Honor and Redemption

by A. C. Bextor

  “And I love you,” I return, grasping her hips to hold her in place. “But that’s not what I want.”

  A frustrated growl splits her lips, and she rests her forehead to the cool wall of the shower.

  Resting my chin to her shoulder, I rephrase, “I want inside, but not until I know we’re good.”

  Cricket turns her head, her blue eyes all but breaking my resolve. Pools of tears fill her lower lids.

  “I forgive you,” she whispers. “Now, please—”

  My eyes slam shut and without waiting, I thrust my hips and take her.

  “Yes,” she whispers. Her body trembles, adding another soft, “Yes.”

  “More?” I hiss, driving hard, powerful, and deep. Before letting her take what I’m not ready to give, I stop.

  “Damn it, Gypsy! What are you doing?”

  Thrusting again but slowly, I goad again, “You want more?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I roll her nipple between my fingers. Her body tenses and she murmurs, “Gypsy, I’m…”

  Bringing my mouth to her shoulder, I bite the skin.

  “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me,” she chants.

  At this, I’m fucking done.

  Stepping back, Cricket loses my cock. Panting hard, she turns, fury twisting her features.

  I bend, grab her thighs, and instruct, “Hold on.”

  Taking cue, Cricket wraps her legs around my waist, her arms draping around my shoulders.

  “You have one minute,” she jabs, smiling into my mouth. “Fuck me good, baby.”

  Fucking hell. What’s she doing to me?

  My hips strike once between her open thighs and she exhales a gasping breath. She drops her forehead to my shoulder, and again, I thrust, powering deep as she takes her teeth to my neck.

  Her cunt grips my cock, greedily accepting every inch. Her body bucks, her heavy chest bouncing against mine.

  “You there?”

  Cricket signals yes, breathing heavily. “Close.”

  “Tell me you love me,” I direct. “Right now, while I’m moving inside you.”

  Cricket’s nails spear the skin of my shoulder and back. “Oh, God, I love you.”

  Taking her mouth with mine, I drink from her as my cock relentlessly pounds her core. Smacking sounds of wet skin fill the air. Cold water sprays from the tap, clapping against our fevered skin.

  My balls tighten, my gut starts to churn, and I hiss, “Ready?”

  “Gypsy, yes!” she shrieks, the words echoing off the bathroom walls.

  “Together,” I tell her, thrusting myself in for the last time.

  Cricket swallows my groans, and I silence her desperate cries. She milks all I have left to give.

  Holding her steady, I reach over to shut off the water.

  “Um… maybe now isn’t a good time,” a voice on the other side of the curtain calls.

  Fuck me, and seriously?

  “Leglas mentioned make-up sex, but really, you waste all that in the shower?” another voice taunts.

  Laying my forehead to Cricket’s, I string a curse, “Wren Dawson and Mia Zanders are a pain in my fucking ass.”

  Cricket giggles, her wet body choking what’s left of my arousal.

  I’d be livid had we not made up.

  But, checking this, there’s one thing I need clear. “Leglas mentioned make-up sex?”

  Cricket reads my expression, insisting, “Put me down.”

  More annoyed, I think back to her dirty little mouth. Cricket’s never been one to curse when I’m inside, or bait me to get rough. This has Leglas all fucking over it.

  “Cricket, what the fuck?”

  Shoving my shoulders, she moves her legs in an effort to be free. “Honey, put me down.”

  “Fuck that. Explain Leglas.”

  Rolling her eyes, she looks to the ceiling, then drops her head. She opens her mouth to speak, but someone else beats her to it.

  “No big deal, Gypsy. Yeesh!” Wren punishes. “Leglas said angry sex is good, but argued make-up sex is better.”

  “She’s still here,” Cricket whispers, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and holding me tightly to her chest. “Hence, put me down.”

  Setting Cricket to her feet, I bark into the open room, “Get the fuck out,” which is returned with a unison of, “See ya!”

  Christ, these girls.

  Before Cricket’s able to escape, I grab her arm and pull her to my chest. “You were tense.”

  Her brows furrow. “Tense?”

  “’Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me’,” I get out quickly. “You don’t say shit like that.”

  “I do when I’ve been without you for days.”

  She’s naked in my arms. I’ll accept that.

  “We good?”

  She smiles up at me. “For now.”

  “You forgive me,” I state, not in question, but hope. “We’re good.”

  Leaning up, she kisses me, but her mouth doesn’t linger. “I forgive you.”

  “Go dry off,” I tell her. “I’ll be down soon.”

  Nodding, she does as I’ve told her.

  For the first time in weeks, I release a breath of free and easy air.

  And it’s about goddamn time.

  One week later…

  “Did you not hear a fuckin’ word I said last night?” Gypsy clips. “Me and you are goin’ to Texas. For good.”

  Gypsy slams one of my oversized duffle bags on the bed, then walks across the room to my closet.

  Everything that happened last night is still a little hazy. The girls and I were drinking, sans Mia, who claimed she had a headache. When she strode in behind Elevent, she didn’t only appear to have a headache, but possibly the flu.

  Thus, she had to witness the evening sober.

  There was wine. There was dancing. There were giggles and hugs. Every member of Saint’s celebrated.

  My father is dead, and I won’t miss him. I won’t ever wish our relationship would’ve been different.

  Seveena is dead, this news coming from Vlad. Seems with Nikolas in recovery, Vlad lost patience waiting for him to call out the order to finish her. I wasn’t surprised to hear that Nikolas held some reservations about ending a woman’s life—any woman.

  Enter Vlad Zalesky.

  Vlad didn’t give way to Nikolas’s hesitation. From what Elevent briefly, very briefly, explained, Seveena’s death was quick and clean. A single bullet to the head by one of Vlad’s men and poof, she was no more.

  I expected to feel remorse about the two lives that were lost. Truly, I expected to harbor some regret. However, my sorrow is only for the threats, humiliation, and hurt they brought to others.

  So, for now, everything and everyone is good.

  Except, of course, as it seems, Gypsy. My man is a mess.

  I jump in place as he slides my closet doors wide. Behind the force of his frustration, the partitions smash against the walls. Gypsy doesn’t notice or stop. Rather, he keeps his focus to packing up my room while continuing his rant. “Tired of you always thinkin’ you know what’s best.”

  This is my life, and I do know what’s best, but whatever.

  I should stop him from exhausting himself; what he’s doing is a wasted effort. But this, like every else between us, will have to play out.

  His arms struggle with a pile of clothes still on their hangers, and he clips angrily, “Jesus Christ. Twenty-three years old, lived a life that would age a priest, maybe a Saint, yet here you are, still without a fuckin’ clue.”

  That wasn’t nice. But again, whatever.

  I’d laugh he wasn’t so angry.

  I owe Gypsy some frustration, giving back some of what I’ve felt for him for years.

  Though, I won’t put him to that degree.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I explain, my tone even to the point of calm. At least it’s calmer than it had been when he stomped in my room ten minutes ago.

  Gypsy’s mood has been off since everything fell into place with my dad an
d Seveena. I thought we were on the upswing.

  That was, until last night after we’d gotten back to my room where he dropped that we were moving to Texas.

  All through my desperate state of inebriation, my mind was on something else entirely. I’d stripped off all my clothes as he watched carefully. I’d talked dirty. I heard myself make sexual promises that even I knew by the state I was in, I couldn’t live up to.

  Once he gave me what I’d been after, which I’m guessing he did just to shut me up, I’d dozed off.

  It seems he kept talking.

  Apparently, he’s not satisfied that the evil woman who hurt me is no longer a threat. The fact that my father is dead hasn’t eased him in the least. He’s not at all relieved that everyone is home and safe. Instead, Gypsy’s been distant to the point of despondent. So much so, him finally caving in to sex last night came as a happy surprise.

  If the honeymoon stage of our relationship has died, I’m a girl in a black dress, holding a white tissue, desperately mourning its passing.

  “You’re gonna do what I tell you you’re gonna do,” he spits. I narrow my eyes at this, mentally picturing my hands around his throat. He accepts my silence as a win, and his back straightens when he adds, “Good you agree.”

  “You can keep packing my stuff, honey,” I allow. “You can take everything I own with you for all I care. It’ll suck I have to get new clothes, but it won’t be a hardship seeing as Mia and Sunny love to shop.”

  Gypsy’s top lip twists into a snarl and he drops the last of the clothes he’s holding, tossing them into the still open and over packed bag. Furious, he turns in place and balls his hands into fists, resting his arms to his sides.

  It must be said, I’ve pushed the limits of my crush for him and our friendship as a whole. But, by the look on his face, I’m rethinking the torture I was set to inflict, and wondering if my spite isn’t about to bite me in my ass.

  “I love you, Gypsy, you know that,” I jump in to settle him. “But my life, our lives, are here. You’re telling me you’re not going to miss all this?”

  “Not even a little,” he denies, so sure. “I won’t miss anything about this life, Cricket.”

  “What? How’s that possible?”

  “Because I won’t have the time.”

  “You won’t have the time?”

  “I’ll be busy,” he rushes out. “Between the kids we’re gonna have, and the job I’ll need to get to keep us steady.”

  “We can do that here,” I placate.

  “No, we can’t. When we’re doing us, I don’t want to worry about this shit, either.”

  “What?”

  “If I’m in Texas, I won’t be lying awake at night trying to guess when the next shoe will drop. Or trying to figure out which brother I’m gonna lose to the next big wreck that comes our way.”

  As badly as I want to, I don’t argue.

  Gypsy’s thought long and hard about all of this, remembering Pyke and Lane. He’s still wearing their passing like a patch on his vest, an invisible tattoo he has no way of erasing. These together justify his determination, along with his hurt and anger.

  He’s also still worrying about me, with all that my father has done and the damage he believes will stay with me.

  “Gypsy, our friends are all here for us. They support us as we do them.”

  Deciding the discussion is over, Gypsy turns toward the door, saying only, “You’re leavin’ with me. For good.”

  As soon as he walks out into the hall, I make my way to the bed and sit. Seconds pass to minutes. Minutes pass to God knows how long before I’m able to focus.

  My clothes are strewn about everywhere—the floor, the bed, my desk, my hamper. A wrecking ball would’ve done less damage than a pissed off biker on a warpath.

  “Hey,” a voice calls, and I lift my gaze toward the door.

  Vante stands casually against the jamb, dressed in a clean white tee, a pair of worn-out jeans, and dusty cowboy boots. As per his usual, he’s donning a well-weathered ball cap on top of his head.

  Sensing my unease, he smiles, giving me his dimples. “Passed Gypsy on my way to your room.”

  “The asshole,” I name call. “What’d he have to say?”

  Vante laughs and walks to where I sit on the bed. When he takes a seat at my side, the bed dips, and I immediately lean my tired body into his. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.

  Damn, but my heart will hurt to leave this.

  “Didn’t say I talked to him,” he rebuts. “The mood he was in, I didn’t try.”

  “He’s pissed because I told him I wasn’t moving to Texas.”

  “Got all that,” he tells me, pulling away to let me go.

  “You heard us?”

  Vante grins. “You two yellin’ the house down, not easy to miss. Think we all heard.”

  “I’m not against leaving,” I admit, looking away. “Honestly, I’m not.”

  “What’s the problem then?”

  “I’m scared what life for us will look like.”

  “Scared for what?”

  If there’s anyone who won’t mock or judge, it’s Vante. So, for nothing for it, I share, “Gypsy and I are finally in a place we admit we’re together. As in forever.”

  “Yeah,” he presses. “And isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

  “Yes.”

  Hitting my shoulder to his, he rocks us side to side. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “What if we get where we’re going and he realizes that I’m no one?”

  “No one?”

  “I mean, what if we get to Texas and he sees I’m nothing special?”

  Vante winces. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

  “I’m not. We’ve never been alone. Not together, anyway. What if we get there, set up house, and one night we’re watching reruns of whatever, and he looks over and realizes I’m not what he really wants?”

  Vante wraps a big arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “You’re one fucked-up crazy girl, you know that?”

  “I’m going with him,” I admit what I figured out days ago. “But if I send him running back here screaming for escape, don’t be pissed at me.”

  “You knew you were goin’ with him the whole time?”

  “I did.”

  “And you’re letting him simmer, thinkin’ he’s still gotta fight for that?”

  “I am.”

  “Ruthless.”

  “Eh, maybe,” I tell him. “But to be fair, he earned that.”

  “I hate that you’re leaving,” Vante tells me. “I hate that I won’t see you everyday.”

  “I’ll be back to visit.”

  “I know it. I also know that this world would be a much shittier place without you in it.” At this, my eyes widen. “And if that means I spend my time around here wishing you hadn’t left, I’ll take that. But, it’ll be a relief to know you’ll be safe and happy with your family.”

  “Vante,” I manage to whisper.

  “Swear to God, it’ll be shit here for a while. But, good news is that I won’t be bothered or bullied all hours of the day.”

  “You don’t mean that,” I return, my watering eyes narrowing to slits.

  Vante laughs. Staring up at his beautiful face, I remember something that’s been on my mind.

  “As your best friend, I do have one last favor to ask.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You and Leglas.” At this mention, Vante’s face shuts down—as in, locked tight. “What are you two up to?”

  “Best friend or not, I won’t talk,” he avows. “I won’t give you what isn’t mine to share.”

  Their newly-formed friendship is even more cryptic than I thought.

  “Really? You’re not going to tell me?”

  Vante stands, putting distance between us. “Nope. Can’t. Won’t.”

  “You’re giving me nothing?”

  “Not even if you use your little t
iny fists to beat it out of me.”

  My heart picks up pace, and being as my life has been upside down for months, I have to ask, “Are you two in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not yet,” he tells me. “But you know Leglas. He’s not the most morally aligned brother. So, today, no. No trouble.” Vante shrugs. “Tomorrow? Crapshoot.”

  I don’t like this. Everyone here is set on sending me and Gypsy off to live the lives they think we deserve, which, unfortunately, is away from Saint’s. Yet, here they’ll all be, and who knows what they’ll get up to.

  “Promise me you’ll call me when I’m gone.”

  Vante holds his fingers in the air, boy scout promise made. “Every day, Cricket. Swear.”

  “And that you’ll watch Ziah. I know he has Mia and Elevent, but he’s young and growing. He’ll have questions—”

  “He’s already started asking after girls if that’s what you mean,” he tells me. “Ziah may be eleven, but he’s also, for all intents and purposes, Elevent’s kid.”

  I giggle. “True.”

  Vante bends, and lays his hands on my shoulders. “Talk to Gypsy.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Feigning fear, he says, “And remind me never to piss you off. You hold a mean grudge.”

  Oh, he has no idea.

  “Thank you for the chat,” I tell him. “Now go. I have a mess to clean.”

  Vante looks around, taking in all of what Gypsy had done.

  With this, he states, “Also, remind me never to fall for a woman who gives a man reason to tear a room apart.”

  I laugh out loud and he scowls.

  Whatever.

  Standing, I bend down to start cleaning the mess.

  As I straighten and turn back, I find the space he stood in empty.

  Leaving Saint’s will hurt, but leaving Vante may hurt most of all.

  Slapping the palm of my hand across Vante’s chest, I give him a hard shove, forcing him two steps back. His eyes are wide and wild, feeding from the need for retribution.

  The kid is about to come un-fucking-done.

  “What the fuck are we waitin’ for?” he scoffs, curling his lip. “Christ, Leglas. Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

  “Do what, exactly?” I counter, my patience waning. “What is it you think we’re gonna do? Storm the door, demanding they do what?”