You make me so fucking angry.” He backs us up until my back is flush against the bark of the tree I was hiding behind only a few minutes earlier. His hand wraps around my throat and tightens, cutting off my air supply. Heat travels straight to my clit at the painful touch, and I know that my panties are already drenched through.
With one hand wrapped around my throat, he removes his cock with his other. Pulling it free of his basketball shorts, he gives it three quick tugs, his eyes never leaving my own. I’m sure my face is turning blue from my desperate need to take in oxygen, but it only amplifies my desire and lust. Yeah, I’m fucked up. I know it, and I never claimed not to be.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, leaning forward and licking up the side of my face. His bobbing cock brushes against my stomach.
Finally, he releases my throat, and I inhale greedily.
“Fuck you, Tate,” I pant as I grab his cock and yank on it sharply. He hisses through gritted teeth, eyes hooded as
he watches me. “Why do you have to be such an asshole?”
At my rhetorical question, he smiles sharply, placing his hands beneath my shirt and sweatshirt to pinch my nipples through my bra.
“Because I’m your asshole,” he replies dangerously, and I think that, more than anything, sums up our entire fucked up relationship.
He releases my aching breasts and roughly pulls my leggings and panties down.
“Fucking hell, Tate.” I cast a glance in both directions, ensuring that the trail is still empty of any errant joggers or…hell…children playing. “We’re in a public park.”
“I don’t care,” he snaps as his fingers immediately enter my wet channel. He doesn’t ease me into it, not my Tate. Not my God of Deception. Instead, he plunges two fingers into my pussy, rubbing them back and forth across my slit. “Turn around, baby girl.”
Doing as he instructs, I spin to face the tree, bending over slightly so he can curl his hand around the curve of my ass.
“You have such a pretty ass, Emmy.” His hot breath wafts across first one cheek and then the other before he plants a chaste kiss on both of them. “Tell me, baby girl, do you remember how it felt to have my thick cock in that ass of yours?”
His dirty words elicit the desired response from me. I moan, thrusting my ass further into his face. His deep, throaty chuckle circles around me.
And then his mouth is on my asshole, lick and sucking as I struggle to remain on two feet.
“Tate!” I groan, unable to resist clinging to the nearest branch. He licks a line from my pussy to my asshole before plunging two fingers into the tight ring of muscles. The pain is instantaneous, and I just barely resist the urge to scream at him to stop. His other hand wraps around me to play with my clit.
“Don’t you ever fucking think that you get to leave me,” he seethes as he begins to kiss up my back, his fingers leaving my skin completely. “You don’t get to leave me. Ever. Do you fucking understand?”
Still panting heavily, struggling to regain control of my eccentric emotions, I heave out, “Fuck you, Tate.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for, baby girl.” There’s a distinct smile in his voice, one that promises both pain and pleasure. Abruptly, he wraps an arm around my chest and yanks me until I’m flush against his front. I can feel his cock prodding the entrance of my pussy lips, and I can’t help but buck against him, desperately needing him to fill me. I need that connection, the knowledge that he’s mine, now and forever.
