All He'll Ever Be

by W Winters

  That’s not exactly the truth, but I don’t deny it. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it, but there’s plenty.”

  Declan grabs the plates, the clinking ceramic filling the room as Jase gives me space, walking to the other side of the U-shaped island and leaning against it, opposite me. The thought of being in the room with Carter’s brothers scared me literally only minutes ago. But an ease washes over me as I watch Declan make a plate and then point the spoon to Jase, who answers the unspoken question.

  “Yeah, I want one, I haven’t eaten yet.”

  I lean forward a little off the counter, ready to ask him to make me a plate too, but Declan speaks first.

  “You didn’t poison it, right?” Declan asks with a shit-eating grin. “You know I’ve got to check,” he jokes and then makes Jase’s plate.

  And there goes the sense of ease and the smile that graced my lips. It washes away like a lone shell on the shore before the tide.

  I’m still the enemy. I will always be the enemy. And that’s what they’ll always be to me.

  I offer him a tight smile and force down the well of sadness and pity. “Not yet, you got here too soon.” A tight knot forms in my throat, but I drown it with the wine as Declan chuckles, still piling spaghetti onto the plate. Bastard tears prick at my eyes and all I can think is that I wish either Carter were here or that I was back at home, under the comfort of my blanket.

  “I don’t think she’s eaten yet,” Jase tells Declan in a tone that has no trace of the humor I forced into my response. He grabs the two plates Declan’s made and motions for me to follow him to the small table to eat in the kitchen. Declan looks shocked at Jase’s reaction and the seriousness in his tone and objects to him taking both plates, one of which was his. His forehead creases with confusion… until he sees me.

  I’ve always been shit at hiding what I’m feeling. My father used to tell me I’d fare better in this world if I could learn to lie.

  My body moves unwillingly to follow Jase, but at least I grabbed the bottle. I can’t look at Declan as he watches me. I know he sees through the faint humor I veiled my emotions with in my response.

  “Are you okay eating here?” Jase asks. The legs of the chair make a scratching noise on the floor as he pulls it out for me. I stare at the chair for a moment, marveling at the kindness while questioning his intentions.

  He feels bad for me. That’s all I can think. He’s being nice because I’m wounded. That’s all this is.

  “I’d rather be alone,” I finally answer him, finding my voice and feeling the cords in my neck tensing as I look back at him. I have to force my words out of my dry throat and they hurt as I do. “I just need to be alone for a moment.” My breath shudders and the back of my eyes prick as I see the visions of last night again. Only three rooms down. The grand dining room is only three doors down from here.

  “Please,” I say quickly in a whisper and place the wine down on the table with as much grace as I can.

  With both hands on the table, he looks over his shoulder and says something to Declan, but I don’t hear what.

  “You going to be okay?” he asks me as I hear Declan’s footsteps leaving the kitchen.

  “How long does it take to be okay after murdering someone? Even if you feel it was justified in every way?” I ask Jase and he merely looks past me at Declan’s exit before bringing his eyes to mine.

  Jase doesn’t answer me; he simply looks back at me as if I hadn’t spoken at all.

  I start to think he’ll leave me like that, taking his plate with him, but instead, he asks me his own question, “You want me to grab another bottle?” to which I can only nod in response.

  He’s kind enough to grant me both the loneliness and the second bottle I desire.

  Chapter 37

  Carter

  You were supposed to be gentle with her.

  Agitation leaves me in a singular deep groan. I don’t respond to Jase’s text and I don’t intend to. He doesn’t recognize the severity of the situation. He doesn’t know shit about her.

  He doesn’t know what she needs.

  The bitter thought stays with me as I shut down my phone and quietly enter the kitchen. I know she’s still sitting where she was an hour ago and just as I expect, she doesn’t see me come in.

  She never does. She always gives me the opportunity to watch her, to see what she’s like when she doesn’t know I’m looking.

  I’m hardly ever disappointed, but watching as she fills her glass again, the pleasure of being in her presence again is dulled.

  It’s becoming a crutch. If she knows I’ll be gone, she drinks. It’s only happened twice, but still, I notice. Part of me recognizes her condition. Her situation. I realize it may be easy for her to give in to a vice and let herself slip somewhere where the pain is absent, and the choices are meaningless. But I don’t want it to become a habit.

  With a twist of her finger, she pulls my necklace she wears up closer to her lips, letting the diamonds and pearls play there in between sips of wine and absentminded hums.

  Her lips part slightly as she sways in her seat and stares at a black and white photograph that’s in the hall. She hums against the gemstones and I wish I knew what she was thinking. The sadness and tortured stare tell me she’s still there, my little songbird with clipped wings.

  I don’t recognize the song that she hums. I never do. Sometimes it sounds more like a conversation than a song.

  I follow her gaze as I walk closer to her; the black and white photograph is a picture of the side of our old house. The one that burned down. The one that her father had burned down, expecting the four of us to be inside and sleeping.

  I feel a sudden pinch along the edge of my heart, reminding me the damn thing is there.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask Aria, ignoring the pain in my chest and causing her to jump from the tone of my deep voice.

  Her expression is soft, as are her eyes when she turns in her seat. There’s even the hint of happiness on her lips.

  “You’re back,” she says and there’s a lightness in her statement. She can’t hide the relief that slurs with her words. And that bit of disappointment I have at her drunkenness returns.

  “I said I’d be back tonight.” It’s all I offer her as I pull out the chair next to her, letting the feet drag across the floor noisily.

  “What were you doing?” she asks me with a pleasantness that seems genuine.

  She’s naïve to think I do anything pleasant this late at night.

  I was ending the life of a thief. A drug addict who bought more and more of SL and wouldn’t answer a simple question.

  What was he doing with it?

  It’s a rare day that Jase can’t get a response from someone. He’s good at what he does. He left the junkie to bleed out and waited for me to come. It’s my name they fear the most.

  If pain and the threat of death can’t get an answer, true fear is quick to provide one.

  And it did. The only word the prick spoke before life slipped from him was a name. Marcus. All I got was a name. But it was all I needed.

  It’s a name I’m growing to despise more and more as the days go by. Daniel used to have a good reputation with Marcus, a man who lives in the shadows and never shows himself. But that was before he found Addison again. Since then Marcus has yet to be found, but apparently, he’s been busy.

  “Work,” I answer, and my short response tugs her smile down.

  “There are leftovers,” she offers me even though the smile’s vanished. I can feel how the sweetness inside of her has hollowed out.

  As she reaches across the table to play with the stem of her glass I ask her, “You made me dinner?”

  “If you didn’t all look so alike, I’d know you are brothers by the way you react to a damn meal,” she offers with a somewhat playful nature.

  I can’t pin down what she’s thinking. Or what she thinks of me as I stare at her.

  “It’s been a long time.”

&nb
sp; “Since you’ve had Bolognese?” she asks as if my words are nonsense.

  “Since someone’s made us dinner,” I tell her and think of my mother. Once again, Aria looks at me as if she’s read my mind. The pretending to be happy and acting like things are normal slips away.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I choose not to respond. Sorry doesn’t take anything back.

  “I like to cook,” she offers after a moment, breaking up the silence and tension. “If you’d like… I don’t mind cooking more?”

  I used to avoid the kitchen and dining room when my mother got sick. It’s where she died. None of us liked to go to the kitchen. It was better to be in and out of that room as fast as we could. In a way, I should be thankful Talvery burned that house down. It was nothing but a dark memory.

  Her slender fingers move up and down the glass and I expect her to drink it, but instead, she pushes it toward me. “Would you like some?”

  I shake my head without speaking, wondering if she knows what I think about her habit.

  “I don’t like it when you’re gone,” she says before pulling the glass toward her again.

  “Why’s that?” I ask her, grateful to talk about anything other than the shit going on outside of this house. Enemies are growing in number each day.

  “I start thinking things,” she says quietly, her gaze flickering between the pool of dark liquid in the glass and my own gaze.

  “Is that right?” I ask her, pushing for more.

  “It’s better when I don’t have a choice,” she admits solemnly. “At least, for the way I feel about myself.”

  “What’s better?” The question slips from me as a crease deepens in my forehead.

  “My thoughts are better,” she states but doesn’t elaborate.

  “How’s that?”

  “If I’m with you, I don’t worry about my family, the fighting…” her voice cracks and her face scrunches. “That’s awful, isn’t it?” She shakes her head, her flushed skin turning brighter. “It’s horrible. I’m horrible.” And with her last word she picks up the glass, but I press my hand to her forearm, forcing the glass back down to the table.

  “You’re many things,” I tell her evenly as I scoot the seat closer to her, “but horrible isn’t one of them.”

  “Weak. I’m weak,” she answers with disgust on her tongue. Her gaze leaves mine, although I will her not to break it. Instead, she stares at the stem of the wine glass. There’s still a good bit in her glass, but from what I can tell, this is her second bottle. “I’m so weak that I want to have no choice,” she says disbelievingly. “How fucked up is that?”

  “You’re in a difficult position, with few options and severe consequences.” I’ve never been good with comfort, but I can offer reason. “And deep down inside, you know whatever you do, it won’t change anything.” The truth that flows easily from me is brutal and it causes Aria to visibly cower from me.

  “Thank you oh so much,” she says with a deadpan voice as she lifts the glass and then downs all the remaining alcohol. “I was beginning to feel pathetic and like my life had no meaning whatsoever.” She raises her hand in the air and then slaps her palm down firmly on the table. There’s a bite of anger to her words that pisses me off. The glass hits the table before she looks me in the eye and tells me with an expression devoid of any emotion but hate, “Thank you so much for clearing that up for me.”

  “I do enjoy your fight, Aria. But you’d be wise not to speak to me like that.” My own voice is hard and deadly, but it does nothing to Aria.

  “Would I now?” A simper graces her wine-stained lips. “I’m not sure there’s a single wise thing I could do, is there, Mr. Cross? Other than obey your every command.”

  Her defiance is fucking beautiful and only makes me hard for her. My cock stiffens and strains against my zipper as I lean back to take her in. It feels as if we’re picking right back up where we left off and I couldn’t be more agreeable with that situation.

  My breathing quickens as she stares at me, daring me to disagree with her.

  “You love being angry, don’t you?” I ask her, although it’s not a question. “There’s so much more power in anger than there is in sadness.” The statement makes her lips purse.

  “You have no idea what you’re capable of,” I tell her a truth that could destroy me. “Women like you were made to ruin men like me.”

  “Oh?” she asks. “Us women who aren’t capable of changing anything?” She seems to remember her fight as she adds, “You’ll have to clear that up for me. I’m either too drunk or stupid to understand.”

  “Or too blinded by your past?” I offer her. “So consumed with changing something that’s meant to happen. That will happen, so much so that you can’t see what lies ahead.”

  “What’s meant to happen? As in?” she questions as she noticeably swallows. Her hands grip the edge of the table as if she needs to hold it in order to sit upright.

  “You know exactly what I mean, Aria.”

  “If it happens, if what I think you’re referring to right now happens, there will be no future for me. The willing whore of the enemy who could do nothing to save the people she loves. What kind of life is that to lead?”

  My blood runs cold at her words. Numbly I watch her reach for the remains of the bottle closest to her, only to find it empty.

  Would she kill herself? Is that what she’s saying? My blood pounds in my veins at the thought of her leaving me, let alone leaving me in such a manner. I can barely look at her as she sags back into her seat and turns to give me her attention again. “If you were me, what would you do?” she asks with genuine curiosity.

  I’m still reeling from her earlier confession to answer quickly, but I finally find words that have a ring of truth to them. “I’d take care of myself and my own survival.”

  “My own survival?” she asks with a sarcastic huff of disbelief. “If they’re dead, then who am I?”

  My breathing becomes ragged, tense, and deep at her question. “You are mine.” My answer is immediate, stern, and undeniable. Each word is given with conviction.

  But all they do is turn her eyes glossy. “And that’s all I’ll ever be. A possession.”

  The sadness is what destroys my composure. She unravels me like no one else ever has. She’ll devastate everything I worked for, everything I am, but so long as I have her, it will all be worth it.

  “I was meant to have you. I only fucking lived to have you.” I’ve never spoken truer words.

  Her breathing is shallow as her chest rises and falls. “Carter?” She says my name as if I’ll save her from what she’s feeling, from the truth breaking down every bit of her own beliefs.

  “You were made for me to have. To fight. To fuck. To care for,” I say as I lean closer to her, my grip tightening on the back of her chair as I lower my lips until they’re just an inch from hers. My eyes pierce into hers as she stares back at me with a wildness I crave to tame. “Do you understand that, Aria?”

  “You’re a very intense man, Carter Cross.” She speaks her words softly with tears in her eyes that I don’t understand.

  All I can do at this moment is crash my lips to hers, to silence the pain, the agony, all of the questions she has. The kiss isn’t gentle; it isn’t soft and sweet. It’s a brutal taking of what’s mine. What’s been owed to me for years.

  The instant I capture her lips, she gasps, and I shove my tongue inside of her mouth, pushing myself out of the chair and hearing it bang on the floor as I take her face with both of my hands. My tongue strokes hers swiftly and she meets my intensity with her own. Her fingers spear through my hair and her nails scratch at my scalp, pulling me to get impossibly closer.

  She moans in my mouth as I pull away, desperate to breathe. In one movement, I pull her down to the floor while shoving her skirt up her thighs, maneuvering her beneath me. Her belly presses to the floor and my erection digs into her exposed ass.

  “You’re such a dirty girl, not bothering
to cover this.” I cup her already wet pussy as I ask her, “Aren’t you?”

  My other hand grips the hair at the base of her skull and pulls back hard enough to make her back bow. Her lips part with a sweet gasp of both pleasure and pain as I ruthlessly rub her clit.

  “You’re mine, and nothing else. You’ll let go of everything but what I command you to do and be.” My words are whispered against the shell of her ear. They mingle with her moans as I stare at those gorgeous lips. Desperate to take them again, I give in to what I want. Removing my hand from her cunt, I grab her throat from behind and crash my lips against hers.

  “Carter,” she heaves my name the moment I break the kiss and without thinking twice, I release my cock and slam inside of her.

  Feeling her hot, wet walls spasm the moment I enter her drives me insane. She’s so fucking tight, but she takes all of me to the hilt with a strangled cry.

  My hips piston with a relentless pace to claim her and everything she is. Everything she’ll ever be.

  “Mine,” I grunt out and release her throat and hair to grip her hips with a bruising force.

  Her arms barely bracing her as she cries out her pleasure.

  Over and over I fuck her as hard as I can. And each one of her strangled moans, combined with her hopeless scratching at the floor beneath her, only fuels me to fuck her harder.

  “Mine.” I push the word through my teeth as she cums violently beneath me. My own release follows, my balls drawing up and my toes curling as thick streams of cum fill her pussy.

  She lies there panting, her small body sagging as she desperately tries to support herself and breathe at the same time. Both efforts seemingly in vain.

  My cum leaks out of her as she whispers my name again and again. Bracing one forearm on each side of her, I rake my teeth up her neck and nip her chin before kissing her again.