Amber to Ashes

by Gail McHugh

  Attention stuck on me, Ryder’s smile vanishes, a thin line taking its place as he pulls in one last hit from the joint before stubbing it out in an empty shot glass. Denial. Realizing we’ve been in it over the last few minutes, our demeanors deflate, a needle—held in the dirty hand of a bratty child—popping our bullshit-filled balloon of false hope. Nothing, not even jokes about me perfecting the role of one hot apocalyptic zombie, can keep us from facing what’s about to go down. Silence shrouds the air, the look in Ryder’s eyes mirroring what’s eating me from the inside out, trying to kill me.

  Fear. It’s smothering my breath, its cancerous poison set on making me its next victim.

  After what seems like forever, Brock reemerges, instantly picking up on the anxiety wiring the air as he sits next to me. “What’s wrong?” Frowning, he kisses my cheek and slides my legs over his lap, his finger toying with a strand of my hair as he stares at me, waiting for a reply. “No more giggles?” He kisses me again, his voice tinged with regret. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I need your giggles more than you’ll ever know. I was a dick before. It’s just watching you get off on what legitimately could’ve happened messed with my head. I’d never be able to live with myself if some shit like that ever happened.”

  “That’s not what’s bothering me.” Nervous, I flit my gaze to Ryder.

  He hesitates, clears his throat. “We have to tell her, bro,” Ryder whispers.

  Brock whips his attention to Ryder, fury lighting the green in his eyes. “What the fuck do you mean, tell her? There’s nothing to tell her.”

  Brock tosses my legs off his lap and rises, but I catch his wrist, preventing him from taking a step. Peering up at him, I silently beg him not to fight. He touches my cheek, a flash of remorse sweeping over his features, but it vanishes, a look of resolve setting in.

  “Nothing happened.” He hooks a finger under my chin. “We’ve been over this a million times, Amber. Nothing. Fucking. Happened.”

  I nod, wanting with everything we are to believe him, my conscience screaming that I’m nothing but a lovesick fool as he glances at his watch. He pulls me up from the couch into his solid, shirtless chest and wraps his arms around me, cocooning me in his hold. For a split second, I honestly believe him, my stubborn soul winning the battle with what I already know. Every excuse he’s used has been nothing but an attempt to distract me from the truth, each lie a steel blanket protecting me from the shadows of his reality.

  Confused, I don’t know if I should kiss or castrate him.

  “Now that I’m officially twenty-three,” he continues, grinning, “it’s time to celebrate until we can’t think straight. I just gotta get dressed, and we’ll head down to the tables. Cool?”

  Another nod, this one filled with hesitation as he presses his lips to my forehead.

  “Either you tell her what happened, or I will.” Ryder stands and walks toward us. “She deserves to know. I can’t—no, I won’t—lie to her anymore. It’s hurting her.” He gazes into my eyes, regret swallowing his expression. “I care too much for her. Her life’s been filled with assholes who’ve hurt and used her. I’m not about to become one of them.”

  Brock twists his head toward Ryder, his glare lethal. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not kidding, man. Go sit back down, smoke some more vipe, and chill while I get ready.” Brock flips his attention back to me. “You know what? Fuck this.” He grabs my hand, tugging me toward the bathroom. “You’re showering with me. I ain’t taking any chances that this asshole will say some stupid shit to you.”

  “Brock!” I wrench my hand back, my mouth dropped open. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Maybe I have, but I love you more than I love myself, so I don’t give a fuck. But you wanna know what’s really messed up? What’s hurting me? You questioning me trying to protect you from something you have no business knowing about. That’s more fucked up than anything I’m doing to save you from more pain you don’t need.”

  Tears needle my eyes as I try to wrap my head around what’s happened to him, what’s happening to all of us.

  “We shot and killed two men,” Ryder whispers, his voice cracking through the air like a whip. “Two men who, before threatening your beautiful life, peach, deserved to die.”

  I nearly trip over my feet as my back hits the wall, my barbed-wire thoughts tangled over his confession.

  “Goddamnit, Ryder!” Brock reaches for my arm to steady me, curling his free hand around my nape. “Look at me, Ber.” His soft plea is barely distinguishable over the blood roaring through my veins—all sound muted as I lift my watery eyes to his. “You gotta—”

  “You . . . murdered two men?” I interrupt through a cry, unable to believe the question I’m asking. I can’t deny a sliver of me thought that’s what happened. Still, hearing myself say it, tasting the poison-riddled word—“murdered”—has me feeling like I’m stuck in a nightmare, screaming for someone to wake me up. “Did you, Brock? Did you kill them?”

  “You gotta listen to me, baby girl. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he chokes out, his eyes misting over as he moves his hands to my waist. “That wasn’t my intention. You have to believe me. But after everything went down—as it started falling the fuck apart—I had no other choice but to kill them. Christ, I knew it was a bad move getting nasty with Dom, talking shit to him after he’d tried to act tough, but before I knew it, he had his gun to my head. Ryder pulled his gun on Dom. Dom’s buddy pulled his piece on Ryder.” His face a bed of shame, he sucks in a slow, staggered breath, his fingers nervously clenching my waist. “Everything happened so goddamn fast, Amber, but I swear on my kid brother’s soul, I had no other choice.”

  My breath falters at the realization that he acknowledged Brandon in the past tense. I blink, tears dripping down my face, his silent admission that he’s aware his brother’s gone forever killing off a piece of who I am. A piece of who he is.

  “He didn’t,” Ryder offers from behind me. “Honest to God, he had no other choice.” He sweeps my hair off my shoulder, his touch warming me as he, too, rests his hands on my waist. “You might not have been there, peach, but you were with us. You were all we could think of while everything fell to shit. All that kept our hearts beating, kept us . . . hanging on. Hell, you’re still keeping us holding on. Without you, there’s no doubt we would’ve lost our shit by now.” He takes a deep breath, his grip on my waist tightening. “You’re the reason we’re alive. The reason we’re still breathing, why we’ve woken up every day since and pretended to be okay when we’re not.” He sighs, his head shaking against the back of mine as Brock’s finger absorbs a tear from my cheek. “We’re not bad men, Amber,” Ryder continues. “I know you know this. Can feel it. We just got caught up in some really fucked-up shit, and the only way out of it was to kill the source. But know that without you, Christ, peach, without you, we’re . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing. Try to see past what happened, what we had to do to keep ourselves—you included—safe.”

  Brock lifts his trembling hands to my cheeks. “Everything Ryder said is the truth. I’d go nuts without you, baby. I need you by my side. I’ll lose it if you walk away from me now. I will.” He pauses, anger cutting across his expression. “The sick fuck threatened to hurt you. He threatened to . . . kill you. To take you away from me. To never allow me to wake up next to you, holding you, ever again. Never kiss your lips or feel your body against mine. To never build a . . . life with you.” The fear haunting his eyes bleeds me out, my body aching raw from the wave of emotions pouring off his slumped shoulders. “No damn way was I gonna let him do that. I’d die a million times over if something ever happened to you. Especially if it was something I could’ve stopped.”

  His words, their words, the sincere remorse behind them, and their silent plea for help sinks me, pain fisting my soul as I try to breathe. Brock blinks, the reflection from a tear slipping down his face blinding me. Beautiful in all its purity
, everything that tear represents fills my once-empty heart as I watch it follow the square curve of his jaw and drop onto his bare chest. Staring into the eyes of the man who’s forever changed my life—having painted a rainbow of light onto the darkened canvas of what was my world—my finger soaks up the warmth from his tear, my body instantly flourishing with his love as he returns my stare.

  Trembling, I look out the floor-to-ceiling window, the bright lights of the vibrant city below trying to distract me from the ugly presence in the room, the undeniable camaraderie every single human being shares.

  Death . . . It’s all around us, its wickedness hovering above our heads.

  I try not imagine what they went through, my thoughts running rampant as I turn my attention back to Brock. I touch my lips to his dampened cheek, the overwhelming need to save him and Ryder from the pain they’ve endured—the pain continuing to feast on their mental stabilities—so powerful and unforgiving, it takes everything in me to hold myself together.

  “I can’t hear any more of this.” The words drop from my mouth with urgency as I move Ryder’s hands to my midriff, surrendering to what I’ve craved for so long. I slide my lips to Brock’s, my heart letting my body take over. “I don’t want to hear any more. I just . . . I need the both of you right now, and you both need me. We can heal each other from this nightmare. I know we can.”

  Brock breaks the kiss and stares into my eyes, his shadowed with uncertainty. “Are you . . . positive? I didn’t say any of that to make you feel like you have to do this, Amber.”

  “We don’t want you to feel forced into anything you’re unsure of,” Ryder whispers, his lips pressed warm against my ear.

  “I don’t feel guilty or forced,” I say in all honesty, my ache for them growing. “I want this. I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.” And I haven’t.

  Every fiber of who I am—who these men are sure to turn me into—knows this moment is right. They’re right. I capture Brock’s mouth in a desperate kiss, my legs quivering for their touch as I guide Ryder’s hands up under my dress.

  “I want you to use my body,” I purr, not an ounce of shame in me. “Use it to escape what happened. Let it be your release from what you had to do to keep us safe. Use it to help you forget everything that happened that night.”

  An understanding that we’re about to become one—united through death and tragedy—shifts the air hot, thickening the space between the three of us. Brock looks at me then Ryder, their eyes communicating in a way I’ve never witnessed.

  Brock studies Ryder for what seems like forever before taking my face between his hands, his touch gentle as he dips his head, teasing his lips against mine. “You want us to fuck you?” he asks in a low rasp, his gaze glistening to the measure of how turned on he is. I nod, and his lips fully connect with mine, his tongue seeking untapped depths as he groans and hitches my leg around his waist. He drops a hand to my pussy and slips two fingers inside me, deepening the kiss as he works my inner flesh. “Is that what you want, baby girl? Want us to make you feel better? Wipe your mind blank?”

  “Yes,” I moan, a flame of desire licking its delicious tongue over my heated skin. “Please.”

  Ryder’s fingers slide down my stomach, in between my legs, the soft hum of his heavy breathing dissolving my senses as he rolls my clit between them. “Say it,” Ryder whispers, his fingers joining Brock’s in their delicious onslaught. “Tell us what you want us to do to this sweet pussy.”

  “I want you to hurt it,” I say breathily, my hands curled tight around Brock’s shoulders for support. I need them to take their pent-up aggression out on me—every disturbed bit of their torment drenching my mind, battering my body, unleashing their anger and confusion into my soul. Leather dress hiked up over my hips, I dig my nails into Brock’s back, grinding down against their hands as they finger-fuck me ripe. “I want to feel your pain, want you to feel mine. The pain I have for what you had to do. The pain I went through before I ever met the two of you. Hurt me, then heal me. Please. I need it.” I kiss Brock harder. “Take from me what you need, and let me take from the two of you in the same way.”

  Lips pressed to the side of my mouth, Brock’s breath dances scalding challenges across my cheek, his groan causing my pulse to quicken.

  “Turn around and look at Ryder,” he demands through a whisper.

  They remove their fingers from me, tripping them over my clit before Brock releases my leg from his hold. I turn and face Ryder, searing curiosity reaching up from my stomach as he glides his dampened fingers along my lips. Goose bumps rise, chasing after his touch as I wrap my hands around his wrist and pull his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them, inhaling the infusion that makes up the deadly storm that defines me, Brock, and Ryder.

  Hurt.

  Pain.

  Confusion.

  Attraction.

  Lust.

  All a lethal but beautiful cocktail that’s about to combust, exploding each of us into a state of numbness, a state of healing through what we need.

  Each other . . .

  Almost in awe, Ryder stares at me, his damaging blue eyes piercing through every intention I’d had to keep myself balanced between what’s right and wrong and my desire for him. I ache to tear off the clothing covering his sun-kissed body, to feel him inside me.

  His disheveled jet-black hair teases me into knotting my fingers through it as he snags my nape, guiding me to his luscious mouth. He groans, stealing a greedy kiss from me, this one taken with my permission as my longing to feel him fucking me raw burns across my skin. I moan, matching his eagerness as he kisses me harder, deeper, his heavy breathing working in tandem with mine as Brock slowly unzips my dress. It hits the ground and pools around my heels, my lace corset following as he unhooks each clasp. Brock latches his mouth onto my neck, his tongue laving the sensitive flesh where my shoulder and neck meet as he palms my tits, his fingers pinching my nipples into hardened buds. I furiously work Ryder’s belt and fly, my need to feel his lips tracing the swell of my breasts, the swirl of my stomach, and the devilish pull of my pussy igniting into near pandemonium, my fingers not moving fast enough for my growing ache.

  “Want us to taste this beautiful cunt?” Brock’s question is spoken hot against my ear as he slips his fingers inside my warmth. Continuing to tweak my nipples with his free hand, he grinds his cock against my ass. “Take turns tongue-fucking it until you can’t take anymore?”

  “God, yes,” I breathe, devouring the familiar yet unfamiliar taste of Ryder. “Yes, baby, please.”

  The second I’ve got Ryder down to his boxers, shirt, and tie, he lifts me from the ground, fastens his lips to mine, and carries my naked body to the couch, kissing me one last time before setting me down on shaky legs. Gaze locked on mine, he kicks off his shoes, his socks following in their wake as he looks me up and down with scalding reverence.

  “Christ, you’re beyond goddamn gorgeous,” Ryder says, unexpected nervousness cutting across his features as he slants a trembling hand through his hair. “A fucking angel.” The isolated dimple I’ve claimed as my own appears on his cheek, hidden under the stubble shadowing his face. “You’re . . . I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “You’ve rendered my mind blank. I haven’t got a single fucking thing.” Another shake of his head, his voice cracking as he captures my face between his hands, gliding his thumbs along the seam of my lips. “Thank you for everything. For the last couple of months, for tonight, tomorrow, for . . . you, peach. Even if this is the only time we do this—hell, even if we all freeze up and stop halfway through—thank you. This very second alone is something I’ll never let go of. Ever.”

  God. This beautiful creature’s nervous—I feel it, sense it through and through. He lays his lips on my forehead, his movements carried out with that of a man who’s unsure if the territory he’s about to explore should be walked at all as his palms slithe
r up my shoulders, barely smoothing over my skin. Instantly, every objection I had to doing this falls away.

  “It’s okay, Ryder,” I whisper, nervousness grabbing me tight. “I want this. I want . . . you.”

  Silently, I grab his tie, sliding it from his neck. Somewhere deep in the crevices of my soul—the unseen compartments of my heart that he and Brock have already dissected—I know Ryder never intended to refuse Brock’s request for this to happen. I also know I didn’t either.

  Time—a thief of decisions—kept me from acknowledging that this moment was always meant to be. Despite the mixture of fear and excitement in my chest, as Brock and Ryder stare at me with hungry eyes, every wound I ache to have healed splits open, allowing them to medicate me, their touch a numbing agent to the demons of my past. Everything I want this night to be, no matter how right it feels or how wrong it is in others’ opinions, is my way of letting go of my control—the control I’m willing to hand over to them. I want them to own me, both men breaking down my defenses. My body pulls and strains, longing to be filled with everything Ryder and Brock want to give me, with everything I need to give them in return.

  Gaze prowling the length of my body, Brock steps behind me, his voice an untamed whisper as he slides Ryder’s tie from my hold. “Close your eyes.”

  My pulse takes off as he slips the silk tie over my eyes, knotting it across the back of my head. With my sight gone, silence sweeps through the room, nothing but their heavy breathing in my ears.

  A soft kiss graces my cheek, followed by another along the opposite curve of my shoulder. I stretch my neck, pushing my chin toward the ceiling, my senses rocketing awake as a hand skirts across my breasts, down the dip of my stomach, and settles between my legs. A finger, then a second, breaches the barrier of my warmth, my body bucking of its own accord as they slide in and out, each pass dragging moisture up along my clit.

  “Jesus, you’re already wet for us.” Brock’s husky whisper moves across my cheek, my pulse hammering through my chest as my G-spot’s found and hooked with skilled precision.