by L. E. Bross
Baz sighs. “I miss her so much.” His soft voice carries across the patio.
The yearning in his voice makes something in my chest crack open. He’s hurting badly. They lost their mom and it’s overshadowed by Peter’s grief. It’s not fair to them. They should all be able to share it together. As a family.
Losing someone you love is the worst kind of pain. I understand that feeling so well. The urge to comfort him has me digging my nails into my thigh. I want to go to him, to wrap my arms around his shoulders and tell him I know what it’s like. That I understand.
But I have a feeling these boys would not want my sympathy. They clearly have each other.
“We’ll find her, Baz.” Riot plants a fist on the bar top and leans in close to Baz, clasping him around the neck to bring their foreheads together. “We will never stop looking.”
I watch them closely, wondering why Peter won’t tell them that he’s looking for her? That he brought me in because he might have found way? Then it occurs to me. Peter doesn't want to get their hopes up. If I fail, if he doesn’t get what he needs, it would break them completely.
They need hope and as long as I keep quiet, they have it.
Peter isn’t as uncaring as I first thought.
“I’m heading in.” Baz stumbles to his feet and sways dangerously close to the pool again. X grips his shoulder and gives him a shove toward the house.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t pass out on the stairs again.”
Riot watches them go and when the door closes, he sweeps his hand over the bar and glasses and bottles go flying, smashing into the cement. The broken pieces glitter in the dim lights. He drives his hands behind his neck and drops his head forward.
“Fuck.”
The anguish in his voice makes the hair on my arms stick up.
I must make a sound, or maybe I move, but whatever it is, Riot’s head snaps up and his dark gaze pierces the shadows.
He’s across the patio in a blink and I scramble to my feet.
“Is this why he brought you here?” he demands, grabbing onto my shoulders so I can’t go anywhere.
He smells like whiskey with a hint of cinnamon again.
“Are you spying on us?” He gives me a shake and I grit my teeth, shoving my hands against his stomach to push him away. “Does Pete think we need a fucking babysitter now?”
“Get your hands off me.” I should be scared, drunk men are unpredictable and dangerous, but for some reason, I’m not scared of Riot. Even when he’s like this.
Not when I saw a glimpse of vulnerability a moment ago.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Adrenaline pumps through my body and every nerve ending is on fire. He makes me feel alive. That’s what it is. I’ve been going through the motions for so long, existing while feeling nothing but fear for my sister, but this boy and his anger make me want to fight back.
Finally.
I glance at his lips.
His entire demeanor changes and he relaxes into me.
He slides one hand to my neck and his fingers close around it even as his other hand drops to my waist. He yanks me against his body, pinning my hands between us.
I try not to think about what Baz said. He thinks Riot wants me.
The light barely reaches us in the dark corner, but what I see reflecting in his eyes makes my heart pound even harder. Guilt. Desperation. Anger. His gaze flickers between my eyes, searching.
He’s not going to find redemption in my stare. I feel everything he does and I know he sees it shining right back because the flame in his eyes burns brighter.
Kindred spirits.
We are the same.
“Why are you here?” he asks almost desperately. “Why did Peter bring you here?”
Fingers glide lower, digging into my ass and pulling me even closer. I can feel him now, hard against my stomach. When I don’t answer, he growls and I feel the rumble under my hands.
He wants to forget something. I can feel it in the way his fingers dig into me, in the tenseness of his body, as if the slightest touch could set him off. I see the way his pupils dilate and flicker from hunger to anger. God, I know the cycle all too well, lived it for the last six months, and though it may take away the pain for a minute, it never lasts.
His gaze drops to my lips and a rush of heat has me pressing against him tighter even though there is not a single breath of air between us.
A raspy laugh escapes his lips.
“You keep giving me those fuck me eyes and I will. Right here, right now. I’m fucked up enough to take what you’re offering.”
Heat from his words brushes over my lips as he hovers right there.
A strangled moan vibrates my throat.
“Tell you what, sweetness, I’ll fuck you right here, make you scream so good you forget your own name, then you get up and walk away and never come back.”
I lean up close enough so he can feel my words on his lips. If I don’t do this now, I’m going to make a huge mistake. I need to retake control. I’ve been letting whatever this is affect me too much.
“If I can still walk when you’re done, then it wasn’t good enough to make me walk away.”
I duck and twist while shoving at his stomach and break free from his grip.
“Leave,” he grinds out.
“No.”
When he steps back into my space, I straighten my spine and refuse to back down despite the way my knees shake.
“This is your one and only chance to leave on your terms, Ever. What happens next is all on you.”
The way he says my name sends conflicting heat and ice through my veins. His threat makes my pulse race. What will happen next? Riot leans in close, his lips at my ear.
“Gloves are coming off and you’re going to wish you never set foot in this house. You’ll regret every minute of every day until you’re gone. Because that’s what people do here. They disappear.”
He shoves past me and the door slams shut.
I wrap my arms around my middle and stand there for who knows how long. I’m not scared of him, he has no idea what I’ve lived through all these years. It’s not his promise to destroy me, it’s the fact that I might just have met the one person who can, if I’m not careful.
~
The boys aren’t in the kitchen when I finally make it down the next morning. Thankfully. I’m not sure I can look Riot in the eyes just yet. I’m conflicted over the glimpse I saw of him last night. He’s trouble and I really need to stay away from him, but there’s more going on.
I shouldn’t care, but I see my own demons in his eyes and I can’t look away. Not yet.
“Good morning.”
Hanna smiles at me from where she’s stirring something on the stove and motions for me to sit.
I move to the bench, but I’d rather not have the sun right in my eyes this early, so I slide across until I’m in the very center. It gives me a view of the entire kitchen, too.
“What would you like for breakfast?” Hanna asks as she continues to stir. Whatever it is smells delicious and my stomach grumbles. I’m already looking forward to dinner.
Having someone wait on me is weird. Even as a child, I fixed my own bowl of cereal every day. I’ve made sure Belle was taken care of, but no one ever did it for me. I am so out of my element here. I remember X was eating cereal the first morning.
“Cereal?”
She turns and gives me a disapproving look. “You need substance, not sugar. How about a ham and cheese omelet?”
Heat climbs my neck. I’ve never had an omelet before, but she looks so expectant that I nod. I know it’s eggs, and I like those, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.
Commotion in the doorway draws my eyes and I see X and Baz stumble in, shirtless, of course. Inwardly I groan. What is it with these guys and shirts? Or lack thereof.
Baz looks a little worse for the wear, his hair mussed and sticking up everywhere and his glasses perched on his nose crooked. He winces when X claps him on the ba
ck, then Baz goes right for the coffee.
X gives Hanna a loud kiss on her cheek and picks something out of the pan she’s standing over, popping it into his mouth.
“Leave your husband and marry me, Hanna,” he pleads.
She smacks him with her spatula and I chuckle. Two sets of eyes swing in my direction. Baz narrows his bloodshot eyes when X saunters over and drops down onto the seat with a thud. He sidles up next to me, draping his arm along the windowsill. His eyes are amazingly clear for someone who was drinking last night.
“You’re still here?”
“Looks that way.”
We have a stare off until he grins. Then he boops me on the nose and my eyes widen.
“You’re going to be so much fun to fuck with.”
There’s a serious undertone to his flirty words and I fight back apprehension. Never let them see you weak. Rule number one.
I scoot over so that his arm isn’t right behind me and realize my mistake immediately. Like any good hunter, it’s the thrill of the chase. He slides close again as satisfaction dances in his eyes and I kick myself for playing right into his hands.
Baz suddenly drops onto the seat, startling me. He grunts and squints his eyes against the bright light streaming through the windows. His jaw is shadowed with stubble and when he reaches for his cup, the muscles along his shoulders flex and move. Bathed in sunlight, he looks almost like a golden archangel.
Heat radiates from both boys and it has nothing to do with the sun.
I discover a profound hatred of bench seating.
Hanna hums as she cooks, oblivious of the tension building in the breakfast nook.
X leans close, pretending to reach for Baz’s coffee, but I see the corner of his lip curl up when I press back against the seat. If Hanna wasn’t in the kitchen, I’d be tempted to dump the hot coffee in his lap. He must know what I’m thinking because he chuckles, but thankfully moves back into his own space.
Hanna sets down plates in front of us.
“Are there home fries?” X asks Hanna with a cheeky grin, picking up a pepper with his fingers and popping it into his mouth. How the hell is he so cheery after last night?
“Fuck,” Baz groans, his voice raspy and low. “Stop fucking yelling.”
Baz, on the other hand, looks like he needs to sleep for ten hours.
Hanna comes back with a skillet and dishes out home fries. She gives me the bigger portion and I resist the childish urge to stick my tongue out at X.
“Ketchup,” Baz croaks, grabbing a piece of potato from my plate.
I lift my fork into a stabbing position and Baz whines and tries to bat his eyelashes, but it’s more of a slow blink. Which makes me laugh.
“Come on, Angel, have mercy. I think I might actually die here.”
“Maybe not so many shots next time?” I tease before X’s narrowed stare reminds me they didn’t know I was watching last night.
“How do you know that?” X asks, his gaze darting to Baz.
“Because she was spying on us, weren’t you, Peep?” a voice drawls.
My entire body goes on alert and despite willing myself not to, I look over. Riot walks into the kitchen, looking like sex on a damned stick, shirtless of course.
For the love of god, do they ever wear shirts?
X chuckles and I realize I muttered that out loud.
Riot lifts an eyebrow and smirks. “Not if we can help it. Want me to take these off, too, Peep?” He runs his thumb around the waistband of his low riding sweats and I choke on my own spit, eyes glued to where that deep groove disappears. “If you want something to look at.”
“No pants, no service,” Hanna quips, like this is an everyday occurrence.
“That’s not what she said,” he shoots back, which earns him a slap with the spatula.
I’m trying to come to terms with yet another side of Riot. He’s almost…playful this morning.
“My kitchen, my rules. Now sit and eat. You’re a growing boy.”
Riot stretches his arms over his head, pulling every muscle in his washboard stomach deliciously taut.
“Baby, I’m all man,” he answers Hanna, but his challenging stare is focused on me.
I’m not sure what he wants me to do, so I drop my gaze to my plate and start to eat, barely tasting a thing. Riot drops into the seat across from me and I feel his stare.
I am so far out of my comfort zone right now. The easy flow of banter between the boys and Hanna indicates routine. The number of times she’s hit them with her spatula, only to have them laugh, is something they are clearly used to.
They belong to each other.
They are a family.
The amazing omelet turns to sawdust in my mouth.
I am not.
I have no idea where everyone disappears to, but after the boys are done eating, they leave the kitchen without a backwards glance. They’re done with me for now and I can finally breathe normally again.
“Thank you.” I stand awkwardly at the island with the empty plates in my hand. The boys left theirs on the table but I couldn't make myself leave them all there. The sink is literal steps away.
Hanna turns and smiles, then takes them, gesturing at the counter next to the fridge.
“Peter left those for you before he left this morning.”
I see a set of keys, a black card with my name on it, and a schedule. For school.
“Classes start back tomorrow. The other stuff is self-explanatory,” Hanna says with a laugh. “The car’s in the big garage.”
She goes back to cleaning up the breakfast mess while I stare stupidly at the things in my hand. A car?
I got my license not that long ago, just before I turned eighteen. Nate paid for me to take the test, hoping I’d turn into one of his runners I’m sure. I stare at the keys, the unmistakable BMW logo on the ring.
Holy shit, no way.
“Where’s the big garage?” I ask Hanna, my pulse pounding in my ears. I just want to see it. I probably won’t even drive it. Maybe.
“Go through the side door here, follow the path next to the house and it’s the building off to the left. You can actually see it from the balcony in your room.”
Okay, I didn’t even know I had a balcony.
Every minute I get sucked deeper into this fantasy world.
“Thanks.” I grab the keys and black card, but leave the schedule. I can look it over later, when I’m ready to think about the fact that I’ll be back in school soon.
I follow the path and walk up to an enormous building lined with garage doors. There are eight. Who the hell needs that many spaces to park their cars?
Obviously a billionaire. I roll my eyes at myself and push open the side door. The garage, god, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s bigger than most normal houses and the floor shines like polished marble. It smells clean, like lemon cleaner, and a bank of windows lights up the entire space. Two sets of built-in metal cabinets line the back wall and there’s a huge workspace between them.
It’s a mechanic’s wet dream.
There’s a bright white two-seater convertible in front of me, then a space, then a souped-up black on black muscle car and at the end, a huge black pickup truck with four doors.
Between the cars and truck are half a dozen motorcycles. They aren’t the big kind you see on the streets, these are leaner, more bare with rugged looking tires. They’re each propped up with their front tires notched onto a stand. Dirt bikes?
They range in colors from blue to red to bright green and there are names along the sides of the seats. On the bench in front of them is a matching row of helmets, each coordinated to a bike. The dark visors have wicked looking grinning skulls airbrushed on them.
My new sneakers squeak as I move around the bikes.
I’ve only ever been on one a couple times, when Nate took me out on a beater he was fixing up for a friend, but I remember the air on my face and the feeling of freedom as the pavement flew by under our feet. I reach o
ut and rub a finger along the sleek painted fiberglass. The detail is amazing. It looks 3D, like the dragon is bursting off the bike.
“The fuck are you doing with my bike?”
I jolt and stumble back a few steps. My heart climbs into my throat and I suck in a breath. When I meet his narrowed stare, a guilty flush crawls up my neck, even though I did nothing wrong.
“Why the hell do you keep sneaking up on me and using that growly voice?” I shoot back. “Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around?”
He takes a step closer and I move back one. A predatory gleam lights up his eyes. Deliberately, he takes another one until we’re only a foot apart, and it takes all my willpower to remain where I am.
The easy-going guy from breakfast is gone again.
“Are you fucking him? Is that what this is?”
Shock morphs straight into anger and a crack echoes in the silent garage. My palm stings and I wipe it on my thigh and take another quick step back. Shit. I didn’t mean to hit him. The back of my neck prickles and I brace myself.
He crowds into my space and something dark flashes in his stormy eyes. I flinch and lower my face.
“Christ, I’m not going to fucking hit you.”
He scrubs his fingers through his hair and exhales, a strange look moving over his face.
“If there’s nothing going on, then just tell me why you’re here?”
His voice is lower now, as if he’s forcing the calmness. I lift the keys and jingle them. Riot rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. It makes the material of his dark shirt strain against his biceps.
“I meant why are you here. In this house.”
I exhale a shaky breath and swallow against my dry throat. He’s asking not demanding and I want to give him an answer, but I can’t. Not without risking my sister.
“I....”
The boys can’t know why you’re here.
“I got a scholarship?” I hate that it comes out more as a question. When Riot looks at me, it’s like he’s trying to see behind the walls I’ve built up to protect myself and it throws me off balance.
No one’s ever cared to look deeper.
