by Meg Jackson
She directed that last bit straight at Damon, and wiped at a tear that rolled down her cheek.
Damon felt the first drops of water against his lips as Tricia leaned the glass towards him. He drank until he couldn’t breathe, then sat back gasping, feeling the water do its work on his body. The world seemed a bit clearer. Unfortunately, everything seemed to hurt a little more, too.
“What’s this?” he said, pointing to the IV leading into his veins. “If it’s not water…”
“Pain meds,” Kennick answered, still standing behind Cristov, who was staring down at Damon with an unreadable expression on his face. Somewhere between anger and fear and relief. Damon found himself unable to meet that gaze, kept his eyes bouncing between Kennick and Tricia.
“Stop them,” he growled, grabbing at the tube that disappeared into his arm. “I don’t want them.”
“Oh, fuck no,” Tricia said, lunging forward to grab at his hand. “You have no idea how much it’s going to hurt without them, and you can’t go around ripping needles out of your fucking veins. Do you know how much blood they had to put back in you already?”
“Don’t care,” Damon said, struggling as Kennick’s hand joined Tricia’s. Normally, he knew, he could break free in an instant. But this wasn’t a very normal circumstance. He’d never felt worse, never felt weaker. The barest struggle left him feeling breathless and drained. “I don’t want them. I want to feel it. I want to feel what he did to me. What I let him do…”
“Shut up,” Cristov said, taking a menacing step forward. That, more than anything, made Damon’s arm go slack. For the first time in their lives, Damon thought Cristov might actually try to hit him. They’d sparred before, practiced before Damon’s bouts, gotten into verbal fistfights…but they’d never actually hit the other out of anger. Damon had never even feared that. He didn’t fear it now. What was a little more pain? It was what it would mean that scared him. An unspoken vow finally broken.
“Cristov,” Damon said, finally meeting his younger brother’s eyes.
“Don’t you fucking try to drop some psychobabble bullshit on me right now, Damon,” Cristov said. Around them, the room was quiet, everyone seeming to hold their breath as the two brothers faced off.
“You nearly died. Do you understand that? What, it wasn’t bad enough when you were doping? You had to risk your life again? Without telling us? Like we’re nothing, like we’re not family, like you don’t owe us a fucking explanation? What you do…what you do involves all of us. You love sitting around, doling out pansy-ass advice like you’re some goddamn phuro, like all our problems are your problems. But you don’t think we’re good enough to shoulder your burdens? Is that it? We’re not smart enough, not strong enough?”
“Cristov,” Damon said again, his brother’s red face growing redder with each word.
“We need you, Damon,” Cristov continued. “And you need us. You pretend like you don’t, but you do. You need us.”
“Cristov,” Mina said, mimicking Damon with a softer voice, and rising from her chair to put a hand on Cristov’s bunched bicep. He shook her off like a fly.
“Do you know what you almost missed? Do you know how much you would have hurt us? Did you ever even think about the people who’d be left behind? You’ve got a fucking niece or nephew to worry about now, Damon. I almost lost the chance to introduce my child to his uncle. His kako.”
“Shit,” Ricky muttered, breaking the sudden rise in tension in the room. She groaned, burying her face in her palms. Tricia and Kim were the first to turn to her.
“What the fuck,” Kim said, and reached out to her sister, grabbing her roughly by the chin. “Ricky, you’re pregnant?”
“Well, we didn’t really plan on telling anyone like this,” Ricky snapped, fixing angry eyes on Cristov, who turned to face her.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding very penitent. “It just came out.”
“Whatever,” Ricky said, pulling away from Kim’s grip. “Can we focus on the issue at hand here?”
“Oh, I think the issue at hand just changed a lot,” Kim said, her voice sharp. “How could you not tell me this? Ricky, you can’t have a kid right now…”
“Um, last I checked, you’re not in charge of my womb,” Ricky said, turning to her sister with anger flashing in her eyes. “And, also, me being pregnant didn’t just nearly kill me, so I think we still have bigger things to talk about at the moment.”
“Oh, is that what you think? Well, let me tell you…”
“Kim,” Kennick barked, turning to his wife. “This is not the time or place to have this conversation. You can be mad at Ricky later. But she’s right. We’re not gathered in this fucking hospital room seen daylight, the sky had looked like morning and then afternoon and then morning again.lent storm behidn way. Cristov pressebecause Cristov doesn’t know how to wrap it up.”
Kim opened her mouth to protest, but then she glanced over to Damon, as though remembering him once more. She shifted in her seat, closed her mouth, eyes lowering. Her fingers gripped the bottom of her chair, turning white. Ricky swallowed hard, turning away from her sister to find Tricia staring at her wide-eyed.
“You too?” Ricky said, sounding more resigned than upset. Tricia shook her head.
“Whatever makes you happy, Rick,” Tricia said. “I just…I wish we found out in…happier circumstances.”
Cristov grunted, dragging everyone’s attention back to him. In the time that had passed, he had calmed down considerably. Damon had never stopped looking at him, letting his words sink in, revolving them slowly in his mind like a rock polisher, finding the glitter and gleam of truth underneath the anger and the vulgarity.
“Tell us why you had to do it,” Cristov said, his voice soft but demanding. “We deserve to know why, Damon. Did you know they were after you? Did you think you were protecting us? Why the hell did you drive all the way to Florida for a fight?”
Damon glanced at Tricia, opened his mouth and closed it again. She reached out, took his hand in hers.
“It’s not important,” he said, looking back at Cristov. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. For me, I mean…”
“You don’t get to decide what’s important or not,” Cristov snapped. “Not this time. And it’s not over. Do you really think those guys are done?”
“I…I had a score to settle,” Damon said, voice strained. “And now I’ll never settle it. That’s all. Nothing else matters. The story doesn’t….”
“Do me a favor, Damon,” Cristov seethed. “I just dragged your bleeding, limp body away from a gaje who was going to kill you. So do me a favor and indulge me. I’m curious.”
Damon’s jaw clenched, sending a blast of pain across his face. He did his best not to flinch. He felt Tricia squeeze his hand, looked up at her.
“Just tell him, Damon,” she said, sounding tired. He noticed, for the first time, that she looked tired, too. Everyone did. The collected bags under his family’s eyes could have stocked a luggage store. And it was his fault. He’d done this. He owed them. Cristov didn’t always say things in the smartest way, but this time he was the smartest man in the room.
“Are you telling me that she knows?” Cristov spat, turning his angry eyes on Tricia. “Before us? How long you’ve known her, Damon? Two seconds? And she’s more worthy of the truth than your own damn family?”
“Shut up, Cris,” Mina said. “He’s going to tell us now. Right, D?”
Damon looked at his sister. She always managed to get him to spill. God knew how, but she did. Maybe it was just because she was a girl. Damon always found it hard, lying to girls. They always seemed to know. He sighed, looked down at his hands, and closed his eyes.
“Do you remember, when we lived in Providence…”
35
“Holy shit, I was right,” Ricky blurted out. Kim shoved an elbow into her sister’s arm, glared at her.
“What do you mean you were right?” Damon asked.
“Uh, nothing,” Ricky said,
returning her sister’s glare. Damon kept his eyes on Ricky, though, sensing that she may have been putting her journalism skills to some use while they were looking for him.
“You never told us any of that,” Cristov said.
“I know I didn’t,” Damon said. “It seemed like it was mine. It belonged to me, and only me.”
“But why? Since when do any of us have to shoulder something alone?”
“Damon’s never been one of us, has he?” Kennick said, looking down at his hands. Damon flinched. It was one thing for Cristov to go off on him. Kennick’s words cut far deeper. “You’ve always been different, huh, prala?”
Prala. Brother. Damon swallowed hard and looked away.
“Hey,” Tricia said, turning to Kennick. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Things like what?”
“Things you know aren’t true,” she hissed back, matching him stare for stare.
“What do you know, anyway?” Cristov muttered. “Spend four days with him and think you’ve got him all figured out…”
“Stop it,” Damon said, sensing that things could go terribly wrong – worse than they already were, if that was even possible – if Cristov and Tricia were allowed to go at each other. “You’re about to say some very stupid things to each other, just because you’re both pissed at me.”
“You shouldn’t have blamed yourself for so long,” Kennick said. “That’s a stupid thing to hold against yourself.”
“Maybe it is, but don’t stand there and act like you don’t understand it,” Damon said, looking at Kennick first, and then Cristov. “Either of you. You didn’t leave Tricia there in that alley to get beat up, did you, Cristov? And you didn’t watch that trailer burn down with a baby inside it, Kennick. But I let that woman get hurt. And I let the man who did it walk free.”
An uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Tricia shifted in her seat.
“We should let you get some rest,” Mina suddenly said, sensing the weary longing between Tricia and Damon. “Let’s go get something to eat and…”
“We’re not through talking,” Cristov snapped, turning to his sister. But one look at her stoic face was enough to make his shoulders slump. He threw his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine. We’ll be back soon, though.”
Ricky rose and put her arm on Cristov’s bicep, leading him wordlessly from the room. Kennick and Kim followed, Kim staring daggers at Ricky’s back. Tricia started to rise, but Mina stopped her with a glance.
“Maybe you should stay,” Mina said. She didn’t elaborate, but turned on her heel, closing the door behind her. With the room suddenly empty, Tricia released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Her eyes moved like magnets to Damon.
“Hell of a day,” she said.
“Come here,” he said, and reached out with only the slightest wince. He stroked her arm, gently tugging at her until she rose and sat on the side of his bed, by his knees. “Closer.”
“I’ll hurt you,” she said, gesturing to the bandage across his chest.
“Lay on my other side,” he answered; Tricia paused for a moment, then obeyed, crawling to nestle herself in his arm, their bodies pressed tight in the twin bed. “You know, no one’s told me yet what, exactly, he did to me.”
“Well, I guess you can probably feel your jaw,” she said, looking up at him.
“Only every time I talk,” he said, managing a grim smile.
“Didn’t break it or anything, but it’s bruised up pretty nasty. And he stabbed you. Deep, in the side. Nicked your stomach. You had some internal bleeding, needed stitches. You should be fine though,” Tricia said.
“I will be,” he said, squeezing her tighter and burying his nose in her hair. She closed her eyes, let the smell of him overcome the antiseptic odor of hospital. “I’ve had worse.”
“I’m glad you told them,” she murmured, rubbing her nose against the flesh above his bandage.
“I’m glad you were here when I woke up,” he said.
“I always will be,” she said before realizing just what she was saying. The words surprised her, and she looked up at him to gauge his reaction. A light smile flirted with his lips.
“Why hasn’t a doctor or nurse come in yet?”
“It’s not a very good hospital, I don’t think,” she answered, slightly confused and slightly disappointed by the abrupt change of subject. “Or else Miami is a busy place for injuries. The last time someone came by, you were still asleep, and they said they’d be back in a few hours.”
“How long ago was that?”
Tricia shrugged against his arm. “Like an hour ago.”
“So we’ve got time, huh?”
She looked up at him quizzically, then down. The sheets lay flat against his body – except for between his muscled thighs, where they were pitched like a tent. She was caught somewhere between laughter and disbelief. He’d just woken up with a sweatshop’s worth of stitches in his side, just gotten into one hell of a fight with his family, and yet –
“You’re kidding me,” she said, looking up at him again.
“It’s your fault,” he said. “Can’t be saying things like ‘always’ when you’re in my arms. Know what that kind of thing does to a man?”
“You’re hurt,” she said, biting back a smile. Despite her best intentions, the sight of his cock, hard as a rock at her words, her mere closeness, was making her body feel flush, her heartbeat quicken. “I’m not going to let you hurt yourself more…”
“Baby, I’ve put a man on the ground after breaking my wrist,” he said, and moved his arm around her waist, lifting her in one smooth, albeit slow, motion, until she was forced to straddle him. “I’ve won fights with broken toes, twisted knees, and concussions...”
Tricia moaned as she felt his hardness against her panties, her dress riding up around her hips as his hands found her hips.
“I’m pretty sure I can pleasure the woman I love with a few stitches in my side,” he growled, then reached up to tug on a chunk of her hair, pulling her down until her face was inches from his, the head of his cock now pressed right against her clit. She could feel herself getting wet, her body screaming out as he touched her. “I wanna be inside you, baby. Let me in.”
Tricia moaned, her eyes lidded as she ground down against his cock, the need rushing through her like a freight train. She knew that he needed rest more than he needed to come. She also knew that she’d thought he was dead, and he’d lived, and it made her want to fuck away all the fear, the anger, everything. His hands on her waist tightened, then drifted down to her thighs and back up, pushing her dress up until it bunched at her hips.
“Yeah,” he hissed as she moved her body against him, feeling his cock swell and throb between her spread legs. She bit her lip.
“Are you sure?” she moaned, giving him one last chance to back out. Her body was on fire now, her clit needy and desperate as she rubbed it against the stiffness below the sheets.
“Positive, babe,” he growled, and pushed one hand between her legs, thrusting her panties to the side and finding her warm and wet for him. She croaked, surprised, as his fingers entered her, stealing the last of her resistance. Leaning back, she tore at the sheets until they were at his knees, his cock standing up straight between his legs, pushing up the thin hospital gown. She grabbed it, a fever snapping at her synapses, her mind dulled to anything that wasn’t pleasure, need, him.
Straddling him with her slit poised just above the head of his cock, she leaned forward slightly. Tugging at the thin straps that held up her dress, and taking her bra with it, she let her breasts spill free, her nipples taut as they brushed against his chest.
She held herself up, one hand on each side of his broad torso, the bandage wrapping across his ribs just a reminder of how close she’d come to losing him. And all she could think, as she slowly lowered herself down, engulfing him inch by sacred inch, was that she hadn’t lost him, he was there; he’s here, he’s mine, he’s here, he’s mine...
Damon’s back arched slightly, as much as his aching body would allow, as she hit bottom, her pussy swallowing every thick inch of him. She stayed like that for a long, long moment, eyes closed, her center pulsing around him, enveloping him in her slick warmth.
“Damon,” she whispered, pressing her tits against him and rolling her hips upward, then down again, a shudder wracking her body as he filled her; his hands on her waist were tight but he didn’t force anything, not this time, he felt her need and let her take for as long as she wanted. Pushing off and up, she slid further down his cock, moaning all the way. “Damon…”
“Yeah,” he groaned, shifting upward to bury himself deeper in her warmth. She grabbed the sides of the hospital bed and began to lift and lower herself along the rigid length of him, her desire growing fervent as her insides sparked and lit up.
“You know…” she panted, smiling as every ridge and curve of him, familiar now, massaged her pussy, “you’re just about the only man…who could piss a girl off…this much and still get…fucked…”
He groaned again underneath her as she started riding him faster, harder.
“Lucky,” he managed to grind out, watching her beautiful body shimmy and bounce above him.
“Dirty…gypsy…trick,” she teased, leaning down again. “Touch me, Damon.”
He was all too eager to oblige, lifting his hands to her breasts; they were firm and soft, moving with each stroke of her body, her nipples tight. Her face burned red as he tried to keep up with her movements; for once, he was outpaced.
“Yes,” she moaned, “just…just like that, Damon, please…”
He pinched and teased her nipples, his large hands covering the bottoms and sides of each globe as she bit her lip above him, feeling her whole self aching for him, throbbing around him, hungrier and hungrier with each stroke. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.
Violently, she wrenched herself back, leaning until she had her hands on his thighs, her back arching and her hips jutting forward. Her mouth opened in a pained circle as the new angle forced him deeper into her pussy, each stroke forcing his shaft against her swollen clit. The visual was enough to make Damon want to burst, but he wanted her to come first; needed her to. He helped her keep steady, holding her hips as she ground against him and then pushed up, again and again, her hair tickling his knees.
