It was one of the good days. Or it had been, up until a few seconds prior.
The silence drags out, even after the stranger speaks, and Soleil doesn’t even lift their gaze to look. Their eyes are fixed firmly on their phone. It’s not even a matter of having to get a cracked screen fixed (it’s inconvenient, at most, because they had just bought this one, and they’ll probably skip repair straight to replacement, and it always takes longer than they like to transfer everything between devices).
Their skin burns.
Their fingers twitch, wanting to curl into fists, wanting to itch at where there had been contact (and contact is still contact even with the fabric of their all-covering clothing in the way). They can feel the muscles in their legs and their back slowly tensing with each passing second in the silence.
The tension is forced out in a heave of a sigh, and a sharp snap of their tongue.
Annoyance.
Finally, Soleil reaches down to their feet to collect the dropped device, and even before they can see the screen itself, they know it’s a lost cause. There’s small shards of glass on ground, and they sigh again.
“Great.” A muttering. Mandarin. They crouch, long legs easily folding beneath themself as they place down their drink to free a hand so they can carefully pick up the small shards. Unlikely to cause much problem, but with so many families around, there’s bound to be some young children escaping with bare feet.
Finally, once the shards are collected in one palm with the broken device, and their drink is back in the other hand, they stand and lift their gaze. It doesn’t meet the stranger’s, though, and diverts right past to look over her shoulder instead.
“M-My… apologies.” Formal Korean. Uncomfortable. Almost cold.
Where’s Da Long when they need him?
they seem to ignore her, almost as if they were catching up to what had actually transpired. there was no words of acknowledgement thrown her way. for a moment chungha was ready to fix a scowl. though she knew she couldn’t do what she typically would have done, her fingers were just twitching to start something.
but no, she couldn’t. especially not as a private trainee. especially not since mina was around somewhere. mina was an adult but chungha still felt responsible for her. she couldn’t go and get herself in trouble just because someone was being weird.
she takes a deep breath.
the strangers says something. she recognises it as a chinese language but she knows it isn’t the words her girlfriend so often uses. she wonders if he cursed or if it’s a different dialect (meiqi spoke cantonese that much she knew. but she wasn’t sure how to tell which other dialect this would have been). it probably definitely was a curse although she was surprised to hear the non-native language. she blinks, watching him crouch to clean the parts of the broken screen. she cringes at the sight of it. it’s so annoying to get a screen fixed.
“i can help you,” she offers although she’s not sure the man would even acknowledge her at this rate. she goes into her bag and pulls out a thick napkin. that way they can wrap the shards and ensure none escape or dig into his palm. she holds the napkin open for him to dump the glass shards into. she’s a little stiff with him, unsure if she should extend any kindness. he seemed…..antisocial.
“it’s fine,” she ultimately says. there was no reason to make it any worse. although she doesn’t smile or try to seem bubbly. that’s not her. she’s sure such a response would have made him cringe, anyhow. “i’m really short so if you don’t pay attention you might run over some kids.” she checks her own phone, pausing only a moment to gaze at the lockscreen of her and her girlfriend before unlocking it for what she was looking for.
“there’s a screen repair place just two streets down from the picnic. i’m not sure about their prices but maybe you can get a good deal.”
that’s the most she would offer. after all, she wasn’t even sure he meant to be in such a crowded place. she tried no to look dismayed or grimace at him but it was hard to keep her eyes from looking a bit harsh. it was almost a reflex. she took a deep breath.
this day was too nice for it to be ruined by a strange encounter.
The good days come more often than the bad ones, at the moment. It’s the only reason they’re so deep in the crowd like this. They aren’t at the picnic alone; would never have come to the picnic at all without their crew’s insistence and their brother’s encouragement, but they’re alone in the crowd gathered around the food stalls.
Their eyes, ever the only part of Soleil’s face visible even in the warmth of summer, wander over the stalls and the steam rising from the various grills, and they only look down again to look to their phone in their hand. Their other hand is occupied by a cold drink, straw wet from slipping it beneath their face mask for a sip.
It only takes a moment. A single moment distracted with curling up the corners of their hidden mouth in a smile at a message from their brother. Sol’s usual instinct to being touched is to tense up and jerk away, but it’s a little different when they’re the one at fault for walking into someone.
The instinct is to save their drink, to keep it from spilling over either themself or whichever unfortunate soul it was that they had walked into. The drink survives with nothing escaping, and Soleil thinks they’re in the clear right up until they register an unmistakeable crack.
A sigh escapes even before they look down, and the defeat that presses down on their shoulders keeps them from reaching down. They simply stare at the ground for a long moment and never look away from where their phone had landed.
Face down.
the picnic was bustling with people. excitement and eagerness for the summer sun. parents taking their children to picnic on the large areas of grass in the park. couples lining up to go on the swan rides in the lake. chungha can only watch in small envy, thinking back to her childhood and wishing her parents did small family gestures like this instead of leaving her with relatives in south korea for “vacation” or having her neighbours watch her if they were working. it wasn’t a bad childhood – they weren’t neglectful. but she had yearned for family bonding experiences and one of her biggest wishes as a child was for a family camping trip.
she never got one.
her eyes drift over to the lake again. friends and couples alike hopping onto the rides enjoying themselves even though eventually it would make their thighs hurt from paddling. she wonders if she and meiqi would ever be able to do such a thing together. would it look weird? she can see many pairs of the same representing gender and even she didn’t assume they were couples. so maybe she and meiqi could someday. but she was also an idol. so would she really?
chungha takes a step back from the bridge, knowing that watching and allowing her mind to be plagued with envy and what-ifs would do nothing but soil this beautiful sunny day. besides, she had to get back to mina eventually and make sure she doesn’t run off too far to not get back home to their apartment.
she pivots, turning on her heel to start walking but she feels a bump from behind. she stumbles forward a step or two, whipping around to see the large mass that moved into her. she sees the man in front of her, a full 20 centimetres taller than she, just looking down at his phone. she didn’t hear any cry of devastation but she did hear the impossibly distinct sound of the screen cracking.
“….are you going to check it?” chungha asks after a moment passes where nothing is said. though she isn’t particularly invested. she looks up, definitely waiting for something to be said. at least an apology. “staring at it won’t help.”
Before reading forward, I just want to remind everyone that all people deal with trauma strikingly differently from each other. This is fanfic y’all, don’t forget that. That being said, I, personally, don’t deal with my trauma the way that I probably should, so please take it with a grain of salt, this is a reverse harem plotline, it’s not okay and I have never been in said exact situation. I doubt the grand majority of you have as well, (there’s always that one person that somehow managed to experience even the most bizarre things)
Also, while English is my first language, I sometimes forget how it works (I speak multiple languages) please give me some grace haha.
I know that in my tumblr post, I said that there was going to be a mention of sexual assault and self-harm, but I felt that it wasn’t appropriate. So I deleted that, so those trigger warnings can be ignored.
Trigger warnings, if any of these will upset you, please turn away: reverse harem, mention of alcohol and drug addiction, mention of sex, torture, bodily fluids (sexual and blood) and Faire just losing it.
Hiding the trauma is easy, at first. It’s when he grabs her wrist that the lying becomes difficult.
She wrenches her arm out of his grasp and throws herself away, she hits the wall across from her. The response is almost instant.
Frankie goes to throw his hands up in the air as if to show he means no harm. Her face freezes and turns bright white, and her hands go in front of her face in a defensive position.
She panics, realizing how big of a mistake she might have just made. It had been so easy to say she was fine, that she was good and not struggling anymore. That plan went out the window, specifically the window that she broke on her first day at the penthouse.
Frankie looks at her like she’s a deer in headlights, he steps towards her slowly, unwaning to scare her.
“Faire, are you okay?” he asked quietly.
She quietly shakes her head. Her breaths come in shakily.
“Okay. Take a deep breath, honey.” He turned his hands down, staring at her eyes, look at me, honey, not my hands, he thought. “What’s wrong?
She shook her head slowly, her eyes glued to his hands. “Please-” she whispered, a hiccuped sob catching in her throat.
He stared into her eyes, willing her to look at his instead of his hands. “Faire, look at my eyes. I’m not going to hurt you, no one here will hurt you.”
He assumes it’s an aftermath of the attack that happened last month. When she had been slammed to the ground with the man’s body towering over her small, fragile figure. Or maybe at the restaurant when the man had bruised her pretty throat, wrapping his hands around it and throwing her into the wall, his fault.
What if Ironhead hadn’t been there? Would they have killed her? Probably. Even if it meant the wrath of Baron and Ironhead, they would have broken her pretty body and left her there for them to find, maybe they’d carve their name into her face, or maybe they’d carve his. A message, Fish killed my brother, this is the consequence.
Her bottom lip started quivering, her eyes turning red and shiny. He could not handle it if she started crying. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. Breathe, no one will hurt you.” her eyes stared at him, a small tear breaking through her waterline.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“It’s okay, honey. Just breathe.”
She reached her arms out towards him, seeking the comfort of his warm arms. Although their comradeship had been broken down after he left her on the floor, filled with him, there was something about his saddened eyes that made her feel safe.
He opened his arms, not used to comforting. Cuddling her on the patio during her panic attack had been a damn blue moon in its own way. She walked forward, throwing her arms around his neck and shoved her face into his shoulder, wet tears and slobber splashed on his shirt and she sobbed.
He rubbed her back, calming her with quiet mouth sounds and pulling her tight into him. “What triggered you, honey? Is it the restaurant?” he asked.
She shook her head. He tried again, “Baron’s men here?” she shook her head again.
He feared her response, “me?” she shook her head again. “Then what’s wrong sweetheart?”
She shook her head again, not wanting to talk about the trauma she endured even before she was kidnapped.
She shook her head out of those thoughts, it wouldn’t help her get out of her panic, she thumped down on the floor, sitting in a fetal position, she needed the stability before her legs gave out.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, honey.” he was squatting in front of her now, his big eyes filled with concern.
It was then that the rest of the boys walked in, hearing the thump of her body hitting the floor, upon seeing Faire sitting on the ground with glassy eyes staring over Frankie’s shoulder instead of in his eyes as he shook her lightly, whispering to her.
“Faire?” Will whispered. She slowly met his gaze, a blank look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers to Frankie.
He sighed, “why are you sorry, honey? You did nothing wrong.” he whispered back to her.
“I- I- I’m sorry.” she stuttered. Her pretty lip started quivering, a tear running down her face.
Will crouched down in front of her now, looking over her with a careful eye. “Baby,” he whispered, wiping away her tear. “What do you need?” he asked.
She mumbled, unsure.
“Do you need to go somewhere quiet, or do you need a distraction?” he asked.
She looked helplessly at Pope, and whispered with heartbreaking cracks in her voice, “Why?”
He blinked at her, “What?” he asked.
“Why did you- why do you keep me here? I- I- why the fuck am I still here?” she sobbed. “I- Why haven’t I left? What the fuck have you done to me?” she asked.
“Honey, you’re here because we need to protect you,” Will answered.
“What the fuck am I doing? You- you all, you all kidnapped me and I’m- I’m fucking- oh my god. What the fuck am I doing?” She whispered.
They knew it was coming, her moment of realization. Her panic, they knew shit would hit the ceiling, and they still weren’t prepared for it.
“Breathe, honey,” Will whispered, rubbing his thumb on her cheek, she retaliated violently, slapping his hand away.
“Please don’t, please don’t touch me, I- please.” she crawled against the wall. She hadn’t pleaded like this since her first day when she’d talked to Pope in his office after trying to break out. “Please let me go, please. I can’t- I can’t do this. What the fuck have I done?” she muttered, her head between her knees.
The boys shared a similar look of confusion, no idea what to do. Any option they had would not work with her while she was in this state.
She kept her face shoved in between her knees, mumbling nonsense, rocking her body back and forth.
The men were at a loss, she’d cried in front of all of them, yes, but that had been fixable. They had all been moments where she’d just needed someone to hold her or a drink burning through her throat and warming her stomach.
It had been a month since the incident in Cristo’s parking lot, why was this all hitting her now? With the way her body had practically been vibrating throughout most days, it was clear she was struggling, that she was unhealthy. It had started like that with Fish, hidden but the small things, when found, told the whole damn story.
Frankie had figured that she wasn’t just hiding the vodka under her bed, but the oh-so-convincing smiles told him she was okay. There goes that.
It had been Benny’s light, warm palm on her knee that shocked her out of her panic. Just barely brushing her skin.
The wrong person obviously. They figured when she’d whimpered away from him.
Her eyes were raking over his features, his soft hair that she loved to fist when his face was in between her legs, his golden boy face and ocean eyes. She’d been grateful for that specific difference. The eyes were what calmed her, not enough, albeit, his face had contorted into the pretty boy she dated in high school.
You’re still as much of an idiot now as you were then, she thought. Going for the pretty ones instead of the good ones.
But Benny is good? They’re all good. To me, at least.
Her mind was constantly rearranging its perception. Her head hurt, the ions of her brain running too slow, she still couldn’t catch up.
Maybe benzos weren’t such a good idea, you dumb whore. Get off the floor, walk out. You’re insane. Get the fuck out.
It felt like back when she’d woken up in her bed after Benny drugged her.
Yeah! Remember that? Not a good guy. Get the fuck out!
Yeah, but he made you eggs after. He kissed you, he’s fucked you, he’s made you feel good. Will made you squirt first try, you’re good here, Pope said you were safe. Safe.
You’ve fucked your insane kidnappers, get the fuck out! You almost died. Twice.
She looked down at the floor and stood up, Benny had put out a hand to help, but she ignored it. Rather keeping her eyes down at the ground.
She starts walking away, willing her body to just leave. The words, you’re insane, this is insane, get the fuck out! Running through her head. Her brain still pangs against her skull. She holds her hand up as if to say “please don’t touch me or follow me, just let me go.”
Benny gripped her shoulder and pulled her into his chest, “please don’t go.” he whispered into her ear. He circled his arms around her. She went limp, silently hoping he’d let her go, but also relishing in the stark heat of him, compared to the cold response of her body. He was whispering to her, willing her to stay.
I’ve got you.
I can’t protect you if you leave, baby.
I can’t think if you leave.
You’re the only one.
My back. I told you. I gave it to you. I trust you. I need you. I need you. Baby, please. You make it hurt less.
You make me forget. About the blood and the bone and the scars. I let you touch them. No one else, you, pretty baby. You fill them like I fill you. I need that. I need you.
You. Your broken mind, your heart, your blood, you.
You.
She’d burst into tears yet again, crying into his shirt. It was starkly different from when she’d first tried to leave when he’d mocked her. Desperation instead of fear. He was begging her now. About to get on his damn knees and hug them like a desperate child.
While I’m thinking about it, here’s a little (completely unedited) taste of that Watch Your Step Fanfic oneshot. Dedicated to @charnelhouse I love you. I’m so nervous haha.
18+ - Explicit
Just like Charnie’s story, this is going to be super dark. And at some points this oneshot is really personal to me and I needed to vent a bit, so I’m just going to bring out a trigger warning that a mention of sexual assault will be in the oneshot. There will not be anything explicit, just a sentence where it is heavily heavily implied as well as self-harm(again, no description or anything just implied). So read at your own risk. This will be rated as explicit due to the content, so no minors, all of you please stay away from this specific oneshot because I know I have some following me. This is based off of the story, so of course Faire is not going to be the exact same as how *my idol* Charnie writes her.
“What the fuck am I doing? You- you all, you all kidnapped me and I’m- I’m fucking- oh my god. What the fuck am I doing?” She whispered.
They knew it was coming, her moment of realization. Her panic, they knew shit would hit the ceiling, and they still weren’t prepared for it.
“Breathe, honey.” Will whispered, rubbing his thumb on her cheek, she retaliated violently, slapping his hand away.
“Please don’t, please don’t touch me, I- please.” she crawled against the wall. She hadn’t pleaded like this since her first day, when she’d talked to Pope in his office after trying to break out. “Please let me go, please. I can’t- I can’t do this. What the fuck have I done?” she muttered, her head between her knees.
The boys shared a similar look of confusion, no idea what to do. Any option they had would not work with her while she was in this state.
I put fake nails on for a grad thing and now I can’t type properly, so wish me luck because I’ve now been asked by my, like, idol to send them something I’ve been working on based on their work. Send the Lord.
Pairing:TF Boys x F!Reader Wordcount:15.4K Warnings: trauma. self-hatred. alcohol/drug abuse (this is srs this chapter). reverse harem. fluids. insecurities. angst. smut. injuries from choking. mentions of hair. rough sex. barf. Summary:She spirals. Things get complicated. A/N:wow this chapter took A MONTH. a struggle indeed because it dealt with some serious triggering things that i wanted to get right. you may find it hard to like our girl here, but she’s been through a lot. My utter thanks to@frannyzooey who sent me constant encouragement and help me with transitions and clearing up so many confusing parts. my gal @krissology who sends the most horny thots and ideas for the smut and dialogue. she literally worked her ass off writing the most romantically delicious book so order it or perish. i hope you all like because your comments make my life
The thing about living with men running a criminal enterprise was that they could get their hands on anything: alcohol, speed, benzos, automatic weapons, Bengal tigers, vintage Quaaludes (which she doubted still worked). It wasn’t terribly surprising that their “doctor” would also give her whatever she asked for.
Of course, of course, Ms. Faire. Sounds great. I’ll have it delivered.
It had started with the birth control. Pope had readily agreed when she had asked him about needing a script. No further comment. He’d ducked his head, his cheeks glinting pink as he wordlessly handed her a business card.
“Just call him,” he muttered. “He’ll give you anything you want.”
Marcy left the room to get some paper and pencils, setting up on the dining room table. Colin sat with Thistle in the living room for a few more moments, helping him calm down. Marcy sat shame-facedly at the table, listening to the hushed voices in the next room, feeling like absolute shit.
After he’d gotten Thistle to stop crying, Colin knelt down in front of his castle. “Here, take a few minutes in your private space to calm down. Come out when you’re ready, okay?”
Thistle skittered out of Colin’s hands in a flash, disappearing instantly into the interior of the castle. He did not even have the wherewithal to close the door right away. A hand emerged after a second to draw the door shut behind him.
Colin joined Marcy in the living room after that. Marcy desperately wanted to talk to Thistle, to dump all her thoughts on him at once, to plead for some understanding, but she knew he would only feel better if she left him alone for a little while.
“He saw me doing dissections,” said Marcy, rifling her papers absently. “I–I guess I just got engrossed in my work and forgot that–that if he saw that, he’d–”
“Doesn’t matter now, Marce. What happened already happened.”
She wiped her eyes. “It kinda–I mean I know I should be focusing on how he feels, but it kinda hurts that he still thinks I’d do that to him.”
Thistle heard the two humans continuing to murmur to each other from the next room, crouched in his castle with the door shut. He’d drawn down the blinds to cover the windows as well, leaving him in darkness. He spent the first minute balled up in the corner, before he remembered his belongings and sat on the chair he had, which was enough of the right size for him to sit on. His hands worked at the rubber clownfish like a stress ball.
Was he overreacting again? He was thinking with his prey brain, and not his person brain.
Marcy was kind and gentle, or at least she tried to be. She wouldn’t torture small animals unless there was a really good reason for it.
…right?
What could possibly be a good reason to do that?
He thought back to her lab, the place he’d gone to the first night, the bugs held prisoner in the fridge there. Who had set that all up? And to what end? Why had she brought him there, then suddenly reversed course and taken him home? Nemo had said She studies things… What exactly, and how? And how did she intend to study him?
Was he finally going to find out? And the nagging question of…what if he didn’t like the answers?
He waited until the suspense and anxiety of not knowing became too much to bear, outweighing his fear of facing the humans. He’d come this far. He’d survived. Maybe he could face this, too, and come out all right.
He opened the door and walked out. From the fishtank, Nemo hovered towards the bottom, hands on the colorful gravel. He mouthed something at him, but Thistle couldn’t read his lips.
“Shut up,” Thistle whispered. “You’re not helping.”
Marcy and Colin stopped talking as the drawbridge to the castle lowered, and Thistle walked out, hands clasped together in front of him. Marcy stood, clearly intending to go pick him up, but Colin quickly hissed, “Let him come to us.”
Thistle stopped once he was in the doorway of the dining room, looking up at them both silently.
“Come on up, bud,” said Colin, tapping the table. “If you’re ready to talk.”
He leapt up, catching the edge of the table and scrambling to pull himself up. He sat cross-legged on the edge of the table. Out of easy grabbing range, Marcy noticed. She also noticed his tiny frame was still occasionally shaking.
That filled her with a strange sense of pride. He was clearly still very afraid, which made her sad, but he was brave enough to come up here anyway. Well, let’s see if we can reward his courage by showing him there’s nothing to be scared of.
Not that this was going to be an easy task. This was definitely going to be an unprecedented test of her science communication skills. The voice of professors from years bygone hammering into her over and over that the average American only has an eighth-grade reading level echoed in her skull… But she’d explained her work to elementary-school children before, at outreach programs. She just had to take it down one step below that.
“I’m going to explain my work to you,” said Marcy. “What I do at work. Is that okay?”
Thistle nodded mutely. He vibrated his wings, perhaps as an involuntary reflex to accompany his chest trembling.
Marcy slid a piece of paper over and drew some squiggly lines with a green colored pencil: the approximate shape of trees, bushes, plants. “You know how humans grow food, right?”
He nodded. “Farms.”
“Right. We cultivate–We make a space ideal–we make a space good for plants to grow, and put a bunch of seeds in there, and let them grow so we can eat them later.”
“You do this?”
“Well, not me personally. Other humans. They do it for everyone as a group. Well, in exchange for money, but let’s not get bogged down in details here. I’m just trying to explain a very simple version of things here.” She drew some wiggly critters at the foot of the plants. Worms. Flies. Bugs. “There are lots of creatures that want to eat these plants, since we grow them specifically to be big and tasty for us to eat.”
Thistle hesitated, then nodded.
“So, to keep other animals from eating them while they grow, we put….things on them. Poison.”
“Poison?”
“They’re called pesticides.” She drew some purple drops on the plants. “These are special chemicals that hurt bugs that eat them, but don’t hurt humans.“
Thistle’s face scrunched up a little. He tightened his grip on the hem of his shirt.
“Does that upset you?”
It did, a little, but he supposed it shouldn’t…. It’s not like he didn’t kill bugs, or the hive didn’t harm predators who got too close. That was just nature. He shook his head. “We poi, ko… keep others from our food, too. But–I–I am…”
“Yes?”
“Worried, because…” He cringed. “I–ahm–took this food sometimes.” He ducked his head down, as though he expected her to be mad at him. “Not much very! Promises! Nobody ever notice it, that’s how small I took!”
“Relax,” said Colin. “Me and Marcy don’t care if you take food from farms. Like you said, it’s such a small amount.”
“But–But the bugs too take such a small amount, and you kill them.”
“That’s because there’s so very many of them,” said Marcy. “If we didn’t use pesticides, they would eat practically all of it. You understand how to share, and take in moderation. Like you said, nobody ever even noticed.”
“So…” He flicked his wings. “So you–you did not catch me from outside because I was stealing food?”
Marcy put her pencil down, reaching her hand out towards him. He finally, finally didn’t recoil from her touch, letting her take a hand with one gentle finger. “No. Of course not, sweetheart. And pesticides aren’t a punishment for ‘stealing.’ It’s just a matter of business. We need the food, so we keep bugs off of it. That’s just nature.”
“My family…” he said, eyes watery. “Cui ea seuaj? Mais citon? I take apples to them sometimes. I…” He made a chopping motion with his hands. “…cut for them to eat. The…babies. Is safe? I poison them? Safe?”
“I’m not sure,” said Marcy. “If they’ve never gotten sick, I wouldn’t worry about it. There’s no way to know what effect it would have on them. But it could be harmless.”
"Harmless?”
“Safe.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“I know you’re worried about them, but please don’t blame yourself. It’s really not your fault.”
“It’s okay.” He was starting to seem a little more at ease, being pulled out of prey mode by the conversation and the concern Marcy was showing.
Marcy picked her pencil back up. “Okay, this is where I come in. So these big groups of humans are all growing all these different plants for us to eat, and using all these pesticides…And there are different kinds, and some work differently than others.” She drew some blue and red drops on the plants next to the purple ones. “Does that make sense?”
He shook his head uncomprehendingly.
“Hmm…What I’m trying to say is… Well, are there things your family avoids because they’re poison?”
“Yes.”
“Can you name some?”
He perked up at this. Marcy knew he’d spent quite some time poring over the encyclopedia entries about plants, trying to put English names to everything he knew. “Poison Ivy. Nightshade. Inkberry. Hemlock. Hogweed.”
“Right,” she said. “What happens when you eat these plants?”
“Poison Ivy….rash…and I can’t breathe. Nightshade, you can’t move yourself. Very sick. Inkberry, you shake.”
“So they do different things, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because they’re different kinds of poison.”
He nodded.
“It’s sort of the same thing. There are different kinds of poisons, different kinds of pesticides we use on our food. Get it now?”
He nodded.
“Right. Okay. So, we have different kinds of pesticides, and some people claim that the ones theyuse are better than the ones other people use. We have to have some way to test that.”
“Better how?”
“Well, for example, what we want a pesticide to do is kill bugs that eat the plants, but not harm other creatures. These poisons can persist in the environment–They can go into the bodies of other animals, and harm them. For example, if a caterpillar eats poison, then a dragonfly eats it, it can harm the dragonfly. That dragonfly gets eaten by a bird, and that bird is poisoned now.”
The gears in Thistle’s head were visibly turning. “But…Why…Why do you care that? Why do humans care if it kill birds and dragonflies? Isn’t it for the food?”
“You sound like a Republican,” Marcy muttered, before raising her voice and correcting quickly, “Well, that’s something that humans argue about a lot. Some of them think it’s fine if other creatures die, but a lot of humans–like me–think we need to make sure we aren’t harming the environment, and all the animals, and ecosystems and whatnot.”
Thistle blinked at her.
“Does that make sense? Don’t your people also want to minimize the harm–not destroy nature?”
“Well, yes,” said Thistle. “That is just common sense. If you destroy your home, you will have nothing.”
“Yes!”
“I just…didn’t think humans…would also feel that.” He broke eye contact, again as if expecting her to be mad at him.
“Why not?” she said gently.
Thistle looked over his shoulder, at the living room, at the fish tank. “I didn’t think humans…would care about others.”
“A lot of us do. We love nature, and animals.”
“But…You are killing these creatures to help them?”
“Ah! Okay! We’re almost there.” She scribbled out some other creatures, dragonflies, mantises, birds, lizards. “So the people making these poisons, and the ones using them, claim that they don’t hurt the environment and the other animals. Some people claim that they do. It’s my job to figure out who is right. Because if I prove that they’re poisoning the environment, that gives other humans the evidence they need to make them stop using them. But if it’s true that they’re harmless, then they can keep using them.”
“So you’re–You’re like a–Kind of a guardian of nature?”
Colin watched as Marcy’s pride swelled her head immediately. “Sort of,” Colin interrupted before she could get too many grandiose ideas about herself. “Marce, explain what exactly you were doing with the bugs.”
“Oh, right! Well, you see, we can tell whether pesticides are harming native ecosystems–see if they’re hurting the creatures around– by seeing if it’s accumulating in the guts of native species–seeing if it’s–If it’s in the bellies of the creatures around.”
Comprehension was dawning on Thistle’s face. “So you have to…”
“Remove the belly, and the organs, so I can test if there are pesticides in them. If all the bugs I’m catching are loaded with pesticides, that’s dangerous to the birds, and rodents, and even the people around.”
“Mie keas. No…You’re killing them to help them. The sacrifice of a few for the good of the many?”
Marcy put her pencil down. “Does it at least make sense? So you know I don’t spend all day killing helpless animals because I think it’s fun? It’s not like I’m not sad about it–I wish there was a way to do it without hurting them. I don’t like hurting them. It’s just necessary to do what needs to be done.”
He looked up at her for a long while, then nodded. “Yes. It make sense.”
She let out a breath. “Good. Good, good. So, do you feel a little better about it, now?”
“Yes…but…”
“Go on.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
That caught her off guard. “Huh? Well, nothing I guess.”
“Then…ni ko…Why did you pick me up? And take me away from the field? It wasn’t because stealing food.” He put his hand on his stomach. “I still have my belly, so….you’re not interested in…pesticides in my belly. Why am I here? What do you want to do with me?”
Marcy tapped her pencil on the desk, chewing on her lip. “Ah… Well, well I…I didn’t expect to see anything like you in the field. I didn’t think you existed.”
“Right,” he said, face darkening. “Humans don’t really know we’re here.”
“Right. And well…I just got excited. I wanted to study you, too, before I realized you were a person and it would be wrong to do that to you. That’s when I took you home, because I didn’t know what else to do.”
Thistle curled up, his head in his knees.
“I’m sorry, Thistle. It was a careless, heartless decision. I was curious, and excited, and wanted to know more.”
It was all an accident. Somehow, he hadn’t considered that possibility. She’d ruined his life completely by accident, because she was just a bit careless. She had the ability to get a little too excited and completely change the course of his existence without even fully thinking through the consequences. Without even noticing that she was doing it. It really drove home just how powerless he was compared to the creatures whose hands he stood near. It made him feel smaller than ever.
His body started to tremble with sobs.
“Come on, bud, it’s okay,” said Colin. “This is all good for you, right?”
Marcy drew her hand around him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If I could take it back, I would… I…I did try to take you back and let you go outside. Remember? But you didn’t want to go.”
Thistle sat up, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands. He looked up at her, absolutely fuming, and pushed her hand back. “Yes, I remember! Reorun! Esimeoras, kai akorute nevolin predemi io! Liam didrasis ko ni ne ous ri, ke hoi vi ses mienilin! A ci mao, kiun i faas aci! Ko prie? They always say, ‘You can’t lead eanto…predator…back to us! You can’t have them follow you!’ Because of this! Because you can hurt so, so much even if you don’t want! What if you were trying? What could you do to my family?”
Marcy withdrew her hand, biting her lip.
Colin leaned over. “All right, buddy, I think you’re getting worked up again. You just had a lot dumped on you. Why don’t you take some more private time to process your thoughts?”
“Fuck you!” Thistle yelled, then his head swiveled towards Colin. “And fuck you, buddy!”
“Go,” snapped Colin. “Go to your castle.”
Thistle turned and dashed away, leaping down and sprinting across the living room floor into his house. The door slammed shut behind him.
Marcy lowered her head down onto the table, groaning. “Oh, Colin…”
Colin sighed and sat back in his chair.
“I fucked up.”
He patted her back. “We all fuck up sometimes.”
“Yes, but I’ve never fucked up this bad before.” She moaned again.
The chime on the front door sounded, indicating someone was coming in. Marcy propped herself up on her elbow.
Teddy walked into the room. She had a plastic bag in one hand. “Mm-hmm,” she said.
“What?” said Marcy.
“Yep, I knew my alarms were going off for a good reason. I had a premonition that we’d need some cheesecake on the way home.” She set the bags on the table and unwrapped several plastic takeout containers. “Nothing miserable people like more than cheesecake.”
****
Teddy and Colin eventually went upstairs to watch TV in their bedroom. Marcy stayed in the living room. Dusk settled on the room as the sun went down, the previously unneeded lights still sitting off. Marcy just sat outside the castle, head propped up on her curled-up knee, staring at the little door, the blinded windows. The quiet hum of the water filter was the only sound, the lights in the aquarium casting faint shadows in the room.
She so desperately wanted to lay eyes on him, but if she even once broke the sanctity of that space she’d promised was private, he’d never feel secure in it again.
She reached out a hand, hesitated, then moved it the rest of the way to the door. She tapped on it lightly. “Ardo? Will you please come out now?”
The blind in one of the windows went up. His face peered out from the darkness.
She brushed the tip of her finger against the little saucer she had by her knee, upon which was a piece of cheesecake she had painstakingly cut out from a regular-sized one and whittled down so it was appropriately sized for him. “I have something for you, if you feel like coming out.”
He gazed at her, then at the proffered food. Then he disappeared back into the castle, and the drawbridge came down. He came out, looking haggard and hunted. But he did have a tiny fork, taken from the set of miniature silverware replicas they’d gotten from the craft store, in one hand.
Marcy backed up a little to give him some space. He wordlessly crawled up onto the saucer, crossing his legs, and digging in. Tears filled his eyes after a few bites. “Oh…”
“Everything okay?” Marcy said softly.
He nodded. “This is…really good.” He put his fork down, lip wobbling.
Marcy held her hand out, and he rushed forward into it, hugging her palm. She gently closed her fingers around him, rubbing his back. “Shh…It’s all right. It’s OK. It’s gonna be OK.”
Thistle pulled back and wiped his eyes. “Th-thank you. This is very good.”
She crouched down, trying to get on eye level with him, trying to make herself as small as possible. “Are you feeling any better?”
He nodded. “A little. Yes. Thank you for telling me about it. Your work. It’s more sense now.”
She could still see the shiver up his spine, the fear in the words. She curled her fingers around him protectively. “Listen…I know we’ve…Well…I know you’d rather be with your family than with me. As much as it would pain me to see you leave, as much as I’d miss you….if there is any way I can make that happen, just say the word. I’ll take you back, I’ll– Whatever it is you need that would fix things for you.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“Iwant to understand. What is the actual danger? What do you think is going to happen?”
He swallowed. “We have always kept away from you. Humans. They can dangerous for us. So if we get seen, or handled, we can’t allowed to go back to the others, because someone could follow us.”
“But… Surely there must be a way to get around it, right? You know I’m not going to follow you back to your family.” Oh God, maybe that was too bold of an assertion to make. She trucked past it, ignoring the obvious discomfort on his face, not wanting to press it further. “What if I just put you back down where I found you? I could leave, and you could make your own way back there. They don’t need to know we ever interacted.”
“It’s too late, Marcy.”
“But–Butwhy?”
How to explain? He had more tools to do so now, but it was still hard. Even if he was sure it was perfectly safe…the guilt would be with him forever. He couldn’t keep something like that secret from his family. He had to put their security and safety above his own comfort. Not only that…but he wasn’t a good liar. “They will find out. I am…not good at secret. And they. Would upset.”
“But–But Thistle, please understand from my perspective this seems like such a non-issue to –to completely ruin your life about.”
He clenched his fists. “Just as before. The sacrifice of a few for the good of the many. That is our way.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“It does!” His chest heaved, his hands shook. “I would do anything to keep them safe! I would suffer anything! Torture, if I had to! I would die! I would live here forever even if I hated it and you were cruel! Any risk is…for me is…big no!”
Marcy sat in silence, watching the resolve on his tiny face, the anger, the dedication. She reached a finger out and placed it on his chest. “That’s very noble of you. And kind. And if that’s how you really feel, I won’t push it anymore. Just know if you change your mind, I’ll make it happen if I can.”
“Th…Thank you.”
She withdrew from him, laying down on her side, propping herself up. “Ardo, I… I understand completely why seeing what you saw me doing would upset you, but… I have to admit, it kind of hurts that even after all this time, you still won’t trust me. It’s hurtful that you see me as a big scary monster that would torture you just for fun, and hurt your family. I can’t believe you still think I would do that to you. I thought we were past that.”
He broke eye contact. He was still sitting on the saucer. He poked at the cheesecake. The kinds of monsters who would do that to him existed, and in numbers far too great for his comfort. His kind had to be quick to spot them. “It is…instinct. As you say. Bad things can happen to me. Very fastly. If I don’t careful.
“But… What more do you want me to do? I made a mistake, yes, but I’ve done everything I can to try and make it right. I saved your life, I gave you back the ability to fly, I would make the rest of your life here comfortable if that’s what you want–”
“What?”
“Assuming you wanted to stay here, that is…”
“No, what was that…saved your life?”
“I saved your life?”
“You think you saved my life?”
This one sentence smacked Marcy in the face like someone had just swung a sack of batteries at her. “Well…Yeah?”
“When?”
“When I found you in the field? You couldn’t fly? When we first met? I know I’m scary, but I thought you might at least be a little grateful for that…”
Thistle raised his hackles. She’d been congratulating herself this whole time on saving poor little Thistle from death in the cabbage field when they’d first met? That sent him into a rage he’d never experienced before, because she’d been the last thing standing between him and getting back to the hive. If she hadn’t scooped him up, he would have made it back to them as soon as he’d crossed the cabbage field and made it into the tall grass. And she was lecturing him on how he should be grateful for the wing? That was part of why he couldn’t go back! Because they’d take one look at him and know he’d been handled, or at the very least demand to know where he’d gotten it from!
“Kia dablo! Esimeoras, kai akorute nen pemi io! Lim diaie ko ni ne ous ri, kei vis mienilin! Aca, i faas aci kiu! Kai prie!”
Marcy stared at him, speechless.
Thistle’s anger boiled over. It was a struggle to string together sentences in English, while trembling with rage. “I was almost home! If you’d left me in the field, I wouldn’t die, I would have made it back!” He turned his shoulder, flickering his wings pointedly. “And this–these stupid wing you’re so proud of yourself–is why they will know! They will know you had me!”
“You…you mean I…”
“Kia dablo! You think you can ‘fix’ me and make everything better, but you know nothing! Who did you do this? For me? For yourself? Did you want helping me, or did you want to see if you could do it?”
The labyrinth of logic Marcy had put together to convince herself she wasn’t that terrible of a person–That sure she shouldn’t have scooped Thistle up from the field like that and taken him away, but hey, at least she’d saved his life! At least she’d given him back his ability to fly!–collapsed instantly at this revelation. She had nothing to defend herself, nothing to cushion the blow, the fall of who she thought she was to who she actually was. In this ego’s death throes, Marcy could only lash out in anger at what had hurt her.
If you hate your wing so much, then maybe I can just cut it off for you.
Shealmost said it. She came dangerously close to saying it out loud. She physically bit her tongue to swallow it, the smarter parts of her brain kicking in to tackle that thought to the ground before it left her mouth. If she said that,afterthis… They’d never come back from it.
Thistle watched her face journey, reading the dark cloud descend, the spasm of anger and panic. He took a step back, his own face laced with fear, as though he knew what she was thinking.
Marcy let out a shaky breath. “I need a minute. I need to walk away for a minute.”
Leaving him standing there unsurely, Marcy went upstairs and shut herself in her bedroom. She took a few minutes to punch a pillow, let out her muffled screams into it.
She lay limply on the pillow she’d just unloaded on, sobbing. She was frustrated. She did want to study Thistle. She wanted it so badly it ached. She wanted to know everything about this amazing, impossible little creature she had found. But that very fact made Thistle uncomfortable and scared, so she’d worked so, so hard to reign it in just to make him feel better. And after that, he acted like she was careless and cruel and stupid?
From her perspective they’d be going agonizingly slowly, letting him set the pace. It was a far cry from their first day together, before she realized she needed to deny her scientific impulses, because her natural curiosity had led her to kidnapping and imprisoning him. Hell, the first day they met, she’d almost torn his clothes off just to see what he looked like. She’d come here from there, giving him all the room he needed, respecting his personal space, letting him rage and feel however he wanted, doing everything in her power to make it right. Could he really not see that? Did he really not realize the effort she was putting in, the progress she’d made?
But it still wasn’t enough. All it’d taken to destroy all their progress was for her to get just a bit careless while working, because she was stressed out and preoccupied. And it was frustrating, because it felt like nothing she did was good enough.
She let herself wallow for a while. She didn’t open the door again until she was sure she could interact with Thistle without hurting him.
When she shuffled across the room to open the door, her feet bumped the bracelet and anklet Thistle had dropped on the floor earlier. She bent down to pick them up, wiping her eyes and holding them gently in her hand, thumbing the beads and tassels.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, still holding them, when he came up a while later. She glanced up and saw Thistle on the floor by her dresser, partially behind it, watching her. His face was splotchy–evidently he’d been doing his own fair share of crying.
She sat up. Just as that first time when they’d finally come face to face and she didn’t know what to do, she just waited. Waited to see what he would do.
He cleared his throat. “Ah…Do you…like them?”
She nodded, already tearing up. “Yes. I love them. I don’t want to make any assumptions…Can…Can I still have them?”
He nodded.
Marcy slipped one on her wrist, then lifted her bare foot up to slide the other on her ankle. “Thank you. They’re beautiful. It’s obvious you put a lot of work into them.”
He stepped forwards. “Thank you. They’re copies of mine. My mother’s mother made them for me…for us…my family…from the tree where I was born.”
Marcy swallowed. “That’s so nice.”
“I couldn’t make the big ones from the same tree, but…”
He trailed off as Marcy opened her arms, holding her hands out to him. He hesitated for a moment before finishing the walk to the bed and leaping up, landing in her outstretched palm.
She drew him close to her chest, cradling him with both hands. “Don’t worry about that. It’s perfect.” She sniffled, trying not to let the tears overflow her eyes. “It’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful gift that you’ve given me. I’m honored.”
“I’m sorry for being too hard on you,” said Thistle. He settled into her hand, snuggling up to her chest, right over her heart. “It’s only natural to be excited about new and interesting things. I too am. If I met someone this much smaller than me, I might mistake the same.”
Finally,finally Marcy had the ability to communicate Don’t be sorry without sounding like she was still mad at him. She brushed her finger against his jaw, tiling his head up to make eye contact.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” said Marcy. “Everything you’ve done and said has been a perfectly reasonable response to my actions from someone who’s lost and scared. I’msorry for how my carelessness has hurt you so deeply. I meant what I said about doing whatever I can to make things right. If you truly feel like you can’t go back to your family, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life if that’s what you want. As long as I’m around, you won’t have to worry about your safety, or your comfort, or getting food to eat. I won’t let anyone question your personhood. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you can thrive as best as you can, however you want.”
Just when she’d started to think that his little body couldn’t produce any more tears, he started crying yet again. “It’s frustrating, but I–but I can happy that if anyone was going to pick up me, it’s you.”
She lifted him up and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. When she drew him back, he was wiping his face. “Even though I got upset…it is better it was accident. Because I… ko va…afraid of you having plans. Wanting to do things to me. Waiting for something. Now I know you’re not. It’s better. I don’t know if I can ever not afraid totally. But that’s…how I am. It is nature.
“I wish I knew how to comfort you. Yes, it’s true, I could kill you or do horrible things to you. But that’s also true of me with Teddy and Colin. We live in the same house, we sleep with our bedroom doors open. There’s nothing stopping me from grabbing the biggest knife in the kitchen and stabbing them in the middle of the night. There’s a certain point, for everyone, at which you have to just trust that the people in your life who care about you won’t do everything that they’re physically capable of doing.”
He nodded. “Right… You’re right. Thank you. And–And I’m sorry about–these wing is good. Not stupid.”
“Yeah?”
Marcy’s fix of his wing wasn’t perfect by any means…He couldn’t generate enough lift to fly the same way, because the shape was different. His muscles weren’t strong enough to keep it up for too long, because they had to work harder. The glue started to pull away if he flapped too much. And he still got occasional stabs of pain from the wing itself where it was torn. But all things considered…it was nice to be able to fly at least a little.
He leaned over and flared his wings, splaying out the two sub-pairs. “It’s…really cool that you were able to do that for me.”
She wiped her eye. “I’m glad.”
“And it can happen that something come and kill me in the field. Somaybe you did save my life. It could.”
She stroked his hair. “I’m glad. I’m glad that I could at least do something good for you.”
“You do many something goods for me. You make me safe. And…I miss my family, but…if you don’t pick me up, I would never meet you.”
She squeezed him against her chest, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You are–You are too–too fucking–too fucking–”
“Breathe, Marcy.”
She sucked in a breath. “Sorry… I’m just overwhelmed by you.”
“You’reoverwhelmed by me?”
“Yeah. You’re incredible.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Thistle was processing being called incredible. He had never thought of himself as incredible. He’d always been jealous of the other pixies who were good at magic, who were the incredible ones in his mind.
Marcy rubbed her nose. “Well–Well listen, I’m tired. It’s OK for you to sleep in your castle tonight, of course, but I’ll leave my door open if you want to sleep with me.”
He peered up at the wall. “I…would like…but there’s one thing.”
“What’s that?”
He pointed to the shelf on the wall, where her collection of preserved insects stood on display. “They…they make uncomfortable.”
“They…oh. Because they remind you of what you’re afraid will happen to you?”
He nodded.
She seemed to think for a moment. “I’ll take them off the shelf. But let’s take one last look at them together, and then you won’t have to look at them anymore, okay?”
He nodded.
Marcy set him on the pillow, then stood up and plucked the knickknacks off her shelf. She sat back down, and Thistle climbed onto her lap, sitting with his legs dangling off her thigh.
“My dad got me these for my sixteenth birthday.” She picked up the block of resin containing the millipede, its body frozen in a wave, hundreds of legs stopped in time mid-undulation. “He saw how much I was getting into this sort of thing. He also got me a subscription to the ESA. The Entomological Society of America. I couldn’t really use it for anything, of course, but it made me feel cool.” She ran her hand over the smooth surface of the cube containing the millipede.
“You did not make?” Thistle said. He cautiously touched the resin.
She shook her head. “No. Well, this one I did.” She brought over the mounted butterfly, the one that had so frightened Thistle for its wings’ similarities to his own. “I caught this one when I was an undergrad. I worked in a lab that studied reproductive evolution. The PI helped me mount it and everything.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Thistle.
“Yeah. I was…at first I was disappointed that I caught one with a chunk missing from its wing, because I thought it was an imperfect specimen…before I realized the little differences that make each individual unique are just as natural and real representations of what they are as what they’re ‘supposed’ to look like.”
Thistle could see the love in the delicate caress of her hands, her voice, her face. She cherished these creatures, so much so that she wanted to have them preserved forever. She spent all her time outside the house working to protect the small creatures around her, even if it meant doing difficult things like killing some of them. She had done all this out of respect, out of appreciation, because she could not forge relationships with individuals, only the species as a whole.
“A-anyway,” she said, setting the butterfly aside. “I always thought the scorpion was a little scary…something about the venom freaks me out…but looking at this one helped me get over the fear.”
“They are fearsome.”
“And the wasp…I got stung by a wasp on the way to the park when I was little…Good thing I’m not allergic.” She turned it over and took the next block. “And this stag beetle…it was always one of my favorites. I tried raising these guys from grubs one time…Didn’t work, unfortunately. I think I got the wrong kind of soil.”
“I like its pincers.”
She took out a set of three small blocks. “These ones I found in a thrift store. Which was really strange. They don’t normally sell that kind of stuff. And based on the quality, they look homemade. I’d be really curious how they ended up there.”
An odd sense of comfort overcame Thistle watching her handle these dead creatures gently, reverently. This was how she cared for them. She preserved their beauty forever to admire them. This was all she could really do to appreciate creatures that did not think, feel, or care about her, that would die in a cosmic heartbeat and decay instantly without even being able to conceive of her existence next to them.
And in her mind, it would be inappropriate for her to do this to Thistle, because that was not how she appreciated him.
No, she appreciated him by doing the things she’d already been doing. Caring for him, feeding him, keeping him safe, handling him. He’d been so scared the whole time she’d do something for her own satisfaction, but he’d so completely failed to notice she’d already been doing exactly what she wanted to do to him. The way she fawned over him was the equivalent of putting these bugs in resin and keeping them on the shelf. Because to her, they were different kinds of creatures, so they were to be treated differently, and she was simply giving both kinds the highest respect she knew how to.
The pieces clicked together as she set them in a pile off to the side. “I’ll put them in the trunk in my closet, okay?”
“Wait.”
She had been in the process of gathering them to stand up, but she stopped.
“You…You can keep them out.”
“Oh? Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
She put them back, brushing aside the dust, and settled back into bed. “Ready to go to sleep, then?”
“Yes.” He crawled under the covers, snuggling under her hand. Despite the loneliness, the upset, the hurt…he couldn’t help but feel the warmth in his chest, and think that all things considered, this was really not that bad of a place to end up for a creature like him.
The humans he found himself among might not be the family he was used to, but they were becoming family enough.
Pairing:TF Boys x F!Reader Wordcount:14K Warnings: gore. alcohol/drug abuse. kidnapping. eventual reverse harem. self-medication. smut. semi-public sex. torture. brief hint of non-con in a dream. hair pulling. Summary:Pope calls a meeting. A/N: i struggled SO hard with this chapter. it was like pulling teeth. i fear that it is utterly boring, but at some point i had to punt it into the great unknown. my millions of thank yous to @frannyzooeyand@krissology who continue to motivate and inspire me with ideas and words and love. i hope you all enjoy.
It didn’t start right after the club - after Will punched Ben so hard that his cheekbone swelled to the size of a plum. That night had gone from liberating to disastrous as soon as they’d opened the front door.
It had been an onslaught of emotions, and she could barely remember what the argument had even been about in the first place.
Ben could have gotten you killed. You’re in danger. This is why we don’t have women in the house.
Pope had been a total fucking dick, but Frankie had reallypissed her off. He’d just stood in the corner - slinking into the shadows as he watched Will and Pope chastise her. He had no right. He wasn’t allowed to “care” about her safety when he had literally ignored her the last few weeks. She also despised that she still had briefly wondered about his date. Was she in his bed? In his room? Had he fucked her?
All of those thoughts drunkenly rolled around her skull as she watched Ben defend their actions. She balanced on her heels - skin sweating under Will and Pope’s disapproving glares. The liquor and greasy food bloated her stomach. There was a startling sticky ache between her legs from riding Ben in public for anyone to see. Despite her pride and all that she said, she still felt a tug of guilt at what they had done. She didn’t owe them anything and yet -
It didn’t matter. It was done.
The commotion of it all had not only overwhelmed her but sobered her up.
Will’s anger had shocked her. She’d never seen him furious. Even in the basement, he had doled out pain with an impassive, untouchable expression. He spoke softly and slowly without a drop of emotion. After George’s, he had been irate. It had hurt. It had bothered her. The disappointment in his glare had the same consistency of oil sticking to her limbs - her bones and lungs.
“I don’t fuck around when it comes to your safety.”
Those words had ripped through her - circulating with the same wild intensity of a tornado. She followed Ben up the stairs, flinching when she heard Will slam his door shut.
“Fuck,” Ben had muttered under his breath. “He’s throwing a hissy fit.”
Was he? Maybe - he just cared about her? How sweet it was to be cared for in any capacity. Her mother certainly hadn’t - not even when she was a little girl. She could have run away from home for three days, and her mother would still have greeted her with: Oh - you’ve been out all this time?
She’d yelled at Pope, which had been somewhat exciting. He pissed her off with those great big dark eyes and that permanent scowl that curled his lips. He’d tried to crush her damn high. She didn’t connect with him like she did with Will or even Frankie. Pope simply existed as her keeper. He was the man who was pulling the strings through this whole nightmare, and it wasn’t as if he’d ever attempted to get to know her.
She’d helped Ben to bed, and when he’d tried to drag her beneath the covers, she’d stopped him. She wasn’t sure why. She just felt too off-kilter. She just needed to be alone and get her head on straight and sober up because whatever had happened in the living room had been messy, and she could barely keep up with who was pissed at who.
She also wanted to pout dramaticallyin the comfort of her room where none of them could judge her. She was out the second her head hit the pillow, slipping into a restless sleep as the sequins on her dress pricked her skin.
She was awoken by the warm wet pressure of lips at the nape of her neck. The smell of soap and damp skin. Mid-afternoon light filtered through her drapes and flooded her white linen duvet in buttery orange.
“They’re out,” A low voice rumbled at her back. Benny. She arched into him, and he wrapped his fingers around her throat - wrenching her against his chest. “I woke up so fucking hard for you,” he murmured as he tugged her earlobe between his teeth. His fingers trailed down her thigh toward the heat between her legs.
She was still covered in glitter from the club. Her lashes were sticky and clumped as spider legs. Her hangover beat dimly within the shell of her skull. Everything spun out as all of her senses narrowed to what Benny was doing to her. “I’m gross right now.”
“You’re fucking hot,” he growled as he nosed at her jaw. “and I’ve waited allday to get back inside that pussy.”
“Jesus.”
“Tell me yes.” He was digging his fingers into her hips so harshly that she shuddered. He was pushing against her - gluing his hard body to her back. There was a wantin his touch. Ben had seduced her last night. Ben had taken her out. Ben had freed her from the penthouse and treated her like she was something special. He’d ignored every girl who’d walked up to him.
“Okay.”
***
They keep it quiet. They don’t make it obvious that they are fucking on every surface available. It’s an unsaid thing - an understanding. She doesn’t want to deal with questions or judgment, and Ben just seems to go with it.
It was pleasure in its most blunt form. Ben fucked her so well that she could barely think straight, and perhaps that was the point. She didn’t want to think. She had spent the last few years - slowly rotting in her father’s house. She walked on eggshells - terrified that one wrong move would send her mother into some aggressive state. She kept to herself and burrowed in her head. Loneliness marked her. She’d been genuinely isolated, and the people she did fuck had been only a night-worth of reprieve. She’d had one boyfriend in college, but that had blown up as quickly as it began.
She’d used caring for her mother as an excuse. She was lonely and bored, and she had filled up those days by getting drunk or staring at a television. At the penthouse, getting screwed daily kept her fairly busy.
It was constant.They were running through condoms. Ben just kept several on his person at all times. She wanted to get on birth control, but a large part of her was nervous that if she did, the sex would stop. She’d jinx it somehow. It didn’t make sense. Nothing in her life made sense, but the fucking was like a drug - burned just as good as alcohol.
The first time Benny had taken her outside her bedroom had been in the kitchen.
She was pouring chopped herbs into softened butter. She mixed and minced and grated. She was going to make roast chicken with truffle mashed potatoes and garlicky spinach.
She felt him before he spoke. His chest flushed against the crown of her head. He was hard - his erection resting against the small of her back - his hands clasping her hips. He nosed at her neck - his lips brushing her bare shoulder.
“Ben,” she warned.
“What are you making?” he asked as he tugged her away from the counter. His voice was perfectly normal. He gingerly drew her over to the island - his long arm sweeping the rest of her ingredients to the side. “Tell me,” he urged.
“Roast chicken,” She felt the pressure of his hand at the middle of her spine. He pushed down, and she went- bending over so that her front was sealed to the butcher block. Her hands planted. The side of her cheek lay flat next to the rosemary twigs, sage, and garlic. He flipped her dress up and drew her panties down - just enough that they banded around her knees.
“That sounds good,” he hummed just as he sunk into her. She gasped - breath hitching as he filled her in one, bruising stroke. “Did you wear this dress for me?”
She shook her head - biting into her lower lip. He made a frustrated sound before cracking his hand across her ass. The sound was muted beneath the music coming from the Ipad in the corner. Gin Blossoms. The edge of the island cut into her stomach. “I think you did,” he taunted as he began to thrust into her slick heat. There was the slap of skin. The muffled broken noises that he forced from her mouth with each drag of his cock. She was practically on her toes. He was spearing inside her - stretching her open. The pressure. The ache of it spread through her lower half. “I think you wore it because it’ll make it so much easier for us. I can just lift this dress up and fuck you standing.”
She bit into her bottom lip until she felt the iron burst of blood. He was changing up his pattern - fucking her hard in rapid, short strokes before drawing back far enough so he could press into her in one slow, inexorable thrust. She grunted when he covered her body with his. He was burying her with the weight of him. His fingers were between her legs as he plucked her clit with each snap of his hips.
She arched - pressing her ass back against his hips. His name flooded her mouth. She cried it as her knuckles accidentally knocked the potatoes from the island - the jug of heavy whipping cream - the jewel-green chives.
They did more than just fuck. They watched movies - trading off on who got to pick what. Ben had a habit of choosing old nineties action flicks, while her tastes drifted from period romances to violent slashers.
“I want to watch Scream,” she huffed.
“We can’t keep watching Scream!” His eyes narrowed. “That’s the third time in the last month.”
She stuck her lip out, and his jaw ticked - his gaze trailing over the stretch of her neck and chest and bare legs. “Fine,” he agreed. “But this is it. No more.”
She’d smirked, knocking him flat with one of those dubious expressions like she knew this certainly wouldn’tbe the last time.
And it never was.
***
They were just down the hall. Frankie and Santi. Will is in the basement. She was watching television - another rerun of Top Chef.
She felt Ben at her back almost immediately - able to catch the subtle whiff of his cologne. He braced his broad hands on the top of the couch as he looked over her head at the television screen.
He was silent for a few minutes. The clatter of knives and chef’s yelling and dramatic music filling the space between them. All of a sudden, he gently tugged on her hair until her head fell back. He leaned down to press his lips to hers. There was the seep of his tongue - his palm hot on her cheek.
It was a flurry of movements. Ben somehow ended up on top of her. He opened her thighs with the flat of his palms, rocking against her damp crotch. All he had to do was shove his pants down and hitch her panties to the side, and then he’d be balls deep. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat.
“They’ll come back,” she protested against his mouth. “They’ll see.” He couldn’t stop kissing her. Not even when he wanted to, and sometimes that scared her just as it unnerved him. I like you too much. It’s weird.
“Maybe,” he shrugged before he sunk to the hilt. She choked - gasped- revealed how fucking easy she was for him.
He rucked the top of her dress down so that her tits popped out and swirled his tongue around the nub of her nipple. She moaned despite herself. She loved the patchwork of sensations. Her bare nipple damp from his warm mouth. The harsh rasp of his pants across her inner thighs. The cool air conditioning. The weight of Ben’s too-big body as he attempted to fit on the narrow couch. The fear that they couldget caught.
“I’ll be fast, baby,” He ground into her - pinned her until she couldn’t jerk a muscle. There was no space between them as her knees clamped around his hips - her heels knocking against the backs of his thighs with each harsh rut. She tangled her fingers in his hair - trying to fuck stealthily in the great wide open of the boy’s den. She could hear herself - hear the slick sound of her cunt taking him all the way over and over again. The couch creaked. She panted against his tongue. “C’mon…c’mon….c’mon….” he commanded as his fingers circled her clit - his cock impaling her and her bare ass scraping the couch. There was heat in her veins. She throbbed and whimpered - shivering from the orgasm that screamed through the meat of her.
“Jesus Ben,” she rasped and he licked into the cup of her mouth.
She held onto his biceps - clung to him desperately as the place between her legs began to go to liquid. The whole room spun, and her head tipped back as Ben bit into her throat. For a moment - she wondered if he’d open up her vein - if blood would bloom to the surface.
The thought of blood and sex inevitably brought Will to her mind. She was already climaxing by the time she realized that he could come upstairs and find them. It would hurthim. To see her not only refuse him but to take his brother instead. She had to speak with him. The night of St. George’s had left a crevice between them in its wake. Will had avoided her, and she couldn’t stand it. She had to make amends.
“Fuck, baby,” Ben growled as the couch squeaked under their weight.
She felt Ben’s teeth sink into her shoulder. Her underwear cut into the flesh of her hips as he jerked - whole body trembling above her. She threaded her fingers through his hair and fisted it - yanking it back hard enough to make him groan.
“I missed you,” he rumbled - kissing the skin beneath her ear lightly. “Fuck - I missedyou.”
His voice was heavy with want- a sort of aggression she hadn’t heard from him before. Thoughts of Will flew from her mind as she focused on Benny - as she felt his muscles tense underneath her hands.
His dark blonde hair was in his eyes and she combed it with her fingers. “I saw you this morning.”
He drew back - bracing himself above her. “I know.”
She stared up at him, and he met it. His mouth was flushed and swollen. “You have a problem,” she teased, her tone soft.
“I have you.”
***
She’d resorted to asking Will via text about training her. Confrontation gave her hives and, quite frankly, she wouldn’t be able to handle him refusing her face to face.
Hi. It’s me. Was wondering if you’re still down about self-defense lessons?
Who is this?
Wow.
Haha. Sure. No problem.
After she’d painstakingly tried to analyze his tone, she figured that he was being cordial. Did “haha” mean everything was okay? Did the “sure” and the “no problem” combined mean he was looking forward to it?
Will was already waiting for her when she stepped into the gym. His expression was closed off, his lips settling into that indifferent mask he maintained when he was outside his home. Fuck. She walked towards him, past the state of the art equipment, enormous television screens, and vast windows that revealed the heart of downtown.
“You’re still angry at me,” she stated plainly.
The corner of his mouth curled. He cocked his head - lifting a single eyebrow as he regarded her with…nothing. He wasn’t being cold but rather impassive. She shifted her weight - crossing her arms defensively over her chest. God - he was gonna make her grovel.
“I-I didn’t meanfor that night to happen the way it did!.”
“I know,” he replied - dragging his thumb over his beard.
“Okay…” She stepped up to him. “So, are we good?”
He shrugged, but there was a glimmer of amusement behind his eyes. He was enjoyingthis.
“Oh - you dick,” she hissed - punching him hard in the arm. His hand shot out and caught her wrist - pulling her forward so fast that she stumbled against him.
“Lesson one,” Will said. “You do stupid shit? You get killed and probably horribly.”
“Obviously.“
He tilted his head - a knowing smirk twisting his pretty mouth. “Going to George’s? That’s stupid shit right there.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know! I literally just go where you fuckers tell me.”
His smirk deepened, and he released her. “Well - now you know.”
She poked him in the chest and the muscle tensed under her fingertip. Fuck. “You’re being unfair about this. It’s not my fucking fault that Ben took me out, and, honestly, what was I supposed to say? No? He was just being nice, and…” she trailed off when she realized his expression had softened.
Those stupid blues eyes mellowed to the color to something clear and crisp as April sky. “I wasn’t mad at you,” he explained. “I just wanted to fuck with you a little because you get so heated about it.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “Funny.”
She stepped away from him - her gaze drifting subtly over his body. His blonde hair was slicked back, and he was clad in sweats and a tight black t-shirt. His cheeks were flushed, which made him only more alluring. Fucker.
She tugged her sweatshirt off and tossed it onto the bench. Her sports bra and top were clinging to her frame, and Will averted his eyes. Ha! “So what are we doing? How to throw a punch? How to kill a man with only your thighs and a rubber band?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “First - we have to build your strength up. You need a strong core in self-defense.”
“Sounds dull.”
“You’re not getting anywhere with noodle arms.”
She scoffed. “Not all of us can have biceps the size of rotisserie chickens.”
Will glanced down at his arms, which he then flexedon purpose. “I wouldn’t say rotisserie chickens.” He simpered. “Not big enough.”
She lunged forward, pinching the back of his arm viciously enough for him to yelp. “Fuck, Faire!” He staggered backward - clutching at the reddening patch of flesh. “You’re so mean.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
His eyes narrowed, and she suddenly regretted needling him. “Treadmill,” he ordered in a low voice.
“Why?” she scowled. She hadn’t been on a treadmill in ages. Not since she’d fucked around with a gym membership one sad January a year ago.
It’s all about recharge! Get yourself into the best shape of your life. Make the new year count.
“Warm-up,” He threw his arm around the top of it like it was a pet. “You can power walk. It’ll just get your blood going. Loosen you up a little.”
“I am loose.”
“You’renot,” he grinned. “You’re wound pretty fucking tight.”
“Because I am in a constant state of fight or flight.”
He winced. “Shit - I know. I’m sorry -”
“I’m kidding. I’m fine.”
“You’re annoying,” he frowned.
She glared at the treadmill as if avoiding it might make Will forget its existence. Perhaps, she could talk her way out of it.
“I’m not strong,” she whined. “Can’t I have a weapon? A nice hammer?”
“It’d be used against you.”
“Chainsaw?”
“Could you lift one?”
“They make mini chainsaws.”
He turned to stare at her, planting his feet. His t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. “Look - I want you to be able to protect yourself. You’re running around with us. Shit could happen, and I guarantee that you won’t be strutting around with a hammer or a chainsaw -”
“A gun!” she chirped.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not. You’d shoot one of yourself or one of us.”
She bit her lower lip, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He leveled her with a stern glare, and she returned it. “You’re the one who asked me to help you out,” He cracked his knuckles. “I can leave? I’ve got other shit to do.”
“Ugh,” she relented. “Fine! I’m just…really out of shape.”
“Then I’ll make you in shape. Now, get up there,” Will commanded.
She ground her teeth before huffing and climbing onto the ramp. He turned the speed up to a three. An easy power walk. After a minute, the backs of her thighs twinged. She pulled a face. Her muscles were tender, and most of it was from Ben bending her in too many positions. She was sore between her legs - soft and raw like he had managed to carve into her permanently with each shove of his cock. Not like she could complain to Will about that. Not like she’d wantto.
“You’ll have to stretch more,” he noted.
“I hate stretching.”
“Why?”
“It’s dull. It’s why I hated yoga. Too slow.” She paused before looking at him. “Fuck - I am being a huge brat.”
“Yep.”
“Sorry.”
“Talk less. Walk more.”
It wasn’t the easiest thing: attempting to walk with Will staring at her with that casual smile on his face.
“So, did you know him?” Her words were jumbled - breath quickening as Will turned up the speed.
He raised an eyebrow. “Know who?”
“Baron.”
“We were the same age. Went to school together, actually. I was pre-med at Harvard and then went to John Hopkins.”
“Wait,” she said. “You’re a doctor?”
“I didn’t actually finish - it’s why I’m good at what I do. I know how to keep people alive while also bringing them to the edge of death. It’s an art.”
“Why didn’t you finish?”
He shrugged. “Learned what I needed to learn. Santi wanted me back.”
“Is everything you do for Santi?”
His gaze darkened, and she felt like she’d spoken out of turn. She didn’t know their relationship. Not entirely. She saw pieces of it. She knew Frankie and Ben had their connection. Will and Ben were related. Santi and Frankie went deep. Who was Will closest to? She honestly couldn’t tell, and a very tiny part of her was upset at the thought that he was alone more often than not.
“I just - I just meant do you do anything for yourself? For your own benefit?” He said nothing, but his eyes raked down her body - blatant and weighted with something. Longing? Hunger? She was jogging now - her breasts bouncing in her sports bra. There was sweat collecting at her hairline. She suddenly felt naked under his lingering stare. Will alwaysmade her feel as if she was stretched out on glass for him. An exhibit. She was fucking his god damn brother, and still,he made her doubt all of the values she thought she held dear. She had seen him make men sob and beg. You’re in bed with cold-blooded killers. You’re already gone.
Will’s jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared and -
“Let’s do weights,” he announced as he shut the treadmill off. He started walking to the far side of the room, and she followed.
***
Ben’s room was darker than she expected. A lot of deep greens. A amber square with recessed lighting stood from floor to ceiling and centered the space. On the gray slate walls hung framed movie posters done in a cartoon style. Blocks of bright colors. One of his guns was lying casually on his oak bureau.
The sun pulsed outside his window. It bled over them as they lay tangled in Ben’s sheets. There were dust motes in the air - the warm glow of Indian Summer comforting and lovely. It was strange - like a dream. Ben’s eyes roved over her face - his hand on her cheek. She stared right back. Everything pulsed. There was no tension - only softness - only the sweetness of what they’d been doing. He trailed his fingers over her chest - circling a nipple. She shivered.
“I hope you cleaned these sheets,” she teased.
“Babe,” He cocked an eyebrow - his tone offended. “You’re the only person who’s been in this bed for a month….” His words fizzled out, a frown curling his mouth like he suddenly had to think about it. “At the least,” he added.
“Month, huh? Pretty sure you had chicks over a couple weeks ago.”
“Yeah - but we used the kitchen table.”
“Ohgross.”
He laughed and sprung for her - wrapping his arms firmly around her waist. She grunted, shoving up against him, and he wrestled her under him. He pinned her with both of his arms braced on either side of her head. He wedged himself between her thighs and slowly rocked his hips forward so that she could feel the length of him against her. “You make me so hard,” He dropped his head to suck a mark into her neck. Her breathing hitched. “You drive me insane, woman.”
She gripped his chin - drawing his mouth down to her own for a rough kiss. He used his legs to spread her thighs apart further, and she mewled against his tongue. She placed her palms on his chest - his heartbeat fluttering and fast as a bird’s. He rubbed his cock through the seam of her folds before lifting himself up. He dropped his head to stare down between them and watch himself fuck her.
It was strangely intimate of him. He liked to study the way her body absorbed his cock - the slow drag backward and drive forward. The wetness she painted him in.
“Wait,” she murmured, and he stopped - hovering right at her entrance. He grit his teeth and lowered his head - knocking his nose against hers. “What is it?”
“I want to know about you.”
“You know a lot about me,” he grinned as he slowly pushed the tip of himself into her. She jerked, and he slid deeper. “Shit,” she panted before slapping his shoulder. “No - no, I want - I want something else.”
He frowned. He couldn’t quite remember what their conversation had been twenty minutes ago. She’d stepped into his room, and he had lost his head. The smell of her. The taste of her skin and how soft she was. He’d wanted to rub her all over his sheets until the bedroom stank of her. He’d divested her of her clothes, and here they were. His mind seemed to live permanently in his dick whenever she was around.
“Alright,” he said, and he eased himself out of her. She winced, and he wondered if he’d been too rough last time. They were fucking like crazy - multiple times a day and in all sorts of positions. They had started to get messy - sloppy - not as covert. He honestly didn’t care who saw them, but she did, and he’d respect that. He snuck a glance at the patio outside his room. He should really shut those blinds, in case Frankie decided to go mope outside instead of brooding around the penthouse -
-or fucking everything that walked.
He brushed his thumb over her lip. “What would you like to know, princess?” He rolled beside her - resting his head in his palm. He caressed her stomach - drawing a pattern - his signature - anything as he waited for her to speak. She turned toward him.
“Tell me the story,” she implored. Her hand went to his spine - lightly drifting over the distorted, gnarled skin. “Tell me about your back.”
Benny - usually- would have shut down. He would have pushed her away. He would have told her to fuck off and probably do something self-destructive like fuck a girl who wouldn’t try to understandhim. He didn’t like talking about it, and it wasn’t as if he owed her anything.
But when he lookedat her, he felt something twinge in his chest.
She stared at him meaningfully - her big eyes glittering under afternoon light. It sucked that she was so lovely to him. He’d, of course, had plenty of gorgeous women. Too many to count. But - there was something about her that spoke to him. It echoed in his lungs and throat and made him catch his breath. The last week with her had sent him through a tailspin. He craved her. He demanded her.
If she wanted this from him, he’d give it.
“Five years ago,” he began before scraping a hand across his face. His muscles felt oddly tight. He exhaled sharply and then continued. “Five years ago - Frankie and I did this job for Santi that involved burning down several of the Reaper’s meth labs.”
She furrowed her brow. “Reapers? I’ve heard of them but don’t know what they do.”
“The Reapers own territory outside of Ashford - they’re barely ever an issue, but they’d pissed Santi off because they’d killed one of his guys during a bar fight. Santi was furious and had us punish them by removing some of their main sources of income.”
“Meth labs?”
“I mean, they probably produced a ton of different shit, but I wasn’t exactly paying close attention. Just lighter fluid and a couple matches and boom,” he threw his hands apart to emphasize his point.
“Okay,” she replied as she scooted closer to him. They were skin to skin. He could smellher - the floral, smokey burst of her perfume. Her shampoo. Her sweat. He felt like he was shouting. His gaze ran up her bare shoulders before cutting across the swell of her tit. Benny forgot what he was even talking about.
She nudged him.
“Right,” he muttered as he tried to recount all the terrible moments that had happened that night. One bad thing after the next. The fact that Santi had asked Frankie and Benny last minute to do the job. The lack of planning. The amount of alcohol Frankie had had that Benny had ignored. In truth - Benny had always trusted Frankie to be fine. He had watched him mow down a group of four men with his bare hands while loaded.
“When Santi had called, neither of us had really been prepared. It was late at night. Frankie had been drinking. I don’t think I was all that sober myself.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him no? Or get someone else to do it?”
Benny shrugged. “We thought we were invincible. We were these two guys who’d kill more men than we could count, and we had never been beaten. We also never told Santi no. In retrospect, we should have, but it didn’t occur to either of us. It was just like, “ok, boss gave us orders, let’s do this quick so we can get back and party more.””
She hummed, tracing the branches of the tree tattooed across his forearm. She tapped her fingertip against the center of it. “So what happened after you blew up the labs?”
He offered her a tight smile. “Frankie was driving. He was really fucked up, and I don’t think I paid any attention to just how fucked up he was. He crashed and flipped the car and -”
Benny paused as the memories from the wreck blew through him: the shattered glass that caught in his hands and cheek, the smell of gasoline, the force of the hit. His head had felt so swollen. It felt like he was underwater and couldn’t drag himself out. She stopped tracing his tattoo and folded her fingers through his. She squeezed his hand, and it felt weird. It felt like she’d kissed him.
“I was out cold. Frankie was relatively fine except for a few cuts and bruises.” He swallowed thickly - his mouth suddenly very dry. He knew that the next few moments were really what had made Frankie hate himself. They had made Will punch him in the face - nearly beat the shit out of him. Santi had been a whole different matter - both guilty and stunned that Frankie could fuck up that badly. Ben still didn’t think it was Frankie’s fault. They’d both made those decisions, and they both suffered for it.
“Frankie left,” he recalled, and the girl tightened her grip on him. “He was so drunk and high and probably dizzy as shit from the crash that he must have forgotten I was with him. I think he made it a mile down the road before the cops ran into him. We have those cars that call emergency services if a crash occurs, so they were already on their way.”
He glanced up to find her face close to his, her expression deeply concerned. “Is that how you fucked up your back?”
Benny chuckled - combing a hand through his hair as he shifted on the mattress. ”No,” he said. “It turns out that some Reapers followed us.” Those images were now cluttered and burned at the edges. He could remember sensations, but his brain had long since blocked out the pain he’d been in. “They pulled me out of the wreck and took me back to their place. I was already pretty fucked from the wreck, but they wanted me to suffer. They hung me up and cut into me for a week.” The girl inhaled but said nothing. Her eyes were glistening. She wedged her leg through his and tugged him closer. He allowed it - slightly grateful. “They essentially flayed me alive until the guys managed to get to me. I blacked out for most of it.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He had tiny flashes of the hours that he spent in that basement. His wrists were shredded from the rope. His raw flesh burned with agony. The stickiness of his blood. The smell of iron. He’d wanted to die by the halfway point. He still had nightmares about it though they weren’t as frequent as they’d once been. He’d gotten an infection from the dirty tools. By the time he’d been found, he’d been delirious with fever. He’d been ripped apart, and the Ben who came out was not the Ben who went in.
“What did Santi do?” she asked as she pressed her face into his shoulder. Her warm breath skated over his skin. He wanted to kiss her as if it would somehow dim those gore-streaked memories.
“He crippled them business-wise,” He wrapped his arms around her waist - hauling her flush to his torso. His cock was hard between them. Fucked up, but it’s not like he could stay soft when he has a gorgeous naked girl on top of him. “He said they’d form a truce, but once he saw what they did to me…he took it back. Claimed that the Reapers had lied by saying that I’d been treated well. I’m not sure if they did lie, but they probably stepped around the truth, and Santi used it.” He sighed. “That’s why they’ve been run off the map. They’re stuck on the outskirts mostly.”
“What happened to the ones who hurt you?” He could feel her lips dragging over his throat as she dug her fingers into his ribs. He liked it. “The ones who personally tortured you?”
“Will took care of them,” he answered. Ben had never seen his brother like that. He’d genuinely enjoyedpulling those men apart - breaking them spectacularly until they were mounds of flesh and organs. He’d stepped back into the penthouse - coated in a thick film of blood - his eyes black and almost manic. His blonde hair tinged pink.
They’re gone, Ben.
She cleared her throat as she rubbed her cheek against his chest. He cradled the back of her head. “That’s good.”
“It wasn’t Frankie’s fault,” Ben added quickly. “It really wasn’t.”
She drew back from him and touched his jaw. “I didn’t say it was.”
He felt as if he had to defend him. Frankie was a good person but just lost. His head was screwed on differently. “Not to bring Frankie between us, but that whole event is why he is the way he is now. He thinks he doesn’t deserve affection or friends or family, and I’m sure Fish believes that he doesn’t deserve you. He lost control and fucked you and is now crying about it.”
“He’s not crying about it.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s looked pretty okayto me.”
“Fair,” he said. “But you also don’t know him like I do. He’s upset. He’s just very, very bad at showing it.”
“We’re not talking about Frankie.”
“Fine.”
Both of them went silent. Ben watched her, analyzing her reaction to all that he’d said. She’d handled that story shockingly well. It’s not like she’d made a big deal over it. She didn’t sob or curl into herself. She didn’t throw her arms around him in pity. She was assessing- those sharp features of hers studying him as he told her about the worst fucking moment of his life.
“Do they hurt?” she finally asked - tracing one of the scars that curled over his shoulder.
“Sometimes,” He adjusted himself on the bed - the sheets scratching at his back. “I get these weird ghost pains. I hate it…makes me remember what happened.”
“What about therapy?”
“Like physical? Think I’m finein that department?”
She scowled and tapped him lightly on the temple. “Mental.”
“Nah,” he said. “It would only become a danger to whichever therapist tried to help us out.”
“Tony Soprano did it.”
“That’s a tv show, babe. This -” He spread his arms - outstretched towards the ceiling. “This is real. People die all the time just for knowing something they shouldn’t.”
She squinted at him. Skeptical. “I think that you should thinkabout doing it. There’s nothing wrong with working through the hurts you’ve been dealt.”
He tilted his head. “Do you?”
“I’m not part of a crime syndicate.”
“You are, technically.”
“My dad being a crime boss doesn’t count.”
He laughed before he gripped her - yanking her toward him. She yelped, and he pinned her to the bed. “No more talking,” he ordered. He placed his arms on either side of her head as he once again shifted between her legs. “Open up, baby,” he demanded, and she did - her knees spreading. He dropped his head and kissed her jaw before sucking her lower lip between his teeth. She mewled - wiggling against him. “You could be part of this crime syndicate,” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, and her mouth parted in surprise. He rocked against her - clutching her wrists and fastening them to the edge of his mattress. The light was flooding her hair - her skin - gilding the bridge of her nose and brow. He drew his hips back.
“I-”
The rest of her sentence died on her tongue as he sunk into her. He could feel her pussy stretch and flutter around him. Her body was searing and feverish - her lashes dipping as she tipped her head back. She lifted her hips to meet his thrusts - each punch of his cock forced a sweet, desperate noise from her throat. Her pretty tits bounced.
He planted his knees and pressed her to the edge of the bed. “Ben,” she moaned, and it sent sparks through him. The aches in him dissipated as every nerve in his body centered around where he was plunging into her.
He grit his teeth as he picked up his pace. Punishing. Rough. Frantic. He wanted to live inside her. The sun blinded him through his French doors - smearing heat across his scalp. He should have closed those blinds. He should have -
He glanced up and saw Frankie staring at him - open-mouthed.
“Fuck,” Ben muttered, but she didn’t hear him. She was gone- arching and bending - her head tossed back in pleasure. Her eyes firmly screwed shut. He didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to. Frankie’s expression bled from shocked into furious, and then he disappeared.
“Come for me, baby,” Ben pleaded as he fucked her. “Come for me.”
***
Santi dragged a palm across his face. He was exhausted. Frankie sat in the chair across from him - his mouth curled downward into a tight frown. He’d been in a dark place, and it unsettled Santi. He didn’t know how to reach him, and he certainly didn’t know how and why Charles’s daughter had managed to pierce him so profoundly. It was bewildering.
He’d been in a foul mood the last two days. He’d barely seen him. It wasn’t until Ben had informed him that Frankie was “nose-deep in pussy at the Casino again” that he had even known where he was.
“Stop sulking,” Santi ordered.
“I’m not sulking,” he snapped far too defensively.
“Did something newhappen that I’m not aware of?”
Frankie’s jaw flexed, and Santi thought that he might finally confess - he was going to give up whatever had been bothering him the last few weeks. They were closer than brothers. They had shared secrets and all the fucked-up desires they’d had. Goals. Fears. Dreams. But - Frankie was also good at hiding the parts of himself that he thought were weak - that he thought no one should hear because they were his burdens to bear. He never told Santi what he had done during those lost years where he’d trekked the globe. He’d come home, and that had been enough.
“Francisco…” he implored. There was the hitch of a plea in his voice that he hadn’t meant to have. He realized it was the wrong move.
Frankie’s gaze swept over him, and as quickly as that troubled expression appeared, it left. He closed up - his face shutting down to something cold and unbreachable. “What’d you need me for?”
Santi sighed. “Baron.”
“Do you think he’ll retaliate?” Frankie asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. Shadows burned across his features. He seemed too big for the chair.
“He already has.”
Frankie’s head snapped up - attention finally captured. “What do you mean?”
Santi tossed him his phone. Frankie caught it - turning it around to glance down at the screen. His brow furrowed, and he bared his teeth. “What the fuck is that?”
“They put a dead snake in her bed.”
Frankie’s eyes widened. “What? Is she okay?”
“Luckily - the maid found it. She wasn’t there, but Will said she nearly fainted when he showed her. Apparently - she’s deathly afraid of snakes.”
“Fucking hell,” Frankie cursed under his breath - he lifted his hand and massaged the creases in his forehead. He looked young. He looked just as he did when Frankie had to march into Eduardo Garcia’s office and ask for contrition after he’d killed someone he shouldn’t have.
“Morales - you’re a fucking idiot. You fucked this deal because of your damn hot head. I don’t know why we even keep you around?”
Santi wanted to get mad at him. He wanted to scream at him for acting on his own impulses. His feelings. Frankie was too passionate. He was like Will in that people feared him. His height and his breadth, and his talent at killing. You didn’t know you were dead until he’d appear in front of you and feel the sharp burn of a blade under your chin. But - Willwas also logical. He was clean and shrewd and careful. Frankie shouldn’t have killed those men. His affection for the girl had clouded his judgment.
“How did someone get in?”
“I don’t know,” Santi chewed the inside of his mouth. Everything was in disarray. He felt like he was losing when he didn’t even know the rules at play. How did this one girl throw his entire life into chaos? “He has someone on the inside? He snuck someone in?” If Baron could hire ghosts to slip between walls, Santi wouldn’t put it past him. “It doesn’t make fucking sense,” he continued. “I’m done hanging back and waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“So we go after Baron?”
“No,” Santi said, and Frankie’s eyes narrowed. “We can’t fucking do this yourway, man. We have to talk to him. We have to try and solve this without spilling more blood. It’s ridiculous.”
“Since when does Mateo listen?” Frankie growled. There was heat now - a throbbing sort of anger that was gleaming under his skin. Christ- he really did hate him.
Santi’s feelings toward his brother were not drenched in that same resentment. Their relationship was broken, of course. Definitely irreparable. But, he still had goodmemories of him. He still recalled how they’d been close as children. They’d always had the best time screwing around at Church. They’d been forced to sit through mass in their starchy shirts and tight jackets. The watered-down wine and flat white wafers. The spiced tang of incense and the harsh wood pews under their bony kid asses. They’d nearly die of boredom, and the two of them would whisper stories to each other - each one more ridiculous than the next.
An alien comes down and shoots up the place.
Aliens don’t have guns.
What do they have then?
Blasters.
That’s the same thing, idiot.
Fine - what do they do when they’re down here?
Kill Father Reynolds!
Ugh, then we could leave.
They’d whisper and giggle until their father would challenge them one of those sternglares, and grandmother would knock them upside the head. It’d be worth it. Santi didn’t think it would turn out like this. It hadn’t been his fault that his brother had been branded as the second son. His brother’s success had been entirely reliant on Santi’s failure. Despite the shit that had exploded between them, he had to admit that Mateo had ignored the fate his father wanted for him and prospered on his own. He’d done what he had to do to get what he wanted, and that brutal, singular motivation was what made him an adversary worth being nervous about.
Santi had seen the kind of violent coldness he was capable of. He’d seen it and knewthat he couldn’t let Mateo take a seat at his table. He couldn’t collar his brother even if he wanted to.
“He will,” Santi said. “I’ll have him here. Our territory. He can talk to Faire and see that she has no interest in the Apostles.”
Frankie stood, his nostrils flaring. “No.”
“Come again?”
“You can’t put them in a room together.”
“Why not? She’s perfectly safe with us.”
Frankie opened his mouth again before closing it. He dropped back into the seat - arms and legs spread out as if a string hanging him by the shoulders had been plucked. “I don’t like it,” he finally mumbled.
“You don’t have to like it, Fish,” Santi reshuffled the papers on his desk - his eyes flitting toward the black and white photograph of him and the guys: arms around each other, dressed in ratty t-shirts, the beach at their backs. They’d all been in their twenties aside from Benny, who had been eighteen or so. Will and Frankie were actually smiling - their teeth so white and big and branded across the shape of their sun-tanned handsome faces. Those two consistently befuddled him. They had twin darknesses that crept through their foundations. They always had - like they’d been born with a fungus that could not be removed or cut out of them. It clung to their bones, and it was just how it was and how it would always be. Mateo had been the same.
The photo served as a constant reminder for Santi. Since it had been taken, something dark and insidious had burrowed into his family. Frankie and Will huddled deeper into their heads. Ben shoved himself outward - plastering on that playboyfacade that none of them really believed was entirely genuine. Santi worked. Santi liked to work. He liked schedules and clean lines. He had no life outside of it.
Frankie cleared his throat to get his attention. Santi had gone somewhere just then - somewherebeyond the penthouse. Somewhere years ago, when everything hadn’t been up to him. “Well - I guess we’ll see what happens,” he said begrudgingly. Frankie stood up to his full height, dragging a hand through his too-long hair before focusing on Santi. His expression was somehow both pointed and weary. “Have you told her everything?”
Santi stilled - his body locking up tight. “No,” He tapped his fingers across the surface of his desk. Besides the piles of paper, his gun glittered under the delicate pendant lights of his office. He could see the cityscape reflected in the wood under his hands. The trickle and spark of offices and apartments - thousands of windows and dozens of skyscrapers all birthed from his family’s empire. “She needs to trust us. She needs to stay put while she’s still in danger.”
“So we just lie to her?”
“It’s more like omitting the truth.”
“Yeah,” Frankie’s tone was bitter. “She’ll really appreciate that.”
“You and I both know that that shit is complicated.”
There was a beat of silence - the unsaid events of their past rippling between them. Frankie shook his head. “Fuck, man,” There was a bitter laugh on his tongue. “Didn’t think I’d be here nearly twenty years later with Charle’s daughter on the line.” He scratched at his chin - his overgrown beard. He looked tired - threadbare, which was unnatural on him. Frankie rarely seemed weak due to his size and brunt strength. “Didn’t think I’d care this much either,” he added softly as an afterthought.
“You like her?” Santi needled.
Fish sighed. “She’s…she’s a nice girl.”
“Uh-huh.”
Frankie’s jaw clenched. “It’s not like that.”
“I know I have my head up my ass most of the time,” Santi dropped his chin in his hands and smirked up at him. “But I am pretty sure that it is like that.”
He could literally see the gears in Frankie’s brain working overtime - his nostrils flaring as if trying to weigh the pros and cons of admitting whatever feelingshe may have for her. Santi didn’t know the extent of them, but he did know that Frankie barely gave most women the time of day. He didn’t get protective or possessive. Hell - they’d shared women before due to it being practical.
“It’s not like that,” he repeated tightly before he stormed out of the office. Santi rolled his eyes.
***
Santi had called a dinner, which had seemingly surprised the girl. She’d kept her distance from him since they’d fought the night Benny had taken her out. The things he had done, he had done for her. At least - that’s what he told himself.
He was not a good person. He didn’t consider himself one, but he was still trying to wipe his slate clean. His history with Charles felt as if it was wrapped firmly around his neck. It throttled him consistently.
Santi studied her now as she sat in one of the dining room chairs. She was perched - not relaxed or at ease. He couldn’t blame her. They held her right at the precipice where she could not tell up from down. Santi was actively keeping her in the dark, and he wondered what he would do if she outright asked him what happened between her father and him.
He had realized that she was pretty good at watching people. She might appear aloof or quiet, but her eyes were constantly darting over their movements. She observed, and she remembered. She counted the knives on the table - the sips he took of his wine. Will had filled him in as much. Their training sessions had been taking place every other day.
“She’s got a photographic memory, man,” he informed him - his tone almost dazzled. “At least, when she wants to use it. She’s been able to mimic all the moves I’ve taught her. Granted - she’s still kind of weak, but she’s got the movements down.”
She picked up her fork before lowering it back to her plate. Her hair was mussed. Santi could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek. Her lips were bright - flushed and swollen from picking at them.
Frankie sat across from her - his expression strained. Every time the girl glanced at him, he averted his eyes or picked at his food. Ben was on one side of her and Will on the other - flanking her per usual.
Santi stared at her mouth again - imagined the plush of it giving way under his own. Her features narrowed when she caught him looking - her brow creasing in suspicion. He fiddled with the label on the wine bottle.
“So,” she said slowly. “Is there a reason we’re eating at the table like this?”
“Santi will tell you,” Frankie muttered as he folded his arms over his chest. The black ink of his tattoos flexed with his movements. He’d made it quite clear where he stood. Santi rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.
“The situation with my brother has gotten out of control,” he explained carefully. “He made his intentions clear when he left that present in your bed.” She grimaced, returning her fork to her plate as if she were sick. “Frankie fucked up by killing two of his men and - ”
“He did that for me,” she interrupted, her voice quiet. “He was just -”
“It was still a stupid move on my part,” Frankie intercepted. His gaze was thoughtful and bleeding with something Santi couldn’t identify as he looked at her. “I messed up. It just put you in more danger.”
She sighed - scrubbing at her forehead. “So, how do we fix this?”
“Iwill fix this,” Santi corrected. “I’ve talked to Baron. We’ve called a temporary truce. He’s going to come over and speak with you and hopefully realize that you have no intention of making a move on his territory.”
Will’s jaw ticked - his fist curling tight around the handle of his steak knife. But it was Benny who spoke.
“Yeah…,” he drawled. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“It’s already done,” Santi poured himself more wine. The pain in his head increased. He needed to get fucked.
Ben jerked his thumb at Frankie. “You’re fine with this?”
“No,” Fish said. “I’d rather pierce my dick than break bread with that fuck.”
“Thank you so much for that visual, pendejo,” Santi took a hearty gulp from his glass. “And the support,” he finished.
Frankie shrugged. “It’s my mess. I’ve screwed it enough.” He cast the girl a furtive look, which she returned evenly. “Santi knows what he’s doing.”
The girl’s mouth twitched. Santi felt as if several unsaid things were being shot around the table. The shared gazes. The tense jaws. Everything bled innuendo and suggestion.
“I don’t want him here,” Will rumbled - his arm thrown over the top of her chair. He was turned toward her - leaning into her body protectively. “I don’t want him near her.”
Jesus. Christ. Now - he had Will to contend with about this.
Santi opened his mouth to argue, but the girl beat him to it.
“Will,” she soothed - placing her hand on his. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be safe with the four of you.” She motioned to Santi. “If Pope says it’s what we have to do to get out of this, then it’s what we should do.”
He’d keep her around just for agreeing with him. It was becoming apparent that she had more sense than the others, who had slowly begun to lose sight of how they did things becauseof their affection for her. The irony.
“Thank you,” he replied as meaningfully as he could. However, she didn’t smile - in fact, she closed up again - staring back down at her plate. She was still pissed at him.
Will snorted - unmoved. “Baron is not going to touch her. He’s not walking in here and putting a bullet in her head.”
Faire shifted in her seat, and Ben scoffed. “As if he could.”
Santi glared. “This is justa meeting. It’s justa conversation.”
Will’s expression darkened as he pinned Santi with a sneer. “I haven’t forgotten how he acted during the RICO meeting.” He curled his fingers around the back of the girl’s chair. “That had just been a conversation, also.”
Santi winced.
“It’s fine,” She chewed her lip - a nervous habit that Santi had noticed she had. “I’ll do it, but I don’t understand why me talking to him in person is going to convince him that I don’t want to be part of his group.”
“He wouldn’t believe me if I told him. He’s going to have his inner circle there - people who can vouch for him and say that you personallyadmitted that you wanted nothing to do with the Apostles. It’s all just presentation…ceremony. You walking into the Chapel was a symbolic move even if you didn’t know it at the time.”
Will gave a frustrated grunt but didn’t argue. He was practically pressed against her, his hand still firmly settled on top of her chair. The tips of his fingers brushed the curve of her shoulder in a way that screamed intimacy. She pursed her mouth before nodding at Santi. There was something slightly childish about her features - a combination of her having seen both too much and too little. He couldn’t describe it. He had remembered her as a young girl - the big wide eyes and cute mouth. She had grown out of that girlhood spectacularly well, but it was as if her insides had permanently marked her beauty. A sadness stuck to her. Santiago felt it because there was sadness in him. She seemed lost in a lot of ways. As she sat in that chair, the edges of her dimmed. She started to dull. Charles hadn’t wanted her to be part of this life, and yet here she was. She was stuck on a runaway train with no reprieve or ability to brake. A fixed track. Written in the stars.
It made him fearful for her.
Santi found himself speaking before he could stop himself. “If you’re sure?” he urged. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Frankie raised an eyebrow - his stare pointed. I thought you weren’t giving her a choice.
It was as if a flip switched. She sat up higher - sticking her chin out. The glittering lights from the chandelier swept over her - dressing her face in a warm, rich glow. The sadness had vanished, and Santi felt his breath catch.
“I’m sure,” she replied. “How bad can it be?”
Santi gripped his glass before downing another heavy swallow. “Alright,” His gaze dragged over her again before he could stop it. Something heady bloomed between his ribs. He’d have to call a girl over tonight. Maybe, two.
***
“Ben,” Frankie called from the foyer. He was doing everything in his power not to gapeat where Faire was slouched on the floor of the den. Her back was against the front of the couch, and Tom sat curled in her lap. She mindlessly stroked his head as she stared up at the television. She was dressed in jeans and a pink sweater with tiny pearl buttons. Everything fit so snuggly that Frankie could see the curves of her hips - the swell of her breasts beneath the cashmere fabric. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The way she looked when Ben was fucking her on that bed still played on an endless loop in his head. Her face tipped backward - her lips parted, and her eyes shut in ecstasy. Her arched back as Ben drove into her hard and fast. Frankie hated that that particular image had managed to overtake the one that was his. He recalled sensations: tight, wet, and clenching. Her moans and the tiny wrinkle between her brows when he first sunk into her. She’d practically strangled his cock. The heat of her gorgeous cunt had been molten and soaked. He’d cared for that image. He nursed it. He’d fucked at least a dozen women since, and it hadn’t been enough. Still - he continued that descent - racing without a steering wheel toward an unfinished end as he tried helplessly to banish her from his memory. More nameless women. More. More. More.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s fine.”
“Ben!” Frankie yelled again. The girl finally cast him a sharp glance before it darted back to the television. He deserved that. He deserved her hate and her anger, and all of the bitterness that had no doubt accumulated over the last few weeks. Frankie heard Benny curse and then the tread of his heavy boots stumbling down the stairs. He strolled into the foyer like his world had been doused in gold. Maybe - it had been.
Ben grinned at him. He was freshly showered - his boots still untied. Frankie briefly wondered if he’d just gotten done fucking her when he remembered that Faire was sitting in the den looking perfectly put together. Jesus.He was losing it. Jealousy was a foreign feeling for him. He’d never cared enough to be jealous, but the sight of her getting pounded by his best friend had unlatched something poisonous in his system.
“Where we headed?” Ben asked. Frankie ignored him and marched out the door.
“What have you been doing?” Frankie snapped over his shoulder.
“Jacking off,” Ben quipped as he followed him out into the hall. “Now - tell me where we’re going? I was looking forward to a quiet night.”
Since when had Ben ever looked forward to simply hanging out? He was restless - always chomping at the bit to work his club or socialize with the masses. Gamble. Drink. Sit in his booth with the same pompous energy he’d utilize if it were a throne. Now - that wasn’t enough for him.
Frankie knew the answer. Of course, he did. The girl had managed to infiltrate each of their heads - shake them around until they didn’t know what direction they’d been standing in, to begin with. He was not himself, and neither was Benny. Even Will no longer spent all of his time in the basement.
“Theo,” he replied shortly.
“Why?” Ben laughed. “We fucking her again? Thought that was a one-time thing.”
Frankie’s lips curled. He wouldn’t put it past Ben to try and get a rise out of him after they’d made direct eye contact while he was balls deep in their captive. “We’re going to make sure that Baron will be on his best behavior. You know how good Theo is at wrangling him.”
The garage was empty and humid. Summer was still clinging to the buildings - leaking into the concrete. He slipped into the front seat of one of the Range Rovers, and Benny followed, taking shotgun.
He was silent as they made their way out of the garage. Frankie was grateful for that since his head was beginning to pulse. His ears buzzed. He tapped his fingers across the steering wheel as the sun filtered through the windshield. It was a gorgeous day. Blue and blinding. It irritated him.
“So,” Ben clapped his hands together. “We going to discuss how good Faire’s pussy is or -?”
Frankie slammed on his brakes - the car screeching to a halt and nearly missing the stop sign. “Jesus, Ben.”
“What?” he smirked. “I know you fucked her.”
Frankie’s head whipped toward him. “She told you?”
He shrugged. “I figured it out, but she confirmed it.”
He pursed his lips - sweat building on his palms. He dragged a hand over his face and started driving in what he hoped was the right direction. They had to meet one-on-one with Theo. He couldn’t remember why. It was as if everything about his day had suddenly melted into black space.
Benny cleared his throat. “She thinks you hate her,” he remarked. “She thinks you don’t respect her - just wanted to use her.”
“I mean, that’s kind of what happened. It was…a moment of insanity…I don’t know.”
Ben’s huffed. “You can’t do that to her. She doesn’t deserve it.”
Frankie shot him a withering look.
“What? Are you guys dating or something?” His tone was mocking. He was pissed when he didn’t have the right to be, but he couldn’t hold back. “Ben, you are the most fickle person I know. You’ll love this girl for a week - be enamored with her and her pussy, and then you’ll get bored like you always do.”
The words were spilling out of him like brackish water.
Benny’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not like that.”
“Really? I can name a dozen other women you’ve done this to…Emily, Cara, Jessica, Marissa…the list goes fucking on,” Frankie shook his head, scoffing. “I did the right thing. I coul
