Violence (Antihero Inferno Book 3)

by Lily White

Not that Damon seems to mind. He’s perfectly content right where he is, Emily so close she’s practically in his lap.

  “I’ll help you move the cars,” I offer, happy to have a reason to walk out of this place and not take notice of the fact that Emily won’t look at me.

  Tanner groans but shoves up from his seat.

  Slapping my shoulder as he passes, he grumbles, “Come on.”

  We make quick work of the cars and grab everyone’s shirts before heading back up to the cabin. Before we can walk in, Tanner slams a hand against my chest and knocks me back.

  “What’s going on with you, Damon and Emily? And don’t try to fucking lie to me about it either. With the way Shane was staring at you, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to tell me all about it.”

  “It’s handled,” I answer.

  He cocks a brow, obviously seeing right past that lie.

  “Which must be why you were staring at Damon like you might rip his head off when he came downstairs with his arm around her. Don’t give me that bullshit, Ezra. Do we have another end of high school situation on our hands? Because the last thing I need is the two of you going at each other.”

  “It’s fine,” I answer, my jaw tight because Emily is still catching crap for the video that caused the problem he’s talking about.

  How fucking funny is it that my first thought is in defense of her? Sorry for her? Absolute rage at the assholes who keep harassing her about what happened?

  No matter what, I can’t stop protecting her…or wanting her.

  Tanner runs a hand through his hair and paces a few steps away before turning back to me.

  “It took you both a long time to get over her. And you were hell to deal with back then, too. I knew I shouldn’t have let Gabe send you after Emily at the fucking engagement party.”

  “It was the only way to get her away from Ivy.”

  He laughs.

  “Yeah, but at what cost? Asking you two to deal with Emily was the equivalent of waving a bag of heroine in front of an addict’s face. And don’t try to argue with me on that. Not after what I saw at Gabe’s house between the two of you, and not after what I’m seeing tonight.”

  We both grow quiet, Tanner staring at me like I’m losing my mind. My toe taps out the seconds before he ends this conversation.

  Realizing I’m not in a talkative mood, he jabs a finger at my face.

  “No fighting. Not even one punch. I know how you are. We’re here to get the information from Ivy, and then we’re leaving. Keep your issues in check until then.”

  A distant, high-pitched scream sounds from the woods behind us, both our heads turning that direction. But it wasn’t fear I heard in that sound.

  I shake my head and laugh to realize it was something else entirely. The sound was faint, but definitely recognizable.

  Tanner scowls, his eyes rolling as he exhales heavily.

  “Of course he’s fucking her. Again. Son of a bitch, all of you assholes are driving me crazy.”

  Marching to the front door, Tanner lets us both in the house, his eyes following me as I brush past him.

  Tanner isn’t wrong to worry. Nothing about the energy in this cabin is safe right now. We’re all on edge with our own issues.

  Well, not all of us. Sawyer and Taylor look like they don’t have a fuck to give about anything.

  Lucky men.

  After passing everyone’s shirt to them, I toss Damon’s at his face a little too hard, my eyes dropping to Emily to see her head is down in an attempt to keep from looking at me.

  Sucks for her because I sit down on the other side of her, the couch cushion dipping with my weight, her body tensing to brush up against mine.

  We wait in awkward silence for Gabe to finish what he’s doing and drag Ivy back to the house, the passing time made worse by the brush of Emily’s body against mine and the tension sitting heavy between us.

  Damon whispers to her every so often. I tap my fingers on the cushion beside me to keep from reaching over and shutting him up.

  Over an hour later, Gabe finally reappears with Ivy in tow. Judging by the state they’re in with Ivy wearing his shirt and dirt smearing their skin, it looks like they had a good time while we waited.

  Thankfully, the argument that ensues with Tanner only serves to break the tension in the room, and it’s entertaining, at least until Emily pushes to her feet with balled fists in defense of Ivy.

  That part doesn’t bother me as much, but what does bug the shit out of me is when Damon reaches up to hook a finger in the waistband of her pants to tug her back down to the couch.

  My teeth grind together, and I wonder how the hell we ended up in this position.

  Short answer?

  Me.

  I’m the fucking reason.

  And I have to keep being the reason since I’m the only person who knows what Emily has been doing with William.

  I’m worried about my brother’s attachment to her.

  About my own.

  And I have no idea how I can end this crap before it becomes a recipe for disaster.

  I won’t fight Damon again over this. I just need him to see the truth.

  The only question is how I should show him what he needs to see.

  I love Emily.

  God, how I love her.

  But I don’t trust her.

  And when it comes down to who I need to take care of in this situation, the only choice is my brother.

  Even if it kills me in the process.

  Even if it means I lose her.

  Emily

  Tonight was exceptionally informative.

  It isn’t everyday a person finds out their best friend’s father might be involved in murder and underhanded conspiracy, and that whatever her dad is doing might go directly against what our families are doing.

  I’m clueless about anything involving servers, tech firms in Georgia, or practically the entirety of the conversation everyone had tonight, which made it difficult to follow along. All I do know is that sitting between Damon and Ezra for the four hours it took for them to have that conversation was absolute torture.

  Attempting to ignore the way Ezra’s body brushed up against mine was almost impossible. And while he sat in his usual cold fury on one side of me, Damon was in a playful mood on the other side, his smile and whispered jokes helping to warm my heart after Ezra’s tense silence froze it solid.

  Thrilled when Tanner said they were leaving for the night, I’d jumped up from the couch and crossed the room, my feet stumbling over themselves to hear the twins say they were staying, as well as Gabriel.

  I refused to turn back to where the twins were standing. Not that I had to. Shane was doing a good enough job glaring at me from where he stood in front of me.

  It’s obvious Shane is not happy about me being around the twins, but it’s not my fault. I didn’t demand these six weeks. I didn’t ask for any of this situation.

  Wincing at the expression on his face, I wrapped my arms around my middle and stayed quiet when Ezra tossed him the keys to the Jeep so he could drive it home.

  The only saving grace was Ivy picking up on something being wrong. She was quick to ask me to sleep in her bed, which meant I wouldn’t be stuck with the twins all night.

  Not that I’m getting any sleep beside her. Not only is she a cover hog, she kicks a lot, and the few times I almost drifted off, her foot slammed into my leg, bringing me right back to full consciousness.

  After staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, I finally give up and crawl out of bed.

  Going downstairs, I head into the kitchen to get a drink, the house quiet and dark except for the chorus of night creatures outside the windows.

  I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twist the top off and take a sip just as movement catches my eyes, and I turn to see Ezra sitting at the small kitchenette, a bottle of whiskey in hand and his eyes locked on me.

  Swallowing the water down rather than spitting it out in shock, I set the bot
tle on the kitchen island between us, hoping that the island will keep us separate. Especially with the way his hard gaze traps me in place, something unreadable behind amber eyes flecked with green.

  “Sorry. I didn’t see you in here. I’ll be leaving in a sec-“

  “Why were you at my father’s house?”

  He could have shot me, the bullet ricocheting through my chest to damage every vital organ, and it would have been less lethal a blow than that question.

  Utter shock washes through me first, a wave so cold that I shiver beneath it, every muscle in pain from its tight hold, my blood thick and sluggish.

  But then panic sweeps in like a raging fire, my skin tingling beneath its force, my pulse now a jackrabbit slamming its feet within my veins in a frightened bid to escape.

  Ezra’s only response to my silence is a slow blink of his eyes, the thick frame of his dark lashes brushing his skin, the hazy focus of his amber eyes curious and liquid when he opens them again.

  Even in shadow, he is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And that’s not easy to say when he has an identical twin. But it’s not always physical features that lend to a person’s presence.

  Many times, it’s who they are beneath the surface that gives them their special edge.

  Enthralled.

  It’s the only word I have to describe what he does to me, this man who seduces me while hurting me all the same.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I saw you at his house the other day. He kissed your hand when you left. Don’t lie to me, killer. Not anymore. And not about this.”

  Sparse light flickers off the whiskey bottle when he tips it to his lips, his eyes still zeroed in on me as if to hold me in place.

  I’m not sure what’s more terrifying: the fact he knows I’ve been to his father’s house, or the oddly calm tone of his voice to call me out on what most would assume is a blatant betrayal.

  Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time I betrayed him, and the glimmer in his eyes now is reminding me of what I’ve done in the past.

  Setting the bottle down on the kitchenette table with exaggerated care, Ezra stands from his seat, the chair legs lightly scraping the tile floor, a warning for me to run if I’ve ever heard one.

  Instead, I stand in place, watching the predatory prowl of the way he moves. I’m partly fascinated, but mostly cornered.

  He knows it.

  I know it.

  Even if I were to run, I’d have to get past him to reach the door, and I know how fast Ezra is when he strikes out.

  He’s had years of practice.

  My fingernails dig into my palms when he rounds the kitchen island, my heart in my throat and my stomach in my feet.

  Nothing is where it should be, not now that he knows I’ve been up to something.

  Reaching out, he tangles his fingertip with the ends of my hair and tugs. Not hard, but enough that I flinch at the small movement, my throat struggling to swallow around a jackhammer pulse.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to admit you were over there on your own, but fuck if I’m not that patient.”

  Ezra grins, and it’s one of those looks that means he’s not only planned how he intends to brutally murder you, but has also picked out a nice location to bury your body.

  Many people have claimed to be scared shitless of this man, and I’ve never understood it.

  Until now.

  Ezra is looking at me like I’m a stranger. There’s distance between us now, this cold, lonely place where I’ve never kissed his bruises and he never asked me to be his alone.

  The past six weeks have done nothing but dig this chasm, hopelessly burying us both. He’s known about William and me this entire time, and rather than saying anything he’s struck out at me with angry words and painful insults.

  He’s hurt me because my silence was hurting him.

  “I’m not sure this is the best place to discuss it. Gabriel is asleep in the living room and might wake up-“

  His thumb brushes the line of my jaw, the gentleness of that touch at odds with the fury in his eyes.

  “He’s had enough to drink that he’ll sleep through anything at this point.”

  I almost wish that wasn’t the case. Gabriel will never be my friend, but he would step between us if Ezra crossed the line.

  When Ezra ducks his head and traps my eyes with his, I can’t help the shiver that courses through my body.

  He’s so close. Too close. His heat mingling with mine until a bead of sweat rolls down my temple.

  I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and I worry that he might not have complete control of his thoughts and actions.

  Much like how it feels around Damon, Ezra’s energy is chaos around me, a cold bite of wind, a frenetic pulse of violence that stings and sparks like electricity against my skin.

  I don’t fight when his hands lock over my waist and he lifts me to the counter, my knees parting to accommodate him as he presses even closer.

  If anything, I’d prefer this conversation be had over the phone, with me in a different country and an entire ocean between us.

  “Tell me,” he says with a soft voice that terrifies me.

  I can’t tell him.

  Not the truth anyway.

  Because if I say something to him, I’m in a world of shit with someone else.

  Why did I answer that fucking text?

  Here I am again.

  Lying.

  But only because I have no choice.

  “I wanted to know the truth. And since you weren’t giving it to me, I decided to try and find out on my own.”

  His shoulders shake with a bark of incredulous laughter, his mouth stretching into a grin so wide that the dimple in his cheek indents.

  It’s a lie, that dimple. It says boy next door when, in reality, Ezra is a force all on his own.

  Not safe.

  Not ordinary.

  Not someone I want between my legs right now. And yet the only person I want there.

  I’m back to questioning my love of toxic men.

  Not men.

  Man.

  One.

  Him.

  Fingers tangling in my hair again, Ezra asks, “What did he tell you?”

  My voice comes out on a weak croak. “Nothing.”

  A flick of his dark lashes as he glances up at me.

  “Why?”

  That I can answer truthfully. “Probably because he was beat to shit.”

  “Wait. What?”

  Confusion rolls across his expression, but that doesn’t stop one of his palms from stroking up my thigh, his thumb sweeping out when he reaches the apex of my legs, a tease along the edge of my panties.

  It takes effort to speak around how dizzy that tease makes me.

  “His face was bruised. Lip busted. Someone beat the crap out of him. I thought it was you. Or Damon.”

  Silently praying that Ezra has had enough to drink that he’ll forget this conversation in the morning, I close my eyes when he leans down to kiss a trail up to where his hand rests on my upper thigh.

  I need to stop him, need to toss it in his face that he’s done with me. But he’s not exactly in the mood to be denied.

  His hand clamps down, fingers a bruising grip, my body turning that pain into wet heat between my legs.

  “Wasn’t me,” he whispers as his fingers curl over the side of my sleep shorts and panties to tug them down. Not far. Not so much that I have to lift my butt so he can slip them off.

  “I owe you two more truths,” he whispers, his mouth hot against my ear.

  Breath caught in my lungs, I can’t will myself to answer, or to ask the first question.

  Anger bleeds out of his voice when he confesses, “The thing I remember most about those weekends is the laughter. William laughed and laughed at what was done to us.”

  My eyes clench shut, rage exploding inside me to know his father took joy in hurting them.

  “I bet he
’s still laughing.” Ezra nips at my jaw. “Want to know why?”

  Managing to nod my head, I bite the inside of my cheek, my body vibrating with both fear and fury.

  “Second truth then. They’re still laughing because they recorded us to watch later. The weekends might be over, but those bastards are still laughing.”

  I wince at the admission, my teeth biting down harder, tears welling at the backs of my eyes.

  “Ezra,” I warn on a tremulous breath, but he doesn’t listen.

  He reaches up with one hand to press his thumb against my lips, the gesture silencing me immediately.

  But then it’s always silenced me, since the first time he did it in a shadowed room when we were kids.

  I submit so easily to him.

  So willingly.

  But not sweetly.

  At least until his strength defeats mine and he forces me to be sweet.

  When his thumb slips between my lips, I bite, his hand gripping tighter on my hip, fingernails scraping the skin, his head dipping down and teeth nipping at the tender flesh of my inner thigh.

  “I can’t help myself with you.”

  It’s a soft growl, a complaint and grievance spoken against my leg, a warning before he bites again, and sharp pain explodes out from that spot to transform and settle inside me.

  The pad of his thumb presses down on my tongue, my teeth still tight against his skin.

  We’ve drawn blood before, not much, but enough that the marks were there for a week after.

  Ezra’s violence is brimming at the surface, and the whisper of it is calling to me.

  Straightening his posture, Ezra pushes to his full height, his stare locking on my mouth, his fingers tightening over my cheek as his thumb pulls my lower jaw down.

  Then he dips his head again and kisses me. Leisurely. Seductively. The soft sensual pace of the kiss a lie that hides his cruelty.

  Both hands grip my hips as he tugs me to the edge of the counter with such ease it steals my breath, his body hard where my legs wrap around him.

  Still, he doesn’t speed the pace of this. It’s slow, slow, slow. A gentle entrapment. A casual exploration when his hand slides up my body beneath my shirt to palm my breast.

  I melt into that touch, a gasp of air slipping over my lips that his tongue catches on one strong lick, a grin against my mouth when my body trembles in his hold.