by Nicci Harris
"Dad, what the fuck is this guy on about?" Konnor bites out. My sweet wife is beside him in a second, placing her hand on his forearm. She peers at me for the first time since she entered, her eyes pleading for help. If I get up, I'll be dragging her out.
Ben all but collapses beside Butch. Yep, he's never the impartial man in the room. His son does a far better job. At least he appears pissed off in lieu of weak. Ben looks down at the ground, his forehead indented with taut lines. He shakes his head slowly, and Cassidy's expressive blonde brows slump. My knuckles ache as I squeeze my fists tighter. She cares too much about everyone around her. I should lock her away, protect her from their drama.
"Konnor," Ben says, looking at his son. "Fourteen years ago, you came into my care. But it wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't just because your mother was my first love and I felt the need to protect you. . . Your father asked me to take you in as my own. To keep you far away from the people who hurt you. Give you a good life. He entrusted me with his son."
"You mean Dustin," Cassidy whispers, articulating his name as if it were poison. And to her, it is. To me too. He's not getting within a mile of her ever again. Carter will make damn sure of it. He'll do whatever he needs to do to keep them apart while- While I can't.
"No, sweetheart," Ben says reluctantly as guilt flashes across his face. "I mean his biological father."
My wife's eyes gloss over, the betrayal crouching within them boils my blood. It makes me want to beat the lies out of Ben Slater's mouth for her.
Konnor grips his water glass with white knuckles. "You told us you didn't know who my father was."
"I know I did." Ben shakes his head. "Christ, I hate that I did. I lied to you, son. After everything you endured, we just wanted peace for you. I thought this was the way."
Konnor sets his water down on the edge of the billiard table, seemingly wanting to hurl it into the wall. I get that. "We?"
Ben nods. "Yes. Luca and I."
What the fuck?
Butch drains the last dregs of his whiskey, stands up, and strides over to the bar again. I frown at him. Butch has never wasted his time on the likes of the Slaters before. Konnor isn't his fucking problem.
"I thought you'd be safer out of my world," Butch states gruffly. "I owed that to your mother. You have her eyes. Well, I suppose you have heard that many times from Ben." He turns to face Konnor and nods. "But when I look at you, it's like she's staring back at me. I would have died for that woman."
I'm on my feet now, pacing over to catch Cassidy as her cheeks lose colour. She jumps when my arms go around her, which only makes me tighten them. She takes a big breath in and leans back. I got you, little one.
"So the rumours are true," Konnor states, his voice a tremoring mess. "I'm not Dustin's biological son. You?" He stares at Butch and Butch stares at Konnor.
What the fuck?
I cringe when I realise what they are fucking implying - confessing.
"You had an affair with my mother? I'm your. . . You're my. . ." Konnor trails off, clutching the side of the table to stop from toppling over.
Butch takes a mouthful of his newly poured drink. "You're a Butcher."
My teeth lock. "Fuck."
Cassidy
* * *
Konnor is a Butcher Boy.
I cover my mouth with my palms, smothering the gasp that tries to escape. Oh my God. I think everyone in the room just stopped breathing. Max's arms tighten around me, enveloping me, grounding me.
Konnor immediately turns ashen, appearing to be flooded by nausea. "Fuck."
Moving over to his spot on the lounge, Butch sits down slowly and leans forward, his arms resting on his knees. "Dustin must never find out. He'll want revenge and he'll come for my family. Made-men don't lie to made-men. It is a law. He'll come for Cassidy. He'll come for your brothers."
"My brothers. . ." Konnor grips his forehead, and when his knees buckle, he slides down to the floor. Leaning against the leg of the table, he stares straight ahead. "Brothers."
"Fuck," Max says louder this time.
Oh my God. I feel dizzy.
"There will be casualties on both sides if this gets back to him," Butch states empathically. "That is what we have been trying to avoid for over a decade."
"At my expense," Konnor mutters, outwardly trying to comprehend all this information.
"No." Butch stands and walks over to him, squatting down at his side. "At mine."
Fingers peel my hand away from my mouth, allowing sweet air to rush into my lungs. I didn't even realise that I was holding my breath. I can't see Max's face, but I can feel his heart's hammering rhythm against my back.
Konnor is his brother.
Butch fixes Konnor with his serious stern blue eyes. "Konnor, Ben gave you a far more peaceful life than I ever could. And that is what Madeline wanted. She begged me not to drag you into this world. I gave her my word that I would stay away. For her, I did. . . I'm actually surprised you stopped looking for me."
Konnor glares at him. "What do you mean?"
"A few months back," Butch says with a raise of his salt and pepper brows, "you were asking questions. I thought you'd find out. I'd even hoped you wou-"
"You told him!" Konnor barks at our dad. "You just ran right over here and-"
"I did no such thing, Konnor," Dad states defensively.
"You've got a temper on you." Butch chuckles easily. "You get that from your grandfather."
Konnor looks queasy again, his head doing a slight roll against the table leg. "How did you know that I was looking for answers?"
"One of my men told me," Butch states simply.
Anger flares in Konnor's eyes. "You have people watching me!"
"I have people watching over you," Butch corrects. "I have people watching over all my boys."
"Who?" Konnor demands. "Is it someone I know? A spy?"
Butch nods. "Your doorman - Adolf."
Konnor blinks over and over again. "What?"
"He was Madeline's captain of security." Butch straightens and takes a step backwards. "He was very fond of you as a boy. He is now too."
"This is too much." Konnor stares straight ahead at the wall, seemingly wanting to disappear into it. "I moved on. I gave up caring about you. You, you fucking didn't give a shit about-"
"Rispettu! Respect, son!" Butch barks, and I flinch. "In this household we respect the head. I did give a shit! I wanted you and her more than anything. When I found out she was pregnant, I wanted to take my boys and her and leave the fucking country."
"What stopped you then?" Konnor sneers, locking eyes with him.
"Your goddamn life! Your safety. We'd always be looking over our shoulders."
Konnor scoffs. "But I wasn't safe."
"We didn't know what would happen," Butch says through a tight jaw. "Madeline thought Dustin would be a good father to you if he thought you were his. I gave him my son with that hope too."
"He found out I wasn't his," Konnor murmurs, his voice fracturing.
"Rumours in the District; it is like a plague. . . I should have never left her with him. He was blindly infatuated with her; he'd rather see her dead than in another man's arms. He said as much on several occasions. If I didn't have my own boys to protect. . . choosing one over the other all this time has not been done without considerable pain. And if Dustin believed the rumours, then what happened to you could have been his doing."
But there is no proof. "But there is no proof," I find myself saying out loud. "That's the issue, right? That's why we can't touch him. He does all these terrible things, but no one can be sure it was him." My lower lip shakes uncontrollably.
"I want you to go outside," Max orders quietly.
"No," I breathe. "I want to be here."
"Do you want me to drag you out?" he threatens.
I squeeze his bicep. "Please, Max. Just keep hold of me."
His arms tense up, but luckily, he doesn't fight me on this. Yeah, luckily, because I wouldn't have reta
liated if he had scooped me up and carried me to our room. I'm done pretending for the day, ignoring the lies in every smile. The pity in every congratulations.
I just want to be with my husband. Want to cry in his arms. For Konnor. For Butch. And for everyone who has been living with these secrets weighing them down like stones shackled to their ankles.
But I need to know the truth. So I’ll stay.
"That's right, Cassidy. We don't know anything for sure," Butch confirms as he rises and holds his hand out for Konnor to take. "And that is why we are telling you this now."
Konnor stares at Butch's hand as if its existence is a complete mystery to him. After several seconds, he swallows hard and accepts it, letting Butch pull him to his feet.
"Why?" Konnor shakes his head. "Why now?"
"Because Ben and I have a favour to ask." Butch exhales, seemingly regretful. When he turns to face us, my eyes widen. "Of Max." Feeling the earth tilt again, I lean further into my husband for support. Please don’t say the P word. Please don’t remind me again that I'm losing him. That soon he will be gone. That I'm losing half of myself. The reality of our situation has been locked away in a dark pit inside of me, and no matter how many times it tugs at my nerve endings, sending shocks of sorrow through my entire being, I force the truth back down.
I fight it.
I fight it so that it doesn't creep into my chest, leaving nothing in its wake but a gaping hole where my heart used to pump.
Max's biceps contract around me, but he's warm and sturdy in every other way. Butch continues and his pained eyes physically hurt something raw and maternal within me. "It is something I shouldn't ask of my son. Not now. Not when he should serve his time and think of no one but himself while he is in there. But it might be our only chance and I know he'll do it." He spares a glance at Konnor. "He'll do it because you're his brother and nothing matters more to my boys than their blood."
"What is it?" Max asks tightly.
Butch sighs slowly. "There is a man in the maximum-security prison you will be sent to," he states, looking at Max firmly. "Donavon Knight. He is responsible for kidnapping Konnor. Holding him in a basement. He is a lying sack of shit, and the cops couldn't get a straight answer from him. He pleaded guilty all those years ago with no trial. He was more afraid to snitch than he was to do hard time. Max, I want you to find out why he took your brother." Butch grins ominously. "And who he's so fucking afraid of."
Cassidy
* * *
Fifteen hours and twenty-two minutes left.
* * *
I cross my legs up on the mattress. Staring at the floor plan of our new house in Brussman, I walk my finger down the hallway and into the master suite. It's an open-plan bedroom with a resort style ensuite that is separated from the main area by white shutters. I imagine opening those shutters and touching myself in bed while I watch my husband shower. I picture him catching me, grinning menacingly, and running out to grab me, still dripping with water, leaving wet, size-eleven footprints in the carpet. He will carry me to the shower and make love to me under the flowing water.
We are not saying goodbye.
This is not a fantasy; this will happen. I have an entire house and yard to decorate. A baby to nurse and play with. Shaking my head, I smile with tears in my eyes. He did this so I'd be busy. Too busy to miss him, perhaps. He really does underestimate just how much I love him with every fibre of my being. In all the seconds. Not just the lonely ones.
I wipe the tears as they fall, having promised him we are not saying goodbye.
Max has asked two things of me, both of which are incredibly painful and impossibly hard.
Not to go to court tomorrow.
Not to visit him in prison.
I exhale a shaky breath, the two requests terrifying to think about. To accept. I understand them though, and that is why I will do what he has asked. Because no matter how hard I think this is for me, I know. . . God. . . I know it will forever haunt him. So I'll do what he needs me to do to get him through this. I know, he can't be soft. Not in there.
I just pray - even though I'm not religious. . . I've never understood people who pray. I suppose, I have never felt so powerless that I needed a miracle. So unable to dig deep and fight my own way out of a situation.
Absolute helplessness.
So I pray. I pray that when he is released, he can find that gentleness again, dig it out from wherever he had to hide it, and shine a light on it. . . for me.
Max is downstairs right now with his brothers, sharing final moments of laughter and messages of wisdom that I am sure would break my heart to hear. They will be accompanying him tomorrow morning to court. Butch. Clay. Bronson. Xander.
Flick and Stacey will be here at nine to hold all the pieces of me together until the boys come home. . . come home. . . with one less person. I jump up from the bed and rush to the bathroom, wiping at my eyes as the tears fall.
Quickly, I wash the sorrow away.
We are not saying goodbye.
Standing in front of the mirror now, I turn side on and trail my hand over the taut skin covering our blob. I hear the bedroom door open, so I walk slowly out to find Max sitting in the spot I was previously, looking at the house plans.
"Come here, little one," he orders, placing the pieces of paper onto the floor.
I make my way towards him, crawling along the mattress until I am in his lap. He pulls me in closer, cradling me against him. I bury my face against his chest. As aligned with his heart as I can be, I listen to its beautiful beating cadence.
This is my other half.
The person I will grow old with. This is the sound of his life source.
I nuzzle in deep, the scent of his soap, sweat, and him, the ultimate aphrodisiac. Needing to be closer, as close as two individual people can be, I lift my head, cup his cheeks, and plant a devouring kiss on his lips. The heat between us ignites.
Max moves me around the mattress, flattening my back and mounting me. As his tongue strokes inside my mouth, I fumble with his jeans, the button, the zipper. . . Get them off. He kicks them from his ankles. His shirt comes off and flies across the room. Floors always look better with Max Butcher's clothes all over them. I trail my fingers down taut muscles covered in hot smooth skin, his washboard ridges contracting as I awaken them with my touch. My hands meet the seam of his white boxers, then one dips beneath them in an attempt to band the large breadth of his penis. I fail to circle it all. Its form lengthens. Thickens. Pulses.
He growls, thrusting his hips into my palm. "Fuck, Cassidy. My Cassidy."
Our mouths dance together. We share breath, unwilling to break away. We would rather suffocate. I stroke him and we kiss passionately. I stick my tongue in his mouth and he sucks on it the way I know he likes. As I drag my hand up and down his expansive shaft, the tension and strength in it beats against my palm's rhythm.
"Make me come, little one. Good girl." He growls when I speed up. Feeding his hand up the inside of my leg, he touches my knickers, then works them aside to stroke the lips between my thighs. A single finger trails the length of the valley between my folds, getting wetter and wetter, before pushing between them.
"Oh, fuck. I crave your little pussy, Cassidy. The way I have to convince you to let me in. The way you grip me like you never want me to leave." I arch my back on a tremor when his knuckles meet my entrance, feeling him beautifully deep. My mind wrestles between the sensation wanting to consume me and the gruff demand to make my husband come.
He drives his hips into my fist, doing all the work himself so that I can shamelessly chase my own high. Another finger pushes inside me, applying pressure to that perfect spot, too much pressure. I mewl against the onslaught. Heat rolls through my muscles, reaching a boiling point before crashing together at the tips of his skilled fingers. I moan and he eats my sounds of delight.
I release my grip on him, the rolling delight of my orgasm loosening me, making me feel as though the very connective tissue holding m
y muscles together has fallen apart. Melting into the mattress, I barely notice when he removes my knickers and camisole, leaving me bared to him. He stands up and gazes down at my naked body, emotion shadowing his grey-blue eyes, revealing a crack in his resolve.
It's gone almost as soon as I see it.
We are not saying goodbye.
He disappears into the bathroom but quickly returns, rubbing his erection, the smooth skin glistening with a kind of lotion or oil. Swallowing hard, I scoot backwards slightly as he stalks towards me. He is on me before I can think. His lips find mine, our breaths collide, but he doesn't kiss me. Grey-blue eyes gaze into my being. I hook my legs around his back, and he threads his arm between our sweat slick bodies until he gets to a place that makes me suck in a sharp breath. Stroking my puckering hole, he uses the wetness all over my lips to ease passage inside me. I open my mouth. My eyes widen.
He doesn't kiss me.
He stares into me unapologetically because it is his right. I am his. "I want to watch you take me, little one." He begins to move his finger inside and my eyes roll into the back of my head, forcing them shut. "You like this, little one. Sometimes when I want to get you off again and again, all I need to do is stick my finger up your tight little arse and you come hard."
I don't understand it myself. The sensation is so erotic, I can barely control my own body. I squirm around as he moves his finger inside me, twisting and rolling. . . Then he stops. Pulls out. My eyes fly open when I feel the crown of his erection meeting that hole.
He drops onto one elbow, combing his fingers through my hair as his thumb strokes my pinkening cheek. His other hand moves from his erection to my hip, holding me still. His eyes soften, inches away, boring into mine.
I see vulnerability.
I see honesty.
No bares held emotion.
We are not saying goodbye.
"If you want me to stop, say it now."
"I don't want you to stop. Please, Max.
