Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3)

by Jo Raven

  I let that slide because he’s obviously upset and because I’m too damn exhausted to get up and punch him in the face. “People depend on me,” I say.

  Ash groans. “Cut yourself a little slack. Dammit, Zane, you’re just eighteen, like me.”

  “Ah, fucker,” I say, “I’m a lot older than that. Inside.”

  I wait for his flippant come-back, but Ash just looks… sad. Dammit.

  “You know,” he mutters, “I’ve known you for all these years, and you never really told me much about your childhood.”

  I shudder at the thought of telling him about it. “Good.”

  “I just…” He shrugs, his brows drawn together. “I hope it wasn’t so bad.”

  Fuck, I want to shrug too and tell him it wasn’t. Lie—for a good cause. I didn’t live in this city as a child, and I didn’t know Ash. There’s nothing he could’ve done anyway.

  I settle for silence.

  Ash breaks it when he says, “I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me one day.”

  Dammit. “Ash. I’d trust you with my life. You know that. I just don’t like talking about the past.”

  He shakes his head, chews on the inside of his cheek. There’s something more there, something bothering him.

  “You know you talked in your sleep? Coma, whatever. The doctors said you can still dream when you’re in a coma, go figure. You said some things…”

  I talked? Hell. This is news to me. “What sort of things?”

  Ash punches a cushion, then bends forward, letting his hands hang between his knees. His gaze shifts around the room. He doesn’t look at me.

  “You were pleading with someone to let you go,” he finally says. “To stop. You were in pain. Said your back hurt. You pleaded, Zane. Begged. You sounded scared out of your fucking mind.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “And you wouldn’t wake up.”

  I stare at him unblinking. Shit. Holy fucking shit.

  “I know you have burn scars on your back. I’ve seen them under the ink. I know you won’t let girls touch you when you hook up.” His hands curl into fists, and he nails me with his pale eyes. “So will you trust me enough to tell me what happened to you?”

  Hell to the no. “Fuck off.”

  He grunts and gets to his feet. “Fine, asshole. Forget I ever cared.”

  I watch him stride across the living room, heading for the door. Fuck this. He can’t bully me into telling him about my worst nightmares, my memories from hell.

  But he’s my friend. My brother. If anyone deserves to know, it’s him.

  I can’t. Fear wars with shame, a deep-rooted horror that twists my guts. Not ready. Telling Dakota was… different. No idea why.

  But he needs something from me. A kind of reassurance.

  “Ash!” I call just as he opens the door to go. I struggle to my feet, cursing my body for taking so long to recover. “Wait.”

  He stills. “What?”

  “Those are some damn scary memories,” I say through gritted teeth. I stand there, face bowed, hands fisted by my sides. This is like chewing nails. “I hate them. Don’t ask me to talk about them. Please, fucker.”

  “You should tell someone what happened.” He still doesn’t turn, but his back has relaxed a fraction. “It might help, man.”

  “I’ve…” The truth wants out. “I’ve told Dakota what I remember.”

  I fully expect him to stomp out and go, maybe not talk to me for a year. I talked to Dakota that I only just met recently instead of to him, my old friend.

  But he doesn’t. Slowly, he turns around. “It’s easier, isn’t it? Talking to the girls?”

  I sink back into the armchair, totally wiped out. “Yeah,” I croak. “Sometimes.”

  “Okay.” He nods. “Do you… Do you mind if I ask her?”

  I open my mouth to curse, but find myself nodding. “It’s okay.”

  It is, I realize. Talking about the memories is like opening new wounds on the old ones. But if I don’t have to talk about them, I’m okay with Ash knowing.

  He tips his head. “Thanks, man.”

  As if I’ve given him a present instead of my shitty memories.

  Then again, in a sense I’m laying myself wide open, bare all the way, for him to see, like I did with Dakota. He’ll know my darkest fears, see right through to my soul. I’m giving up control by tearing down my secrets, my walls.

  Trust. It’s all I have, and I trust them both.

  “Maybe someday you can talk about it,” Ash says, and I shrug, not sure I’ll be able to. “Anyhow…” He frowns and glances over his shoulder. “There’s someone here.”

  I try to see past him, and he steps aside.

  “Hey, man,” Matt says. He glances from Asher to me and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Can I come in?”

  ***

  “…said you were out of hospital. I know I arrived way too late, but I had to see how you are.” Matt stops and stares at me, as if expecting something.

  A reaction.

  Shit, he’s really here. For a moment I thought I was dreaming—then I remembered Emma, and her funeral and sort of missed the rest of what he was saying.

  I scrub a hand over my face. “Did you say Ash called you?”

  “I don’t even know who he is,” Ash grumbles from my right.

  When did Ash sit back down on the sofa? Wasn’t he on his way out?

  “Rafaele Vestri called me,” Matt says.

  I blink at him stupidly until my brain restarts. Rafe. Rafe called him?

  “I’m Matt, by the way.” Matt extends his hand to Ash. “Emma’s husband.”

  Ash shakes Matt’s hand, his gaze clearing. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah. We sometimes came to visit here, before Emma fell sick.”

  Ash nods, looking partly glad and partly horrified. I wonder why he stayed, but then I notice he’s sitting between Matt and me, as if to protect me. Or protect Matt from me? No idea.

  It really makes me wonder what expression I wore when Matt came in.

  “Rafe said you were in a coma. That you were in the hospital.” Matt frowns. “I didn’t know. If I’d known, I’d have come earlier.”

  No idea what the hell to say to that. “Why are you here now?”

  He flinches. “Because… we’re family, Zane.”

  “You left.” Anger warms up the cold spaces inside me, so I welcome it. I’ve hung on to anger all my life to survive. Anger hasn’t let me down as much as people have. “You took the kids and left.”

  “Try to understand.” He tugs on his short hair. “I had to take them away, far from home. They miss their mom. I was only trying to help them get through this.”

  I nod, because I can’t speak without yelling at him to get the fuck out.

  After a while, he seems to get the message anyway and stands to go. I still want to yell at him.

  And I don’t want him to go. Not really.

  I lurch to my feet before he takes a step. Something is tightening in my chest. Chances are I’m gonna fucking break down for the first time since I can remember myself.

  Matt shifts his weight from foot to foot nervously. He may be in his mid-twenties, but in the span of a few months, his hair has gone gray. How didn’t I notice before?

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Emma loved you like her own son, and I put the needs of her other kids, our kids, above you. I shouldn’t…” He shakes his head. “I should have told you to come with us.”

  “My friends are all here,” I whisper. “My job. I can’t.”

  He nods. “Then we’ll visit you. As often as we can. And you should come over, too. Whenever you have the time.” He sighs. “I may be too young to be your dad, but I sure as hell think of you as my younger brother. Emma’s death… it rattled me badly, but that hasn’t changed. I hope you know it.”

  “Yeah.” My eyes sting. “Listen—”

  I don’t expect him to grab me in a bear hug. He thumps his fist on my back. “Family, Zane. I made a
mistake, but you can count on us, for everything you need. I hope you know that.”

  I see Ash get up and move toward the door. He’s blurry, and my breath hitches as the pressure in my chest finally reaches a breaking point.

  Shit. I pull back and wipe a hand over my wet cheeks. Matt lets me go, his eyes suspiciously bright. He gives me a piece of paper with his new address and landline phone number. Pats my shoulder and then follows Ash out, leaving me alone to try and get myself under control.

  Matt and Emma were like the parents I never had. Having at least one of them back in my life is a damn miracle, and for someone like me who doesn’t believe in miracles, that’s pretty damn awesome.

  ***

  What a fucked up mess.

  I stare at my ruined Mohawk in the mirror. I’m not vain, but I’ve had a Mohawk since I was fourteen. Sure, the teachers tried to get me to cut it all the time. I got expelled more times than I can count, and my foster families hated it.

  Which is why I kept it. It’s part of who I am. Part of my war against my past. Yeah, that’s it. It’s a war symbol.

  Which I apparently sheared off with the scissors while taking a break from trashing my apartment. Yeah, I got wasted off my ass. Really wasted, not just drunk. Shitfaced. Hammered. Plastered.

  Passed out on the floor and damn near checked out.

  Jesus. I never gave my drinking habits much thought all these years. Getting drunk at parties is normal for me. Then again, this getting drunk alone at home is recent, and I hope I can get out of it. I have to.

  I will.

  Meanwhile, I run my fingers over what’s left of my Mohawk, the short blue strands flopping on my forehead. The shaved sides of my head are now covered in dark stubble. It feels so weird. I grab my gel from the bathroom shelf and struggle to style the middle strip so that it stands up. It’s a sort of fauxhawk.

  Fucking ridiculous.

  My hands shake. I brace myself on the sink as the room tilts a little. I have circles under my eyes so black I look as if someone punched me. I’m thinner, and the bones of my face stick out.

  Hell. I’m not vain, I tell myself again. It’s just that… Dakota is here, in the other room, and I look like shit. A guy is entitled to feeling a bit sorry for himself when he wants to look good for his girl but instead looks like roadkill, doesn’t he?

  Emma would smack my arm and tell me to get over myself.

  Emma. The memory of her death hits me so hard I double over. There are moments I forget she’s dead. How can I forget something like that even for a second?

  “Zane?” Dakota pads into the bathroom behind me. “Are you okay?”

  Her arms slip around my waist, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Okay.”

  “Come on.” She straightens and tugs on my arm. “Food is ready.”

  “Not hungry.”

  “You will be when you smell this.”

  I grin in spite of myself. In spite of Emma’s memory. “Another recipe from your great-great-aunt or something?”

  “Yeah. Aunt Carolina’s recipe.”

  I frown. We’re going to visit her aunt tomorrow at the hospital. I know Dakota is sad, that she loves her aunt a lot. “You said she’s an adventurous woman.”

  “That what got you worried?” She winks at me.

  I shrug. “Maybe a little.”

  That’s a lie. Whatever Dakota cooks is delicious. All those aunts are pure geniuses. Not that I’m picky with food. If I was, I’d have starved since an early age at the foster homes and group homes. Sometimes the only food for weeks on end was stale bread and moldy cheese or old pizza. When I was on the streets, it was greasy burgers, and fries and other things I don’t even wanna think about.

  But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate something good.

  Take my childhood, for instance. It was fucked-up. Everyone I trusted screwed me over, but that doesn’t mean I can’t tell how amazing Dakota is.

  How good she is for me.

  So I let her draw me to the table and push me into a chair, then watch as she serves the food into two chipped bowls and nukes them in the microwave. When she turns to place a spoon and a fork in front of me, I put my hand over hers on the table.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “What for?” She smiles, and I want to kiss her so bad. My body has been kinda dead to the world since I returned from the hospital, but now it perks up, taking new interest in the proceedings.

  “Thank you for bringing me back.” I draw a long breath, because saying these things ain’t easy. “For sticking with me when I freaked out or drank too much, or…” I wince. “Or when I asked you to do things you weren’t comfortable with.”

  “Like?”

  I open my mouth, close it. Seriously? I need to spell it out? “Like doing you against the wall and not letting you hold me.”

  She licks her lips, leans in closer. “I said I trust you. And once I got over my own fears, I have to tell you…” She brushes her mouth over my ear, making me shudder. “That was hot.”

  “Come here.” I drag her onto my lap and bite down a groan as her sweet ass settles over my hard-on. “That was hot, huh?” Shit, she’s killing me with her admission. Makes me feel what I wanted wasn’t so bad, after all. Wasn’t so weird. “Also thank you for helping me break through the stupid shit in my head.”

  “Stupid shit?” She arches a fine dark brow and straddles me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  “Yeah.” I fight the jerk-knee reaction I get when her hands settle over my burn scars. “The shit that wouldn’t let me kiss you, hold you like this, and see your face as we get down and dirty.”

  “Dirty,” she whispers and presses her breasts to my chest, completely derailing my thoughts. “I like that, too.”

  Fuck, I want her. Her scent, her softness, her voice, her mouth, her warmth… Want her so bad. It’s not just my dick, hard and aching. My whole body moves toward her, needing her touch.

  Bending forward, I crush our mouths together, thrust my tongue between her lips and almost come on the spot from her taste. She tangles her tongue with mine, distracting me from the instinctive panic flash that jerks my body when her hands knead my nape.

  Don’t sink into the past. This is Dakota, holding me, kissing me. Rolling her hips, grinding herself on my hard-on.

  Oh hell, yeah. My body isn’t up for much yet, but this… this feels awesome. I need…

  She breaks the kiss and lifts her skirt. Christ, she’s naked underneath. My mouth goes dry.

  “Guest rules,” she whispers and winks. “Want to do this my way today?”

  I should tell her she’s not a guest anymore, that this is her home. That I’m still not one hundred percent, and I don’t know how far I can go.

  My mouth opens and closes, but no words come. My balls throb just from looking at her parted folds as she straddles my lap. Smooth. Glistening with moisture.

  “Touch me,” she whispers, and fuck yeah, I can do that. I slide my hand down her side, over her smooth thigh and push a finger inside her. She moans as she clenches around me, and I’m panting with need. A wet spot is spreading on my crotch, and my cock twitches when she moans again.

  “Need to feel you inside me,” she breathes and puts a hand on my wrist, tugging until I pull my finger out of her. The scent of her arousal hits me, and I struggle to keep from coming.

  “Condom,” I whisper. No idea where I have them. My brain isn’t getting enough blood to function, because it’s all flowing to my throbbing dick.

  “I’m on the pill,” she says. “Just come inside me, Zane. Please.”

  No condom. Skin-to-skin.

  My brain finally catches up, and I reach down to unzip my pants. She beats me to it, undoing the fly and pushing them down my hips, together with my briefs. I almost weep with relief as my cock springs out, flushed, wet and so goddamn ready.

  “Trust me?” she asks, reaching down to touch me, and precum leaks from the slit on the head of my cock, ru
nning down the sides. I gasp for breath as I nod.

  Her way. What does that mean?

  “I’ll need to hold on to you,” she says. “To put my arms around your neck.”

  I swallow. When we kissed I was okay, but what if I freak out this time?

  Then again… Time to break down all barriers, give her everything. Try to fix myself for her, and for me. “Just hold on tight.”

  She gives me a brilliant smile that makes her eyes shine and wraps her hand around my dick. My hips lift as she guides me inside her, into her slick heat. I curse and groan, pushing upward, gripping her hips and pulling her down on me.

  Oh God. My brain shuts down completely, a blank illuminated by flashes of pure pleasure. Skin-to-skin feels fucking amazing. Never done it without a condom before. Never knew it’d feel like this. Holy shit.

  Then her arms inch up my chest and slowly, carefully slide around my neck. Despite my trust in her, despite everything, I space out for a second—or for what feels like a second—lost in a suffocating cloud of pain and fear. It closes in around me, pulling me under.

  The feel of her mouth on mine snaps me back to the here and now. Must be something magical in kissing, because suddenly everything comes into sharp focus—her taste, the pressure of her lips, her hard nipples rubbing on my chest, her tight heat around my dick.

  I deepen the kiss, licking her mouth, letting her know I’m here. All here. She moans against my lips and grabs the back of my neck as she starts to move. She’s fucking moving, sliding up and down my dick, tightening and releasing, a maddening, mind-blowing rhythm.

  Fire is licking my balls. I can feel my orgasm start at the root of my cock, the pressure building and building, faster and faster. She rolls her hips, does little circles, undulates her body, and my groan comes out strangled.

  She’s in full control. I’m hers. There’s nothing to do but let her ride me to mind-bending orgasm. I watch her face as she lets out these sexy little moans, as her eyes close and her lips part, as she starts to shake with her own release…

  And I can’t hold back any more. My eyes shut as I come with a yell, my back arching off the chair. She ripples around me, calls my name as I shake and pant. The pleasure is off the motherfucking scale as we move together, holding on to each other, trembling with the aftershocks.