Exodus (The Ravenhood Duet Book 2)

by Kate Stewart

  With this one act, it will break all ties, destroy us, and any lingering hopes I have left. From his side, I’m a threat and he wants me gone, and this is the way of ensuring I have no place, no future amongst them. It’s up to me to stop it from going any further.

  But I don’t. And I won’t. Because I no longer have a reason to hold on.

  And because I am an addict.

  A destitute product of my own imagination, of my own making.

  Needy.

  Sick.

  Insatiable.

  And with Tobias, it’s like inhaling energy, each breath I draw grows heavy with it, pulling me further into him, into a place I’ve never been.

  He unzips his slacks unleashing his engorged cock, stroking it as I look on before he starts the slow roll of a condom. I catalog him, consuming every naked inch that my gluttonous mind is demanding I memorize. Dark olive skin stretches over his expansive and fully defined chest, a light smattering of hair is dusted between his pecs, and ribbed muscles line his taut abdomen and trim waist. An insanely deep V encases a trail of hair down his pelvis. Once fitted in latex, he lifts my neck in his palm, tilting my head to give me a clear view. He wants me to bear witness to the end, to his assumed victory.

  And this, I refuse to deny myself, but for an entirely different reason.

  He pauses briefly, a few seconds for any objection before he begins to press into me. Inch by thick inch, he takes up the whole of me and I lose my breath due to the stretch, the size of him. Cursing, he drives in further, watching intently as my mouth parts and a barely audible hiss escapes him. His features twist with restraint as his body vibrates with residual anger. And there’s no mistaking it.

  This is his revenge, on my father, on the brothers who disobeyed and purposely deceived him. On me for having an unknowing hand in it. And I’m letting him have it. I’m allowing my own degradation.

  Once again, I give myself over to my devil, but this time, this time is different because this time, I’ve already made peace with it on my terms. I allow him this purposefully, with every intention to see it through. And if I’m damning myself, I’m going to enjoy the burn.

  He inches in and I cry out at the intrusion, the unimaginable stretch as he rolls his hips, slowly working himself into me. “Putain de merde.” Mother Fucker. “Tellement serrée,” So tight.

  “Brûles en enfer.” Burn in hell. The words pour from my mouth in perfect pronunciation, and my enemy’s eyes widen a fraction before he drives into me fully.

  It’s then I feel the snap…and get consumed by the afterburn.

  We collectively groan before he curses in a mix of English and French pulling back entirely and thrusting in again, burying himself. Connected fully, his hot exhale hits my neck as I claw at his shoulders, breathing through the discomfort, reveling in the stretch, and indescribable pleasure.

  He palms my thighs, spreading them further before he drives in again, his eyes dropping to where we connect. I bellow, my body shaking, as he drags himself along every sacred place inside of me, drawing me out. Within a few more thrusts, I spasm, fighting it, but all it takes is a shot of amber flames and the press of his finger and I topple over the edge.

  I revel in the descent, my orgasm taking over, my release streaming between my legs as an ecstasy-filled cry leaves my lips. Back arching, I convulse, cleansing in a white-hot fire that unfurls throughout my limbs as my body trembles in the aftermath.

  His eyes slam shut, and he throws his head back, mouth going slack as I milk his cock, the resulting turbulence shaking us both. It’s when his hooded eyes open and latch onto mine, that he loses control.

  And then we’re fucking—hands clutching, gasps and groans mingling, sweat glistening off our slicked skin as he tears through me lust-crazed, possessed. Pain subsiding, I meet him thrust for thrust fucking him with fervor until a second orgasm hits, taking me by surprise. I tighten around him as his eyes go molten.

  “Putain, putain,” Fuck, fuck, he curses, his hands covering my body, his touch pure electricity, as I begin to build again with every powerful drive of his hips. Sparks fire and ignite from cell to flesh as he pistons into me, the slapping sound tipping me over as another orgasm threatens. With its arrival, I bang on his chest, the friction too much. Jaw trembling, I come undone pulsing around him as he picks up speed, his fucking unforgiving while he claims my body wholly. My hate fuels me as I scratch at his chest, determined to collect some of his flesh beneath my fingernails.

  And with every sure and damning thrust of his hips, adversary or not, I know I’ll never again crave the touch of another like I will his.

  Trembling with this knowledge my back arches again as he swells inside me on the verge. His hand tenses on my breast with the first pulse of his orgasm. His body tremulous as his eyes open with the onslaught. He stares down at me, gasping out his release, unmistakable terror in his eyes.

  And I’m thankful for it.

  I’m thankful for every vulnerable second of it because I see the recognition when he realizes what I already know.

  He didn’t want to feel anything, and instead, he felt everything.

  We’ve just ruined ourselves with our hate for the other.

  He palms the sides of my head as he stares down at me with something akin to astonishment. It’s only a flicker of revelation, but it’s there. His eyes drop as he pulls out of me and wordlessly grabs the towel nearby in an attempt to cover me. I bat it away, disgusted by his cowardice. If I have to bear witness to this, so does he. There will be no mercy on either of our parts.

  “You have to live with it, too.”

  My words strike him exactly where intended as his face draws tight, all fear quickly becoming replaced by fury. But I’m not the one he’s angry at.

  He snaps to his feet, tossing the condom in my vanity trash before gathering himself in his boxers, his expression turns to stone as he begins slowly buttoning his shirt.

  Flames fading, he eyes me, securing his collar when he speaks. “You should know better than to read into this. It’s sex. And it was business. Don’t take it personally.”

  I roll my head back and forth on the carpet unbelieving of his quick denial. “You really need to get over yourself.”

  He pauses dressing briefly, staring down at me. “I don’t blame you, Cecelia. You were taught from an early age to be a fixer. To crave affection unreturned and somehow believe it will be rewarding.”

  He nods toward the battered library copy of The Thorn Birds sitting on my nightstand. “But that’s the difference between a boy in a book or a movie and a man in the real fucking world. Some of us don’t want to know the inner workings of your mind and heart, or throw away our pride, or tell you our secrets and confess our love. Some of us just want to fuck you until we tire of you and move on.”

  I pull myself from the carpet and don’t miss his thorough sweep of my body. “Except you don’t live in the real world. You decided to create one of your own. And you’ll never tire of me. That’s your punishment for betraying them, same as mine.”

  Face apathetic, he pulls at the cuffs of his shirt beneath his jacket and runs a hand through his thick black hair. “Belle et délirante.” Beautiful and delusional.

  This, I understand. “I guess I am. After all, I’m just a little girl you couldn’t resist fucking.” He wants to hurt me. I can feel it—the hate, the rage—he feels rolling off him.

  He went too far, and I went with him, but for a completely different reason.

  But I’ll share in the punishment.

  And I’ll crave my enemy.

  Because that’s what we are.

  “I’m not the only one that’s delusional,” I counter, grabbing my towel and securing it around me as his eyes narrow to slits. “And you’re insane if you think I’ll ever want to know the inner workings of your heart and mind.” I grab his suit jacket from the floor and toss it in his face. “Don’t take this personally, but get the hell out.” His eyes flame just before I turn and slam m
y bathroom door behind me.

  I stand on my balcony and pull on the joint, gazing at the horizon in the distance, welcoming the calming effect with every inhale.

  In seven weeks, I will be free. Free of Roman’s watch, free of his position in my life. In seven weeks, I’ll be far out of Tobias’s reach as well, his scrutiny and his judgment. I have two of the most powerful men fighting for control over me while I occupy space in this town. Until then, I’ll give Roman and Tobias what they demand of me to pacify them both until I leave, but it’ll be on my terms.

  Because I no longer feel the weight of the pendulum swinging overhead.

  Tobias had planned to finish me off with our shared act of betrayal, but unbeknownst to him, he liberated me.

  Sweet freedom.

  Violet clouds move over the end of another day as I tap out the joint I managed to roll with some of the weed I stole months ago from Dominic’s bedroom. I don’t know why I took it, but as I exhale the last of the smoke, I’m glad I did.

  I run my hand along the back of my neck, where a small scar exists from where Tobias ripped the necklace from me. He’d cut my skin, and a scab had formed. And I’d picked it, to remember it happened, to remember that once, someone cared enough to claim me, to call me their own even if it was short-lived.

  But the necklace and the meaning behind it means nothing to me now.

  It can’t. Tobias broke that connection, snapped the thread in half. And I allowed it, so I no longer feel tethered to them.

  It was clear what his agenda was, but I had one of my own.

  All I feel now is justified, justified in moving on, and ending my wait.

  If they came now, they would be way too late. Even so, I will never want them the same way. All my foolish notions and hopes ended the night I let my enemy fuck me on his adversary’s floor.

  And though I do loathe Tobias, with every fiber of my being, I’m okay with the revelation it brought. I crossed a line that my mind and body agreed to and ignored my heart, all for this bittersweet relief.

  So, while my flickering love fades for two men, my lust flames for another. And the best part? I don’t have to feel anything.

  Shame, remorse, guilt, are my new enemies.

  With no apologies, I’m making my own rules to eradicate my weakness.

  I may hate him, but he was right on so many fronts.

  By pinpointing my shortcoming, he unshackled me from the heart that continues to weigh me down.

  A heart that has proven to be worthless.

  No one wants it, and I gave it way too freely. It’s made me reckless and weak. And so, I’ll stop supplying it with hope and lies. I’ll deny its existence and stupid aspirations. I’ll let it wither, try to take away its strength, and any power it holds over my decisions. And until my time here is served, I’ll allow myself to become my father’s daughter—cold, cruel, deceptive, calculating, and unapologetic.

  But it’s the acceptance of one thing that truly sets me free.

  My heart has no place here.

  “Weaker Girl,” by Banks thumps through the cabin of my new Jeep as my freshly cropped hair whips in the wind around me.

  New wheels and new hair, to go with my new mindset.

  Reinvention is a powerful thing.

  I’m determined now more than ever to take my control back. Over myself, my emotions, my direction, and my decisions.

  As the days pass, I find myself less concerned with the moral high ground, and more concerned with my next move.

  Because this isn’t chess we’re playing. This is a different game altogether.

  I spent the last week celebrating my liberation at Eddie’s bar. Small towns being what they are, according to Melinda, I’ve built quite a reputation in only a matter of days.

  No doubt as a fast girl.

  She spent last night’s shift at the plant trying to convince me I needed saving and was welcome at the church any time to confess my sins and cleanse myself of all my wrongdoings.

  None of that appeals to me.

  I don’t want forgiveness.

  I willingly slept with Tobias knowing it would snap the thread.

  And it worked well, maybe too well.

  Not only did I decide to let my devil out, but I’ve convinced myself to let her reign. Love and end game don’t factor in my participation.

  That line of thinking will serve me well when it comes to the bastard that tried to debase me on my bedroom floor.

  But it’s my craving for the devil I’d let into my bed that I want to erase now.

  “Fast girl, indeed,” I agree as I race toward the square before whipping into a parking space at the store in front of my favorite dress shop. Tessa greets me with a welcoming smile, her eyes bulging when she sees my hair and the grin I’m sporting.

  “Girl, you look incredible.” She walks over to where I stand sorting through a rack of dresses. I’ve already spent a fortune today but couldn’t care less that I’m redlining my bank account. Deliverance can do that to a girl. I’m out of fucks to give. I run my fingers through my hair, which feathers right back into place due to the sleek cut.

  “Thanks, I’m still getting used to it.”

  “It suits you,” she says, joining me at the rack.

  We’ve become fast friends since I started frequenting her shop, which seems to be thriving, maybe due to a little aid from the brotherhood. But she hasn’t mentioned anything about it, she wouldn’t, but even if she had, I’d keep my involvement out of it. I don’t want credit—the fact that she’s doing well is reward enough for me.

  I glance around the bustling store at a group of women pulling dresses from the various racks. “Looks like things are going well.”

  “You have no idea. It’s amazing what can happen in a year.”

  “Oh, I believe you. And that’s so good to hear.” Tessa runs her fingers through her hair as I compliment her on her dress. She’s a beautiful, petite, champagne blonde with doe eyes. The thought occurs to me then, well, Tyler occurs to me. Briefly, I entertain the idea of playing matchmaker, though I’m still pissed at him. But I’ve got a soft spot for Tyler despite the role he’s played. And the sadness in his eyes the day we visited Delphine haunts me. He’s in a good place now or seemed to be when last I saw him.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” I ask in a whisper as one of the women picking through dresses eyes me. I wink at her, gauging the judgment in her eyes, no doubt due to my recent scandals, before directing my attention back to Tessa.

  “No boyfriends, no,” she answers. “Not really much to choose from around here.”

  “I might have someone for you.”

  She perks up. “Oh? Please tell me he’s not a local.”

  “He is, but he’s been in the service for years. He’s a little older than you, so I doubt you know of him. He’s one of the good ones.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Well, send him in for a dress for his mother.”

  “I may just do that.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Trust me. You’ll know him when you see him.” And maybe she has, he is the Friar after all. Then again, I know nothing of the day to day of hood business anymore.

  “Really? That hot?”

  “That hot.”

  “I’ll be on the lookout.”

  She looks me over as I again sort through the rack. “I know that smile. Who are we dressing you for tonight?”

  I pull a dress from the rack and lift it to my collar, eyeing my reflection in a nearby floor-length mirror before I turn to her.

  “Me.”

  “Well then. I have just the dress.”

  I wake to the clink of ice against a glass, and a whiff of gin, spice, and leather. A second later, my bedside lamp clicks on filling the room with a soft yellow hue. Tobias sits at the edge of my mattress, invading me with his presence. He’s impeccably dressed in a single-breasted suit, his strong jaw flexing as he drinks me in, his eyes blisteri
ng orange-gold. He jerks the covers back, revealing me in my new curve-hugging dress that shows a touch of side boob. I’d gone sans panties tonight as I sipped whiskey on one of Eddie’s bar stools. Every time I enter his bar, he greets me with the stink eye, but he’s been serving me, and I’ve been generous with my tips—a sort of silent agreement.

  Far different from the one I have with the man shooting flaming daggers at me from where he sits at the edge of my bed.

  It’s been over a week since Tobias ravaged me. Stupidly, I’d assumed after that much time had passed, I’d seen the last of him.

  Gauging by the look in his eyes, I was dead wrong.

  I stare back at him from where I lay on my stomach, my head facing him from where it rests on my pillow.

  Slowly, he raises his hand and collects a lock of my newly cropped hair before rubbing it between his fingers. Where it was close to waist length, it now rests just below my shoulder in mixed shades of light and dark brown. He drops the lock of hair and runs his palm along the expanse of my back before covering the curve of my ass and stopping mid-thigh to squeeze.

  “Rough day?”

  “You didn’t fuck them. Why?” I know exactly what he’s referring to. My bar trysts. Though I entertained the idea of giving my body away to a nameless, faceless man to try and erase Tobias, to erase them all. I couldn’t do it. Not out of loyalty, but because I knew it would only degrade me in a way I could never face my reflection again.

  Instead of inching myself further toward the edge, I decided to white-knuckle my belief about my time with Sean and Dominic last summer. That I had been a girl in love and shared my body with two men I deemed worthy. The reckoning that it meant far more to me than it did to them was still a hard pill to swallow, but it’s my self-respect that took the front seat.

  For Tobias, I have no beliefs. He’s the embodiment of a lone wolf. And I’m all too familiar with the phrase ‘a wolf loses little sleep over the opinion of sheep.’

  In his presence, that’s all he thinks I am. Prey. Prey to play with. A new toy to pass the time. A business decision.

  I’ll play sacrificial lamb to make him believe he’s gotten his victory, but I will never play into his judgments about me, nor will I fuck faceless men to prove him right. In me, he will find no more satisfaction.