by Mann, Marni
“That couldn’t have been Cee,” he said. He leaned up for a second, gently kissed my lobe and moved right back down.
“Why do you say that?”
“I saw the way you looked at me.”
“I was on my knees, Cameron, with my ass facing you. I didn’t do a whole lot of looking.”
“But I did. You did something Cee would never think to do in a situation like that.”
“What’s that?”
He moved his face once again, pressing his lips into my ear. His voice was low, sensual, but the tone was completely honest when he said, “You smiled at me.”
It was such a small thing. But he was right. If Cee was the power, the control I maintained during sex, then Charlie was the freedom I felt to be soft and real.
And the credit for that belonged to Cameron.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“CHARLIE, I’M COMPLETELY SPEECHLESS.”
Chet and I stood together several feet away from his windows, observing the canvas I had just rested against them. Since I painted each piece in layers, I would usually send the buyer pictures of their work in progress during the creative process. But I hadn’t done that with Chet’s. I wanted his to be a surprise; I believed I knew exactly what he wanted from this painting. So I kept him updated with emails instead, and as soon as the acrylics had dried, I called him to make the delivery.
The natural light revealed the intricate details on the body I’d created. The figure was a man, huddled in a ball in the middle of the canvas; a darkened, dungeon-like background surrounded him, composed of mostly gray and silver rock similar to Chet’s den downstairs. The body closely resembled Cameron’s; it wasn’t frail in any way. But there was a hunger visible in the muscles, stretched lean and taut. Filth covered the bottoms of his feet, and rested under the nails that gripped his knees with such ferocious pain. His face was mostly hidden behind his knees, though a sliver peeked out, enough to reveal that his eyes were covered in a navy mask. The fine markings on his skin were fresh and raw, and were meant to bring forth a crushing despair that any viewer wouldn’t be able to ignore. They were tiny cuts, deep and short, leaving trails of white scars all over his skin. There were hundreds of them on the surface of him. I knew, because I’d counted them all as I’d sliced. I’d used a thin, narrow palette knife to carve his flesh in a similar way as I had done to my earlier work, Kerrianna. Both were carriers of pain, and both bore the scars of deep agony on their flesh.
I heard my cell phone ring from my bag, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to break my focus on Chet and his response to the piece.
“Is it what you had in mind?” I asked. “If not, I can always go back and repaint”
His hand dropped on to my shoulder. “Not necessary. It’s…perfect.” His voice cracked, a small pool of tears welled in his eyes. “It’s perfect.”
This canvas was more than just a piece of art for his apartment.
This was him.
It was what I’d intended to create. It was what I believed he wanted and needed this painting to be.
I laid my hand over his and gave him a moment to let the emotion pass. “Would you like me to hang it for you?” I asked.
“I would love that.”
I lifted the piece off the windows and I followed him into the red elevator, which took us one floor below. He had already prepared the concrete wall and had the hooks securely in place. I positioned the painting on top of the metal clasps and made sure the piece was level. The room had candles, but no natural light—and unless there were bulbs hidden in the ceiling or in the tops of the cages, there was no light in the room at all. But for The Dungeon, he’d had a gallery light installed to perfectly illuminate it. A spot of light in his world of darkness.
We marveled at the canvas for several more minutes, contrasting the way it had looked upstairs against the darkness of emotion it brought down here. It had a completely different vibe now. It was the answer, the result of how a room like this could break someone…or maybe it was a reflection of how broken he had been before coming in here. Both were likely. Either way, Chet didn’t appear to be afraid of its message. This was the one place where he didn’t have to apologize for what and who he was. I respected him for that. And I felt that my piece mirrored his sense of power back to him.
“It’s fitting,” I said. “And it’s quite possibly one of my favorite pieces.”
He glanced over at me as his hands dropped and his arms wrapped over his chest. “Hearing that from you makes me a very happy man. You probably could never understand how much so.”
“Actually, I think I understand perfectly.”
He reached for my hand, and I readily took his in mine.
I’d never touched my clients, and I’d especially never held their hands. There was some professional remove that kept me from bridging that gap with any of them. But something was different about Chet. We had a connection I’d never felt with any of my other buyers. I believed it came from my understanding of his pain. I didn’t know what he had experienced specifically or the type of torture he’d overcome, but he was a survivor of whatever it had been. Cameron was one as well, and reminded me that I was one, too. I hadn’t just created this piece for Chet.
It was for me, as much as for him.
Our clasped hands turned into a hug before I walked into the main elevator. Once in the lobby, I dug my phone out of my bag and saw that the missed call was from Cameron. I phoned him back as soon as I got onto the sidewalk.
“You’re not going to believe who just showed up,” he said.
There was a spark of hope in my chest when I thought that maybe it had been my father, but I knew the chances of that were extremely slim.
“Who?” I asked.
“Ryder.”
Cameron’s brother...
“I thought he wasn’t due back for a few more months?”
At least that was what Ryder’s last email had said. But considering how he’d kept extending his trip, we’d learned not to put much faith in the dates he mentioned.
“He wanted to surprise me. He sure as hell did, too. Get home soon, if you can. He’s dying to meet you.”
I was dying to meet him, too. “I’ll be right there.”
I put my phone back in my purse and hailed a cab. As I got into the backseat, I pulled out my compact to check my makeup and my hair. This was the first time I’d be meeting the person who amounted to Cameron’s whole family. I didn’t want to appear as if I was trying too hard, but I didn’t want to look like a mess either. I swept a bit of gloss over my lips and a thin layer of liner under my lids, and I tucked the loose strands of hair behind my ears.
I didn’t know much about Ryder other than the basics: he was a cop who’d been injured on the job, and instead of taking time to recuperate at home, he had gone backpacking through Asia. It was a shoulder injury, so it had little impact on his ability to travel. Cameron had purchased Ryder’s plane ticket; he received an email every time the itinerary changed. They’d come quite often in the last few months. Ryder had chosen to adventure in such remote areas that phone access was scarce. Those notifications ended up being the majority of the communication between the boys.
I knew it pained Cameron that his brother had been so out of touch. He didn’t have to tell me how he felt about it; I could feel it in him, and I saw it on his face every time the emails came. I hoped all of that would change now that Ryder was home again. Cameron needed his family, more than what I could be for him, and more than just the father figure that Professor Freeman had become. He needed his brother back.
I threw some cash at the driver once he pulled up to our building and rushed through the lobby. As soon as the elevator opened into our apartment, my eyes scanned the room. Cameron was sitting on the couch, alone.
“Where is he?” I asked, dropping my bag behind the couch and giving him a quick kiss.
“He just went into the bathroom to clean up a little.”
I loved seeing the happin
ess on his face, the reassurance that his brother was home and safe.
“Is everything good with him?”
“He’s a little thin…could use a decent bed and a shower.” He laughed in a way I’d never heard before. He couldn’t stop smiling. “Other than that, he’s fine.”
I grabbed his hand, circling my fingers around it.
“I want to ask you something before he comes back,” he said carefully. “I haven’t offered this to him yet…I wanted to check with you first. Ryder gave up his apartment before he left for his trip. There wasn’t any reason to pay a lease when he wasn’t living there, so he put all his stuff in storage, and…”
I stopped him. “Cameron, if you’re asking if I mind if your brother moves in, my answer is of course he can. He’s your family.”
He kissed my hand. “It’ll only be until he finds the right place.”
I kissed his hand back. “He should stay as long as it takes.”
I felt his body relax a bit against the couch. I almost couldn’t believe he’d asked me before offering his place to Ryder. It was his apartment after all; he paid for it, not me. This was another way for him to show me how much I really did matter in his life, of how much he respected and valued me. I was honored that he would even consider my opinion on this.
“Thank you,” he leaned forward and the kiss he gave me was much deeper, much more passionate than the one I had given him when I’d first come in.
“No, I should be thanking you.”
He smiled. “For what?”
I sighed. “Just for being…you.” I nestled my head in his shoulder.
He kissed the top of my head. “Hey, Thunder,” he called out happily. “Put on a little speed in there. I have someone out here I want you to meet.”
“Thunder?” I asked.
Cameron laughed. “Yeah. It’s his nickname. I used to call him that when we were kids.”
My head spun a bit as thoughts of the mansion rushed back to me.
I knew someone named Thunder...
My hands began to sweat and my fingers turned numb. “Why do you...where did that name come from?”
Cameron blushed a little as he told me. “In every house we lived in, we shared a bedroom. Sometimes there was only one bed. We were always together, and considering how our lives were, I preferred it that way.”
Thoughts, memories, precise details started to swirl through my mind.
Thunder.
It couldn’t be...
He laughed. “But man—you should have heard the sounds that guy made in bed.”
I got the feeling I had heard them. But I knew he wasn’t talking about the sounds I was thinking of.
“Cam, do you have any takeout menus?” Ryder shouted. “I’m starving.”
As soon as I heard his voice calling from the bathroom, I knew…I knew.
I knew…him.
“I have a whole drawer full,” Cameron yelled back. “What are you in the mood for?”
I heard the click of the door and the sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor. I slowly turned around to meet him, wondering if he’d recognize me as immediately as I’d recognized him. My eyes dropped to his feet, gradually taking him in again: his long, toned legs outlined in his jeans, his belt riding under his narrow hips, and his waist gradually widening up his torso to his shoulders. His neck was much thicker than his brother’s, his black hair a bit longer, messy and gelled. But like Cameron, scruff covered his cheeks and shaded the thickness of his lips.
Those lips have traveled my body...
His skin was lighter, though. And his eyes were blue with a touch of gray.
They’re just as blue behind a mask...
He stood only a few feet from me, his hand reaching toward me to shake. “Charlie!” There was no mistaking it. His Boston accent was thick, and the more he spoke, the more the memories flooded my head. “It’s nice to finally meet…you.” His expression told me he knew something wasn’t quite right.
“I’m...uh...I’m happy to meet you as well, Ryder.” I tried my best to avoid his gaze. “I know Cameron is…so glad…to have you home.”
He released my hand, but his eyes stayed on me. They had followed me during his entire walk over to the couch, but now he was taking in all of me: my legs, my breasts and my face in one long, drawn-out scan.
It wasn’t the first time that had happened.
“How about pizza?” Cameron asked.
I avoided his stare.
“Pizza is…fine,” Ryder replied slowly.
When I finally looked up again, Ryder’s gaze was locked on mine.
Cameron stood from the couch and moved into the kitchen, but Ryder remained in front of me, his eyes searching my face as quickly as mine were scanning his.
“You…” he said softly.
I turned my head, my eyes moving to Cameron as my back shot up straight and pushed against the couch. My feet began to tap against the wood floors. The food I had eaten before I’d gone to Chet’s was now sloshing around my stomach.
Even with everything I’d done in my shadowed past, I had never been so lost for the right thing to do as I was at that moment.
I slowly turned my face back to Ryder. I had to make sure I wasn’t imagining this. Cameron was right; he had lost weight…at least fifteen pounds. I could see it now in his cheeks, the way the shirt hugged his stomach where his ripped abs had lost some of their definition. He’d been quite a bit bigger when I’d seen him last. But it was unmistakably him.
“You’re Thunder?” It came out in a rougher whisper than I’d intended. My mouth watered. I tried to swallow it all down. My hands went to my belly, trying to rub away the nausea that was threatening to send everything back up.
“Cee…”
There was no misjudging it. We both knew: Ryder had been one of my clients at the mansion. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. I could tell that he didn’t know how to react to the realization, either. What I did know was that we had to tell Cameron. There was no way we could keep something this significant from him.
He deserved to know the truth.
Whatthat you’re a slut? Like he doesn’t already know that.
The fact that you’ve fucked his brother will be a surprise, though.
Lilly’s voice appeared again, to remind me of how undeserving I was of such a good man. She was right, as always.
I didn’t deserve him.
I looked away from Ryder and watched Cameron from across the apartment. He was happier than I’d ever seen him. He had his brother; he had me. He had his family in his home.
And it was all a lie.
I didn’t know how I was going to tell him, but I knew it had to be done. He had to know that Ryder and I had met before, that we’d been intimate.
I had to tell him that I’d known Ryder as Thunder, too.
But in an entirely different way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“AM I MISSING SOMETHING?” Cameron asked. His head moved back and forth, his eyes following as he glanced from me to his brother. He held a to-go menu in his hand, but I didn’t think he had even looked at it. He stood behind the couch, waiting for an answer.
I didn’t want to be the first person to speak. Ryder didn’t appear as if he wanted to either. And the two of us just stared at each other, unsure how to move forward from this.
It sickened me that I knew his body as well as I knew Cameron’s. That if he removed his button-down, I knew the words tattooed right under his neck, Always Stay True To You, the images that circled his chest and the ones that traveled down each arm, stopping right at his elbow.
“Ryder? Charlie? Someone needs to start talking,” Cameron demanded.
I looked at Ryder standing in front of me. I didn’t want Cameron to see my face. If he gazed directly into my eyes, he would know. I wouldn’t be able to hide it.
And then I would be just another source of pain for him.
So would Ryder.
“What the fuck is going
on?” Cameron said, in a much stronger tone.
Ryder kept his arms crossed and his lips glued shut as he glanced down at me. There was a look on his face that I couldn’t quite read… probably because I didn’t know his face as well as his body. In our meetings, those features had always been hidden behind a mask.
Someone had to give Cameron something. I had to be the one to do it.
Time slowed to a crawl as I shifted my attention toward him. His eyes finally met mine; I couldn’t hold back the emotion that filled them. I let them flow, knowing there would be many more to come.
His brows furrowed, and he squinted as he searched my face. I saw his fists clench beside him. “You two know each other...don’t you?”
Ryder and I glanced at each other.
“From where?” he asked as if he already knew the answer.
“Cam, listen...” Ryder started.
Cameron wasn’t interested in what his brother had to say. He focused on me. “You’ve been with him…haven’t you?”
I was frozen.
“Haven’t you?” He was yelling now. Ryder didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. He stood to the side, where he knew he belonged at the moment. This was between Cameron and me.
“Yes,” I finally answered.
His nostrils flared as his breath rushed in and out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted to move closer to show him how much I regretted having to tell him this—how much I regretted that it had happened at all—but I didn’t. As much as I hated giving him space, it was how he processed pain: alone. So I wrapped my fingers around the back of the couch and squeezed until my knuckles turned white and I filled my lungs with long, deep breathes.
“I didn’t know, Cameron.”
“You didn’t know?” His almost sounded like he was mocking me. “We have the same last name, Charlie! How could you not know?”
“I didn’t know his last name.” I took another deep breath. “I didn’t know his first name, either.”
“What are you saying?” He knew. I was sure of it. But he wanted to hear one of us say it.
