Gritting my teeth through an onslaught of pain, I prop my back against the headboard. I’m naked from the waist up, wearing only a pair of boxers. Too hot to be covered, I kick the blanket to my feet. Raff paces the strip of floor at the bottom of my bed, fingers threaded behind his head, red-faced and angry. I glance at Switch’s empty mattress, to Raff, and back again waiting on him to say something. I remember the attack. What I don’t know is, how I got here?
Expelling a yawn, I take stock of my current state. A darkening bruise has formed on my abs, beneath a tattoo. Nothing like a smidge of internal bleeding to go with the cracks that have formed throughout the scars on my side. Those aren’t from Switch. They’re from them carrying me up here when they should’ve left me in the damn ring.
Raff’s footfalls land heavy. Voices carry from the hall outside. I listen, waiting to hear Switch. He wouldn’t have left me like this. The warmth of his presence is void in the room. He’s not here. I don’t have to ask to know. I’m far too in tune with his presence for that.
Raff pivots to continue his march. I catch a glimpse of the dried blood on his knuckles. That’s not normal. He’s not the fighter. Why’s there blood?
Hold up.
They…
I go cold… Frigid like the arctic tundra. The deathly destructive kind. Every inch numbs. My breath shallows. Staring at my brother as if a stranger, I force my lips to form coherent words. “Where. Is. He?”
The dipshit looks over, but his legs keep moving. “Where’s who?”
Fuckin’ asshole. This isn’t a game.
I sit up straighter, refusing to let the headboard support me when I can support my damn self. I’m the VP here. The boss. I’m not fuckin’ weak. “You know…Where’s Switch?” Ice freezes in my veins as he remains neutral, giving fuck all away.
Shrugging, Raff brushes my question off like a piece of lint. “Don’t worry about him. We took care of it.”
“Took care of what, Raff?” I seethe, balling the fitted sheet in my hands.
The bastard shrugs again, not bothering to spare me a glance. “Him.”
Frustration percolates in my center, a growl forms low in my throat, upper lip curling back. “How?”
“He’s payin’ for his disloyalty.” Another half-assed shrug is followed by more incessant pacing. Behind my eyelids, I swear the golden gates of Hell yawn open, waiting for Raff. The Devil himself waves him forth, to burn him alive for all eternity. I push the asshole into the eternal flames. To the place he belongs for speaking about loyalty like he understands a damn thing about it when he doesn’t.
Switch has been abused. He came to us for support, and at the first sign of losing his mind, no matter the reason, they turn their backs as if they’re better than him. As if they’ve never made a mistake. They can’t grasp what he’s endured. Not even I can. I wear scars inside and out, just as we all do. But none of my brothers can say they were beaten like him. None can say they were violated in the same manner. Instead of offering him compassion, he’s met with more violence.
Fuck. This.
Fuck. Them.
“Excuse me? He’s doing what? Where?” I throw a pillow at the jerk to get his attention. It lands on the floor in his path.
Raff bends to pick it up and sets it on the mattress before tossing the blanket I’d discarded back onto my legs. “Rest easy, brother. You need to chill.” His words are mechanical, eyes glazed over.
Knowing this isn’t our Raff talking, I snap my fingers to bring him out of whatever headspace he’s in. This is the shell of Raff. The man I knew years ago before he straightened his shit out. I don’t have the time nor the patience to fix whatever internal war he’s waging. I need Switch. Now! I need to make sure he’s okay. To see he’s breathing. That they didn’t kill him. “If you assholes so much as touched a hair on that kid’s head, I will stab each of you in your motherfuckin’ sleep! Do you hear me, Raff?! Do you fuckin’ hear me? I want him here. Now! Bring me Switch!” I point two fingers at his face, jaw locking tight.
Unhappy with the command, Raff rolls his eyes, about faces, and sighs like a diva. “Calm your tits… Jesus. He tried to kill you.” Arms cross over his ripped, tank covered chest.
Not amused by any of this back talking bullshit, I glare through eye slits. “No. He didn’t. He wouldn’t do that.” I’ve spent months in this room with Switch. Months showering together. Months eating meals at our table by the window. Months reading books and working out. I know the man. I know him without the use of words. Without the crap everyone else thinks is necessary to become friends. We’re better than that. He would never hurt me. Not intentionally.
“How do you know?” Raff throws back in my face with his stupid functional eyebrow arching in defiance. “The punk hasn’t said shit since he got here. He could be a serial killer for all you know.”
I’ve had enough.
“Shut your jealous mouth, brother, before I put you to ground!”
“Don’t throw empty threats ‘cause you’re angry,” he volleys.
A corner of the fitted sheet snaps free as I channel my fury into the cotton still balled in my fist. “It’s not empty if I’m plotting your death. The Devil is waiting for you with open arms.” He’s smiling, too happy to take the bastard off my hands.
Scratching his pec in irritation, head shaking, Raff relents on a grumble. “Fuck. Fine. Stay in bed. You need rest. I’ll get Switch.”
Doing as he’s told, he shuffles to the door.
“He better be whole,” I toss at his retreating form.
Shoulders hunched forward, Raff grips the door frame and grits a low, “He is.”
“He better not have a scratch on him.”
“I can’t promise that.” Wood creaks under his hold as my brother’s body winds tighter than a guitar string. Serves his ass right for allowing this to happen in the first place. Angry doesn’t even cover how I feel about him right now. Disappointed is a good start. Disgusted is a reasonable second. I hold him to a higher standard. He’s supposed to be the grounded one. Compared to Nose, who lives to fight, Raff has matured. He can have a fun time, but knows when enough is enough. Nose and most of the other brothers in our chapter don’t have a moral shut off valve. Point is, he knows better.
“Raff?” I return my back to the headboard.
“Yeah?” a bestial growl.
Too pissed to give him a pass, I lay shit bare. “I’m holding you responsible.”
“I know.”
“Good. Now bring me the kid.” I wave him to sally forth, even if he can’t see me.
Raff leaves the door open as he stalks into the hall to handle business.
Seconds tick by slow and maddening as I wait for Switch, to see him, to make sure he’s all right. What feels like ten years later, Raff escorts the boy in. I exhale in relief. He’s alive. He’s walking. He’s… badly beaten. Not from the fight, but them.
Neck thickening in fury, I clench my teeth.
When Raff tries to close the door behind him to stay in the bedroom with us, I point to the exit with vehemence akin to murder. “Get. Out!”
He freezes, forehead wrinkling, confusion evident.
“I said, get out!” I roar, then look to my redheaded roommate and urge him to join me. “Come get in bed, Switch.” I pat the open spot on the mattress, and the kid stumbles forth, his wrists raw and weeping. His face is a mess, body riddled with fresh bruises. It sickens me to know this came from my brothers, outside the cage.
Raff frowns, shocked by my outburst. I flip him off. “If I have to get out of this bed, brother, I will beat you to death.”
Taking my words at face value, he departs with an ominous click. Switch flinches as he crawls into bed. Needing to check him over, to feel his warmth, his breath, I don’t bother asking for permission when I grab him around the waist and pull his naked body onto my lap. Straddling my thighs, I cup his face with both palms gently, as to not hurt him more than he already is.
Tears trickle down
rosy cheeks, his breaths heavy and wet with emotion.
“You okay?”
Arms loose at his sides, shoulders curled forward protectively, he shudders from head to toe. Every part of him emanates defeat. It breaks me to witness him like this. My heart physically aches.
“I won’t let them do that to you again. I promise.”
Staring at my stomach, Switch brushes two fingers over the bruise he inflicted and crumples like a stack of cards. Stuffing his face into the crook of my neck, the poor kid sobs. It’s heart-wrenching. Pain, anguish, and guilt pour through our connection. I feel it all. Holding him closer, I run both hands up and down his back in light strokes, ass to shoulders, over and over as I whisper reassurances against his hair: of how we’re in this together, how he’s not alone, how I’ve got his back, how I forgive him.
Wetness drips down my collarbone onto my pecs as he lets the heavy shit go, boneless in my embrace.
To show I care beyond the shadow of a doubt, I kiss the side of his head, tasting salt and blood upon my lips.
His bare heat thaws my anger, leaving the gentle hum of warmth and love in its wake. Where nothing but us remain in our bubble… where violence can’t thrive.
I don’t know how long I hold him and it doesn’t matter. I’d hold him for a lifetime; if needed.
When the last of Switch’s tears are shed, he sits up. I rest my palms on his thighs to rub in slow circular motions. He brushes a thumb across my busted cheek. It stings, but only for a second.
“We good?”
A solemn nod.
I watch him in the quiet of the room. Him on me, me touching him; I watch. The way Switch’s chest rises and falls, telling me he’s alive. His scars—brands that litter his muscular form. The hollow of his neck as he sucks in an audible breath. Adam’s apple dipping in his throat. Pink nipples bisected with scars. A deep-set V at his hips, all the club whores drool over. I’ve got a V, too, only I don’t notice mine as I do his. Just as I pay little attention to the sparse black hairs on my thighs compared to the red softness on his. Switch’s cock, soft and bare, lays upon mine, atop the fabric of my boxers. Unlike the brown of my own, it’s pale with a bright red tip. Even his balls are fair, hairless eggs compared to the root of his dick, where the hair’s thicker, yet neat. Thanks to my counsel. The bush he was growing before, no woman would find appealing. We took care of that monstrosity months ago.
Blood crusts at the corner of his lip. A bruise around his eye. I stop my ministrations at the crux of Switch’s thigh where it meets hip and cuff both hands around the flesh there. His pulse thumps against my fingertips, strong and steady. Switch stares there, at the connection. When he looks up and meets my eyes, a current of friendship and loyalty passes between us unlike I’ve felt before. His hand, longer and leaner than my own with rough-hewn knuckles, rests over mine for a beat. Both of us watch, until he draws my hand into his and rises off my lap tugging me off the bed. I go without a word, trailing after as he helps me stand on weak knees, still fused as one.
To the bathroom he guides, slow enough for me to gather my bearings and not fall on my ass. At the shower door, Switch severs our connection and slips each index finger into the waistband of my boxers before dragging them down my legs to the floor, where he kneels. Too exhausted to lift a leg without fear of making a fool of myself, I use his shoulder for support as I raise one foot at a time to step out of the fabric.
Satisfied with our state of undress, Switch stands and presses a palm to the middle of my back and steers me into the middle of the shower. The starry night shimmers at us through the wall of windows as he turns on four showerheads full blast and adjusts their trajectory to the center of the stall. Liquid heaven sluices down my sides, ass, and face.
Shower supplies are collected and set within reach. There Switch stands, inches taller than me face-to-face as water washes the remnants of today’s bullshit away. Again, he takes my hand into his and uses the other to press my shoulder to ease me onto the stone floor. I lower willingly. Of course, I do. And when I’m sprawled out, my legs in front of me, he straddles me once more. Only this time, our cocks nestle together as long, muscular legs wrap around my hips. The intimacy isn’t lost on me any more than what others would assume if they saw us like this. In my mind, it’s comfort seeking comfort. It’s not weird or awkward. It’s us. The world we’ve lived in for months. Sure, it’s never gone this far before, but now it has. I’m okay with it. It’s natural.
Our bodies shift as Switch reaches for the soap and loofa we share. He squirts a bit into the black ball and suds it up, but I’m the one to take the lead. Down his back, to the crack of his ass, I cleanse scarred skin. The rough texture blends with the soft patches of unmarred flesh between. Add in the silkiness of the suds, and I’m high on the feel. The more I wash, the quicker the water rinses the evidence away. Irritated by this, I scoot us forward on the floor, leaving his back and my legs free from the spray to indulge… and I do.
Discarding the loofa, I drag ten blunt nails down his spine, sides, ass, and outer thighs to his knees and back again; memorizing every inch, mark, and smooth spot with closed eyes.
Switch’s palm rests on top of my unmarred shoulder, the other tucked around his middle.
SWITCH
Steam fills my lungs as I drift in and out of sleep, of relief, and... him.
Here, I’m safe. With Burn. Beneath his kind touch. He makes the world better. Makes me better.
The demon quiets.
There’s peace. Real peace. A first in my life.
If only he knew how grateful I am for him, for what he’s given me and continues to give without asking for anything in return.
People in this world are out to hurt you or take, take, take, whatever they can get, anyway they can get it.
Everyone I knew before Burn followed the same set of unspoken rules. Even Bonez and Whisky, they wanted to change me. To make me talk. To make me adapt. To make me normal, so they could check me off their list as a successful pet project… The scarred ginger who feared his reflection, no longer afraid of his eyes.
I couldn’t remember what color they were then.
Green.
As green as grass. As green as the mountains, we see at breakfast each morning.
I’d forgotten. It happens when you live in darkness, in the cold, in desolation. Minutes feel like days, and days feel like years. You eat bugs off the floor for protein. Moldy bread is a delicacy. Warmth is the world’s biggest luxury. Remembering who you were, only served more pain on an already empty plate.
For months, my new ‘saviors’ forced me into daily therapy sessions. Group talks with other survivors and visits with medical professionals. Who talked about me, not to me. As if I’m stupid. As if I’m incapable of rational thought.
With Burn, I am.
I can read and think freely.
I’m happy… I think.
Happiness is a word I never knew the meaning of until here. Until this.
Burn’s touch travels to the arm tucked around my middle. Five fingers wrap gently around my damaged wrist.
“You’re safe here,” he whispers, easing my limb to the side. My pulse quickens, making it harder to breathe as a funny feeling chews through my gut. Not all that unpleasant, but not welcome either.
I stare at his fingers lingering and drag my sight upward…
Rippled burns sheathe arm to shoulder, to face and pec. I’m fascinated by them. The way they move when he does. The tightness, the lighter and darker sections, the spots where skin was stitched back together.
My best friend clears his throat. I lift my gaze to meet his, the color of butterscotch with flecks of brown and orange. Unique eyes. Intense and all-seeing.
“I’m not fragile, Switch. I’ve touched your scars. Would you like to feel mine?” He speaks with such patience and assurance.
The funny sensation draws tighter.
I swallow hard.
Shiver.
Then I look… at the so
ft crinkles around the butterscotch. At the lingering grip around my wrist. At his pec and ruined tat among scars.
I do want to know.
They’re…
I shake my head to clear it.
Never mind… it doesn’t matter.
When I offer the faintest of nods, Burn lifts my palm to his chest and presses it there. “Be gentle and it won’t hurt. Touch whatever you want. Whenever you want, okay? This is a safe space.”
Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I chew nervously as I feel them… Fingertips sweep over flesh a different texture than my own. And, as he said, he lets me explore anywhere I want, everywhere I want with patience. Not wanting to inflict any kind of pain; not again, never again, I’m careful.
Burn’s eyes close and a happy sigh escapes his throat as I trace the path from collarbone to shoulder cap, then downward. “Feels nice,” he hums.
Pride swells in my chest for giving him a piece of what he gives me every day. To feel good. To feel cared for. To feel wanted. To be understood.
Burn traces a simple design on my thigh as I take advantage of this rare gift, touching everywhere I can. Taking my time. Before I realize how far I’ve gone, I caress the scars beside his exposed groin. Burn jerks, eyes flinging open as he snatches my hand away.
I… I…
That…
What have…
I’m…
I open my mouth to apologize. To force myself to talk.
The grip relents and Burn relaxes. He blows out a coarse breath. “Sorry. Sensitive there.”
I nod. And nod. And nod.
Of course, it is. Of course. I should have known.
A knot lodges in my throat as I wait for him to blow up. To force me to leave. To punish me for fucking up.
Only it never happens. He smiles, teeth showing. I know his smiles. All of them. This one’s real. The corner of his mouth where damaged skin tugs slightly, making it lopsided. Like everything else Burn, it’s great. I like it. A lot.
A warmth settles low… of comfort and happiness.
The demon remains hidden, too weak to take over when I’m here in our world.
Switch & Burn (Royal Bastards MC : Idaho Springs Chapter) Page 5