She storms back inside, but she’s pulled out again by a handful of her hair and tossed aside like a sack of potatoes.
My brother glares down his nose at her. “You heard him. He said you’re done, so take the hint and escort your cheap presence off our property.”
My oldest cousin, Eli, who followed Lan—probably after they were plotting some chaos in my brother’s room—looks her up and down. “Pretty sure I’ve seen you before, but where?”
“I’ve been literally coming here for the past two years!” she screams, her high-pitched voice grating on my last nerve.
“Oh, right! You’re the help!”
“I’m not!”
He looks at Lan. “She’s not?”
“Of course not.” My brother makes a mock gasp. “The help has more grace than this cheap rug.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say, exasperated. “Just leave, Clara.”
“I don’t agree with the breakup. We’re still together.” She cowers under my brother’s and cousin’s menacing attention. “I’ll text you later, babe.”
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter, a migraine starting at the back of my head.
“What?” she asks, seeming lost.
“Don’t call me babe. I’m not your babe,” I say, clearer this time, and her eyes widen.
She starts to say something else, but Lan stands in front of me and pushes her away as if she’s a prop. “Off you go. Don’t show your face around my brother again or I’ll cut it to pieces.”
I want to reprimand him, but I’m glad his words finally propel her to move. She quickens her steps down the hall, tension rolling off her in waves.
“I’ll let you know if someone else needs help!” Eli shouts after her and then asks us, “She’s really not the help?”
“The degradation is unnecessary,” I say with a sigh.
Eli rolls his shoulder. He’s an inch taller than us and has dark hair and metal-gray eyes that excel at making people feel uncomfortable in their own skin.
Personality-wise, he’s similar to my brother and they share a destructive nature, which is why they get along, although they like to pretend otherwise. They have a lot of interests in common, including a chess game at our grandfather’s house that’s been going on for over a decade.
But where Landon is a show-off, Eli prefers to work in the shadows.
He’s still too antagonistic, though, which is why I prefer the company of his younger brother, Creigh. However, Eli has always been like a big brother to Lan and me. He made it his mission to protect us when we were growing up and he continues to do so.
Eli, Lan, and even Creigh are firm believers of the King name supremacy and consider an offense against one of its members as a declaration of war. It’s not that I don’t share the sentiment. More like, I never felt worthy of the superior last name.
Lan clutches my shoulder, a wicked grin painting his lips. “Congrats on kicking the bitch to the curb. For the love of Satan, don’t get back together with her. She’s not for you.”
“And how do you know what’s for me? Are you an expert?”
“Me, an expert? Nonsense. But you should at least be with someone who actually only has eyes for you.”
“Aww.” Eli wraps an arm around my other shoulder and squeezes me. “The help dared hurt my precious Bran? Why didn’t you mention that before so I could’ve gouged her eyes out and fed them to the dogs?”
“Maybe that’s why I didn’t,” I mutter. “I’m just going to sleep.”
“Hell no. We need to get you drunk to celebrate.” He clears his throat. “Rems!! Get the pints out!”
A few things are knocked over down the hall before a door is flung open and Remi peeks out, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face. “Did someone say pints?”
“Yeah, as much as you can find.” Eli squeezes me. “We’re giving Bran a Congrats for Dodging the Help’s Bullet party.”
“No clue what that is, but I’m in!” He jumps to the opposite room, wearing nothing but boxers, and kicks Creigh’s door open. “Wake up, spawn! We have a partaayyy.”
I’m dragged to the living room against my wishes for a celebration I want no part in. I’d rather paint for an hour or so until ten thirty.
But then again, my paintings are taking a turn I dislike and I find myself hiding the canvases as if they’re a dirty little secret.
Maybe they are.
So perhaps this mindless gathering with my family members is exactly what I need.
I find solace in Creigh’s silent presence, who also didn’t give his approval about attending this sudden celebration.
He’s around Glyn’s age, but he has an old soul and he’s the one I seek out whenever I need calm.
He clinks his bottle of beer against mine and lifts his chin. “Congrats on getting rid of the loose screw.”
Jesus. Even he didn’t like her.
I take a sip of my beer. “I didn’t think you knew she existed.”
“She made sure everyone knew. Not for you, cousin. You deserve someone who doesn’t use you.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Even my Cray Cray thinks you dodged a bullet.” Eli ruffles his brother’s hair and headlocks him, at which they start to wrestle playfully.
Landon pushes them away and slides to my side, a calculative look I don’t like slipping into his features. “So what prompted the breakup? Did she cheat again?”
I swallow a long mouthful of beer to avoid his inquisitive gaze. Of course Lan wouldn’t let it go. He’s always acting like a dog, sniffing around, and trying to locate the bone. Bones. Plural.
He knows I kept her around for convenience reasons, and while he didn’t approve of her, he of all people is well aware of the image. The camouflage.
Now, he has no idea why I need that image, and he never will, but he couldn’t have missed its existence. It’s why he’s never liked the way I converted to painting landscapes. He knows I’m doing it as part of that façade.
It’s impossible to hide from him, no matter what I do. It’s like a curse.
I let out a breath, staring at the tinted bottle. “I was bored.”
“So she didn’t cheat. Interesting.” His intrusive eyes dig a hole in the side of my face and I pretend to be fascinated with Remi making a fool of himself.
Thankfully, Lan gets off my case with a simple “Well, I’m glad you finally got bored.”
Not sure why he cares so much about my relationship with Clara, or the lack thereof, but whatever.
I knock back the rest of the bottle and then reach for a second. Maybe it’s better to just get smashed tonight.
Maybe that will numb the illicit thoughts trying to tear through my brain.
Tonight, I broke up with my girlfriend of two years—though on and off—but my thoughts are infested with images of a savage ravaging me.
“Rems! Do those impressions.” Eli points his beer at his cousin, snapping my attention to the present.
“Whatever do you mean, my liege?” Remi says in a dramatic medieval accent. “I shall not be accused of treason when my blood has irrigated these lands for decades.”
I squirm and hide it with a sip of beer. Considering my complicated relationship with my own blood, I get a queasy feeling whenever it’s mentioned. Or worse, when I see it.
“Off with his head!” Lan shouts, seeming to enjoy the theatrical play a bit too much.
“My darling.” Remi reaches for Creigh and hides behind him, still speaking in the same tone. “Save me from these uncivilized barbarians.”
“No one will save you from the guillotine,” Eli says with an evil smirk.
“Hey, there’s no guillotine in Medieval England!”
“We’re in the French Revolution, mon ami.”
“Spawn!” Remi uses Creigh as a shield while Eli tries to bypass him. Lan laughs his head off, and I do, too.
I grew up with these guys and their antics, and I’m grateful for these mindless encounters and the cheeky banter.
They’re my family, simple as that, and I’m thankful in more ways than one.
Mostly because they offered me a place where I can pretend that I belong.
Half an hour later, I need to relieve myself. I leave the rowdy living room and head to the guest toilet.
After I’m done, I wash my hands and stare at my face in the mirror for a second. The sense of nausea rolls in my stomach and I cut eye contact before I smash this mirror to pieces as well.
After I dry my hands, I lift my shirt and stare at the dark-purple hickeys near my collarbone, shoulder, chest, but mostly surrounding my nipples.
A shiver goes through me and I run my fingers over them, hissing at the shadow of pain. I honestly never thought men could have sensitive nipples or, worse, in my case, that it would turn me on when Nikolai played with them.
He didn’t just leave hickeys. He brutalized my skin and created angry teeth marks on it.
Everywhere I touch, he’s there. Like a constant reminder of my fucked-up mental state.
Of how far I fell and how deeply I lost control.
My teammates didn’t see this because I made sure to shower after they left the changing room, pretending I had to do something first. They gave me grief about the hickey on my neck, saying that I had a wild one on my hands.
They meant Clara, of course, but she’s nowhere near wild.
The one who’s driving me fucking insane is none other than a man.
A rowdy, always shirtless, mountain of a man who looks at me like he wants to rip me apart.
I wonder how I look at him.
My gaze lands on my eyes in the mirror and I groan when I accidentally touch my nipple. It’s still sore and aching from his attention earlier, and no matter how much I try to erase that memory, it won’t go away.
I ghost my finger on the tight pebble and pinch it again, imagining it’s his teeth.
My dick twitches, straining against my trousers, and I bite down on my lower lip.
I’m wasted—or getting there. This doesn’t mean anything…
He looked displeased when I ran away earlier. But why? He couldn’t have possibly expected me to stay there for everyone to find us.
My phone vibrates and I freeze, then let my shirt down as I pull it out.
My heart gets stuck in the back of my throat when I see his name on my lock screen.
I should ignore it.
Nothing good comes from it when we interact.
I’m totally going to ignore it.
My thumb hesitates over the screen before I unlock it and open the text.
Nikolai
Good evening, lotus flower. Thought I’d start the text like that since you love being so proper.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and wait for the next text to come. He always has a few of them.
After the night in the alley, not only did he go back to texting me, but he also resumed testing my patience every morning on my runs.
What used to be a sacred activity is now muddied by his endless questions and constant attempts to get close to me.
I skim over his last texts, trying not feel impatient about the dots that keep appearing and disappearing.
His texts are usually long-winded, and, for some reason, he likes to tell me stories about things that happen in the Heathens’ mansion as if they’re any of my business.
His texts can be so sporadic. For instance, yesterday, they were along the lines of:
Nikolai
Looking forward to tomorrow. Maybe this time I’ll get more than five sentences from you 😉
FYI. I’m so going to imagine your lips around my cock when I jerk off tonight.
You’re free to do the same, btw.
Please do. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
Can’t help picturing you choking on my cock.
Fuck. Need to change the subject before I come in my pants.
So Jeremy woke up today and chose violence. Love that for us. Because you bet I was there with him every step of the way. Best friends and all that shit. We beat up these kids who thought they could mess with us and live to tell the story. It’s the fucking audacity for me. Want me to bring you some souvenirs in the form of their broken teeth? Probably not a good idea, right? Just checking. Anyway, can’t wait to see you in your tight shirt and shorts tomorrow. Running has never been so much fun.
A new text appears, and I check it with clammy fingers.
Nikolai
So I’m waiting.
Me
For what?
Don’t fuck with me. Did you lose the bimbo yet?
Swallowing is exceptionally difficult as I recall the very obvious breakup that happened earlier tonight. But if I tell Nikolai that, it’ll just go to his head, and we don’t want that.
Me