Note: This was fun to write - The end of this part was honestly why I wrote this fic - it was the whole idea 💕 I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing! Merry Christmas all, see you on the 26th @ 10pm for part 5 - slight delay due to my covid booster wiping me out for a few days x_x
⇠ Previous Part
BONUS GIF:
The good decision policy, whilst great in theory, was not so easy in reality. You lasted all of thirteen hours before you were back to making poor decisions left and right.
Sometime during the night of sin as you lay in the arms of the man who didn’t love you whatever deity dwelled above decided to punish you - God had to be a woman, up there furious at your flamboyantly anti-feminist display. This wasn’t hyperbole as your world was slowly crumbling around you and you couldn’t keep up with it.
First, Benny being Benny and incapable of complicated adult emotions had dipped out in the middle of the night, you’d awoken disappointed, furious and alone. You’d tried his phone a grand total of three times before you left him a voicemail saying you needed to talk. A voicemail, he felt was appropriate to ignore.
For seven whole days he dodged your calls, wasn’t at his apartment when you turned up and actively pretended not to see you in the fucking 7-eleven parking lot.
It quickly became clear that you were having a child with a child.
On the eighth day of his avoidance, you sat in the Morales family kitchen - your visits much more regular since Valerie became your only confidante; your keeper of secrets.
It was as you were perched at the breakfast bar with the only person able to cheer you up these days that the second cataclysmic event of your week occurred.
Said person; Marianna Elvira Balmaceda Morales - the Goddaughter you shared with Santiago Garcia was currently multitasking with one eye on the iPad infront of her and the other on her mission of placing as many Cheerios as humanly possible on your exposed neck as you rested your head on the cold counter top.
Needless to say the baby reveal brainstorming sesh was not going well.
Her mother huffed “Ay mija, no. Don’t do that to your aunty.”
Valerie swiped the wheat circlets from your skin as you rose your head to grin at the child. She was 20% cute, 80% pure unadulterated evil.
At five years old you already feared her. She was a born and bred weapon, with all the charm of her father and the big caramel doe eyes of her mother.
The loud clatter of keys in the door signaled Frankie was home. The man of the hour came around the corner and fixed you with a grin, his brown calculating eyes darted the room scanning for other presences before he pulled out a bag from inside of his coat. He planted a strong kiss on Vals lips and a matching one on Mari’s head as he passed, you couldn’t help the jealousy that flamed in your lower stomach at their little family.
He made his way to you placing one on the crown of your head as he had done to the child beside you.
“Just the lady I wanted to see!” You eyed him suspiciously at his words. “These are for you!”
He placed a CVS bag in front of you that rattled upon impact with the island. This did nothing to combat your suspicion, so, hesitantly, you pulled apart the handles of the plastic bag in front of you before picking up the plastic container in the bag. You spun the bottle in your hands to read the label and dropped them on instinct.
Prenatal Vitamins.
“You told him?” You gasped in betrayal at your best friends.
“In my defense I lasted like six days - He found the tests and he thought they were mine!”
“Y/N/N. I want to be here for you like you were for us. You're one of the most important people in my life and damn it, I want to say congratulations! - And if the B-A-B-Y-S Dad won’t step up then I will. Me and Val, we’ll be here for anything you need, Gordita.”
Your eyes welled at your friend's words. He had been with you on some of the worst and best days of your life and his words were everything, they were words you hadn’t known you needed to hear.
You stood up abruptly, the stool screeching under you as you pulled him into a hug. You couldn’t help the sniffle as you whispered in his ear “I love you… so much - but if you call me fat again, I’ll make her a widow, Pendejo.”
Frank hugged you back with equal vigor laughing at your words, you think he may have a tear or two in his eyes which he’d no doubt vehemently deny.
“You tell me who this punk is, I’ll take Ben and Will to kick this freeloaders ass.” Everything in your body wanted to send a smirk Val’s way, every goddamn cell, but you held steady. You somehow schooled your face into the very image of indifference.
Catfish knowing about your baby was a problem waiting to happen but the addition of him knowing Ben was the father, well, that was a grenade you didn’t currently feel like jumping on especially when the asshole was currently screening your calls.
“Can you keep this to yourself? The father doesn’t know and I don’t want him to find out like that. You know Ben and Will can’t keep a secret to save their lives.”
With a huge jet-black lie, the second ball was in the air.
The real juggling began when the third ball came, in the shape of William Miller.
Iron head by name, iron headed by nature and more recently, a complete and utter thorn in your side.
For the third time in as many weeks, you found yourself looking through your peephole to spot a Miller on the other side and quite frankly, you were over it, those blonde haired, blue eyed adonises bought nothing but annoyance in their wake.
“Hello, William, what an unannounced surprise.”
“We need to talk, Ben told me.” You blanch from your position holding the door ajar, you can’t quite find the words, so instead you simply move out of the way. You doubt this is a conversation to be had on your doorstep.
It's in the moment or two of recess you have making your way to the living room that you rediscover your ability to speak.
“Told you? About what?” You try for easy breezy but it comes across pained and guttural through your clenched teeth.
“The two of you. And the … activities you get up to.”
“Ah - what a lovely violation of my privacy, the asshole.”
“You’re angry at him.”
“Excellent deduction.”
“He told me he hurt you, that he regrets it and that he wants to fix it.”
“Does he now? Do you know what might help? If he answers any one of my calls or y’know turns around whilst he’s sprinting to his car.”
Will sighs and rubs at his face, it's not the first time he’s had to put out one of Ben’s fires and you doubt it’ll be the last.
“Will - It's not your fault, but please don’t come here pleading his case. He’s a big boy now, he needs to grow up.”
“What I mean is - I need you to promise me, you’ll still show up. No matter what happens between you two. That you're not gonna be like the divorced parents who can’t stand to be in the same room.”
“I’ll show up - I won’t do that to Ben, everyone knows the kids always wanna go with Mom.” You light your face up with all the bravado of a smirk that's somewhat convincing, it’s false but these days you’ve had more than enough practice. “I’ll show up. I’ll always show up.”
He answers with a genuine one of his own, it isn’t quite as cheeky as the grin Benny would fix you with, but it’s charming in its own way.
“Pizza?”
“Thought you’d never ask” He mutters as he pulls off his coat and gets comfy.
You juggled the three combinations of half truths and point-blank lies for a grand total of three days.
It was all going so well, the guys all kept their words and kept their pieces of the puzzle separate, nobody beside Valerie had enough information to connect the dots and that was the way you wanted it!
Despite the fact you had yet to tell Ben about his child, the world was good and in your defense you’d already technically done it, were you to blame that he was passed out drunk at the time?
I think not.
This accountability shifting is how you justified your juggling, or at least it was.
It was Christmas Eve and you’d promised you’d spend it at the Morales, festivities were just starting up when you arrived bang on Five o’clock, you were showing up, just like you promised Will, despite knowing Benjamin would be here. However you were pleasantly surprised when none other than Santiago pulled the door open to greet you, you should’ve known there and then that it was the kiss of death on your secret.
Pope was your best friend, your first friend in this group of idiots. He’d introduced you to both of the Miller brothers and Catfish though you’d had the unfortunate experience of meeting Redfly on your own, he’d never been one of your closest friends but you had grown to respect and care for the man.
“Santi!” You all but squealed like a child given a present on Christmas morning. You grabbed him pulling him to your chest as he lifted you from the ground somehow he already stunk of alcohol.
“Y/N!” You chuckled as he placed you back on your feet.
“Jesus, Pope. Have you been pregaming Christmas Eve?”
“Guilty, come on, vamos, I’ve bought some Whiskey from down under.” He grabs your hand and pulls you through the door.
You’re undoing your coat preparing one of the many excuses for your sudden aversion to alcohol that you’d cooked up, in the moment you decide on; “I’ve been having migraines again, I’m not feeling like drinking tonight.”
You’re practically minding your own business hanging your coat on the rack when he pushes you back into the bathroom.
“Maldito mentiroso! I had an interesting conversation with Frank - turns out someone got herself knocked up.” You gasp at his accusation.
“You bitches gossip like… like… bitches!”
“You get pregnant and you don’t call? You were just gonna wait until the baby pops out and phones me itself?”
“Hey! You’re the one that left me!”
“I didn’t leave-” He pauses for a moment and takes in a calming breath. “- That’s not what we’re talking about. Who’s the fuckin’ father? Why isn’t this asshole taking care of you?!”
“Santi - I -”
“Look, you tell me who he is, I go beat the shit out of him, I may be old with a bummed out knee but I’ll give as good as I get or, you Marry me.” It takes you a moment to process what he’s said, it takes you a further two or three moments to remember he’s most likely ingested copious amounts of alcohol, especially if Frankie’s giving away secrets - note to self ‘beat the shit out of Morales’.
“Whilst that is appreciated, the Dad doesn’t know yet.”
“Well, offer stands.” He shrugs. He’s moved on to another topic about your baby but your mind is racing as the two of you exit the bathroom at the exact wrong moment, as Valerie opens the front door to the Miller boys and a very blonde and beautiful plus one.
For a dark second you fix the woman with all the scrutiny of the hot sun, your eyes must burn a path in hers before you realize she’s hand in hand with Will. You’re not proud of yourself, it wasn’t her fault if she was with Ben, this wasn’t very ‘Girls Support Girls’ of you.
“Y/N! I didn’t know you got here!” Val is positively cheery with a little sympathy laced in there for the unfortunate timing.
Though the tension is cut as Pope rushes them, the surprise and joy on their faces at the presence of their old friend is enough for even you to begin doling out hugs and ‘Merry Christmases’ to the new guests, yours aren’t quite as hearty as your drunk counterpart’s but you like to think it still counts.
It's slightly awkward as Ben lingers for a moment too long before you move onto the newest of Will’s girlfriends, who you have to physically shoo Santiago off of as he’s being far too friendly, far too soon.
“It's lovely to meet you, Jennifer!” You grin at her, a hearty genuine grin; all the relief at her being Will’s plus one rather than Bens shining through, before you follow the troupe through to the lounge.
Marianna rushes you all, hugging her uncles and welcoming the newbie, all too happy to take the gifts from their hands.
Watching the way Ben picked her up, kissing her cheek and placing the bag in her hands made your heart swell about two sizes, he would be a good father. Finally, over his shoulder she fixed you with her evil grin and you were all too happy to place the wrapped box of the barbie she had specifically pointed out to you on Amazon.
“I wonder what Aunt Y/N got you.” Ben over exaggerated his voice, grabbing at her sides whilst she squealed manically before she was placed on the floor.
“I don’t!” She smirked and gave you a conspiratorial wink which turned out to be more of a blink.
“Shh, don’t let your Mama hear, get out of here!”
She placed a finger over her lips and nodded before returning to her fathers arm chair where the two of them were watching The Grinch on the big screen.
Gloriana, Valerie's mother was present for the holidays, a very chatty older woman, just what you needed to combat the awkwardness. Please note the sarcasm.
“Y/N! Hermosa Y/N!” She calls your name before pulling you into a hug. You know it's a trap but you embrace the older woman regardless. She catches your left hand on her retreat. “No husband! No babies! Your mother will want to be a Grandma! A gorgeous woman like you, should have no trouble landing a man!”
You’d promised both Will and Valerie you’d be nice to Ben, but a week of ignoring you couldn’t go unpunished, so with the younger Miller at your side you began reparations.
“You’d think! But it turns out men don’t like to settle down, they prefer to sleep with random women at bars and then turn up at your-” You don’t quite finish your sentence as Benny hugs the older pretty much picking her up off the ground. He spins her and begins charming her with all that Benny panache.
Will smirks from his place beside you and whispers “Low blow.”
“I could’ve gone lower.” You snigger behind your wine glass of orange juice, which had been placed in your hand by an equally smirking Val.
Santi then grabs your attention by pulling the older woman into a hug doting on how beautiful she's gotten despite spending the better half of a day with her, this grown man, this fearless ex special forces soldier is piss drunk and its kinda embarrassing as the two converse in Spanish, you worry that perhaps Gloriana may take advantage of the young man, that’d certainly be a sobering experience, you make a note to intervene if she gets too … handsy.
“They’ve been drinking since this afternoon.” Val nodded her head to where Frankie had already sat back down with a fresh glass of whiskey in his palm.
You snickered at their flushed cheeks whilst nodding to the Miller boys you mutter “Why not, It’s Christmas and there’s plenty of time for you guys to catch up!”
Benny returns to your side before looking around the room and nodding at his brother as he grabs your arm pulling you into the hallway.
“What the fuck was that?!”
“What the fuck was that,” You mimic his deep voice for a moment “What the fuck was avoiding my calls for a week. A-and get your hand off me.” You slap lightly as the hand that is still wrapped around your jumpered arm.
“I needed to get my shit together.”
“Oh, do you have a spare eternity?”
“Dick.”
“I’m the dick, you’re the dick!” You whisper shouted at him, poking him in the chest and narrowing your eyes.
You told yourself good decisions. Y/N. Good decisions.
But as you stared one another down, he stepped forward until your noses were practically touching, you’re ashamed to admit, it was all you as you closed the distance grabbing his shoulders and joining your lips to his.
Pregnancy hormones, desperate longing?
Call it what you will, you kissed him with all the vigor you wished you would've given him the other night, only he doesn’t immediately respond.
Horrified that you’re forcing yourself on him, you pull back and turn to leave.
Only, he doesn’t allow it, he grabs the back of your neck in his strong palm and pulls you back to him and devours your mouth.
This time he doesn’t taste entirely of whisky, it's there in the undertones; a quick drink for courage before leaving the house? The taste of him is all Benny as you lock your hands in his hair and his tongue explores your mouth as if no time at all has passed and you’re back in your lounge with all the time in the world.
You hear a cough behind you, bringing you back to reality.
You turn, dreading seeing Santiago lurking in the doorway, however it’s Valerie and Jennifer, the former showing the other lady to the toilet.
“Don’t mind us!” Valerie is a glass of wine or two in as the chuckle in her voice is quite distinct and she makes no attempt to cover it.
You look to Benny; who looks like a deer in headlights as you’ve trapped him against the wall, to Valerie who is shuffling past and then to Jennifer who looks like she’d rather piss in the sink than have to deal with her new boyfriend's dysfunctional family.
“This wasn’t a good decision.” You whisper to him before rearranging your dress and reentering the living room with what you hope is a smile, rather than the war you felt raging inside.
“Y/N! Where’s your drink?!” Santi shouted from across the room. Then, the smile became real, Pope was home for Christmas, this didn’t happen every day. You decided to focus on that, rather than Benny and the fact you couldn’t drink that whiskey to forget the weight in your stomach.
It was cocky, when you look back now, to have underestimated the fourth ball of Santiago in the air having an impact on your juggling.
It started with an offer from Benny for a glass of wine at the dinner table.
In your current state you of course couldn't drink, it wasn’t you being petty - only he didn’t know this and as such took this as an act of confusing aggression - which was a fair assumption as you were all over the place these days.
After that kiss you wanted to bury the hatchet, though if he slammed a wine bottle on the table like a petulant child again it was going to get buried in his damned nervous system.
“Don’t take it so personally, Benjamin!” Catfish hollered obnoxiously.
“Shh - That’s a secret!” Pope hissed at his equally drunk partner in crime.
Valerie looked as if she wanted to disappear and Will’s girlfriend you want to say… Jennifer looked as if she would happily go with her.
Marianna, however is unphased, currently showing a distracted William her school book, sparing annoyed looks at the loud adults.
“You told everyone?!” Benny all but shouts in disbelief across the dinner table. Gloriana to your left looks as if she has half a mind to question what exactly everyone else knows.
Your worst nightmare is unfolding before your eyes, your dirty laundry is being exposed by people that didn’t even know it!
“I didn’t tell anybody.” You hiss in annoyance, the whites of his eyes expose at the realization of his mistake.
It's then, everyone decides to speak over one another, with the exception of the poor girl Will is currently holding hostage.
“Can everyone be quiet! It’s Christmas for christ sake!” Valerie shouts, trying to get everyone under control for your sake.
“I want to know! What are you not telling anybody?!” Santiago points his blunt knife your way in suspicion, you were going to murder him.
Nobody needs to be told to be quiet anymore as the entire room is stunned into silence, Marianna’s abuela included for fucking once in her life.
You’re about to tell him something much to this effect when a school book slams on the dinner table, and loud annoyed huff follows it. “THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT AUNT Y/N AND UNCLE BENNY'S BABY!”
You look across to the man who’s just had a life changing secret dropped on him by a six year old and if you had to estimate how that was going for him internally, you’d say; not well.
Pairing: TF Boys x F!Reader
Wordcount: 13.3k
Warnings: gore. alcohol/drug abuse. kidnapping. eventual reverse harem. smut. violence. panic attacks. self destruction vibes. dog breeding. there's some hair fisting/pulling in here.
Summary: Frankie seeks revenge.
A/N: Wow. Fuck. Sorry for the wait. This fucking chapter has seriously ruined my life. It's been such a bitch to get right and I honestly have questioned it a number of times. A sincere and true and million-dollar thank you to @frannyzooey. Kelli literally stepped in and helped me with pacing and transitions because I just couldn't get them. She edited the shit out of my chaos and saved my ass. She is a fucking angel and this story wouldn't be what I wanted if she wasn't helping me through it. I am so grateful to her and my other baby angel supporters.
Series Masterlist
She didn’t dream, but she didn’t sleep that well either. She remembered Frankie’s heat - the smell of his musk like smoke in her bed. She had felt him start to leave and somewhere within the fog of her unconsciousness, she clung to him - held firm as he tried to get up.
“It’s okay,” he soothed her. “It’s okay.”
She clutched tighter - circling his forearm - feeling the tense line of muscle - the bump of his vein. She didn’t want to lose him - the warmth and comfort of his body in her nest of sheets. He gently disentangled himself - quieting her with soothing, soft mouth sounds.
“Go back to sleep, honey.”
She released him with a whine - stuffing her cheek into her pillow. Her eyes were still screwed shut so she could enjoy the peace of total darkness. It was too soon for anything else. She didn’t want to face whatever was waiting for her downstairs. She didn’t want to have to start dissecting all the elements of Pope’s confession - which had incidentally become her history. She could hear Frankie opening her door - his voice hushed as he spoke to another in the hall.
There was a beat of silence before someone new slid into her bed - the mattress dipping under his weight. His body was hard and familiar as he sealed himself to her - his skin still damp from a shower. He automatically brought his hands to the back of her head - palms cradling the curve of her skull. A sigh of contentment dripped from his mouth and she allowed herself to sink into him. She notched her ear to his heart and was surprised to find it beating fast - to the point that she thought it might rupture. His torso was flushed with a hot spell as if all of his parts continued to work overtime. She briefly wondered what he had done to the guards - where he had been to still be coming down from it.
“Benny,” she mumbled and he gripped her roughly in response - the tip of his chin digging into the top of her head. “Did you kill anyone?” His heart picked up -a fluttering muscle - red and rippling. He was affected by something - had been, at least. He didn’t respond, but made a gruff sort of noise from his throat. Her room was so dark - the curtains enveloping them inside this womb-like space. There was the subtle click and buzz of the air conditioning. The creak and hum of the penthouse itself. She reached up and behind her, catching one of his hands to inspect it. She ran her fingertips over his knuckles to find the skin peeled and raw.
He sucked in a breath.
“Benny,” she repeated, her previous question still hanging between them.
Did you kill someone?
Would it even matter if he did?
“For you?” He traced a line down her shoulder - her arm. “Sure - killed twenty guys.”
“No, you didn’t,” she returned into his flesh - her nose smashed into his bicep. She was dubious, but also not one-hundred percent certain.
“I will,” he assured her. “I will if I have to.”
She didn’t doubt him. She had come to see Benny as ruthlessly loyal. She had watched him lose himself to it - returning from whatever errands Pope had sent him on with those blue-green eyes half a life away. Standing before her. Perplexed or lost, but always splattered in blood. The white marble foyer casting him in stark relief and then he would inevitably come back to himself - pasting on some too-bright smile as he greeted her. She didn’t think he enjoyed it. He dissolved into someone else when he killed - when he did what he had to do.
He shifted against her. “Was that like super romantic to say?”
Her lips twitched in a smile despite the subject matter. “So you didn’t murder anyone tonight?”
“I did some things.”
Should she ask? Prod further?
What good would it do?
She was still shaky from the night’s events - still felt as if her skin had been peeled off her inch by careful inch. The cuts in her legs pricked and she wouldn’t have minded a drink or a couple of painkillers. She knew Benny would have gotten her anything if she requested it.
But.
A small spasm of anxiety that stopped her. Something between utter exhaustion and the fact she had been proud of herself for avoiding it so far. She didn’t want to have to rely on liquor to sleep despite the fact that this moment - of all moments - seemed like an appropriate situation to ask for a drink to settle her nerves.
“What time is it?” She burrowed her face further into his chest - suddenly feeling very uncomfortable now that she was awake. When Frankie had dropped her onto the mattress only a few hours ago - she had been drained to nothing. Her bones had felt heavy and the room had spun and spun. She had passed out almost immediately - didn’t even recall the exact moment she had melted into unconsciousness.
Now - there was an itch inside her - a desperate tug for vodka or whiskey. She wanted that sugar buzz to blanket her head - to protect the mushy mass of her mind and the angry welts of what the scene in the kitchen had left on her. It felt like those images and sensations and terrors had been carved into her meat. The afterburn of her adrenal glands pulsed above her kidneys. They’d been working overtime as she fought for her life. The windfall of all her new knowledge regarding her father on top of the stress she had already been put through.
There’d been so much without respite: her mother, the Chapel, Baron, Pope and her father, the almost-sex, the man’s skull after it went a few rounds with Will’s baseball bat, the panic attacks, the heat of Frankie’s lap beneath her ass on that cold balcony…
She worried her lip with the edge of her teeth - considered biting into it until she felt the tang of pennies. What the fuck had happened to her? How was this her life now?
She realized that Benny hadn’t answered her and she nudged him again. “Hmm?” His voice slurred through a haze of sleep.
“What time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled - wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her even closer if that was possible. “Time is a construct.”
She pinched his hip - disappointed to find a thick band of muscle rather than fat. He jerked slightly under her hands. “Do you wanna play or something?” he grunted before he banded his arms around her - tightening until she couldn’t move at all. An overgrown boa constrictor.
“No,” she said - mouth practically dragging over his sparse chest hair. “Not playing. You’re just a smart ass.” He inhaled audibly at the slide of her lips over his sternum.
An accident. She couldn’t exactly turn her head.
But it also wasn’t as if she was shoving him away.
She was an internal mess.
There was a sensation between her legs that made her throb all over - swollen with a blurred excitement. She wanted something. She wanted to forget and she wanted to sleep and all of it felt like it was riding her - trawling her dead weight across unpaved roads until she decided how she wanted to fix it. She could feel every ridge of Benny’s body and it wasn’t unpleasant. He was gorgeous and he was holding her with such intensity that she thought she might burst apart - ooze out in bits and pieces. Both of them were locked together - warm breath and humid, damp skin. It was as if they’d already spent hours fucking.
“You’re a dick,” she whispered for good measure.
Benny chuckled - his fingers digging into her hip. He really was an ass because he knew exactly what he was doing.
“It’s because you want to have sex with me,” he teased - his voice rich and husky against her ear. He pressed his lips to her cheek and she felt the dart of his tongue before he pulled away. “That’s why I get on your nerves.”
“I don’t,” she protested, but it lacked any of the strength she’d packed in her previous refusals.
I’m just tired. I’m just considerably cozy and warm in your arms and I nearly got finger-fucked within an inch of my life by your brother. I sat on your best friend’s fucking lap for an hour on your balcony. I then clung to said best friend - basically begged him to stay. I’m being suffocated now and the thing is - I want it. I want to be held like this and made to feel safe and guarded and fine -
Jesus. Christ. She was getting around.
Benny stretched out beside her - a groan reverberating through his ribs. He then twisted onto his side and forced his thigh between her legs - coiling them together like a bunched knot. He was in sweats - thank fuck. She was certain that if he had his naked thigh against her clothed cunt, it would have given her up.
“If I get a boner don’t get mad,” he informed her as he dropped his face into the crook of her neck. “Can’t help it.”
“Noted,” she grumbled, though she was quite certain she could already feel him half-hard and nudging her flesh. She tried to wiggle, but it was no use. He had her crushed to his chest.
“Stop squirming.”
“Hmpf.”
She managed to angle herself into a more comfortable position. She rested her palm against the side of his ribs when a thought suddenly occurred to her. He was shirtless. His back was bare.
There was a part of her that wanted to ask - that perhaps this was the best time to ask when they were both drunk on exhaustion and huddled in the night-blue trap of her bedroom. The shadows swelled around them - tucked them in. This was the closest they’d ever been physically. Sure - they’d kissed before, but that had been different - slathered in the blur of alcohol as they balanced on bar chairs. At that moment, she felt that if she moved an inch forward she’d be inside him.
Just as she had done in the kitchen a week before, she slowly trailed her hand around his waist - acting like it was just an unconscious gesture. Her fingers lightly grazed the flesh behind his hip and there they were - raised ropes of tissue. He blew out a breath - his chest rising and the side of her face with it.
“Sleep, babe,” he ordered curtly - sounding much more awake. Regardless, he didn’t shake her hand off of him.
It was on the tip of her tongue. The question or perhaps questions was the more apt term. Benjamin Miller was an enigma to her. Someone she felt like she basically knew and yet still really didn’t. What happened to you? How could you have lived through this? How can you bury everything under a joke? Where do you go in your head when you do the things you do?
“Benny,” she murmured - a plea beneath it - a drawn-out ache that she didn’t intend to deliver. There was a beat of silence before she felt the wet pressure of his lips at her hairline.
She couldn’t do it.
It wasn’t the right time. She felt like if she asked now, it would shatter something between them and she had come to appreciate their connection, whatever it was.
So she did what she thought Benny would do: she lightened the mood.
“Don’t feel me up,” she warned before screwing her eyes shut - praying that sleep would come to her.
He laughed - his body quivering with it before he stilled. She sensed him reaching down and grabbing her comforter before yanking it up to their chins. “See?” he said. “Safe as houses. No funny business.”
“I don’t see how that made a difference.”
“It doesn’t - I was just trying to humor you.” He nosed at her hair. “We’re literally already feeling each other up.”
He had a point.
“Fine.”
“Just relax,” he soothed. “You can sleep for a week if you want.”
She was lulled by the tone of his voice. It was so low - so earthy and smooth. She felt secure in a way she hadn’t before and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that revelation.
“Sleep,” he urged - squeezing the nape of her neck. It really was cozy with the ac-blasted air and the buttery heat of her bed. The pressure of his body against hers. The weight of him. The height of him.
She hung onto his waist - not really giving a shit how it made her look.
“Night, Benjamin,” She skated her fingers down the scars that rippled across his lower back - taking notice of the way he shivered.
***
Benny waited for her breathing to even out and was surprised by how suddenly it did. She really was exhausted - emotionally, physically and mentally. He doubted that he would get any sleep at all. She was straddling his thigh as she clung to him - her hair soft and smelling like jasmine and the wet of rain.
He also was just too keyed up after what he’d done.
Even Santi had given him a double-take, the second he’d stomped back into the penthouse. His hands still itched from the blood - palms sweaty from the smooth wood handle of the hammer. He had gotten the answers he needed. Their security had been infiltrated by the Apostles as he suspected. Desmond - the man in charge of hiring new guards had been getting paid under the table by Baron. Desmond had brought two Apostles in - showed them every weak point in their security system so that they could take advantage when they were gone. Their top guy and head of their security - Patrick - had been blindsided. He groveled to Benny about having no fucking idea and Benny believed him.
He winced as he flexed his hand - the tendons throbbed. He was overwhelmed by a flash of memory from earlier that night: the twist of images and sounds in the form of crunching bones, gurgling blood, and the hammer meeting flesh.
Desmond - of course - would not be coming back. It had taken him thirty minutes for Benny to finally force out his confession - complete with evidence of wire transfers and text messages from burner phones. He wondered briefly if that was a record for him. Will probably had him beat. His brother was so disturbingly talented at doling out pain that he usually had grown men shrieking within five minutes.
Overachiever.
Just like in school.
Benny waited for the guilt to come. He waited for that doubt to push against him - to make him question his actions. The irritating reminder of it - like knuckles rapping against a door over and over again.
Nothing. He secured his arms around the girl - made sure her neck wasn’t bent at an uncomfortable angle as she quietly snored against his chest.
At the heart of it, he had done it for her. But he had also done it for Santi. He was fucking over Mateo - Baron - whatever the fuck he went by. He was over his shit and his crooked schemes as he tried to undermine Santi at every turn. Charles Faire’s pretty daughter had just given him an excuse to finally lash out at them - to trespass on the penthouse - the place the boys had always considered sacred. It didn’t matter if she wanted nothing to do with the Apostles. It didn’t matter if she left the country or point blank told Mateo her father’s legacy was his.
He wouldn’t care. He was smart, but rarely thought logically - normally. He’d believe that her stepping into the Chapel was her wanting to join the business. He’d think Santi was using her as a pawn - a piece to play later to convince the Apostles to trust Santi’s leadership over Mateo’s. They were stupidly superstituous - hung up on bloodlines and birthrights even though Charles Faire had always been adamant that his daughter have nothing to do with their world. Mateo was paranoid and fucking insane, which was a lethal combination.
No doubt Mateo already had a bulletin board covered in photos of her from old yearbooks or her instagram account if she even had one. He’d have his lackeys do their research - interviewing old boyfriends or professors or bosses. He was probably jacking off nightly to the thought of her lifeless at his feet.
Yeah - Mateo was that kind of crazy.
Benny would be lying if he said that he hadn’t enjoyed leaving the bastard a message. After he’d gotten the information out of Desmond, he and Patrick had dragged out what was left of the men in the kitchen and took part in a little corpse desecration. Benny had used all the techniques Will had taught him before he’d dropped them off at Mateo’s clubhouse uptown. A wonderful wake-up call that he hoped told Santi’s brother that if he fucked with Charle’s Faire’s little girl again, he’d lose a few limbs. Maybe - Scarface style in a bathtub with a chainsaw.
He heard her whimper into his skin and drew back to study her.
Her long lashes fluttered - eyes darting beneath her lids. Her brow was pinched. Her jaw tensed as she ground her teeth. She must be having a nightmare. Something Benny was an expert in. He didn’t want to wake her so he tried soothing her with gestures. He pushed her hair back and stroked the soft down of her cheek with his ravaged knuckles. She leaned into it - mumbling something before once more going silent.
His lips twitched. Fuck - he had it bad.
She had become all he thought about and a part of him had worried that it was simply an infatuation - that she was just a girl he hadn’t fucked yet and longed for the challenge when everything else had been handed to him so easily.
He had fucked other women the last week - two or three a day to try and scrub her off. Not in the house, of course. He felt too guilty about doing it in a space that was now considered hers. No - he kept to his clubs - screwing his way through chicks he’d had before and chicks he hadn’t. He wanted to expunge her from his system or, at the very least, distract himself.
He couldn’t. He could not.
His dick was practically chafed raw at this point. It was becoming a problem - a very complex issue and one he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with.
Especially because he knew he wasn’t the only one who wanted her.
Will fucked around - he’d had a million women. But Benny had never seen his brother look at any of them the way that he looked at the girl who was currently curled up in his arms. Frankie was the same - always difficult to read when it came to having any emotions beyond guilt or anger or indifference. Women had attempted to punch through that thick veneer he coated himself in. They tried to access Francisco Morales like fucking him right would make him suddenly bend to them.
Benny had yet to see any of them succeed and now Frankie was following her around like a lost puppy. He’d even slept in this bed with her until he’d texted Benny that he had emergency shit to deal with and would you come stay with her? She shouldn’t be alone.
It was very fucking obvious that Frankie cared about her - that he felt as if he was responsible for her well being. Maybe - he was. Maybe - all of them had become responsible as soon as they’d locked her in this place.
So yeah it was no surprise that Benny felt no guilt killing a man tonight over her. He hadn’t even spared a second thought.
But it had been another story last week. He had felt regret - true regret - in his gut when he’d nearly hurt her in their kitchen. He’d rounded on her - grabbed her hard by the throat because she’d traced the vulnerable skin of his back - the evidence of the worst moment of his life. She had looked shocked and small as she blinked up at him - straining and gasping and tugging at his knuckles.
Benny…Benny….
It had stabbed through him. He released her as a mess of realizations clattered in his skull. He had gotten her black-out drunk and kissed her the day before. He had fucked another chick a floor beneath her as she listened. He had nearly strangled her and she was still smiling at him apologetically as she rubbed her throat like she had somehow done something wrong.
He decided that he would do right by her from then on. Protect her if she needed it.
He didn’t know why. He didn’t have an answer because it’s not like he really knew her all that well. He knew bits and pieces in the small details she’d give him about her life before all this.
Benny just liked her.
It just felt biological. Just felt like he saw something inside her that mimicked himself.
***
Will barely slept. How could he?
He still felt the ghost-print of her mouth on his - the swell of her tongue. Her knees pinning tight to his ribs as he inched closer and closer to the heat between her legs. A very insistent part of himself had nearly gone back to her bedroom after he had left her there. She had looked so stunned - so lost as she stared up at him. Her lips still bruised from their kiss - the dilation of her pupils at all that he had promised. He had lain flat on his covers - studying the lines that ran along his ceiling, fighting every cell in his body that wanted to charge out the door and pound her into her mattress.
Just go fuck her.
It’ll stop your head. It’ll be nice for the both of you.
He had desperately wanted to make her feel good. He wanted to fix the images he had left her with. He wanted to give her pleasure as a way of painting over all that shit stuck in her head. The graphic flashes and sounds of shattered skulls and the wet slop of guts. He felt as if he had streaked her in tar and it would take every effort to clean her. He’d fuck it out of her - make it so damn sweet that she would forget her own name and his.
She hadn’t deserved what he’d done to her. She hadn’t deserved last night and she hadn’t deserved the nights before it.
As dawn splintered its way through his shades, he had given up on trying to pass out. He went for a run to clear his head. The morning air was still flushed with dew while he jogged around the bay. The sea reflected the peak of the new sun. The water screamed with its diamond-white froth, a million flickering sapphire scales lapping and knocking into each other.
He knew she wouldn’t be up for hours, but he still wanted to do something for her. It bubbled inside him - making him restless. He couldn’t cook, but he could pick her the best baked goods in the city. There was a small spot a couple blocks from their place called The Tin. The girl who owned it was utterly in love with either Benny or Frankie (Will couldn’t tell) and always saved a box of their most popular items before they would sell out every Sunday. Will greeted the girl with his most charming smile and she blindly handed him a pink box filled with spinach and artichoke danishes, matcha-frosted croissants, strawberry tarts, and orange-cranberry muffins.
“How’s Frankie?” She asked as she swiped his black card. Will raised an eyebrow and her cheeks reddened. She ducked her head. “I mean - he - um - hasn’t been in here in a couple weeks.”
“He’s been on a cleanse,” Will lied. “But, you know, Benny has been non-stop talking about how good your muffins are.” He left enough suggestion in his tone that she blushed even deeper. “He’s wild about them.”
“Oh,” she squeaked. “That’s - that’s really so nice of him. Here - please - take another dozen. I know he loves these raspberry danishes.”
Will winked at her. “He’s going to be thrilled.”
***
Will dropped the boxes of pastries on the counter as his gaze swept over the kitchen. He grimaced at the sight of blood on the floor - some of it her blood, he was sure.
“Fucking, Benny,” he growled as he found a rag to clean up the mess. They’d usually have a cleanup crew handle this, but Will knew Santi was on edge. Their security had been breached and the situation was delicate to say the least. He wanted to be sure he could trust the people who came into his house.
Will grabbed the cleaning supplies from under the sink. He savored the medicinal smell - the warm water from the faucet as he washed his hands.
Tidying up the kitchen would make him feel better - busy his head since he doubted anyone would be awake until the afternoon. He’d shower and then bleach the fuck out of the floor. He’d make it look brand new - wiped clean of any evidence from the night before. Finding the knife she’d used as a weapon on the counter, he tossed it into the trash. He could buy her another one since blades were his specialty.
Will just wanted to fix this.
The kitchen was her safe space and he intended to keep it that way.
***
“Will!”
Santi called from the front door - an obvious strain in his voice.
Will glanced at his watch - the expensive Rolex that Santi had given him for his birthday. It was his third one since he kept forgetting to take it off while he worked.
Two PM. Fuck - it was later than he thought.
He wiped his hands on his gym shorts. His ratty t-shirt smelled like Pine Sol and his fingertips were pruney and pink from scrubbing.
“What is it?” He stepped into the entryway before stopping abruptly.
Santi was standing there with a honey-colored puppy in his arms - a red leather collar around its tiny neck. It was wriggling around - pink tongue darting out of its mouth. It was fluffy and looked completely out of place against Santiago’s Tom Ford suit.
He smiled at Will sheepishly. “I thought she might want a friend…or something.”
Will blinked at him - stunned. “How’d you get a dog for her in less than twelve hours?”
He handed the dog to Will who immediately cradled it - scratching its soft head as it licked his chin. Fuck - it was cute.
Santi had dark half-moons under his eyes and he sighed - threading his fingers through his curls. “Remember Justine? She runs that dog-breeding business that’s a front for the cash flow we get from down South.”
Will cracked a smile. “Damn you must really like her.”
Santi’s eyes widened before he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “Look - I felt bad, okay? I told her about her dad and she got all weepy and Frankie said she pretty much had a panic attack and so I thought - why don’t I give her a pet for - you know - comfort?”
“A therapy dog?”
“Yeah - exactly.”
“Did you get any supplies for it?”
Santi’s brow creased in confusion. He was intelligent - cunning and resourceful - but he really had zero idea how to take care of living things. It wasn’t like Will could blame him - all four of them had grown up in a world that hadn’t really asked them to be attentive or paternal.
Will rubbed behind the puppy’s ears as it made happy little noises. “I’ll deal with it,” he assured him. “I’ll call Justine to send some stuff over.”
Santi gave him a grateful nod. He walked slowly over to one of the plush chairs in the living room and collapsed into it - groaning. Will was amused to say the least. He could just imagine Santi - flustered and haggard - racing out to find a dog as quickly as he could.
I’ll pay anything! Just help me out here.
Santi really didn’t do shit like that. He was cold and severe most of the time. He cared for them - his brothers. He cared for vivality of the The Cardinals and that his businesses ran smoothly. But Will couldn’t remember the last time he went out of his way for anyone else - especially a girl. Santi had had maybe one girlfriend back in school and the rest had been short affairs - mostly arrangements.
“So how much did you tell her?” Will dropped into the couch across from him and let the puppy loose to run around the room. They’d need pee pads and a crate and toys. Maybe - some astroturf on the balcony so it would have a bathroom nearby.
Santi shut his eyes - rubbing at his temples. “I told her as much as I could before she stopped me. Told her about my brother and Charles. Told her about why we took her.” He pulled at the top button of his shirt until it opened. “I didn’t get very far. She freaked out about me knowing her dad and the fact that I saw her like one time as a kid.”
Will shrugged. “She was probably overwhelmed. She had a busy night.”
The image of her moaning beneath him flashed through his head. He had felt how wet she was - her feverish skin branding his own as she clung to him. The way she bit her lip as he cleaned her wounds - the weight of her foot in his hands. She could kiss, too. She was good at it. Will scrubbed at his face - trying to banish that memory until a more opportune moment - like when he was naked in his shower or bed - whatever came first.
“You going to tell her the rest?”
“When she can handle it,” he replied - his nostrils flaring slightly. “She’s hanging by a thread as it is.”
“What if she asks?”
“Then I’ll tell her, Will!” Santi snapped before frowning. “Fuck - sorry - I’m tired as shit.”
Will held his hands up. “I’m just wondering in case she comes charging down here demanding more information. I want to make sure you’re ready to tell her the rest. It’s fucking heavy.”
Santi nodded - his lips forming a thin line. “Trust me - I’m aware.”
***
She woke up in a fog. She was overheating - sweat under her knees and arms and the crooks of her elbows. She tried to disentangle herself from the heavy body on top of her.
“Benny,” she grunted before smacking her fist into his side. He mumbled - unphased - and yanked her closer - his arms banding around her chest - crushing her tits. “Benny - I can’t fucking breathe.”
She kicked out at him - knocking against his shins. He sighed and released her before popping one eye open.
“So cruel to me,” he pouted as he cast her a wounded sidelong glance.
The room was still dark, but she could make out the orange sweep of the sun beneath the curtains - spilling threads of light across the floor. She could feel that it was late - probably close to five or six. Her tongue was cottony in her mouth and her eyelids were heavy, but she felt better.
“I’m hungry,” she declared, Benny quickly sat up on his elbows - his hair an absolute mess as long strands fell wildly across his brow.
“Let’s go raid the kitchen, then.”
“I knew you’d get up for food.”
“And?”
“You’re predictable.”
“I’m predictable in the places it counts.”
He slipped out of bed to stretch - turning toward her so she only caught a brief glimpse of his scarred back. His front was even more distracting. Fuck - it was too early for it. She ogled the way his muscles bunched and flexed - the lines of his obliques and the tendons in his neck. The rounded broad shoulders.
“You’re staring,” he grinned.
Shit. She diverted.
“Are those crocodiles?” Even in the dark, she could decipher tiny green creatures on the waistband of his boxers that had risen up above his sweats.
He frowned - dropping his head to stare down at crotch. “Will got me these.”
“They’re cute.”
“Yeah, yeah…we all know you were admiring the view.”
She scowled and he chuckled. “It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.”
He snatched his t-shirt from the floor and threw it on. He stepped closer to the side of the bed and did a come-hither motion. “C’mon - let me help you down the stairs, princess.”
She crawled across the mattress toward him. “You’re not carrying me.”
She was beginning to feel like an invalid.
“If you can’t put weight on your foot then - yeah - I’m carrying you.”
Jerk.
She stepped cautiously onto the floor. The pain in her flesh from the glass had become muted - a flare on her sole - a distant throb in her calves. She ached in other places though. She felt bruised and she probably was - she had yet to see herself in the mirror. She touched the crown of her head and winced - there was still a lump.
When she looked at Benny, he had an unreadable expression on his face. It was no longer teasing or entertained or heated with arousal. It was anxious and almost - distressed.
“They hurt you pretty bad, huh?”
She swallowed - pushing down that tickle at the back of her throat. The very real desire to cry scratched at her - beckoned and pinched. She probably could with Benny. She could weep and he’d never say anything - never mock her for it. But it was imperative that she grow a thick skin - that she bury these things just as she buried all of the grief she held for her parents and the emptiness that was - had been - her homelife.
Benny gripped her chin - lifting her face to the shadowed light. His eyes flitted over her - his thumb sweeping the curve of her jaw. “You know I sent them back to him,” His tone was rough and husky. “I sent their bodies back missing a couple of parts.”
Her stomach twisted at his words. The air in her lungs expanded fully in her chest.
She raised her hand - circled his wrist and squeezed. It was like the violence he described was distant - blanketed in a thin frost. It didn’t bother her, but instead caused her heartbeat to race and climb up her ribs. She knew which him, Benny meant. She was oddly touched.
***
Will heard her before he saw her. The sun was just setting - the glass towers of the surrounding skyscrapers glittering in shades of blood orange and gold. It was nearing the end of summer, but the evenings were still bright - still well lit and heavy with heat.
The puppy had raced toward the stairs at the sound of new voices. Santi stood up almost immediately - combing his hair back with his fingers. He’d shoved his jacket off - his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“You have an explanation about the dog, yet?” Will shot under his breath.
“Yes,” Santi answered. “Of course.”
“Oh my god!” Will heard her shriek before he stepped into the room. Benny was behind her - seemingly just as shocked as she was. He sent Will a look over her head - mouthing what the fuck? Will pointed to Santi who was unaware of anyone else - his eyes following the girl’s excited movements. She dropped to her knees and Will winced. She was going to open her cuts.
“Who is this?!” she squealed as the golden-fluffy thing jumped into her arms. She pressed her mouth to its head - peppering it with kisses. Despite the fact that she looked like she’d been put through the ringer - her face slightly swollen, she was still beautifully endearing. Her smile was the happiest Will had ever seen it.
She lifted the puppy into her arms - cradling it and cooing as it rooted its nose along her throat and jaw. It licked her cheek and she giggled.
Benny sidled up to his brother. “I’ve never wanted to be a dog so bad.”
“What’s its name?” she asked Will and he shook his head before gesturing to Santi who was still frozen in place - observing her silently. “Santi got him.”
She stood up, carting the puppy with her. She looked at Santi expectedly - her lips still painted in that alarmingly bright smile.
Santi rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flitting between the dog and her. Will suddenly knew that Santi had no idea how he was going to explain himself. “It’s um - it’s Tom,” he answered. “Tom.”
“Tom,” she echoed before nuzzling one of his fluffy ears. “Very fitting.”
“Is she on crack?” Benny mumbled to his brother. “That dog is not a Tom.”
Will elbowed him in the side and he doubled over. “Fuck! You asshole.”
Santi ignored them, his lips curling into a subtle grin as he stepped toward her. He reached out to scratch Tom’s head. “He was wandering around outside and I just found him.”
“With a collar?” Benny piped in before Will grabbed him around the neck and hauled him into the kitchen.
“Ow fuck!” Benny hollered before wrestling him off. “That hurt.”
“Stop being a baby,” Will handed him a pink box of pastries.
“Oh shit!” Benny exclaimed. “Are these the raspberry ones? That chick loves me.”
“She sure does.” Will had only planted that seed deeper.
Benny rammed the danish into his mouth - chewing violently as crumbs and spittle flew.
“Jesus, Ben! You’re gonna choke.”
“I’m hungry,” he shrugged as he wiped his chinwith the side of his hand. “Cuddling takes it out of me.”
“Good for you.”
He wasn’t exactly jealous - especially since he’d had his tongue down her throat beforehand. He also didn’t mind the fact that all of them were doing their part to take care of her. They were establishing trust - chipping away at that icy barrier she had erected the second she’d stepped into their lives. She had - without any of them truly realizing it - become part of their framework. They took care of their own - always had.
“What are you eating?” the girl asked from the doorway. She was still holding Tom - her eyes gleaming as the sun faded across her bare arms and legs. When her gaze fell on Will, her lips twitched at corners before she ducked her head. Heat flared beneath his skin at the sight of her bashfulness. At least she wasn’t avoiding him.
“I picked up some breakfast for you guys,” Will smiled. “Didn’t think you’d be up for cooking.”
She stepped next to him - her arm brushing his as she peeked into the box. The puppy was already asleep - head resting against the curve of her breast. “Those look good.”
He turned his head and found them face to face. He could still feel her beneath him - recall those sweet, throaty gasps she’d made as his tongue licked the cup of her mouth.
“Want me to heat them up for you?” he asked - purred - really. He couldn’t help it. She forced it out of him - waterlogged him in the thought and smell of sex.
She ran her fingers over the top of his hand - his knuckles. She lightly traced the sable ink of a roman numeral tattooed on his skin. “Yes, please.”
***
“Where’s Frankie?” She was on her third muffin, which pleased Will quite a bit. There were flecks of sugar on her lower lip and it took everything in his power not to lick them away.
“Errands, apparently,” Benny replied as his gaze darted to Santi. Frankie had been nearly radio-silent all day. Will wasn’t entirely sure if he should be worried. Frankie had a temper on him. He also had a deep-seated grudge against Santi’s brother. Will loved Fish, but he had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. He had a thousand demons and often nowhere to put them ever since he had stopped chugging whiskey bottles and blowing lines.
“He’s fine,” Santi said in a way that seemed like he was convincing himself more than anything. “You know how he gets.”
“How does he get?” she queried before resting her chin into her palm. The fingers on her other hand played with the empty muffin wrapper.
Will didn’t know how to respond. Frankie was a fiercely possessive person and still reeling from all that had happened with Benny. He often needed to dole out enough violence until it cooled his head.
There was also another reason. Frankie obviously liked the girl or cared for her to such a degree that he was going to act out one way or another. Will didn’t want to blow up his spot or say something he couldn’t take back.
He scratched his beard before finally stating: “He doesn’t like when people hurt girls.”
It was not a total lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. After all - he had been this close to shooting her in the face if Santi had commanded it. Shit - they were fucked up. They were a mess of conflicting values. To be fair, hypocrisy wouldn’t be their worst crime.
Her brow furrowed. “Are you sure he’s okay? I don’t - I don’t want him going out there because of me.”
“He’s fine, babe,” Benny said as he finished licking his raspberry-stained fingertips. “He’s just doing some recon.”
Will didn’t think that was necessarily true either, but it would be the best thing they could offer her. He handed her croissant and she took it - seemingly satisfied with Ben’s answer.
“So,” Benny continued as he leaned against the fridge - crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s the plan, boss?”
Santi cast the girl a weary look before turning back to Benny. “We’re going to The Chapel tonight.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “We’re leaving her alone again?”
She paused from tearing chunks out of the croissant. “I don’t - I’m not so sure about that.” There was a subtle shift of fear blossoming across her features. He didn’t blame her.
Santi frowned at her apologetically. “I know it’s not ideal, but we need more information and we need to keep up appearances. Mateo - Baron - hit us in a way that shouldn’t have happened. I want to present a strong front.” She nodded absently - her eyes flicking to the kitchen floor. Will’s gut twisted. Santi grimaced before stepping toward her and clasping her on the shoulder. “I’ve already called my best guys - the men I’ve known since I was a kid and trust with my life. They’re going to guard the place and keep you safe.”
She bit her lip. “Okay - sure.”
. “Why don’t we just arrange a meeting with your dumb fuck brother?” Benny implored - the muscle in his jaw ticking.
“It’s delicate,” Santi explained. “It’s his move anyway after you sent him that fun little message.”
Benny grinned so deeply, his cheeks dimpled. “I hope he liked it.”
The girl blinked at him before staring back down at her lap where Tom slept.
Will placed his elbows across the counter as he considered her body language. She’d begun to curl into herself. He didn’t think leaving her right now was the best option, but Santi had a point and he was positive Baron wouldn’t try anything this soon now that they had the place on lock down.
“When do we go?” he asked as he kept his eyes on her.
***
How many?
Two guys. They’ve been running their mouths about breaking into your place.
Of course, they are. Fucking idiots. Thanks, Danny.
Just don’t make too much of a mess. I’m still patching things up from the last time.
Benny won’t be with me.
Thank fuck for that.
As Frankie hung up, he scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed sleep. There was a part of him that wanted to drive back to the penthouse and crawl back into bed with her. It had taken everything in him to tug her hand off his wrist and put Benny in his place. She had begged him to stay and he couldn’t. Because as much as he wanted to remain with her, there was a larger part of him that was boiling - still red-hot with fury. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he tried.
So he narrowed down all the spots in the city that Baron’s lackeys would go. He watched and he waited and like clockwork - a few had shown up to what they considered the Apostles’ safe space. The penthouse had been theirs and that had been shot to shit. It was only fair.
He scanned the area as he blasted his AC - letting the cool circulated air wake him up a little. He was currently parked down by the bay - eyes locked on the building in front of him. The Wharf was a dingy bar the Apostles’ henchmen frequented. It was all wood - barren aside from the rusty blue sign: The Wharf - established 1923.
The salt water had chewed away at the docks out front, as well as the roof and walls. It’s red paint had turned to a rusty finish. He’d have to pay Danny to fix the place up. Another act of goodwill in exchange for information on the Apostles member’s movements. Not like Mateo would ever venture here. He was too much of a snob.
He swallowed, cracking his knuckles.
He wouldn’t use his gun. It was less intimate - cold and calculating and quick. Not Frankie’s style when it came to acts of comeuppance. He had told the guys he was going to be doing recon - get some more information and he’d been telling the truth. He just forgotten to add that he was going to kill anyone dumb enough to confess that they’d been part of the break-in. Santi would be annoyed. He’d be frustrated, but at the end of the day it wouldn’t matter. Baron would see it as a slight, nothing more. He didn’t value his men like Santi did.
Frankie had been itching for them to finally knock the fucker off his axis. He was too damn unstable. Now that he was aware of Charles’s daughter, it would only be a matter of time. Frankie had said that he would look out for her and he had meant it. He saw so much of his nature inside her - saw that dangerous impulsiveness and desire to numb out.
After holding her through that panic attack, his sympathy for her had only increased.
“I’ve just come to learn that no one can really protect me. Not even the people who should have.”
Fuck - that broke him. It really had. He had lain on that bed as his thoughts churned and tangled. He wanted to do something - break something. Despite all the work he’d done on himself, all of his weaknesses still rested in his blood - in the deep thick of his head. Dormant, but susceptible. His easy fury - his explosive temper and penchant for violence and revenge.
Francisco had lived a life, already. In his younger years, he had been reckless and too much. He had traveled as his mode of education - bumbling and staggering through various countries. He just couldn’t sit still at home - couldn’t keep his head on straight with the constant talk of heirs and wars and alliances. It wasn’t even like Santi was the head of the Cardinals then. He was at University - racing between home and campus - to deal with his stubborn father and Charles and Mateo. The inevitable mantle of leader was asking too much of him before he had even taken it. Santi’s life was already laid out before him and - to be fair - he didn’t need Frankie’s chaos in addition to his family drama.
It had been the best for both of them because Frankie doubted he would have lived very long had he stayed during that time period. Santi had even told him that he genuinely didn’t believe he’d come back. He hadn’t been sure.
We were both fucked up, Fish. You got into so many fights - drank so much. I didn’t know if you’d ever get home.
Frankie - with his hot head and hotter self-destruction - had stormed across the globe. He made connections for Santi as he roamed through ports and back alleys and used his family name - Morales - to carve out pockets of gold for his best friend. He wanted to assure his success - build his empire. Benny and Will were younger then - still doing their part through home-grown fights and interrogations and the favors asked of them by Edward Garcia. Frankie’s role had been the bigger picture. He dove headfirst into jungles - got lost in the Philippines and woke up on the floor of a cockfight. He smoked too much hash and got scammed by a number of women he’d drunkenly ended up in bed with. Teresa he had liked - Teresa he had taken all the way to Seville before he caught a flight to Ibiza and left her. The music there had ruptured his right eardrum and his tongue had stayed numb from all the ecstasy. Tanzania. Istanbul. Hong Kong. Belfast. Portugal. There was a club in Berlin that he didn’t leave for two days. He read a bunch of classics as a way of pretending that he was still feeding his head - that he hadn’t torn through all of his brain cells because he kept dropping acid on the tube and Paris metro. He went to the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel and the Rijkmuseum.
“It’s an education by way of passport, Santi.”
“Uh huh - sounds like it.”
“I’m building your reputation, Garcia.”
“I believe you.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, man. You do what you have to do and then come home.”
By the end of it - Frankie was half a person. He was a shadow, a projection of someone else entirely. He hadn’t quite realized that he had planted the seed of his own chemical solution. He came home at twenty-two with his head on backwards. He felt like a raw nerve or like he’d stuck his tongue in a spark plug. He had spent a solid year drowning in drugs and drink until it just became a facet of his personality. From then on - he’d use them to fill the hole inside his gut - his chest. Anytime - he had a moment of quiet or even boredom, he’d drink to deaden his nerves - to paint over the fact that he did not like who he was.
Frankie smoothed his hand over the leather steering wheel. Almost two decades later and he still couldn’t help himself. He craved that easy violence. He craved having a reason for it.
***
It wasn’t much of a fight because the two men were already loose with alcohol. They were exactly where Danny said they would be. Round table at the back right corner. Next to the storage room door.
The Wharf cleared the second he strode in because Francisco Morales still carried enough weight to frighten crowds. He was still someone you didn’t fuck over unless you wanted to lose a precious limb or tongue or eyeball. He had to admit that his ego swelled a little at the sight of people scurrying away.
Danny nodded at him from behind the bar before disappearing down the hallway near the front. He’d remain scarce until Frankie was done.
He directed his glare at the men in question. Their eyes darted around the room, apparently still trying to figure out what was going on up until they recognized Frankie.
‘Oh shit,” one of them shouted - hand disappearing to the back of his jeans to find his gun.
Frankie said nothing as he cut a path toward them - rampaging through tables and chairs and knocking glasses and cutlery out of the way. The expressions on their faces were almost comical. Their eyes rounded out - mouths slack and open as they stumbled off their seats.
“We didn’t - we didn’t -”
That was about as far as one of them got before Frankie smashed a glass over his head. Skin split with a spurt of blood. The man dropped headfirst into the table and stayed there. Frankie curled his fingers into the lapels of the other man’s jacket and wrenched him forward - shoving him to the floor. His features were dazed - his skin pale - as he squirmed and fought against Frankie’s iron grip. Frankie released him, stepping away far enough in order to bring the heel of his boot down on the man’s face. There was a crunch - a warbled shout. He wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt flecks of blood on his cheek.
The man was screaming as he tried to crawl away from him. Frankie followed - shoulders stiff as he towered over him. It was pathetic - reminded him of a scurrying insect. He lurched forward, straddling him before he used his fists.
He was furious. His rage ran rivers beneath his skin as he grunted through every punch he delivered. The man gurgled - spat and begged at him, but he couldn’t hear. There was just a buzz - a constant hiss of noise as he broke the man beneath him. There was red and black and he couldn’t feel anything beyond the violence in front of him. Frankie tugged his knife from his belt and jerked it into the man’s throat - nudging it beneath his jaw. His eyes rolled back as he twitched.
Now - the other one -
There was a sharp burn across Frankie’s ribs and he hissed - hand flying to his side as blood blossomed through his t-shirt. Fuck. He turned around to find the man he knocked out very much awake. He had a knife - fingers shivering around the handle. Teeth bared. He lunged for Frankie - sending him backwards into the floor. There was the ripe punch of beer and scotch - the back of his shirt growing wet, but he couldn’t care. This was an annoyance. This was just a hiccup.
Frankie laughed. It was only a moment - a quick, rattling bark of laughter that startled the guy enough that he loosened his grip on the knife. Frankie took the opening and covered the man’s knuckles around the wood handle with his own hand. He drew his elbow back before shooting forward, stabbing the blade into the man’s neck.
He choked - the liquid at the back of his throat bubbling and frothing. Frankie scooted out of the way as the man collapsed beside him. He stood quickly and huffed - cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders backward. His eyes roved the area. The world flew back at him - all of his senses returning at once. There was nothing now - just a great gasp left in the wake of his violence. The bar room was empty - echoing - the glass liquor bottles glittering underneath the yellow pendant lights.
He wasn’t sure what to do now. There was still an unsteadiness inside him that refused to fade. There was an anxiousness - a burst of hunger that he wasn’t sure where to put.
He palmed his side where his injury throbbed. He’d been careless with that.
The bottles twinkled and for a moment he could taste the bite of whiskey - the warm fill of it churning in his stomach. He would welcome that. He’d like to feel it. He didn’t want to be in his head right now.
You fucking can’t. You know where it’ll lead. You’ve been there a thousand times.
He dug his finger into the shallow cut across his ribs. The pain snapped him awake. He clenched his teeth and hurried out of the bar. He’d call a cleanup crew and wire Danny whatever the damages cost and then some.
***
She wasn’t exactly angry with them for leaving her…again.
The puppy made up for it if she were being perfectly honest.
“I’m so easy,” she muttered as she tossed a ball across the den floor. Tom bounded after it - snuffling and yelping as he did.
She trusted them enough to know she was safe here. There were guards downstairs - guards outside the front door who constantly checked in on her. They even called her Ms. Faire.
She glanced at the open wine bottle beside her. She’d gotten nervous once she was alone - her anxiousness prickling her skin.
“Only for an hour or so,” Benny murmured as he rubbed her back. “I promise.”
“What if you have business or something?” she asked. She never trusted “only an hour”. Her mother used to say that and then she’d disappear for an entire evening and not get home until dawn. Hell - she’d done it to her when she was a child, leaving her in a locked car for the afternoon as she ran whatever errands she ran.
Will had squeezed her waist - his mouth hot against her ear. “I’ll come back to you even if I have to leave them. Sixty minutes tops.”
The wine warmed her stomach, but it wasn’t enough. She was worried and mostly over them. She didn’t know when that switch had flipped.
When they had saved her?
When they had told her the real story?
When she had started to allow them to touch her - invade her space because she enjoyed it?
It was so strange and deeply fucked up, but she had never had a family. She had never had this kind of warmth - this comfort despite the fact that they were violent people.
No one had ever taken care of her before and now she had four men going out of their way to keep her safe. The boys had proven time and time again that they would look out for her - patch her up. Fucking feed her ridiculously good pastries and give her a pet. They wouldn’t even take advantage of her, despite the fact that she begged for it. Her cheeks flared up - her stomach somersaulting as she remembered what Will had promised.
“I’ll fuck you until you can’t think.”
“I’ll lick your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop. I’ll do anything you need me to do.”
Fuck - She had butterflies over a killer.
She was, at least, grateful that things hadn’t been weird earlier. Will had treated her like he always had - ruining her fucking life with that ridiculous smile that illuminated all of his handsome features.
Tom barked at her and she laughed - scratching his ears. “Time for your walk,” she told him before scooping him up and padding over to the front door. She handed him to Gerald who had taken over bathroom duties for the dog. She couldn’t exactly go outside - not because she was a hostage, but because who knew who was waiting out there for her. Her life was still on the line.
You’re not a prisoner anymore. Not really.
She made it about four steps before the front door banged open behind her. She whirled around to see Frankie standing before her. His hair was unruly. His eyes dark and fathomless. There was a thin film of sweat coating his brow - his pallor almost pale.
She rushed forward before his expression stopped her. It was unfocused - as if he was staring at something beyond her. There was a deep-seated anger marking his features. He looked…scary.
“What happened to you?” She reached for his arm and he shrugged her off. His lips creased to a thin line. She noticed he was favoring his left side as he brushed past her.
“Frankie!” she snapped and he didn’t even pause. He simply kept walking, silently climbing the stairs to the second floor.
What the fuck?
***
Irritated, she went to her bedroom. She didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. She’d never seen him look that way before. Detached, but also not. A spiral of fervent emotions ripping across his face that he was trying to temper down.
She went to her bureau and pulled out a fresh pair of pajama shorts and a tank. She slipped both on, trying not to focus on the fact that Frankie had completely ignored her. He’d never been rude to her. He’d practically been up her ass since she got here.
Suddenly, there was a sharp rap at her door.
Thinking it was Gerald with the dog, she crossed her bedroom to answer it. Frankie stood there - hands filled with cotton and gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He blinked at her - his white teeth biting his lip. He seemed softer now - his thick curls falling across his forehead - his brown eyes round and brow creased. He’d gotten rid of his jacket and was just clad in his jeans and a loose gray shirt. She saw rusty red staining the side of it.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Couldn’t do it yourself could you?”
“Please?” he replied - offering her the supplies, which she took automatically. She moved aside to let him in. He winced as he accidentally knocked his hip into her door frame.
Once inside, he turned toward her, lifting the hem of his t-shirt high enough to show the wound. There was enough light in her room to cast his body in warm relief. His torso was attractive - dark hair that trailed thinly down his stomach - curved lines of muscle. He wasn’t as built as Benny or Will, but it was obvious he was strong and broad. Her eyes fell on the cut. It was still weeping blood and she frowned.
“I take it you weren’t just doing recon?”
He shook his head. Something had happened and he was pissed or his brain had bounced around in his skull and he no longer could hold a conversation.
“You don’t want to do this in the bathroom?” she asked as she unscrewed the bottle of alcohol.
“Here is fine,” he muttered.
He remained silent as she cleaned his wound. He did inhale loudly when she pressed the alcohol-soaked gauze to the torn flesh. The muscles in his jaw flexed and his nostrils flared, which she found extremely sexy despite the fact that he was being kind of a dick.
There was a feeling at the nape of her neck - a pinch of fear. She was positive he had gone out and done something because of her. She needed to know - she wanted to know.
She softened her voice.
“What did you do, Frankie?”
***
Her question didn’t really register. He didn’t want to be here with her in the state he was in. He had assumed one of the guys would be home to help him out, but they’d left and he was stuck. He still felt brutally on edge. He felt dazed, so utterly dizzy with all that anger still percolating inside him.
“Frankie,” the girl pressed and this time he did hear her. Her tone was forceful now - panic creeping into her words. “What - did you do?”
He wouldn’t tell her. It was too much. Her voice was taking on that hysterical vibration - that thin high-pitched anxiousness.
I allowed my anger to get the better of me and went out and murdered two men. I wanted to protect you - I wanted to hurt the people who hurt you and I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t control it. I still can’t control it and it seems as if I’ve learned fucking nothing after Benny…
After I let my fury get the better of me and I drowned it in booze. I couldn’t move or fight or protect my best friend and he got taken and now he can’t even stretch his back without flinching.
Pain seared across his side as she swiped the angry, red cut a little too hard. He grunted - gaze finally catching that her hands were shaking and there was a sick sort of expression on her face - like she might throw up or burst into tears.
“Did you go out there for me?” she hissed. “You could have died. You could have died and left me here and the others are out - the others are out at the Chapel and - and-” She lifted her face to meet his eyes - Frankie winced. “What if Baron kills them? I don’t - I have no one, Frankie. I have no one. I have no family. I have no friends. I would just be here and I don’t - I don’t know what I’d do?” A sob caught at the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. “There is nothing for me out there. I’d just be waiting here like an idiot - alone. I didn’t fucking want this - “
Frankie felt stricken on top of the shame that was already ravaging his body. He couldn’t let her cry like that. He couldn’t watch her fall apart as she just bashed herself against his silence.
He said her name softly and reached for her.
***
Frankie had touched her before, but now it felt different. Before it had been careful, gentle touches — ones meant to soothe and fix, but now there was something else in his touch. Something thicker and filled with tension. Something more intimate and wild. She was teetering. An upside-down carousel. A thousand colors and animals and shapes and the non-stop swell and tinkle of circus music. She felt sick. She felt so utterly alone and confused.
He looked distraught - jumbled and - fuck - she wanted to fix it, but could not. She could not stop crying or panting or clinging to him. Frankie’s broad hands cupped the nape of her neck - his thick calloused fingers dug into the base of her skull. The gruffness was gone and replaced with worry.
She tried to focus on his face. His pouty lips and umber eyes with those sweet curling lashes. It all mixed and swirled - going to watery paint.
“Please don’t cry,” he murmured as he squeezed her neck. “Please, Sweetheart.”
It made her cry harder. Tears running rivers down her cheeks - she fisted his shirt. She was hyperventilating now - barely able to get a breath in. Spit and snot and she must have looked out of her fucking mind.
“I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “I’m sorry.”
It felt as if her heart might burst like a bubble in her chest. She clawed at him and his voice went very far away. She was underwater - drowning in salt as the surf continued to knock her into the sand. The hits kept coming. Her life had unraveled spectacularly.
“Please stop,” he begged - his expression agonized. “Please stop. C’mon - honey.” His face was closer now - his features blurring and darkening through her tears. His grip went to her jaw and he was cradling her cheeks. His hot breath fell against her nose and chin. “Calm down.”
A beat, his eyes dropping to her mouth — and then He kissed her. It was a collision, really. He lunged forward - rock and grit vibrating beneath a groan as he crushed his lips to her own. His tongue slipped between her teeth - slid across the roof of her mouth and tangled with hers.
It was everything she wanted right at that moment. Everything she could have asked for and there was no stopping it. This was a train on a crash course - no end in sight and if he stopped she’d fall apart -she’d crumble or die or go to dust.
“Make me feel good,” she whispered against the thrust of his tongue - the slant of his lips, her fingers slipping into his hair to pull him close and Something low and rugged bloomed from the back of his throat. Her words seemed to have snapped something within him.
It’s a fight — he was forcing her down and she was dragging him with her as they tugged and ripped at each other. They missed the bed and went straight to the floor - the carpet rough at her back. His fingers were everywhere - bruising and calloused. He shoved at her clothes and it was such a fucking echo of him and how he’d been with her since day one. He had stripped her bare - demanded she reveal herself or at least she had felt that way. He had seen her and she hadn’t been able to hide from him. She couldn’t bury who she was because he was right fucking there and he wanted to touch it.
Her vision spun and swam as he pulled away from her mouth and sat back on his heels. For a moment - she thought he meant to leave - meant to stop this as Will had. But he only was grabbing at her shorts - ripping them down before wrenching her thighs apart and diving forward. There was a moan that rumbled from deep within his chest as his nose scraped through the slit of her sex. She started curl into it - spine arching off the floor - squeaking with the burst of pleasure as he tweaked her clit with the suction of his lips.
He plunged his broad tongue flat against her - sweeping through her folds until her hips jumped against his chin and the warm slippery glide of it momentarily stunned her. He was pressing his face into her cunt with a careless sort of abandon - a frantic urgency - a yes yes yes now fuck please tumbling from her mouth as her head fell back and her thighs jammed into his ears and she was about to reach for him - push at his shirt, fist his hair - but he was already moving away so he could climb up her body. He kissed her belly - her tits - mouthing over her thin shirt and she could see herself all over him and how wet she must be, to leave a sheen - a fucking glaze over his nose and lips and mustache. He seemed so affected - so intense - clawing his fingers around the middle of her bra over the cotton of her shirt to pull her up to his mouth - smashing their lips together until it hurt. It did sting, but it was far away. She could taste her cunt - the salty flesh of girl as he shared it with her.
He tore himself away from her again so he could pop the button of his jeans - rucking them down just enough for his cock to spring forward and - she stared.
Fuck it was big. It was heavy - thick and swollen with the head red as it jutted from the sparse curls at his groin. She swallowed - lifting her eyes to meet his. He was gone, His expression fierce. His pupils expanded - burst to full black as his gaze bore into her own and he spat on his hand - the sound of it blunt and crude in her silent bedroom. She couldn’t catch her breath and she felt her heart climb up her throat as she watched Frankie’s spit slick palm wrap around his cock - pumping and stroking just for a second as she laid prone beneath him. Before she knew what she was doing, she reached out to grasp it. The length jumped in her palm - pulsed with the throb of his own heartbeat. It was hot to the touch and she barely had time to think about if he’d fit inside her, but she genuinely wondered.
His hand curled under her knee to spread her open further, to make room for him. She was truly on display at this angle, could feel her aching pussy, gaping and wet from his mouth and all the pleasure he had pulled from her flushing her skin.
She’d been liquid for ages, really. Slick for days.
At least - that’s how she felt. She wanted to be sated - wanted to be shoved off that cliff she’d been balancing on since she arrived here. Her climax was already growing - swelling inside the center of her body - cresting between her legs and throbbing behind her sex. She wanted him to push himself into the center point of her pain and her pleasure until it all coalesced into bliss - into relief —
Please move - she cried out in her head - and he did — dropping forward, covering her entirely with his broad frame. He rested his forearm beside her head, braced his other hand on her hip to pin her down and she felt the leaking, velvet hot flesh of his cock against her thigh.
“Fuck,” she whimpered. “Fuck - I want you - please.”
Her words broke across him - the corner of his lips lifting as he stared at her. He drew his pelvis back before he thrust forward and claimed her in one, full stroke. The second he breached her, his mouth parted. They both groaned from the stretch of it - the intensity of it. Her body locked up as her hands flew to his face - her palms against his cheek as she dragged him down to her lips to silence the agonized whimper from her mouth.
It was a lot. She was soaked and hot as a furnace and it still felt as if he was splitting her down the middle. She felt impaled - vulnerable and small and she did not think he could go farther and yet he did. He pushed into her inch by inch notched as deep as he could into her until his groin slotted with her own.
“Oh fuck,” she panted against his mouth. “Shit.”
It felt as if he was in her throat - fucking her heart or guts and he hadn’t even moved.
She was forced to just feel all of him - let the muscles of her cunt expand to accommodate his size. She felt heavy and full and there was a dull ache at the center of her and it was as if her entire world had narrowed to the pulsating point between her legs.
He dropped his head to kiss her - hungry and forceful - teeth clicking together. He distracted her with it as he drew his hips back before he shoved himself forward again. She gasped - the breath knocked from her lungs. She held onto him - clinging and grasping everywhere she could reach. He ruined her - overtook her. All of him was her entire fucking world at that moment: his sweat, the weight of his body, his warm humid breath and damp curls that fell across his forehead. He rocked back before immediately boring down again - pushing further inside her as he fucked her into the carpet.
For a few minutes - she was boneless. She hadn’t realized how powerful he was. She had seen it in Will and Benny, but she could feel it in Frankie now - the enormity of his strength pressing down upon her like the weight of the sea. His grip on her hip pinned her to the floor as she tried to squirm. She could only take and take.
But as her pleasure began to pulse through her, began to demand more, she gave it back. She met him thrust for thrust - tilting her pelvis up - desperate for him to keep her filled.
She crept her fingers under the waistband of his jeans - sinking them into the meat of his ass to make him drive deeper as if he could go deeper and he could. There was no end to it and she wasn’t sure if she wanted it harder or rougher or faster, but it didn’t matter because he was fucking the words right out of her mouth.
His cock squelched within her - rich wet noises as their flesh clapped together. The button of his jeans scraped her skin - the denim rasping and ripping at the inside of her thighs and knees. It disturbed her cuts - rubbed against her bandages. The sting was welcome - added a blunt tang to the sex. She could not get enough. She threaded her fingers through his curls - spreading her legs to take him deeper. He rolled his hips as he ground into her pussy - there was not a breath between them - nothing but the furious lock of their bodies.
He grunted into her neck with every harsh stroke inside - her ass scraping across the rug. His cock pulsed and dragged - hypersensitive - pleasure and a chemical crash because it felt right.
His broad hand cradled the back of her neck, his fingers working into her scalp as he held her in place so that he could grind his cock as deep as he could get it. He fisted her hair as he continued to take her in desperate, sharp strokes. The lump at the crown of her head burned and throbbed, but she was too far gone - utterly distracted by the filthy groan that fell from his mouth. His pace grew sloppy as she clenched around him - orgasm rippling into the next - collapsing one after the other like a pyramid of cards. He rose above her and her gaze fixated to his chest - the lurching collarbones and strained throat as he speared into her hard and fast and she was near-weeping, moaning: “please fuck - don’t stop don’t stop” and he held her hair tighter and the pain in her skull burned anew and so she rose up and nipped at his throat and he growled at the sting of it - hips stuttering against the bowl of her pelvis as she felt him spill inside her. It was warm and heavy and filled her so completely and she didn’t think of the consequences of that - of allowing him that - it didn’t fucking matter.
And then it was over.
Frankie still bore his weight above her - his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Slowly he eased his fingers out of her hair and she winced - the sensation more intense than before. He noticed it - his eyes glued to her face and his expression crumpled for a second before it became completely unreadable.
His gaze widened and he drew away from her suddenly. He pulled out of her cunt- the unmistakable hot wetness of his spend trailing along her inner thigh. He stared down at it for a moment - his pupils expanding - hungry and feral and she thought maybe he’d fuck her again - maybe he’d turn her over and slam himself into her one more time because christ she felt so empty -
But his face returned to that numb sort of blankness. Illegible. She had no idea what to say as she lay sprawled out in front of him - totally bare from the waist down with his seed dripping out of her. His cut had begun to bleed again - dribbling dark beads. It looked ugly and she realized that her knee had been rubbing up against it. There was red smeared on her skin.
She found her voice and it was steady - entirely focused on the leaking wound along his side.
“You’re bleeding.” She sat up to reach for him.
It apparently was the wrong move because he stumbled backward.
“It’s fine,” he snapped. The first thing he’d said to her since he’d kissed her - since he’d begged her to calm down. “Just - shit it’s fine.”
This wasn’t right. Why was he acting like this? Why couldn’t he look at her?
“Frankie,” she pleaded - embarrassed by how desperate it sounded.
His eyes were trained on the door and the silence grew between them. It was bloated and heavy and terrible. A mixture of anxiety and shame had begun to bubble inside her. He stood up quickly - tugging his jeans up and dragging a shaky hand through his sweat-damp curls.
She heard the door open downstairs. She heard Benny’s laughter ringing through the entryway.
“I’m - I’m sorry,” he rasped before rushing out of the room.
She was frozen - splayed out on the floor. Vulnerable and half-naked. The air was cold against her wet, puffy folds. There was a sharp soreness between her legs - hot bruising pressure - the only evidence of what had happened. She glanced down. No - that wasn’t true. There was a small pool of blood from his wound. It spread in a nebulous pattern across the cream carpet beside her. The room creaked - folded in on itself. Empty. Silent. She heard Benny laugh again.
She stood up - finding her footing on trembling legs. She crossed her room and slammed the door.
Pairing: TF Boys x F!Reader
Wordcount: 8.3k
Warnings: gore. alcohol abuse. kidnapping. eventual reverse harem. smut. brief mention of sexual assault. violence. panic attack.
Summary: Pope confesses.
A/N: Ah yes this feels like quite a transition chapter - lots of info. I struggled quite a bit and the angel that is my bff @frannyzooey has guided me through it. Her advice has always been the right choice and helped me move along when I felt stuck. She also helped me organize/come up with the damn back story because i was like uh...so how do I plot? I hope you enjoy my loves!
Series Masterlis
“Tell me what?”
“Who your father is.”
Will could still taste rain behind his teeth. The storm had simply kept on raging - pelting against his bedroom windows. It made this particular scene charged - as if it served as their backdrop symphony. Storms were always his forte. He meshed with violent weather. It worked his mood, which was why he only handled his clients in a windowless room. He didn’t want the sun branching its golden brass across his concrete floors - illuminating the paint strokes of blood or tissue. Bleaching scattered teeth.
Not in the light. It didn’t deserve the light.
“My father?” she echoed - eyebrows raised. It didn't quite seem to hit home with her. Not yet.
“Yeah,” Will murmured as he set to work on her other cuts - all those subtle injuries that had yet to bruise or blossom. “Pope will tell you.”
“Not you?” she asked. “Not now?”
He bit his lip - chewing it thoughtfully. “Pope is the best person - the only person, really.”
She nodded - deflating against his mirror. She looked small in his bathroom - hunched and vulnerable and lovely. He was concerned - there was a flat empty look in her eyes. Shiny. He didn’t think she was about to cry - no - it was something else. Inscrutable.
That was nothing new. Everything about her was a puzzle box of sorts. Too many pieces that didn’t fit quite right - leaving spaces in the full picture. He couldn’t figure her out. He scrutinized her again. She gave him a weak smile.
She was holding it together pretty well all things considered.
Tonight had been a serious fuck up.
He tried to recall the exact brand of his anger. He tried to recount what had happened only half an hour ago. He remembered the grey echo of the garage. The intruders in their getaway vehicle had screeched out of there - hit the gas as soon as their SUV had rampaged into view. He remembered the elevator and how he had kept his back to the wall - used its surface to anchor himself. He needed to be centered in order to do what would be required of him. The thought of the girl dead - of her already slaughtered in her bed or the living room or the goddamn kitchen was inconceivable. He knew how the other organizations liked to send messages - knew the intricacies of their brutality. He knew it because they had learned it from him - he had defined the level of violence to use when they communicated. He had carved implications with his own art.
Leave a message with a head. Just enough blood. Let them know you won’t take excuses.
He did it for Santi. He did it for his family.
To have that put back on her. Fuck. It had frozen his insides - numbed him momentarily as he made his way back to the penthouse.
The others had been no better.
Benny had been frantic. Santi pissed, muttering under his breath which he often did when something had escaped his control. Frankie was just Frankie with his hands curled into fists - his gaze at his feet. As soon as the elevator doors had opened, they had moved as a single organism. There was danger at their home - danger at the place they considered sacred. No one had dared strike out at them here - not since they were teenagers.
He had taken the lead - rushed forward on quiet feet. He had slipped down the hall - through the glass and the rubble until he had heard her. She had been gasping and grunting and a harsh male voice was taunting her and the first thing he had felt was relief - she’s alive - I can fix this - handle this -
His second feeling had been fear - a strange sort of anxiousness that they were tearing her apart - breaking her or scarring her or God forbid - assaulting her.
He had crept into the kitchen and the image in front of him had been enough - enough to destabilize his rage and make him drown in red. The bastard was on top of her - his body too big for her - pinning her down as her hands pawed helplessly at the man’s shoulders. He didn’t remember a lot of it. His anger had always been cold and severe. It didn’t take hold of him the way it did with the others. He was too precise. Too clinical and organized to allow it. He wasn’t like Santi who got overwhelmed with his emotions and often hid himself away to nurse it. He wasn’t like Benny who slathered his temper or grief beneath a joke. Frankie could really blow, but it only happened once in a while.
He had seen that man and he had fucking lost it. It was like something had unlatched inside him - it all poured out and then he had wrenched him off of her.
He studied her out of the corner of his eyeline - studied her as he bent his head to continue patching her up. She was scared. Will could see it plain on her face. The adrenaline had dried itself out and now she was feeling the truth of it - of what could have happened had they not come back when they did.
Will suddenly wondered why he had been the one to take her up the stairs. He was the best at first aid, but he was not great at - this - decompressing - helping her process. He was one of those people who stuffed his terrors into the very bottom of his guts or the very corner of his brain. He left them there to gather dust or ideally turn to dust. It should have been Frankie - Frankie knew how to handle emotions and trauma and all those fancy things that snapped and pulled at the head.
Or it could have even been Benny who was far better at distracting than he was.
He could kill the man who hurt her without breaking a sweat. He could physically sew her back together, but he was shit at anything else.
He used the sink water to wash her feet - the backs of her knees. She smelled good - like lavender and cherry lotion. She was chewing the inside of her mouth - wincing slightly as he swiped alcohol-soaked gauze across her skin.
She had a high pain tolerance that was for sure. Benny usually squealed as soon as he cleaned any of his cuts. He’d complained about a blister for three straight days. She was silent - contemplative and he hated that it made his cock stir - his insides twist at the idea of her handling pain beautifully.
He took advantage of the moment and trailed his fingers across her bare skin. He’d savor this - think about it later.
He stood back up to his full height - towering over her. He cracked his neck again and rolled his shoulders. He was stiff from crouching - tense from literally holding his breath as he tried not to pop a boner while bandaging her gorgeous legs. She stared up at him and he bit down on a sigh. She really was beautiful. Not a stitch of makeup. Just bare fucking beauty. “What else hurts?” he queried.
She squinted - tilting her chin. “Head. I broke his nose with the back of it.”
He paused - dragging his hand over his mouth and beard before pressing two fingers to his chin. He blinked for a second. Dumbfounded.
“You used your head?”
“Didn’t have many options.” The corner of her lips twitched.
He grinned - couldn’t help it. She seemed pleased with herself and he found it sexy.
“Wow,” Will replied - impressed.
“Wow what?”
He shook his head. “You just surprise me, Faire. You’re full of fucking surprises.”
Her eyes widened - her mouth parting. The words had spilled off his tongue with such ease. They were genuine. Honest. He wasn’t entirely sure if she accepted them or believed them. Benny was so much better at casual flirtation. Christ.
There was a beat of silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. The warm bathroom light slid fuzzy and sweet between them. The air charged with the remnants of her adrenaline and his fury and now this quiet after where both of them didn’t know where to place all of it. He broke the tension.
He made a come hither motion. “Let’s see that head, then.”
She sighed and leaned forward - allowed him to draw her closer to him.
He was careful with her - methodically pressing against the back of her skull. There was definitely a knot. He heard her intake of breath - could see the way she curled her fingers into tiny fists. The image of her helplessly striking those fists against that man overtook him and he brushed it away. He couldn’t focus on that. It was over. He was holding her now - cradling the crown of her skull - enjoying the texture of her hair and the heat of her skin.
“Anything else?” he husked.
“Anything else?” she mumbled into his wrist as he prodded her - massaging her flesh.
“Any other hurts?”
“My hands feel cold -”
He touched them immediately. He cupped them - there were a mixture of callused fingertips and smooth palms - oven burns and too much Aquaphor. He would savor this, too.
***
His hands were dry as they snuggly wrapped around her own. Her thoughts were jumbled - cycling between what had happened tonight - what was happening now - the overhanging question of her father.
Who her father was...who her father was....
She supposed that Will’s statement should strike something within her. It should nudge her - wake her up a bit. No luck. She was stuck in a fog - stuck somewhere in between raw life and dreams. She desperately wanted to sleep - wanted to curl up on a bed and not wake up for the next two weeks.
She decidedly focused on Will and what he had been doing to her legs and the open skin where glass had ripped and tore her. It was an ugly pain - those tiny little bites and burns rather than one gaping wound. She remembered falling into a rose bush as a young girl. The thorns had left her bleeding - streaking all of her bare patches of kid flesh. Her skin had stung for days.
Her dad had bandaged her. She recalled that. He had cursed long and loose when she had gone into those bushes. Words she knew were bad. But, he had extracted her carefully - soothing her with soft mouth sounds. He clucked his tongue and carried her to the house and cleaned her up - just as Will was doing now. He bought her ice cream after. Rocky Road.
“You were so brave,” he praised - stroking her plump cheek. “Not many men could have handled that, sweetheart.”
It was one of the few memories she had of him.
She met Will’s gaze. He was studying her in a way that made something molten and electric sizzle in her belly. His pupils expanded - black chewing away at all that blue. There was still the pitter patter of rain against his window. There was still the monsoon wet heat hanging off of him that he’d brought in from the storm. She was so overwhelmed that she wasn’t quite sure what to concentrate on: Will. Her cut skin. Her father.
Everything was murky. The corners and edges of his bathroom had begun to fuzz and blur like damp watercolor. The limestone was cold under her ass. The bright light above his mirror burned a circle over her head and her bare shoulders. The comfort of an artificial heat.
Her gaze darted down to his mouth before they shot back to his eyes. His brow creased - his hands left hers suddenly and he swiped his thumb over his lower lip. Nervous.
When she spoke, her voice was low and velvety. Firm. “You’re very hard to figure out.”
He chuckled - a flush rising high over his cheekbones. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“You’re just - you can kill someone like it’s nothing and then turn around and patch me back together and you’re just - I don’t know-” she exhaled as her shoulders fell. “You’re just so gentle about it.”
He stiffened - his eyes widening enough for her to notice that she’d left an impression. He was shockingly easy to get a reaction out of. She’d thought him so hard - unbreachable. He seemed to hear her - listen to her. He seemed to take what she said - whatever she said - to heart.
He clasped her knee - his thumb sweeping over the skin - back and forth. Back and forth. She wondered what he tasted like - she wondered how he kissed. Her dream about him came back to her - the flash of images - the shock of him inside her - was he that big in real life? Would he be rough? Would he bruise her mouth with his teeth?
She’d heard how he fucked and she didn’t believe those girls were putting on a show. She had listened to the pace at which that headboard rocked against the wall - the squeal of his mattress. The slap of skin. Two women at once. Her eyes roved all over him - blatantly - desperately. His broad shoulders and handsome face. The swell of his muscles beneath his button-up shirt that seemed to fit him perfectly. The beard and brand of tattoos and the blood on his sleeves and he had fucking saved her.
Her head throbbed and Will licked his lips and there was the sharp, white burst of his canines and then she leaned forward though swayed would be more apt. She registered his gaze rounding - widening and then she curled her fingers into his shirt and pulled him toward her.
She kissed him.
He was dead-still for a moment - a second - and she was too far gone - too drunk off the fact that he tasted like mints and the honey bloom of whiskey. He made a broken sort of noise - deep and gritty - as coarse hands found her waist. He crowded her against the mirror and her knees dug into his ribs. There was the thrum of his heart and he deepened that kiss - kissed her like he was going to melt into her - tongue running across her bottom lip. Her fingers found his hair and she threaded them through - catching on the silk of it. He drank her down - licked at the seam of her mouth. There was an obvious talent beneath his pace - branded in the way his mouth moved against her own. She was burning - her skull felt like it would topple off and there was a tide of fizzing golden arousal flowing through her limbs, clashing at the center of her in one whirlpool of pleasure. Her palms fell to his chest - catching at the buttons. She ripped - tore the top few off. Will didn’t even seem to notice. She leaned back to see the flush of his golden chest and the ink scrawl of his tattoo over his heart and the way his pectorals curved followed by the distinct lines of his abdomen -
He dropped his head.
His lips were on her throat - his teeth scraping the flesh over her vein and it punched a high-pitched whimper from her lungs. It had been beyond her control. Will drew back - his expression as smug as she’d ever seen it.
“Don’t get cocky,” she huffed - indignant.
“I didn’t say anything.” Gravel voice. Stone-studded.
She glared at him. He was right between her legs and somewhere along the way he had tugged her to the edge of the counter. There was nothing between them, but her flimsy shorts and his dress pants and she could feel him. She felt the bulge of him and oh -
She reached for him again and he went to her - lunging forward and she bypassed his mouth to gain access to the delicious line in his neck - beneath his jaw. She bit down and he jerked against her - his fingers digging into the flesh of her waist before they trailed toward her ass.
He pulled away far enough that he could stare down at her. He looked taken aback - he looked like she’d cut into him in a way that he hadn’t expected. His brow knitted together - his eyes went full raven-black as he leveled a predatory gaze on her heaving body. He lifted his hand and rested his fingers at the center of her chest. He slid them down between her tits - her stomach - slow as syrup before he cupped her over her shorts, his thumb curved right over the peak of her sex. She arched into him. His mouth twitched and she ground down into his hand shamelessly.
He slammed his lips to hers again and it sent fire searing through her veins.
“Who the fuck are you?” he mumbled between the harsh stroke of his tongue - the words caught up in drunk arousal - baking heat - and she was so fucking gone. She was miles away. She couldn’t stop herself. It slipped out - all those hidden things she’d been thinking down on that kitchen floor.
“I liked it,” she confessed - her body heavy and full of so fucking much. The place between her legs pulsing and needy.
“Liked what?” he rasped.
“When you killed that man.” She clenched her eyes shut for a moment - her hips chasing his hand as he suddenly drew it from her. “For me,” she added.
He stared at her - slack-jawed and stunned. His lips were all pink and red and wet with her spit and she wanted him back on her - inside her. Needed those fingers pressing urgently against her cunt again.
“Jesus Christ” he mumbled and then his next word melted into a hungry, quiet groan of: “Yes.”
He gripped the hinge of her jaw and crushed his mouth to hers.
She fell against his mirror and it jarred the crown of her head. The pain was secondary - the pain was dampened due to the onslaught of Will’s tongue and the grind of his cock against her thigh. His thumb hooked in the hole of her shorts. She clung to him like he was a rock through a swift tide. She was being ripped in each direction and her mind was so muddled and foggy and threatening to shatter.
Those men. Her father. Benny. Frankie. Pope. Will. Will who had killed three men in front of her and it was as if she couldn’t recall the terror of it. She wanted to sink into him - entangle with his darkness because she was beginning to feel a familiarity to it - maybe she had been bred for it - in it. This could have been her life - been her world. She was here now. Her father - her father -
His hand slid down her stomach - past the band of her shorts - so close - so fucking close. She could feel her pleasure riding high - circling - becoming the brunt of an electrical storm as it prepared to burst across packed dirt. He hadn’t even touched her pussy and yet…
He growled her name - grunted it against her lips before he nipped the plump flesh. She sobbed - louder than she meant to, but she was overwhelmed and on the cusp and -
Will froze. He twisted his face away from her - burying it into her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” She leaned forward - holding to him fast - trying to press her mouth to his jaw. He caught her wrists and held firm - held her at arm’s length. When he looked at her, his expression was pained.
“We can’t do this right now.”
A heavy weight fell inside her stomach. Smooth cold stone.
He scraped his hand over his face - waking himself up. “Trust me - I can’t believe I’m saying this - I - I normally wouldn’t be so fucking responsible, but you were just attacked. I can’t do this to you.”
She balked. “Yes you can - I want you, too.”
He opened his mouth before closing it again. The muscle in his jaw popped and flexed.
His face shuttered to something lost and she believed him - believed that this wasn’t what he wanted -not exactly. Still - her ego was snapping at her - was distraught at being refused. “You might want this now, but tomorrow you’ll wake up and regret it.” He squeezed her wrists and her bones felt thin and fibrous in the sheath of her flesh. “Whatever we do here, we can’t take it back.”
Her face grew hot - hotter than what had been between her legs moments before.
She shoved off the counter - landing hard on her ruined foot. “Fuck,” she screeched as she hopped onto the other one. “Shit - shit - ow-”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Will yelled as he reached for her. She curved away from him and continued onward - back to her damn room. Fuck the pain, her ego was busted - was sizzling and burning and dissipating with each second she was in here with him.
He’d said no.
Her foot screamed at her. She put all her weight on her good one and hobbled, which was probably more humiliating. Dear. God. You’re a fucking mess.
“Stop,” WIll growled somewhere behind her.
“Goodnight,” she shot over her shoulder - trying to keep herself from wincing or tumbling to her knees.
***
She didn’t really think this through as she made for her bedroom. The aches in her body had begun to stab at her - bellow as she walked. She was sure she was going to open something, but she couldn’t care.
Will was right, she should have let him take her. She’d been humiliated - felt as exposed as a raw nerve as she panted and spread her legs for him. His spit on her mouth - her tongue. She’d been frantic - desperate for him. He’d rejected her and he had been good to do it.
She was traumatized. She had been attacked. She’d just had some horrific stranger pin her to the floor and -
Jesus. She needed to really learn how to swallow her fucking pride.
She paused as the throbbing in her feet grew fiercer. Shit. She was just about to get on all fours and crawl before a pair of muscular arms banded around her waist and picked her up. She yelped - quite hideously.
Will’s face - golden and smugly handsome - peered down at her.
He arched an eyebrow. “Hate me all you want, but don’t be a stubborn ass. I don’t need you dying of blood loss or an infection.”
She was speechless. She had no comeback.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he quipped as he carried her to her room.
He used his shoulder to ease the bedroom door open and gingerly placed her on her bed. He swiftly moved towards the end of the mattress - picking her foot up to check her bandages.
“Did I fuck them up?” she asked nervously.
He peeked up at her, the corner of his lips forming a stupidly attractive dimple. “Nah - you’re fine.”
He dropped her foot and strode back to her. She didn’t jerk away from him - not even when he grasped her face between his hands and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was warm and wet. It lingered. “Be good,” he murmured before skating his hot mouth across her cheek. Her lashes fluttered and she inhaled sharply. “I promise,” he drawled - his tone lowering to something visceral - hungry and blunt. “That after tonight - if you still want me to - I’ll fuck you.” He kissed her lightly again before he pulled away to pin her with a devastating stare. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t think.” His pink tongue darted out over his lip. “I’ll lick your pretty pussy until you beg me to stop. I’ll do anything you need me to do.”
She swallowed. That heat between her legs was building one more damn time - she knew she was probably dripping with it. Fucking fucker.
“Goodnight,” he smiled sweetly and stepped away from her.
As soon as he left, she took her pillow and screamed into it.
***
She fell back against her mattress. Her head was spinning. She ached in all sorts of crevices and creases and her heart was thumping out of her chest. Hummingbird fast. Too much. All too much tonight.
You were about to let Will fuck you. You were going to let him rail you on that bathroom counter. So what? Who could care? She didn’t.
Not really.
There was a knock on her door. God damn it.
She sat up as Frankie poked his head in. He was still in his dress-clothes. His brown hair curling under his ears. He offered her a tight smile. “Hey - can we come in?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
She felt like she was on a sitcom. Each man was attempting to rob her of sleep and sanity and doing a fantastic job.
He strolled in with the Ice King behind him. Pope had a nervous sort of energy at his shoulders - tense and flustered. He paced her room before settling off to the side.
“Chill out,” she complained - pressing the back of her hand to her brow. “You’re making me all dizzy.”
His eyes shot to her. “Is your head alright? You don’t have a concussion do you?”
“Don’t think so.”
He nodded stiffly before scrubbing at his face. His stubble darkened his jaw. His curls were a mess and fell limply across his brow. It was strangely endearing. He appeared frazzled and out of sorts. Regardless - he was still gorgeous. His features heavy and bold. His coloring a work of contrasts.
When he lifted his chin, he fixed her with a heavy look. He was sizing her up, perhaps? Wondering if she could handle what he was going to deliver. She briefly feared that her lips were swollen from making out with Will. That would be less than ideal. She really was kissing her way through this house like this was a game of slutty musical chairs. Okay - not really. But kissing two of her kidnappers was an act that any therapist would eat up.
But are they your kidnappers? Or are they your protectors?
Pope cleared his throat and offered her a strained smile before he spoke.
“I’m sorry again for tonight. We’ve - we’ve never had a lapse in security to this extent.”
She shrugged.
He rolled his eyes. “I mean it. This was supposed to be the safest place for you. I said no one would touch you here and now my word is shot to shit.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” he snapped and Frankie glared at him. Pope had the decency to look sheepish.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m actually terrible at having a bedside manner so apologies in advance.”
She snorted, but motioned to the chair in the corner of the room. “Please sit down - you’re freaking me out with the hovering.”
“Frankie is hovering.”
“Frankie is less annoying.”
He gaped at her and she met it with a grin. She was exhausted - truly bone-dead tired - but fucking with Pope was too fun. Frankie grabbed the chair and offered it to him. He slapped him hard on the shoulder, his voice teasing. “Better listen to her, Santi.”
He rolled his eyes again, but did as he was told - dropping down into the bougie velvet chair. “This chair sucks,” he grumbled. “Wow.”
“I mean I didn’t pick it out,” she replied flatly.
“Half the shit in here is decorative - we don’t usually have guests.”
“You actually seem to have lots of guests.”
Pope’s brow furrowed in confusion as if he had no idea what she was talking about. Maybe - he didn’t. She had begun to realize that Pope’s mind revolved around work work work yell at her work.
Frankie coughed. “The girls, man.”
Pope sat up straighter. “Oh - right.”
“Yeah - you guys are really fucking loud,” she taunted as she sank deeper into her pillows. A high flush colored Pope’s cheeks. He appeared unsure how to respond. She took pity on him because she added: “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
Pope looked relieved. He leaned forward - placing his elbows on his knees. “What did they say to you?”
“I don’t think that they wanted to kill me,” she said. “At least - not here.”
Pope nodded.
“They said I was half of what they needed to get,” she continued. “So I think they might have taken something from your office - I’m not sure - there were a lot of them.” She bit her lip as she tried to think back to what they had told her. She’d been fueled entirely by adrenaline. She’d mostly been focused on surviving - getting herself out of there. It felt like she had blacked out. It felt like that entire episode in the kitchen had taken place underwater and the images were slowly drifting away from her. Frankie stepped closer to the side of the bed - offering her a comforting smile. She returned it.
“It’s okay if you don’t remember much,” he assured her.
“They said something about you guys hiding me from him,” she recalled. “They took the opening because you left me alone - at least - at least that’s what I gathered.”
“Anything else?” Pope asked. His expression was unreadable.
She shook her head. There was really nothing else. There hadn’t been much chatter. “I’m guessing that had something to do with me seeing you kill that man?”
Pope exchanged a glance with Frankie before settling it back on her. He seemed upset - tiny cracks in the solid stone of his face. He was so good at being stoic - at being unreachable. For the first time - he appeared shaken.
He steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. He spread his legs out - his dark pants tight over the thick of his thighs.
“Will said you were going to tell me about my father,” she remarked quietly. She just wanted to get that in - make it clear that she wanted the answers. She was owed that. She felt like she was running naked in the dark. No fucking breadcrumbs - not a light to guide her. People were after her and she had no idea why.
“I will,” Pope replied slowly. “Your father is - is essentially the reason all of this is happening.”
Oh.
“Do you remember him?” he asked - his brown eyes flickering with some emotion.
“Not really,” She pinched her earlobe between her fingers - tugging it. A habit she’d had since she was a girl. “He died when I was young.”
“How?”
“How what?”
“How did they tell you he died?”
“My mom was pretty closed-mouth about him,” she shrugged. “I assumed it was an illness. No one really told me. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral.”
Pope barked a short, humorless laugh. “If only it was that.”
She frowned and snuck a glance at Frankie. He was leaning against the door - his arms crossed over his chest. He was studying Pope - seemingly ready to step in should he what? Break?
When Pope spoke again, his voice was thick - trapped in his throat. “The men who broke in belonged to Baron.”
“I figured,” She pulled on her earlobe harder - massaged it until it warmed. “Outside of you guys - I’m pretty sure that was the only dude in this city who wanted me dead.”
Pope gave a derisive snort. “We don’t want you dead, sweetheart. You should know that by now.”
He said it so bluntly that it took her aback. His vivid eyes were steady on her - gaze direct. She averted her gaze - suddenly uncomfortable.
“Baron,” Pope continued. “- is my brother.”
***
Frankie watched her startled expression as she processed the information. She drew a breath before she giggled. She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m - that’s just a lot.”
Santi frowned. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she said. “No - keep going. I’m fine.”
Frankie didn’t think she was. Sweat had begun to bead at her hairline. She looked like he could knock her over with a feather. There was swelling under her eyes and he was sure that bruising would pepper her skin by morning. He had seen that man on top of her - his full weight burying her into the floor.
Frankie felt that familiar wrath ignite in his belly one more time. It circled and spat in his chest. He needed to be careful with it. His anger made him lose control more often than not. He didn’t know why he was taking this all so intensely. It was like they had hurt him. He supposed that it was his decades-long hatred for Baron - Mateo - and the fact that he wanted to destroy this woman who hadn’t asked for any of it.
The lights in her bedroom were soft as pats of butter. Orange and gold. The Apple TV screensaver beamed image after image: the Great Wall, the Barrier Reef, Notre Dame, Big Ben, and deserted roads leading to mountain ranges. Frankie found it funny how quickly he had come to see this as her room. It was plain - had no personal touches. Still - it was hers.
He passed her door every morning and thought of her asleep - wondered how she looked - her face in her pillow. Were there bottles beneath her bed? Did she rest at all?
He hoped learning about her father might help her out - might direct her to some closure. She was bleeding out in all sorts of ways. Consumed.
Pope ran a hand through his curls - his jaw ticking. Frankie knew that Pope didn’t like to talk about this. He knew that those particular ghosts had rattled away in him and had refused to pass on. Still - Pope owed her.
“Baron and I have a strained relationship at best,” Santi told her. Frankie rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. Strained was being more than generous. “The Apostles and The Cardinals have also never gotten along. It’s a decades-long rivalry - maybe even centuries if you want to go all the way back to our time in Europe. Old families. Superstitions. Slights that no one forgave. They’re petty. There’s an Apostle who claims a Cardinal stole four of his family’s cattle like a hundred years ago”
“Very Capulets and Montagues,” she observed in such a sage manner that Santi cracked a smile.
“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”
“So how is he the head of the Apostles if he’s your brother?”
“I’ll get to that, but basically we had been trying to form an alliance the last few years because there’s been too much bloodshed - too much violence between the different factions. It had become a problem for us both and it would have been better if we were united when it came to dealing with the other groups.” Santi smoothed the fabric of his pants. “The night you saw us was an execution of sorts. My brother said that a Cardinal had been playing two sides - spying on the Apostles inventory and trade routes and handing it to the Serpents who own the Southeast corner of Ashford. We had solid proof and so we killed him as a sign of good faith.” He shot her bitter smile. “When I first saw you, I just thought you were some unfortunate girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I mean I was,” she interrupted bluntly. Frankie smirked.
“Okay - fair,” Santi said - exasperated. “Look - it’s not admirable or good, but it’s fucking business. We couldn’t let that shit get out and if we hadn’t killed you, Baron would have done it without issue.” His gaze darkened. “You don’t want Baron to ever get his hands on you because he’s a fucking psychopath. He does nothing by the book and he relishes in hurting people. I figured that it would be better if I were to handle it because it would have been a clean shot - you wouldn’t have felt a thing.”
“Lovely,” she spat, screwing her eyes shut for a moment before circling her temples with her fingertips. Frankie wondered how much pain she was in - wondered if Will had given her anything. “So then you found out I’m a Faire and it changed everything. You care about my dad - at least I think you do. Why?”
The room tensed - filling with crosscurrents. There was so much history - so much shit that Santi rarely ever touched. Frankie had known all the players in question after growing up with Santi. He had known her father. He had known Mateo - had known that there had been something wrong with him. He was empty - black eyes that glimmered like a shark’s. He’d been handsome, of course. There was no one in the Garcia family who wasn’t, but still. He had an aura of wickedness. He was missing parts - missing empathy and reason. He was a terror and always had been. Frankie had felt it - understood it before even Santi had. His brother was never going to settle for being second and Santi’s pity - his compassion - had blown up in their faces.
Images flashed across Frankie’s memory. Mateo and his knives. Mateo in Edward Garcia’s ear - desperate for their father’s attention - his blessing. Mateo swindling and betting and having the talent of making people believe him. Regardless, it was always going to be Santi and once Mateo had understood that - resigned himself to it - he was the most dangerous he’d ever been.
“Your father - Charles - was a good man,” Santi started. “He was kinder than my own father in a lot of ways. He had wanted the Apostles and the Cardinals to align. He thought we’d be stronger as a united front, which we would have been. My father wouldn’t hear it or he was just too stubborn about giving Charles a straight answer so he came to me. He knew I was being trained to take over and he felt like I’d agree.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Wait - why would my dad have so much say in this? Was he like second in command or something?”
Santi blinked at her. “Your father was the head of the Apostles.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Oh,” she whispered before she placed her gaze back to her blankets. She picked at the fabric. Santi took a beat before he kept going.
“That is why your name holds so much weight,” he explained. “That was why we didn’t kill you.”
She tugged at the frayed wisps of the comforter. “But you were going to kill me - you said as much that night - even after you knew who I was.”
Santi exhaled sharply. “Look - yes - at first - I thought it would make my life easier. I’m not a good guy, Faire. I’ve never been a good guy. I didn’t know you. Not - not really.”
“But you changed your mind?”
Santi’s voice dropped - it gentled. Frankie wouldn’t call it tender, but it seemed like he was trying his best to be earnest.
“I did,” He opened and closed his mouth - gaping like a fish struggling for breath as he seemed to search for the right words. “I had met you before - when you were little.” Her head sprung up - her expression stunned as she slammed those jewel-bright eyes on him. “I just saw you once - playing in the garden at your house. I was meeting with your dad over something. I was still a teenager - a kid, really.”
He tipped his chin. “I just - I remembered that and I knew we had to do right by your father.”
Frankie glanced at him. Santi wasn’t even telling her the full story. He was telling her pieces. They had spoken about it and how it had been Santi who had wanted to send her away and Benny who said she would be useful later on - that they owed Charles to keep an eye on her and that Baron would just track her ass down.
Baron would want her - be fiending for her. The blood daughter of Charles Faire. The Apostles were superstitious - fucking old school - they’d see her as an opportunity. A few might have known she was alive, but once she had stepped into the Chapel - stepped back into their world - it blurred the lines. It sent a message that maybe she did want to be involved even though she had no fucking idea what she’d done.
“You - you knew me,” she muttered under her breath.
“I know it’s a lot,” Santi began, but she cut him off.
She tried to laugh, but her breath caught in her throat - like it was too much to laugh at all. “I think - I think I’m gonna need a break.” Santi stood up - he stepped forward and she stopped him with a pained look. He awkwardly shoved his hands into his pants. “It’s not you - it’s just everything. Tonight has been a lot and I - I can’t handle it all right now.”
Santi nodded. He cast Frankie a weary glance before he left. A silent take care of her.
***
As soon as Santi closed the door, Frankie turned toward her. “Are you alright?”
It was obvious she wasn’t.
She was trembling now - her expression slanted into a grimace. Her chest was rising and falling in short bursts. She made a choking noise as she collapsed forward - curling her fingers into her bedding.
“I’m-I’m sorry - I’m just - fuck - a little overwhelmed,” she gasped. She pressed her hand to her chest. “I need to get out of here. I need - need to get-t out of this room.”
“Shit,” Frankie hissed. “Okay - okay, honey. We’re going to go somewhere - let you breathe.”
There was no doubt that she was having some sort of panic attack. He knew these well. He knew them when he was dealing with Benny - especially after what had happened. He had owed it to him. As Frankie lifted her by the waist, he felt the lingering imprint of Will’s knuckles against his cheek. He had rarely seen Will lose his cool, but he had that day - that moment he had found out that his brother had been taken. Those grim-mottled memories were threatening to crash into his brain and he didn’t have time for that. He couldn’t focus on his own regret - his guilt that he nursed like his last drink.
“I’m sorry,” she slurred as he carried her down the hall towards his room. “I’m sorry - this - I don’t know why this is happening.”
It punched at his heart. Just a bit. She had been attacked in their home. She had just learned that Santi had known both her father and her.
It really was a lot.
He had a large balcony that he shared with Benny. He shouldered his way through the French doors before stepping onto the rain-soaked stone. He sat down in one of the chairs with her in his lap. She didn’t protest - didn’t say much of anything. It was cold for late summer and he found himself reaching around her - embracing her from behind. Above them was the faded-out purpling sky. Dawn was slinking its way toward them. The air still held that liquid-gasp of the dying storm. Her shoulders were against his chest and she was freezing - goose-pimpled and still gulping for precious oxygen.
“Breathe with me,” he ordered as kindly as he could. He grasped her wrists - molded himself to her. “Focus on my chest - on my lungs - close your eyes.”
She shuddered. “I-I can’t.”
He frowned. “Okay - look in front of you. What do you see?”
“Table,” she said. “Chairs. Wet cushions.”
“Keep going,” he urged. The front of his dress shirt was now sticky with her sweat. He pushed his nose against her hair - his breath fanning over the top of her head. She had begun to settle inch by inch.
“There’s a box with stones and succulents. There’s an empty beer can.”
“Benny,” he said. “He always comes out here.”
“Benny,” she repeated.
“His room is right there,” he pointed toward another set of French doors. Benny so rarely closed his curtains. He’d often get an eyeful of whoever Benny was fucking while just trying to enjoy his coffee. He could make out the dim lighting next to his large bed. The mussed sheets. Benny was probably still downstairs - interrogating - making heads roll -
“Start counting,” he urged and she did.
“1…2…3…”
***
They got to about sixty when she finally went slack. She was holding onto his hands - her grip clammy, but fierce. He tried to ignore the way her ass fit between his thighs, the curves of her hooking into him. She was attractive - very attractive and he felt a tingle of guilt that his mind was heading for filthy territory. She needed his help. She needed a support system. Frankie had done so much bad shit in his life - truly terrible shit that his whole ledger dripped with it.
He felt the least he could was guide her through her own lapses.
“The sun is coming up,” he said softly. “You need to sleep. You can sleep all day if you’d like.”
“Yeah,” she mumbled - her voice still distant. “That’d be nice.”
He leaned forward - curving around to look at her. Her hair brushed his cheek - his nose. She cut a sideways glance at him.
There was something so lonely about her - something sad. There was a kind of emptiness inside her that ate and ate and pulled you down into its meat. He knew it well. He knew the things he had done to fill it.
“I’m a fucking mess,” she grumbled.
“Trust me, sweetheart,” he assured her. “I’ve been an even bigger mess.”
“How so?”
“I think there have been enough stories today,” He scratched at his beard. He was still in his suit and it felt tight - uncomfortable. He’d likely burn it and get a new one. It stank of blood and sweat. “Too much history and not enough sleep.”
“Fair point.”
***
“Will you stay with me?” she asked as he helped her to her bed. He stared at her - taking note of her curved shoulders and hunched spine. Her eyes that were round and huge in her face. The tang of fear that clung to her. “Just for a second. " She paused, licking her lips. "It’s also totally fine if you don’t want-”
“Sure,” he said as he reached for the uncomfortable chair to sit on.
“You can lie on the bed,” she suggested. “Pretty sure we’re past the point of being formal about all of this.”
He huffed a laugh. She had a point seeing as he had just had her in his lap minutes ago. He kicked his shoes off and laid down next to her. He felt the slightest blip of anxiousness as the mattress dipped under his weight. Nothing would happen here between them. Nothing.
She was inches from him - a white lake of sheet between the sides of their arms. She was stiff as she stared up into the ceiling. He admired her profile as her chest rose and fell.
Though she was still beautiful, she really did look exhausted. Her features hung loose and drawn out. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and tapped her lightly between her eyes.
“Sleep,” he demanded.
Her lips twitched. “Suddenly it’s difficult.”
“What do you want me to do? Tell you a story?”
She was silent - her fingers curling and uncurling into her blankets. “Is Baron really as scary as Pope says?”
“Worse,” Frankie muttered before he realized that that was probably not the right thing to tell her. It wasn’t a lie though. He thought lies wouldn’t help her in the long run.
Her lashes fluttered - her lids drooping.
“We won’t let him touch you,” Frankie added. He knew that he did mean that. He wasn’t lying - he would do everything he could to prevent him from taking her.
“You can’t promise me that,” she murmured - words slurring at the edges.
Frankie didn’t know what to say. She was right, of course. Still - it saddened him - ate away at him.
She kept going - her voice breath-soft. “Not-not anything against you. I’ve just come to learn that no one can really protect me. Not even the people who should have.” Her eyes were closed now - her mouth slightly open.
“Yeah,” He reached out and dragged his thumb across the plump of her cheek. “We can still try, though.”
She didn’t respond and he realized that she had fallen asleep.
Pairing: TF Boys x F!Reader
Wordcount: 12.2K
Warnings: gore. alcohol abuse. kidnapping. eventual reverse harem. rough smut. group sex (ish). hair being touched/pulled back. violence. prostitution. brief mention of sexual assault. daddy kink.
Summary: The boys have a conversation.
A/N: OMG. After days of eye agony, I finally got this together. Huge thank you to @frannyzooey who literally saved my ass by helping me reorganize the scenes in this to help with tension and action and ETC. Also, my bb @krissology who read through this for me and provided her deliciously pervy support. Hope you enjoy my loves.
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He certainly didn’t keep it down. She stared up at the ceiling - clenching her teeth. Echoing feet away from her was the distinct thwack thwack thwack of a headboard meeting a wall. Slapping wet skin and low grunts. High-pitched moans and a keen all warped in obvious pleasure.
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.
She hated this mostly because Will knew she was awake. He knew she was listening. She’d been an idiot for leaving her room in the first place. Her hangover was still present - still warm and damp - pumping sluggishly within the confines of her skull.
“Oh oh fuck oh fuck oh right there - oh shit, Ironhead - baby -”
Jesus H. Christ. They even called him that in bed? What a mouthful.
She wondered if anyone beyond her and the boys called him Will - it was so short and blunt. Almost plain. William was a little more elegant - a little more old-school.
She twisted onto her side - kneading her pillow with her fists. The room was dry and cold, but her sheets were damp with her own alcohol sweats. Gross. She really needed to work on her drinking - curb it at the very least. Even now - she wanted it - wanted something. If she wasn’t so terrified she’d run into the others, she would have snuck back down into the bar and snatched a bottle of wine or the remainder of that whiskey.
Just to take the edge off. Just to feel less boxed in.
She swallowed as she tried to get comfortable. Her throat was tight and her tongue heavy as packed clay. It was hard for her to sleep (not because she was currently in a rather fucked up situation), but because she was used to being up all night. She always took the late shifts at the diner because they offered a bit more money even if it meant more handsy drunks. She’d had a routine - a habit. She’d get home by four and sprawl out on the couch - maybe make herself a screwdriver. She’d stuff herself into some sweats and old socks and watch those grainy infomercials or TBS reruns. Her mother was usually passed out so the house was hers. Fragile and falling apart. Creaking. Filled with its old ghosts, but hers all the same. Usually - she’d pass out by the time the sun was prim and pale in the sky and then she’d sleep until afternoon.
She missed that. She missed the mundane repetition of paying her bills, doing her chores, and not wondering if the next day would bring with it her own death.
They aren’t going to kill you.
No - they weren’t. She felt that now - believed that now. But there were still questions that needed answers. There were still details that had to do with her father that Pope refused to give her. Granted - she’d spent most of her time avoiding him and self-sabotaging with their wine cellar.
Stop drinking. Get your shit together. Grow the fuck up because moping around won’t solve shit.
Alright - fucking fine. Easier said than done, but fine. She was already feeling the physical ramifications of how much she was putting away daily.
There was a constant pain sweeping up her esophagus. It burned and bubbled right beneath her breast bone. Acid reflux. She probably had an ulcer, too. The stress. The drinking on an empty stomach. Yes - she cooked, but she barely ate anything. A spoonful of soup or mac and cheese before she served it to the men - her captors because that’s what they were. That was a fact.
Aren’t you gonna eat?
I did before.
She always used that excuse while nursing a sloshing glass of wine - red and probably expensive. Mulberry dark.
Are you sure?
Yes, Benny. I ate. I promise.
Frankie would raise an eyebrow, but stay silent. He knew. He always knew she was lying. It was her nerves. Her anxiety. Her stomach would turn over and her appetite would flit away.
“C’mon, daddy! Harder! Pleasee-“
Ew.
She reached her hand across the blankets - searching for the remote in the dark of her bedroom. Her fingers closed around it and she snatched it up, turning on the Apple TV and choosing something that could drown out the noises coming from Ironhead’s sex dungeon.
Apocalypse Now.
Good enough.
But not even ten minutes later, she was distracted. All of them were fucking other women a wall and floor away from her. It’s not like it mattered. It really didn’t. This was their house and if they wanted to have some wild orgy then good for them.
She touched her mouth - drawing her fingertips over her lower lip. Benny had kissed her only hours ago.
No - you kissed Benny. He just leaned into it.
Whatever. It’s not like she wanted it to go beyond that. She was loose and buttery and warm with arousal and Benny was gorgeous. She had her reasons. Keep your enemies close - closer? Like between your legs closer? Fuck. Just stop.
Still - she’d be lying if there wasn’t some small piece of her that twinged with bitterness because he was surely sticking his tongue in someone else only yards away from her. Her insecurities reared their ugly little heads at the thought. Was she not pretty enough for him? Marissa had been beautiful. Not even hot or sexy, but objectively lovely.
She was just a drunk. Clumsy. Bare-faced. Desperate.
Fuck. Thank God Will had stopped her from humiliating herself by going down there. They had to be done soon. It’d been almost two hours. She lowered the volume on the television as she pricked her ears.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Nope.
Rolling beneath the snap of his headboard were the whimpers and frantic uh uh uh’s of one of the girls that Will was no doubt balls deep in. Cool.
Good to know that he was a fucking maniac in bed just like he was a maniac outside of it.
You like it.
Okay. Fair. If she were being honest with her dark passenger, she did like it rough. She liked brutal hands and fierce kisses and the kind of sex where she could barely breathe - barely speak as she held on tight to their muscular shoulders or tapered waist.
She idly wondered how each of them fucked. Pope probably did it strictly from behind. He probably did it in his three-piece suits and his Gucci shoes while making business calls through his airpods.
Benny was a wild card. Playful at times, but still able to fist your hair and force you over a table. The kind of guy who’d fuck anywhere - everywhere - judging by the amount of surfaces he’d claimed he’d spoiled in the house.
Frankie? She still didn’t have a read on him. He made her think feral and desperate. Sloppy sex where you’re just tugging panties and zippers down far enough for him to sink inside you. He’d shove you onto your knees - take you on the floor - slip down your body and lick -
No.
She needed a new distraction - needed to pull out the big guns to get her head out of the proverbial gutter. She grabbed the remote and scrolled until she found Schindler’s List.
***
They were good. They were always good. They knew what to say and how to say it. They knew his kinkier inclinations and allowed him to do as he wished. Some mild choking. Some bondage. Occasional knife play.
But Will suddenly - inexplicably - craved something different. He wanted inelegance. He wanted sloppiness. He wanted her - frantic and soft as she yielded to him. Her big eyes shiny in the dark as those lips parted underneath his tongue. He wanted her sweat and her squeak of surprise when he sheathed himself to the hilt. He’d stretch her open - fingertips pressed to her perky little clit to slick her up so she could accept him more easily. He wanted her laughter as both of them attempted some position they couldn’t work out. He could imagine it - their foreheads smacking together as they lunged for each other - having to flip her onto her back so he could take over the work.
Why her? Why?
He barely knew her. He had hardly spoken to her. She was just a girl. She was young and out of her depth and now chained to them.
The women tonight were ones he’d had countless times before. They were professionals. They never tired. They never flinched or fled. They knew exactly who and what he was - what he did - and they liked it. He was Pope’s muscle - Pope’s blade and bullet and axe. He was a weapon in every sense of the word and he’d killed more people than he could count. He’d been this way since he was a teenager. He was good at it - fantastic at compartmentalizing and Santi needed him. He was the big bad who had enough rumors and myths circulating around him that most didn’t know the truth of it - of him.
It was simply easier to fuck the women Santi had on his payroll. No strings. No feelings. No girls who wanted to ride him because he was who he was. Before he had gotten smart to it, there had been plenty of those types. Women who thought they could save him. Women who just wanted to have someone that dangerous inside them. It got old fast.
No - Will was perfectly content with the professionals.
They arched and posed perfectly. Thighs spread and ass up. They spoke like pornstars. No disagreements - complaints. How do you want me, baby? How do you need me?.
Faire would, though. She wouldn’t have any qualms about telling Will what she liked - what she didn’t. He knew by looking at her. There was aggression behind her teeth - a predator-like intelligence that he hadn’t given her credit for when he’d first met her. She was getting comfortable - getting used to them. He was getting used to her.
And for what?
He highly doubted she wanted him after she’d watched him work. Will rarely mused over the things he did for Santi - over the things he did for his family. It wouldn’t serve him. It would just slow him down.
Her face though...her face when he’d turned around and seen her curled into her knees. Her voice was quiet and barely-there - thin as cobwebs and hitched on a sob. Yeah - that had really fucked him up. He’d never admit it, but he felt shame - real and true and sharp inside his gut. Not really for what he’d done because every person he got rid of deserved it, but because he realized that he had just changed her for good. She’d watched him kill a man twice and that shit didn’t leave you. He’d marked her in blood and he knew that she would never look at him as anything else, but a killer - a brute.
A soft hand gripped his thigh, forcing him out of his thoughts.
Oh. Right.
“Fuck, Ironhead,” Lora? (Lena?) moaned as he snapped his hips against her ass - cock punching deep. The other girl, Lisa, was behind him - sucking a mark into his neck - stroking his arms - slipping her long nails down the flat lines of his abdomen.
“I want next,” she cooed into his ear - tugging roughly on the ends of his hair. He shut his eyes - thinking of something - anything.
“C’mon, baby,” Lorna begged. “C’mon - just like that.”
He sped up - his fingers digging into the plump of her ass as he rocked against her. There was sweat dripping down his back. The sounds in the room were obscene: wet sucking flesh entering flesh and the girls kept hitting a different pitch with their shrieks.
“Get her off,” Will growled to Lisa. She did as he asked - reaching beneath them to circle and stroke at Lorna’s cunt. Just fucking end. Just end. Lorna cried out - thighs wavering as she clamped down around him. “Fuck yeah, baby. Oh my god - you’re so fucking big - fuck.” He shifted her to the side after, easing himself out. She went lax as a doll - totally boneless. He dragged his fingers through his damp hair as he tried to catch his breath.
“My turn,” Lisa grinned - shoving Lorna nearly off the bed.. Will cut her a sideways glance, forgetting she was there. He was still hard as a rock - cock jutting against his belly. Throbbing and full and desperate for something else. The condom was soaked and sticky.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Be rough, daddy,” she demanded. “You can make it hurt.”
Christ.
He needed to come. He needed to come and get this shit out of his system. He was on edge and his head felt too heavy - felt like it might just roll right off his neck.
I doubt there’s anything you could give me.
The vein at his temple throbbed. The muscles in his neck jumped.
Not sure how I’ll ever sleep after watching you work.
He grit his teeth and lunged for Lisa, pinning her to his bed. He forced her knees wide - opening her up to him before burying himself to the hilt. She grunted from the heft of him - from his weight and his calloused hands circling her wrists. He fucked her hard - short, fast strokes that made the headboard smash into his wall and the frame creak. She was screaming now:
“Oh fuck - oh fuck - oh oh oh - fuck, daddy! You feel so good - oh yes - yes - yes. Make me cum on your big fat cock..”
He winced. She’d hear them no doubt and he might have wanted her to hear a little, but certainly not this much. This was obnoxious and some strange part of him suddenly felt uncomfortable with her being forced to listen to them.
“Shut up,” he hissed before he clamped his hand down over her mouth. She nipped at his flesh - unbothered - seemingly more excited. He increased his pace - grinding down to rub hot and fast against her clit. Every stab of his cock was punching muffled yelps from under his palm. He could not get off - he couldn’t stop his head from whirling with his unsteady thoughts - the last few weeks - her fucking face. He dropped his head to Lisa’s throat and screwed his eyes shut.
It’d be wrong to think of her.
Since when have you done anything right, Miller?
He could pretend. He needed to knock her out of his system - he needed to expel her. It was just because he felt bad. It was just because he found her lovely in a way that kind of hurt. He did better with harder women -the women with too much make-up and dirty words and tight skin.
She was soft. She bit her lip when she cooked. She smelled like linen and soap and the lush floral sway of spring. She was natural.
He could imagine it. He could picture the way her brows would pinch together as he gingerly breached her inch by inch. She’d blossom around him - her blunt nails buried in his shoulders. He’d be careful about it. He’d take her in slow, lazy thrusts. He’d kiss her - tongue mimicking the gentle pace of his hips. His hands on her jaw - his thumb nudging the tender flesh of her cheek. She’d be dripping and molten and she’d pant into his open mouth: Will. Will. Will.
Maybe - she wouldn’t even want it slow. Maybe. Maybe.
There was the slide of her cheek against his own - her muffled little uh uh uh as he drove into her again and again.
“Yeah, baby,” he muttered - pressing his lips to where her shoulder met her neck. He circled his hips - planted his knees. “Just like that, yeah? You feel so fucking perfect.”
Her pussy spasmed - jerking him forward. It was deliciously tight as it grasped and held him. He followed after a few clumsy pumps - his knuckles curling around the edge of his mattress as his other palm fell from her mouth.
“Shit,” Lisa gasped. “That was amazing.” She smacked his ass and it felt like a rush of cold, clear water over his head.
For a second - a moment - it hadn’t been Lisa, at all.
He flipped onto his back - tugging the condom and knotting it before he chucked it ito what he hoped was the trash can by his bed.
He felt hands on his knees - scaling up his thighs and then a hot, slick mouth. He raised himself onto his elbows - glancing down to see Lora ready to go - ass up and her eyes pinning him with a flutter of her lashes.
“No,” he said - smoothly pushing her off him. “I’m done for the night - gonna crash.”
She sat back on her heels - her puffy lips screwing into a pout. “You usually want to go more than once.”
He didn’t think she meant it as an insult, but his patience had thinned to nothing. “I went twice unless you can’t count.” He gestured to his desk in the corner. “There’s money on the table.”
He stood up - scraping a hand across his beard. He smelled like fucking pussy. “I’m gonna shower,” he said as he padded to the bathroom. “Alone,” he added when Lisa clambered off the bed and after him.
“You girls know the way out,” he continued - naked and steaming with sweat and grime and - why did he feel weird? He usually did go until dawn - go until he’d exhausted himself - until he’d cleared his head from the week’s violence. Don’t overthink it. Don’t stew. It was a mistake to reflect on that shit.
He shot them a smug grin over his shoulder. “Thanks for the ride, ladies.”
He closed the bathroom door harder than he intended.
***
Benny sobered up somewhere between him getting head on the couch to him eating Marissa out on the kitchen table. He didn’t black out - maybe something closer to brown or grey. He remembered the club. He remembered Frankie punching him hard on the arm and chastising him about getting little Miss Faire drunk.
“What the hell, Benjamin? She was so fucked up she threw up for half an hour.”
“I-I don’t really recall, Fishy Fish,” he slurred. “I thought we had like two drinks.”
“You’re holding up three fingers, you fucking idiot.”
Frankie had tried to keep arguing, but the music had been too loud - the base so aggressive it shook the floor. He’d given up at that point and stormed off to find Pope, leaving Benny to do what Benny always did when he was out. He drank to oblivion and found some chick to make out with until Marissa had discovered him. She grabbed him, dragging him to one of their waiting SUVs and well - the night went from there.
Benny had technically been lying. He faintly knew that he’d gone shot for shot with their captive. He remembered that, at least. He recalled her face and soft, pouty mouth and how she’d leaned forward and...wait...had they kissed?
Benny paused - pulling away from Marissa’s spread cunt. She lifted herself up on her elbows - her expression dazed and half-lidded. “Fuck, baby. Why’d you stop?”
“Nothing,” he muttered as he wracked his brain. Shit. They’d - they’d definitely kissed. She was drunk, though. He was drunk. It was just a drunken make out.
“You want to fuck?” she asked - flipping herself over to show her plump, red-marked ass.
“Yeah,” he said - distantly. He went through the motions of it: he slipped the condom on, seizing hold of her hips before driving inside her in one smooth thrust. She gasped - fingernails scrambling at the table as she shoved back against him. She felt good - hot and wet and tight. She always felt good though. It was like a familiar glove - a comfort.
“Fuck me hard,” she ordered.
“Uhuh,,” he replied. “Mm yeah - okay, babe.”
His head was elsewhere. It was upstairs if he was being honest. He shouldn’t be fucking a girl here. What if she came down? What if she walked in on this? It’s not like he owed her. It’s not like he even had any intention of fucking her since he knew Pope would pop a blood vessel. Okay - he also didn’t necessarily want to take advantage of her. He was a jerk - an asshole to a degree, but he liked her. She was disarmingly funny. They’d be watching a movie and she’d drop some one-liner that made him choke on his drink. Her humor was just dark enough - dry enough and even though she held herself at a distance from him, he still felt her. He still got glimpses of who she’d be if she wasn’t in the situation she was in - if she was just his friend and they were spending an afternoon together.
A friend? Really? You jacked-off to her the other night in the shower.
Good point. He should get out all this stress - sweat out these inappropriate feelings and maybe he’d stop lusting after her
The voice at the base of his head muttered: fat fucking chance.
He fisted a hand into Marissa’s hair and lifted her up against his chest. He traced his tongue over her ear - pressing nimble fingers between her legs and swirling until she shivered and clenched. “Wanna take this to the sauna?” he husked.
“As long as you don’t pass out again,” she quipped - clutching vice-like around him.
“That was one time,” he whined as he guided her out of the kitchen.
***
When the clock struck seven, she made a dash for it. It seemed safe enough. She’d heard Frankie and Pope in the hallway around five-thirty. They had been chatting in Spanish - chuckling and ribbing each other quietly before their respective doors closed.
Did they screw a chick together?
Possibly.
Does it matter?
No.
Yes.
(No.)
She hadn’t slept a wink aside from the few hours she’d gotten while they’d been out. She was too revved up. Her thoughts were heavy and colliding into each other. The synapses of her brain forming tangled highways that knotted and stretched and refused to dissolve. She felt slightly ill - that nauseous belly-ache and dizzy spell you get when you’re on too little sleep.
She’d grab some toast downstairs and - maybe - a drink just to soften her crazed thoughts and then she’d pass out. She was hungry. She had thrown up what food she’d eaten yesterday and her stomach was screaming at her - yawning for some real sustenance.
She slipped on the silk robe she’d found in the pile of clothes they’d given her. It was pale pink and stopped mid-thigh and she wasn’t wearing it because it was cuter than her oversized t-shirt. She wasn’t.
***
The kitchen was blessedly empty. She toasted some frozen waffles and made herself a very mild mimosa with the Veuve she’d found half-drunk in the living room. It was flat, but it would do.
She glanced at the kitchen table - narrowing her eyes at the shifted bowl of fruit - the apple that had rolled onto the tile floor. Best to be careful. She found some Clorox and doused the surface as her waffles toasted.
It was perfectly quiet. The hum of the fridge. The creak of the floors. Everything echoing and centering to reach a peaceful tang of stillness.
It was a nice morning. The sun peeked behind the skyscrapers, forming bars across the horizon. It’d be a hot day - not that she would get to experience it.
When her waffles were done - she scraped some Irish butter over each and then soaked them with maple syrup. The nice kind in a glass bottle. Vermont, baby.
“Fancy as fuck,” she sung to herself as she sat down at the table with the Veuve and the Eggo waffles that were definitely Benny’s.
***
She was nearly done when a stark naked figure strutted into the kitchen.
Benny.
He couldn’t see her over the counter. She had been so low in her seat - slumping as she drank the champs and plopped chunks of sodden waffle into her mouth. She had been too exhausted to give a shit.
But- upon witnessing Benny meander into the kitchen - bare and tall and oh my fuck - she sat up. Humming to himself - he yanked the fridge open, snatched the carton of milk and chugged it straight.
Freak.
His flesh was dewy and golden. The pink-fruit swell of dawn slanted over his body. The lean muscle - the wide shoulders and flat stomach. The hint of his large cock that she could only see the shadow of. He wasn’t as broad as Will - but fuck - he was something.
Her eyes drank him in - swept up the lines and curves of his muscles. She stared - too hungover and too tired to really care about how blatant she was being. He turned just enough to reveal the expanse of his back and she paused.
She could spot them - even under the tattoos that were beautifully strewn across his skin.
Scars.
They littered the surface of him. Raised pale tissue roping across the expanse of his shoulders - down the curve of his spine. A thousand fucking cuts - it had to be. Too many to count.
She was moving toward him before she could stop herself. Maybe - it was the champagne or the lack of sleep or the fact that she had kissed him yesterday and he’d no doubt fucked someone else right after. She didn’t know, but what she did know was that she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out and caressing the ruined skin of his back.
His reaction was immediate and furious. He lurched away from her - spinning around as his hands flew to her throat. He held firm - thumb digging into her artery. His gaze was distant and his teeth were bared. He had her flush to him so she could feel every inch of him - the hot surface of his body pressed to hers.. Her tits crushed to his stomach - the limp bulge of his dick swinging into her. His nostrils flared and he didn’t look like the Benny she knew. He looked like the Benny who had stormed into the penthouse a week ago with his sleeves sodden in blood. The Benny who had forgotten her for a moment.
She wrapped her fingers around his forearm and squeezed. “Benny,” she squeaked as he dug harder - tightened his grip.
A second. Two. Three. Four.
He blinked - shaking his head before his pond-blue eyes widened in surprise. He said her name and quickly released her, stepping backward.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Sorry - fuck - I didn’t - I didn’t know - I thought you were asleep.”
“It’s fine,” she replied - rubbing at the tender skin beneath her jaw. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
She had touched his scars. She had touched something that was vulnerable - that was painful for him. She knew that instinctively. She knew that was why he had reacted so violently.
He paused for a moment - reorienting himself. He glanced down before he caught her eyes again, his lips pulling up into a tight smile. “Uh - well I guess you finally got me naked.”
“I mean you got yourself naked - I’m just a bystander.”
Up close - it was apparent that he was still damp with sweat. There were pink-red streaks across his back - his chest. He was covered in scratch marks. Dark hickies circled his throat.
Weren’t hickies considered tacky by college?
He followed her line of vision and had the decency to look sheepish.
“Are - are you just going to bed?” she asked - stunned.
“If I said I was napping in the sauna would you believe me?”
She crossed her arms. “No.”
“Are you mad?”
It wasn’t the question that surprised her, but the way he asked it. There was no inflection of a tease in his voice. It was genuine and curious and concerned- like a little boy who’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
She stepped away from him - suddenly far too close. “No, Ben,” she said. “I’m not.”
She dropped her gaze down to her bare feet for a moment. She took in the silk robe fluttering around her thighs - the spill of sunlight between them. This was all so surreal. She returned his gaze and he held it evenly - expectedly. Before she could stop herself she added, “Why would I be?”
“Because we kissed.”
She scrunched her nose up. “Did we?”
Yes. Yes and it had felt so fucking good.
He leaned back against the counter. Zero shame as he crossed his ankles and rubbed his chin in thought. “I seem to remember your tongue in my mouth.”
And then you had a bunch of sex with a bunch of hot chicks right after.
Well - two could play at that game.
She walked to the table - swiping the bottle of Veuve before twirling back to look at him. Her robe swished. “Funny,” she remarked with exaggerated confusion. “Only thing I remember from last night is Frankie helping me into the shower.” Benny’s mouth dropped open - his eyebrows hitting the top of his hairline. She brushed past him - squeezing his shoulder - pointedly ignoring the way the muscle flexed under her hand and his cock may or may not have twitched. “I’m gonna go back to bed, but sleep well.”
She rushed out of the kitchen before he could find a response.
***
She was alone. She was alone quite a lot. The men had gone out to one of their casinos or clubs or gambling houses. They had “business” and she was preparing herself for another sleepless night. She was sure they’d bring girls home again. She was sure they’d return all buzzed and loose and she’d hide away in her room to avoid their weekly orgy.
It had been seven whole days. She hadn’t brought up the women after her incident with Benny in the kitchen. It would remain unsaid. It wasn’t her business. She could barely look at Will after what he’d told her in the hall and then hearing him fuck. She just...couldn’t.
She’d busied herself cooking. She’d plastered a smile across her face and played housewife, while also keeping her distance. She’d make them lunch or dinner and then spend the rest of her time in her room.
“You wanna go for a swim?” Benny asked. “The pool’s really nice.”
“No thank you.”
“C’mon - let’s do it.”
“No.”
She had to admit, he was trying. She wasn’t mad at him. Of course not. He wasn’t hers and she found it utterly insane that she would actually think that since he was her captor and she was still their -
Captive? She wrestled with it - rolled it around on her tongue.
She was like their jailed honey without any of the sex or ability to run errands. She wanted to go to the grocery store - the fucking farmer’s market. She wanted to do something as mundane as buying cleaning supplies.
Yes - a Stepford housewife with four really fucking hot psycho-husbands. She’d seen them before they left and nearly swallowed her own tongue. They were all dressed to the nines. Three piece suits and deep blue fabric. Hermes ties. Bright white button-up shirts. Polished leather shoes.
Frankie and Pope had their curls slicked back. Benny with the thick mass of his hair in that bouffant style with a strand in his eyes like he was a greaser - an old school heartthrob that some type of Sandra Dee would pin above her bed.
Then - Will. She so rarely saw Will dressed up that seeing him tonight made something between her legs pulse. The dove-grey of his blazer reflected the shadowed cobalt of his eyes. His wheat-locks swept behind his ears and when he’d caught her gaze, he’d grinned. Those big scintillating white teeth that made it impossible not to look away. Ironhead in all of his glamour - his image sharpened and honed to something deliriously untouchable and dangerous.
“Be good,” he teased and she’d sent it right back.
“Have fun, dear.”
Indulgently, she wondered what it would be like to be married to one of them. Benny would probably have a wandering eye. Pope would be a workaholic. Frankie - well Frankie wasn’t too bad except for him being a total fucking enigma she had yet to crack. Will - Will was a nice guy aside from the torture and the murder.
But they’d all murdered people - they’d said as much. Will was just the best at it. He followed orders.
Look at you now - making excuses for slaughter.
Well - sometimes you had to find the silver lining.
The boys were a force as it was. They were joined at the hip - obviously bonded by something that went deeper than friendship. If you married one, you married them all.
It’s not like they were roommates. They were their own army - their own family that she had somehow been yanked into. A family. She barely knew what that word meant. She’d been a caregiver. Period. Her mother wasn’t a mother by any definition and her father had obviously been in the mob in some sort of capacity. Not like it mattered since he had been very much dead.
He still fucked you over somehow. His name got you into this mess.
In the dark - in the still warmth of the living room - she could admit to herself that she was weirdly thankful. It was twisted. It was totally fucked. But she had nowhere to go and no one to look out for her. She’d nearly strangled herself on her own loneliness - rotting away in that big old house with her mother. If they were protecting her, which she had truly begun to accept then maybe it wasn’t all that bad.
Fuck. That was maudlin - that was really pathetic.
***
Frankie didn’t want to be there, but business was business.
The Mayfair Club.
Their most exclusive Casino. At ten pm, it was already ripe with heavy drinking, betting, dancing, and illegal transactions. It was stunning though. Frankie would give it that. He liked the ambiance more than their other clubs. It was still very much an echo of the 1960’s when it had been built. The interior was lush with the spirit of midcentury design.
The front entrance was paved in gold tiles that lead to a bonded-metal door. The walls boasted vintage oil paintings. Lacquer. Jade. Bronze dual-sided fireplaces. Enormous hand-blown amber-glass chandeliers. Ebony 1920’s chinoiserie screens engraved with scenes from myth. The place was a blend of orange and gold, stones, metallics, shags and lush velvets. Graphic patterns. Animal prints. Slim Aarons.
It all came together seamlessly - eating up the black felt tables and the stark spray of playing cards.
“Who are we meeting tonight again?” Benny grumbled beside him.
“No idea,” Frankie replied.
He groaned. “Why’d I have to come then?”
Frankie shot him an exasperated look. They always hit up one of their places on the weekend. They kept tabs and showed face. They were a united front. They’d been a united front since they were children. There was loyalty and then there was their type of loyalty. They couldn’t be cut into or opened up though many had tried. In short, Santi just liked to see what was going on: which rival gangs were sharing drinks, which were out for blood, and which were trying to undermine him.
“When have you not come?” Frankie asked as one of the hostesses - Rebecca - brought them to their table at the center of the room. “Scared to leave her alone?”
Benny screwed his face up. “No,” he grunted. “I’m just tired.”
Liar. Benny hadn’t shut up about her since last weekend. It was strange - especially for someone like Ben whose attention was fickle and unreliable. One of his “exes” had even told Frankie as much as she ran out of his room in a flood of tears.
When he focuses on you, it’s everything. It’s like the entirety of the sun on your face and you can’t get out - can’t escape it and it feels so fucking good and then - and then - he just stops - stops and moves along like nothing ever happened - like you were never even there.
Of course, that was before they had started vetting the girls they brought home - when they were young and dumb and -
“I’m surprised you don’t want to go hang out with her,” Benny remarked. “Seeing as you got her naked in the shower.”
Oh - yeah - Benny liked her. Frankie couldn’t remember the last time he’d been jealous of anyone. He was never territorial over women - not even Marissa.
“I told you that I didn’t see shit,” Frankie growled. “I just turned it on for her. She was fucking with you.”
Benny rolled his eyes as he dropped into the booth beside Will.
“Why are you all pissy?” Will asked - tugging at the button of his white dress shirt.
“Benjamin misses his girlfriend,” Frankie announced.
Santi cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward. “Wait - really?”
Benny flipped him off before crossing his arms. “I don’t fucking miss anyone and she’s not my girlfriend.”
“You’ve been calling her your girlfriend the last three weeks,” Will reminded.
Benny gaped at him before he threw up his arms in frustration. “That. Was. A. Joke.”
“Get your head in the game,” Sant pointed a finger at him - his eyes narrowing. “You’re never useful when you’re constantly thinking with your dick.”
“I’m actually always thinking with my dick and I’ve been extremely successful so your argument doesn’t stand,” Benny groused as he dropped his chin into his hands. He looked alarmingly like he did at twelve - when he was the most desperate to please - willing to do every dangerous thing that would help their cause even if it meant he’d get hurt.
“If you like her so much maybe you shouldn’t have fucked Marissa after you guys made out,” Frankie observed.
“Oh fuck off, Fish,” Benny barked. “You screwed someone, too. I could hear that chick Sarah squealing from the game room.”
“Wait,” Pope looked at Benny, confused. “You two made out?”
“Um,” Benny busied himself with his napkin. “Maybe?”
Santi’s eyes went to slits.
Benny quickly gestured to Frankie. “He got her in the shower.”
“Because you got her drunk and took advantage of her,” Frankie accused. Ben made a face - exaggeratedly mouthing the words back to him.
“Mature,” he retorted and Ben laughed.
Will’s hooded gaze darted between them. There was a slight twitch at the corner of his lips.
“Don’t look all smug, William,” Benny said as he set his eyes on his brother. “You creep around her all the time.”
“Do I?” His tone was flat - unimpressed.
Benny sat up in his seat before lowering the register of his voice to mimic Will. “Oh wow - these quesadillas are the best I’ve ever had. You’re so talented and beautiful and I want to rail you over the counter.”
Will’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Santi gawked at them - brows knitting together. “I’m sorry, but when the fuck did you three become obsessed with our captive?”
“I’m not obsessed,” Frankie defended. He wasn’t. He just felt bad for her. He just recognized something in her that had clung to him - infected him. Poisoned his own gut and chest and head. The self-destruction. The substance abuse. He knew that like an old lover.
“She’s pretty,” Ben deflected - the word slicing through their conversation. The fact of it. She was beautiful and didn’t all of them have a weakness for beautiful things?
“What’s that got to do with anything?” One of the waitresses appeared. “Just bring us our usual,” Santi requested before motioning for her to leave. He turned back to them. “We have pretty women in the house all the time.”
Benny pursed his lips. “I don’t know. There’s something about her. She’s a nice girl.”
“She’s innocent,” Frankie added - not exactly knowing why. He barely knew this girl and here he was protecting her in some roundabout way. “She shouldn’t be stuck in this.”
“She’s not innocent.”
“Innocent of this,” Frankie clarified - gesturing to their surroundings - the wide-open space of their casino. The enormous amber chandeliers glittering and sparking like licks of flame in the sea of shadows. The laughter. The shuffle of cards and the clink of ice and the numerous dangerous men and women huddled together in conversation. The amount of corpses that would be left in the wake of all these double-dealings. Transactions. It’s just business.
“Her blood would say differently,” Santi scraped a hand across his stubble. “Her father fucked her over even if she doesn’t know that.”
“So fucking what?” Benny flung back. “I’m not - I’m not saying we let her go, but I do think we owe her an explanation.” His gaze jumped over Frankie’s shoulder and he did another rapid scan of the room. He was avoiding someone - Marissa, probably.
“It’s just because you want to fuck her, Ben,” Santi accused. “You’re trying to butter her up because you fucked someone else and now you feel bad.”
“No,” he argued. “No - that’s not it.”
Will shot him a doubtful glance, but remained silent. Santi motioned to him. “Back me up here, man.”
Will sighed. “We let her go, she dies.”
Benny’s brows furrowed. “What the fuck, Will? I already said we wouldn’t let her go. She just wants answers.”
Frankie crossed his arms over his chest - tilting his head as he leaned back into his seat. She did deserve to know why they kept her there. She deserved to know who her father was and why he had marked her - whether he meant to or not. “I’m with Ben,” he finally declared.
“Big surprise there,” Santi huffed.
***
She hated being alone with her own thoughts. She couldn’t stand in her own skin. It itched.
That furious, frantic voice in her head was demanding that she fill it with drink - with the buzz of liquor. Fill up the silence. FIll up the boredom. Do it. Do it.
Just cork it. Numb it. Drown it out with your old pal - with just a sip - a glass - a shot. Shove your dignity down that bar top one more time.
She leaned her forehead against the window. A storm was starting - forming rough and fast. The clouds were swollen purple to black to pale as lightning streaked their soft-masses. Rain began to pelt the glass - turning the air to a swirling fog of grey and mist.
At least, it would drown out any screams of pleasure from the boys' harem.
She could head to her room early. She didn’t want to drink tonight. Her hangovers as of late were leaving her almost comatose - sour with sick and her hands had started to tremble in the mornings. She really didn’t want to and still her insides crawled toward it - begged and pleaded. One. One. One. One teeny tiny sip.
No.
If she had one, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She had no clue where it would end and it was getting very fucking tiresome.
She moved toward the stairs - each step taking her farther away from that pretty bar - those jeweled bottles. She felt a pang of relief as she made it up to the second floor.
Good job. Just go to your room and settle in and watch something stupid.
She got all the way to her door before something crashed. It came from the floor below her.
What the fuck?
***
“She really has no idea?” Benny pressed. He was on his second old-fashioned and his tongue was going numb. The orange rind was bitter in his mouth. He couldn’t get a buzz on - his head felt bloated and all over the place. Distracted.
“She has no idea,” Santi confirmed. “I’m positive.”
“Her mother never said anything?” Will fiddled with the toothpick in his glass - palm scraping across the table before lifting one of the steak knives.
“No,” Santi replied slowly. “From what I gathered - her mother was an addict and totally out to lunch by the time she was old enough to wonder.”
All eyes swung to Frankie at the mention of “addict”. It was a reflex. They were all still used to the years they’d spent tip-toeing around Fish’s issues. Frankie offered them a strained smile leaving Benny with a cramp of guilt in his gut.
“And her mother’s dead?” Will twirled the knife between his knuckles - aimlessly - mindlessly. “She’s got no one?”
Santi nodded, but there was a near imperceptible twitch at the corner of his eye. Frankie caught it.
He surged forward - planting his elbows on the table. “Okay, pendejo,” he said. “What is it?”
Santi’s brows shot up. “What’s what?”
“You got all shifty when you mentioned her mother.”
He winced. Benny sat up higher in his seat - intrigued.
Santi tried to run a hand through his hair, seemingly forgetting that he had gelled it down to his scalp. His tattoos burned black across his knuckles - flexing and trembling in the wane light. He let out a whoosh of air before speaking. “Just so we’re clear, I didn’t know this when we took her and honestly it wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“Know what?” Will pushed. He had both of his arms draped across the back of the booth. He looked at ease aside from the way his eyes were totally focused on Santi - glittering in the red-hued room. His expression was always set in a permanent snarl when he wasn’t in the safety of their penthouse. He had a reputation, after all.
Santi ducked his gaze to study the contents of his drink. The ice clicked. “We - she - fuck okay the day that we took her was the day of her mother’s funeral,” he confessed. “I guess - I guess her mother died that week or something.”
Benny jerked in his seat. “Or something!?” he repeated - incredulous.
“Wait - I’m sorry,” Frankie massaged his forehead - shutting his eyes as he searched for the words. “You’re saying - “
“That she was drinking her grief away and we fucking kidnapped her,” Benny finished.
Santi grit his teeth. “I didn’t know and it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway.” He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper that scraped the tablecloth. “Baron would have had her killed regardless.”
“Speaking of,” Frankie muttered before subtly gesturing across the room. Baron had entered - his usual Apostle members at his heels. He was milk-pale and the rose-red lights glinted and bounced off his glasses. He’d always given Benny the creeps. He’d heard that he was fucking weird from the girls. His temper was legendary, but then again so was Santi’s.
Fact was he was unstable and unpredictable. A rattlesnake without a tail. If he found out about Faire...
Baron’s dark gaze flicked to them before he turned back to the hostess.
“I thought he spent his weekends at the Chapel?” Frankie implored under his breath.
“He does...usually,” Santi frowned. “Just ignore him for now. I don’t have the energy to be cordial.”
Their eyes settled back on the table, an awkward silence permeating the space. The tension was nebulous - oozing between them. It was true - the information about her mother didn’t necessarily change what they had done. Her life had been on the line. But - still -
It was Will who finally broke the silence. “When did you find out?”
Santi glanced at him. “About what?”
“About her mother,” he confirmed tiredly.
“A week ago.”
Will nodded, his expression was unreadable. He sat back and ran his thumb over his lower lip. Benny could only guess how he felt. He’d followed Santi’s orders and tortured someone in front of her. This small truth made all of their actions that much more...fucked up. She was just some grief-stricken girl who had stumbled into a situation that she didn’t understand.
She’d certainly shown resilience though. She’d adapted to a degree. Benny thought of her smiling - of her showing him how to chiffonade some basil.
“No-no roll it like this. Shouldn’t you be good with knives, mob boy?”
He was making excuses again.
“Look - she doesn’t have anyone,” Santi stated. “She doesn’t know what her name means here. If Baron finds out about who she is, she’s screwed. We need to go about this delicately. We need to put safeguards in place because she has no protection whatsoever if we just let her go.”
“Fine,” Frankie relented. “Fine, but we tell her what we know.”
Will tilted his head in agreement. Benny tipped his drink, saluting him.
Ben would feel better if she knew everything. Lay out all the cards. Play a hand of honesty. They hadn’t necessarily lied to her, but they had omitted the details that would have mattered.
Benny realized that Santi hadn’t said anything and he glanced at him - ready to fight him on their decision should he disagree. But the words died on his tongue.
Santi’s face paled as he stared at his phone. His eyes rounded and almost comically huge.
Will went rigid beside him. “What is it?”
“We have to go. Now.”
***
She was going to hide. That was her plan and a fucking good one. She was not capable of fighting. Her only options were to run or find a weapon or go sit in the shower and cry.
She was rooted in place - the hallway seemingly endless - stretching out and out and someone could come down it - turn the corner and see her. Her mouth was dry and her throat closed up. She licked her lips. Cool sweat beaded at her hairline. Her hands were shaking. She knew it wasn’t them. She would have recognized their voices. If it was their security, they would have told her.
Someone was breaking into their house. Someone bad and they had reminded her countless times that she was in danger - that she’d be killed because she was simply still breathing.
Hide. Hide. Hide.
She could hide in her bedroom, but then she’d be fucked if they came up here. She’d have no exit.
There was the buzz of whispering downstairs. The shuffle and pound of booted feet. Definitely more than one - more than two. She could take the back staircase - make it to the media room and hide somewhere in there. No one would look there. No important files or weapons or - shit fuck shit fuck shit -
She quickly realized that she was absolute trash in a crisis. Her adrenaline was still simmering at a low point - not enough to ease the panic that was now steadily building and burning and ready to explode and -
“Check upstairs.” A gruff voice ordered. She sprinted down the hall - ran for that blessed back staircase that led into the laundry room. Her feet were bare, but it felt as if every step reverberated through the whole penthouse.
As she crept down the steps, she could hear an argument - could hear the shuffling of papers - the clang of drawers. There was another crash. The unmistakable tinkle of broken glass. What was this? This had to be about the guys- definitely not about her. Right?
She made her way into the laundry room and slid into one of the closets that held the mops, brooms, and vacuums. This is a dumb ass hiding spot, but at least I have a weapon.
You gonna gouge out someone’s eye with that broom handle?
Maybe.
She crouched - pressing her ear to the door. It was dark in here. It strangled her. Suffocated her. Her skin buzzed to a brand new frequency - high and trembling. Just stay hidden. Just stay still and silent until they leave.
There were more men in the hall now.
The pitch of their argument escalated. They sounded anxious. There was the rush of boots on hardwood and then the front door slammed. Had they left? Were the guys back?
She waited. She’d wait until dawn. She wouldn’t even care if they brought home a dozen women. She’d wait and wait and when they’d come home, she’d go to them and -
The closet door swung open.
“Hello honey,” the intruder said.
***
Will didn’t remember getting to the car. He’d practically blacked out.
He lunged forward - gripping the front seat.
“Drive faster, Damon,” he hissed. The lights of the city blurred and fuzzed - circled and popped beneath the furious onslaught of the rain. There was the tangy grip of ozone in the air. The black street shimmered with the oil from months of traffic.
Will shut his eyes - curling his fingers into a fist until his nails bit into the meat of his palm. Calm down. Get your head on straight.
Santi was on his phone - shouting in a flurry of Spanish and English and all of it laced with threat.
“Fucking shit,” he roared - slamming his fist into the glove box. “No one is fucking answering at the security station.”
This was inconceivable. This had never happened. No one had ever managed to break into their penthouse. That was theirs - their safe space. Something had obviously failed and failed spectacularly.
“She’ll be fine,” Benny growled more to himself than anyone else. Frankie was silent - focused on the road - his lips strained to a thin line.
It wouldn’t do for Will to become frantic - to become upset and thus reckless. He wasn’t going to fixate on the fact that he had traumatized an already grief-stricken girl. It didn’t matter because it had already been done. He couldn’t take it back.
Still - he wouldn’t stand for some fucking pieces of shit hurting her. They had promised to protect her and they would - he would.
He sat back in his seat - allowing the darker shards of himself to come together. He felt comfortably numb. He felt nothing, but that familiar burnished fury.
***
At least - she tried. She hadn’t even thought about the consequences - she’d just rushed at him - knocking him backward with the brunt of her shoulder. He’d stumbled out of surprise more than anything else. She made it about as far as the kitchen before he’d caught up to her - wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her right off her feet.
“Found her,” the man shouted. He was huge - thick with muscle. Shaved head. Sharp jaw. Tattoos slithering up his throat. His arm cut into her stomach and his breath was hot against her ear. “You’re a slippery little thing.”
Another man jogged into the room. Not as big as the one who had her, but lanky with bottle-green eyes. It was dark - so dark in the kitchen aside from the lights of the city streaming ghostly and soft across the three of them.
“The others leave?”
“They’re downstairs. We have to go now.”
“They get that other shit he wanted?”
“Obviously, Slick.”
She had to do something. She - fuck - she didn’t know shit. She didn’t know how to throw a punch or - or -wait - she surveyed her surroundings. The kitchen. She knew this location, at least. She spent hours right in here and there were plenty of potential weapons. Lots of pointy things.
She tried to control her breathing - tried to settle her heart that was fluttering in the cage of ribs.
Slick’s arm tightened around her. The tips of her toes barely brushed the floor. She swallowed and dropped her head forward, ignoring the sudden wave of dizziness. She hung there for a moment and the other man spoke up: “Is she unconscious or something?”
“Huh?”
She braced herself and then slammed her head backward. She heard the crack as her skull crashed into Slick’s nasal bridge. He roared - dropping her to the floor. She lurched to her feet, agony screaming at the crown of her head. White-blue stars burst across her vision. Adrenaline-rich sweat leached from her pores. Get up. Get up. She rushed toward the knife rack - wrapping her fingers around the closest handle. She ripped it free, whirling around and pointing it at them.
Slick gaped at her - blood rushing scarlet and fast down his mouth and onto the floor.
‘Your boys teach you that?” he chuckled - red - so much fucking red all over his face.
The other one smiled - teeth glistening in the dark. There were black dots flashing at the corner of her eyes. She’d really rocked her head. Didn’t matter. It didn’t.
Just protect yourself until they get there.
“That knife won’t do much, sweetheart,” the man leered. “But - points for effort.”
“Just leave,” she demanded. “Just - just go - you got whatever you wanted.”
“We got half of what we wanted,” the man corrected. “You’re also on the To-Do list. Now - just be a good girl and come to Jack.”
She stood there dumbly - the knife handle slimy in her hand from her own sweat. He sighed before flashing the silver hump of his gun strapped to his belt.
Well - shit.
“I don’t want to have to use this,” he said candidly. “But - we’re in a bit of a time crunch.”
She was out of options. She knew they had guns, but she also was beginning to realize that they needed her alive. If they wanted her dead, they would have shot her point blank the second they found her.
She just had to give herself more time.
What had she learned in her school’s self-defense classes? Use a weapon that can’t be turned on you. Use what’s available? Fuck - she’d rarely paid attention because she was too busy mooning over Scott Wentworth.
Her eyes landed on the heavy glass bowl full of fruit on the butcher block. Okay. She moved without thinking - leaping for the glass bowl and then hurling it at them. Slick jumped out of the way, but it hit Jack across the chest hard enough to wind him. It shattered into pieces, sprinkling over the expanse of the floor in a rain of glass. They bit into her feet - her ankles. The stinging pricks were like insects - like needles.
“You’re fucked,” Jack snarled before he charged at her. He barreled into her body - forcing them both onto the floor. The air whooshed from her lungs - her throat closing up as the knife went flying. Still - she fought all the way down - shoving and kicking as he caught her wrists and pinned them to the tile. She could barely see straight due to the throbbing in her head, but Jack’s face was close enough to make out. He hovered over her, his breath wet and fetid as it slipped over her cheek.
“They tried to hide you from him,” he taunted. “Not very well it seems since they left you all alone.”
“Fuck off,” she spat - trying to knee him in the groin. It was no use - he was too heavy and she was weak from lack of food. Fragile and helpless. There were tears forming - clouding her vision further. It was unfair - she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t know anything.
“Now just fucking behave and I’ll-”
He was off her. She could breathe again. She blinked as she watched a force yank Jack up like he weighed nothing, but feathers.
Will. His face appeared - pale in the gloomy kitchen - his nostrils flaring - his jaw tight as a drum. He grabbed the man by the throat and there were no words - just grunts - just something guttural rasping from his chest. He forced him to the floor - smoothly straddling his waist.
She felt glass under her nails - embedded in her palms. Her lungs snapped and expanded beneath her breastbone - her throat aching as she tried to speak. She took in the scene in front of her. Her head kept on swimming.
Over Will’s shoulder, Pope had his hand against Slick’s throat. There was a glint of silver between his fingers before he whipped it away. A knife and then a spurt of blood. The huge man went down - skull cracking on the counter as the floor shook with his dead weight. She inhaled sharply.
Her eyes widened. There was a ringing in her ears.
Jack was gurgling, pawing helplessly at Will’s shoulders - the bulge of his arms.
She hadn’t watched him kill up close. She’d heard the sounds - the awful death rattle - the transition from a scream to a muffled groan.
This, however, was right in front of her.
She felt arms around her. Benny’s jaw scraped across her temple. He tried to turn her around. “C’mon, babe. You don’t need to see -“
But she did. She wanted to. They’d - they’d tried to hurt her.
She found herself focusing on the tiny details of Jack as Will strangled him: the shag of curls- the bushy eyebrows - the hair-covered hands uselessly hitting out at Ironhead like it would make a difference.
She watched and Will caught her gaze - his brow furrowing for a moment before he relaxed - reading her - understanding her. Those unsettling eyes bored into her own. He held her line of vision - he held her in a way.
It’s okay. He seemed to silently tell her. It’s okay. I’ve got this.
The man’s head went slack. One eye wide open and the other half-mast.
Her fear began to dissolve. The adrenaline receded like the tide, making room for something brighter. She could taste and breathe. Her vision cleared and everything softened. It was a relief.
They’d come for her. They’d saved her.
***
She dropped her face in her hands and laughed. It was dry and slightly erratic. It clung to her throat. She wondered if she had gone momentarily insane? She was just...she didn’t know what she was. Fuck.
There was the sudden shattering collision of thunder and she jumped. The windows trembled. Would they break? Would they bend inward and make the floors crack and pop and fall?
The tile was cold under her ass. Her skin was stinging fiercely.
“Shh,” Benny hushed her. He was still behind her - on his knees - hand stroking her hair. “It’s just the storm.”
“How the fuck did they get in here?” Frankie rumbled as he stalked into the kitchen. She jerked again at the loudness of his voice - at his anger.
Benny mumbled something to Fish over his shoulder and he quickly went over to her. He stuffed his gun back into his jacket before crouching to meet her eyes. He touched her cheek gently - his thumb smoothing over her jaw. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - are you okay?”
Was she okay? Not fucking really.
She could feel their eyes on her. Her flesh was really starting to burn from the glass .
“They - they just broke in,” she explained - breath hitching between her ribs.
It was Pope who strode toward her next. He appraised her - taking note of her bare thighs in her sleep shorts - her cut hands and arms. He seemed regretful - his forehead creased in concern. He made a deep sound of frustration. But as soon as he noticed her watching him, the concern flitted away - quick as a snuffed match. His face returned to that shadowy emptiness - that stone-cold house where not a light burned bright.
Benny gently took her cheeks in his hands and forced her to look at him. The dimples in his cheek were more pronounced than ever. His eyes watery and kind - more warm than she’d ever seen them.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
“You are,” Will observed as he gracefully stood up from the corpse between his legs. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned - the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. There was a light mist of blood across the collar - the fine bleached fabric folded and neat.
Their cologne filtered heavily through the room. The tang and oil of them. That masculine aroma that followed them. The bright ache of cedar and smoke and whiskey. The brand of the casino had trailed them back here.
Will settled in front of her - he wrapped his calloused fingers around her wrist before he tugged her up to her feet. She stumbled into his chest, but he steadied her. He was still a little too hard with her, a little too rough. But when he dragged his touch over her bleeding palms - he inhaled sharply - his lower lip yanked white between his teeth. “You are hurt,” he repeated. “Don’t lie. Not to us.”
She ripped her hand away from him, gasping as she accidentally jarred it against her belly - burying the glass deeper. “I didn’t lie - I didn’t realize - “
She had though. She’d felt that glass down to her bones.
“She’s in shock,” Benny said quietly. He stepped toward her and she flinched away. Her cheeks still bloomed warm from his touch. They were all too much at once - overwhelming her.
“I’m not in shock,” she protested as she curled into herself against the kitchen island. Frankie frowned and she wanted to smack him.
“How did this happen?” Pope asked - his voice low and dangerous.
“I don’t know,” She leaned deeper into the butcher block - the edge cutting into her stomach. Benny wordlessly slipped beside her and pulled her close - allowing her to rest her body weight against him. She sighed, wanting to go upstairs. She needed to be away from those dead men - those slack, gaping faces. That breath - that warm fetid breath on her cheek. “ I don’t - I just kind of ran away when they came in.”
Pope raised his head - his umber eyes pinning her in place. She felt like a bug - like a delicate insect with gossamer guts - stretched across paper and pushed under glass. He was so fucking mean to her. It was really kind of comical at this point.
She was just minding her business - caged in this prison of glass and marble and leather. Acclimating. Doing exactly as he said. She continued. “I’m sorry that -”
“Hush,” Pope cut her off - surprising her.
“What?” Sweat beaded at the nape of her neck - between her tits.
“I wasn’t asking you,” he clarified - scrubbing at his jaw before running his fingers through his slicked black hair. It was starting to become disheveled, making him look young. “I know you didn’t do anything - this is on us. They managed to get through our security. I-I’m glad we got home in time.”
She blinked. Oh.
“How the fuck did they do it?” Frankie asked as he kicked one of the corpse’s heads. It lolled to the side - the blatant smudges of purple around the throat from Will’s fingers. She wanted her bed. She wanted to sleep and shower. She wanted to dunk her head beneath the water of a bath.
“I’ll talk to security,” Benny announced as he subtly maneuvered her to Will. She felt like a doll between them. She went boneless, allowing herself to be pushed in whatever direction they guided her. Benny crossed the room to leave - his expression a little hell-bent. “Make some heads roll.”
She almost wanted him to stay.
“Don’t kill anyone, Ben,” Fish called after him.
Ben turned - the doorway light gilding his profile. “Can’t make any promises.” He winked.
She knew Frankie wasn’t joking. She’d seen what they’d done to the employees that have fucked them - messed up catastrophically. She shifted and a piece of glass nudged deeper into her foot. She gasped - jerking against Will.
All three of their heads whipped around to stare at her. She was reminded of the Cerberus - their eyes molasses-black and swirling with hunger for a hunt. Someone had found a weakness in them and had bled it and now - they felt vulnerable. Pissed.
“Jesus,” Will murmured amusedly. “Can’t take you anywhere.” Before she could protest, he lifted her up into his arms. He dropped his chin to look at her. “You’re bleeding everywhere, Ms. Faire.”
His smile was indulgent - as if he’d like that - as if he’d want her to bleed on him. She scowled. “There she is,” he teased. “Knew you weren’t that scared.”
“I wasn’t scared,” she huffed. “I fought back, didn’t I?”
(She had been dead ass terrified, but she wouldn’t admit that.)
“Yeah,” Will replied thoughtfully. “You did.”
He sounded impressed.
Frankie regarded her silently before he moved across the kitchen and rummaged through a drawer. He returned to her - his hands hot and smooth on her foot.
“Hey,” he said softly - catching her attention.
“Hey?” she replied - bewildered.
His lip twitched - the hint of his handsome smile before he ripped the glass from her foot.
“Fuck!” she shrieked as she curled her fingers into Will’s dress shirt, managing to tear a button. Fish raised the red-slick shard of glass and tossed it into the sink. It clinked - echoing through the dark room where they stood. Shadows. The blink and slide of city lights still swimming over hardwood and tile.
She glared at Frankie. “Asshole.”
He shrugged.
Will chuckled and she could feel it vibrate beneath her cheek. She was stiff in his arms, but she could discern the corded muscle - the relaxed thrum of his heart. He smelled wonderful - like orange flowers and cloves - the swell of a crackling fire. There was also the distinct aroma of blood, which lingered on him like a second skin. He was all the things he was and yet his hold on her was tender - almost protective.
Frankie continued to clean her foot, wrapping it securely. His breath was damp on her skin - his forehead furrowed in concentration. “You may need stitches,” he observed as he bandaged her. “Will can check it more thoroughly upstairs.”
Will waggled his eyebrows suggestively and she laughed despite herself.
“See,” Frankie said. “You’re taking it like a champ.”
Why did that sound brushed in innuendo?
She sighed, leaning into Will’s chest - her head brushing his shoulder. He lowered his chin - lips faintly grazing her temple. “It’s fine,” he soothed. “You can relax.”
“Go upstairs,” Pope ordered. She’d forgotten about him and his voice was gruff - splintering through the tension that nestled between the three of them. He sounded both impatient and annoyed and she wondered if he was mad at her. If he didn’t like them focusing on her - if she fucked up because she got hurt or -
“Please,” Pope added as he settled his gaze on her.
-or not.
Frankie released her ankle and Will rearranged her in his arms. He started for the stairs. “How come I have to leave?” she asked - unsure why she even cared.
“Because they have to clean that up - figure out what happened - how those fuckers got in.”
A chink in the armor. A hole in the wall. Their penthouse had seemed like a fortress - the whole damn place impenetrable. This was on them and she got the feeling that this did not happen. Ever.
“Pope will want to talk to you,” Will continued. “Figure out if they said anything helpful.”
“Can’t I just tell you?”
He cast her a sidelong glance. Surprised.
“Still not crazy about Pope, huh?”
“He’s fucking mean.”
“He has his reasons.”
“I don’t believe you.”
***
Will took her to his room, which she didn’t expect. It was spotless. A gorgeous combination of gun metal grey and white and cedar. A large television. Heavy slate-colored drapes. A warm brown leather heardboard (fuck that headboard). The blankets on the bed were tight with military corners. The pillows were fluffed and organized. There was an enormous landscape painting of aubergine-tinted mountains against the swirl of a storm. Dark colors and violent paint strokes. It seemed very Will.
They went right past his bed and into the bathroom. Travertine wall panels. A deep porcelain tub. Geometric stone-tile floor. He delicately plopped her on the pale limestone counter.
“This seems familiar,” she quipped as he moved between her legs - reaching over her to pull his first-aid supplies from the cabinet.
“You and glass don’t mix very well,” he smirked. He grabbed his tweezers and held her arm up to the light. There was a beat of comfortable silence before he added.“You did well,”
“Well in the sense that I ran away and hid until they sniffed me out?”
“You broke one of their noses.” Will released her arm and touched her cheek - tipping her head to the side - searching for injury. “You did what you had to.” His voice dropped low. “We should have been here.”
She hummed in acknowledgment. Yes - they should have.
“We’re gonna teach you self-defense or something, too.”
“You gonna be my teacher?”
His mouth broke into a broad, blinding grin and it made her heart shudder. He was devastatingly good looking sometimes. “I can if you want me to.”
“We’ll see.”
Will stepped back. His gaze raked over her bare thighs - assessing the damage. It wasn’t sexual - far from it. He was taking record of every scrape and cut and bruise. He paused before his expression suddenly went serious - almost uncomfortable.
“They didn’t…they didn’t try anything, did they?
“Huh?” He stared at her meaningfully. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “No.” She laughed before clamping her hand over her mouth. He frowned. “Sorry - I’m - I’m just kind of out of it.”
He dropped the bandage on the counter and planted both hands on either side of her. He was close now - his mouth a breath from hers. “Tonight shouldn’t have happened.”
“I know,” she murmured - slightly dizzy from the heat of him (or maybe that was her head wound).
“We decided we’re going to tell you everything,” He looked up and his expression was bare - exposed and genuine. The lines of his gorgeous face settled into something almost desperate. It stunned her.
A/N: This is not the full first part of this fic. I just was fucking around and wanted to see if people liked the vibes. It's just a snapshot. The boys in this are dark. They're violent criminals. The reader in this is actually pretty different than the ones I usually do. She's not necessarily bad ass or physically capable of protecting herself. She does have a dark side, but she's mostly just trying to survive in this situation.
She feels glass under nails - embedded in her palms. Her lungs snap in her chest - her throat constricting as she tries to speak. She stares at the scene in front of her, eyes darting between the dead man still twitching in Will’s hands. The second corpse still and pale beneath Santiago’s hunched form. Francisco storms back into the living room - knocking a lamp over in his haste.
“What the fuck?” he growls as he stuffs his gun back into his jacket.
She startles - biting down on the inside of her mouth because she doesn’t understand - doesn’t know what to say - doesn’t want to make a sound because all of their eyes are on her and it feels like pinches and bruises smattering across her skin.
Did she fuck up here? Is this her fault?
“I’m - I - he just - I was just getting a glass of water,” she explains - breath hitching between her ribs.
Santi slowly appraises her - taking note of her bare thighs in her sleep shorts - her cut hands and arms. For a moment, he looks regretful - his brow winkling in concern and then it flits away - quick as a snuffed match. His face returns to that dark emptiness - that stone-cold house where not a light burns bright.
There’s a warm grip on her shoulder and Benjamin drops down next to her.
“Are you hurt?”
She doesn’t like his tone - the edges curved in a subtle softness. He’s the sweetest of any of them, but she knows instinctively that it’s not completely genuine. He bares his face to her - that boyish golden beauty and it makes her shiver. He nudges her chin and repeats himself. “Hey,” His thumb sweeps over her jaw. “Did they hurt you?”
She’s seen him with the women they bring home. She’s seen Benny seduce and it’s that exact same smile - that promise in the indents of his cheeks. She’s also seen him angry - watched him stalk back through the front door with blood on his hands and his leather jacket smelling of cordite.
She’s observed each of them in the fortress of their own house and she knows that they’re terrible - they’re awful. They’re killers. But - Benny’s caress is warm and she finds herself answering him.
“No.”
“You are,” Will grunts as he rips his knife out of the man’s throat. The slippery gurgle of blood and flesh and she should be used to it by now - but fuck - it makes sour bile churn in her gut. Will steps over the corpse with a smooth gracefulness. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned - the sleeves rolled up. There’s a light mist of blood across the collar - the fine bleached fabric folded beneath his low bun.
They’re all in their best. These criminals in their expensive suits and clean lines. Polished leather shoes. The slicked back hair. The cologne and tang of whatever casino or underworld bunker they'd been to not even an hour ago.
They’d been out to a party - something important for “work” as she stayed locked away in this fucking penthouse. She’d gone downstairs for a glass of water and had found those men - shuffling through files and - and - and then -
Will’s there - his scarred fingers wrapping around her wrist before he jerks her up to her feet. She stumbles into his chest, but he steadies her. He’s still too rough - too hard, but when he drags his touch over her bleeding palms - he inhales sharply - his lip yanked white between his teeth. “You’re hurt,” he repeats. “Don’t lie.”
She rips her hand away from him, gasping as she accidentally jars it against her belly - burying the glass deeper. “I didn’t lie - I didn’t realize - “
“She’s in shock,” Benny observes - his mouth quirking as if he’s amused by this scene - as if her fear is something comical. He steps toward her and she moves away - flinching. Her jaw still blooming warm from his touch. They're all too much at once - overwhelming her.
“I’m not in shock,” she protests as she presses herself against the kitchen island. Benny’s smile widens and she blinks. Still - his handsomeness stupefies her. She hates herself for it - hates that twinge in her core at these men who have hurt her - stolen her.
“How did this happen?” Santiago asks - his voice low and dangerous. Bitter.
“I don’t know,” She leans deeper into the marble island - the edge cutting into her stomach. She wants to go upstairs. “I’m sorry - I don’t -”
Santi’s head shoots up - his eyes pinning her in place. She feels like a bug - like a delicate insect with gossamer guts - stretched across paper and pushed under glass. She’s felt that way since they brought her here.
Santi - Pope - scares her. Maybe - more than Will and Francisco. She’s suddenly desperate to defend herself. She knew nothing - saw nothing. She was just minding her fucking business - caged in this prison of glass and marble and leather. She didn’t belong here, but she was stuck here and they’d told her to get used to it.
“I came downstairs and -”
“Shut up,” Santi interrupts quietly.
“What?” Sweat beads at the nape of her neck - between her tits.
“I wasn’t asking you,” he clarifies - scrubbing at his jaw before running his fingers through his slicked black hair. It comes out disheveled, making him look strangely young. “I know you didn’t do anything - this is on us. They managed to get through our security - I - I’m glad we got home in time.”
She swallows. Oh.
“How the fuck did they do it?” Francisco asks as he kicks one of the corpse’s heads. It lolls to the side - the blatant smudges of purple around the throat from Pope’s fingers. He’d choked him to death - made it personal.
You come into my house and try to steal my shit. You fucking -
“I’ll talk to security,” Benny announces as he crosses the room to leave. “Make some heads roll.” She almost wants him to stay. Almost. He’s more stable than the other three.
“Don’t kill anyone, Ben,” Fish calls after him.
Ben turns - the doorway light gilding his profile. He winks.
Okay - maybe not.
She knows Francisco’s not joking. She’s seen what they’ve done to the employees that have fucked them - messed up catastrophically. She takes another step backward and yelps as glass sinks into her foot.
All three of their heads whip around to stare at her. She’s reminded of the Cerberus - their eyes molasses-black and swirling with hunger for a hunt. Someone had found a weakness in them and had bled it and now - they feel vulnerable. Pissed.
“Jesus,” Will snaps, shaking his head. “Can’t take you anywhere.” Before she can protest, he lunges for her - lifting her up into his arms. He drops his chin to look at her. “You’re bleeding all over, sweetheart.”
His smile is indulgent - as if he’d like that - as if he’d want her to bleed on him. She scowls. “There she is,” he teases. “Knew you weren’t that scared.”
“I wasn’t scared,” she huffs. “I was surprised.”
Francisco regards her quietly before he moves across the kitchen and rummages through a drawer. He’s back in front of her - his hands hot on her foot - all that dark hair combed back from his face for their night out. She’d never really seen him in anything, but baseball caps. He seems so naked.
“Hey,” he says softly and she tilts her chin to catch his eyes. Fish has rarely looked at her. He’s avoided her - offered her nothing, but silence and curt nods. She can’t read him - can’t figure him out and it’s not like she cares to, but it’d be easier if she knew who he was and what he wanted. “Hey,” he repeats as he squeezes her ankle and pulls.
“Fuck!” she shrieks as she curls her fingers into Will’s dress shirt, managing to rip a button. Fish lifts the red-slick shard of glass and tosses it in the sink. It clinks - echoing through the quiet dark room where they stand. Shadows. The blink and slide of city lights swimming over hardwood and tile.
She glares at Francisco. “Asshole.”
His eyes widen a fraction, his mouth parting in surprise. She doesn’t talk back - not to them or him. He’s still that predator - that dog who may or may not bite. But she’s heard things - heard them reference gore-filled stories involving Catfish and machetes. His fury never molten, but like black-ice. As a girl, she had recalled the dangers of it - that glistening obsidian surface coating asphalt and ponds in the trenches of New England February. You could lose your footing so easily - crack your head or break your nose. Snap a tooth.
She swallows. “Sorry.”
He doesn’t seem angry. He frowns. “For what? I just hurt you.”
Will chuckles and she can feel it vibrate beneath her cheek. She’s stiff in his arms, but she can make out the corded muscle - the relaxed thrum of his heart. He smells like orange flower and clove oil - the swell of a crackling fire. There’s also the distinct aroma of blood, which lingers on Ironhead like a second skin. The group’s torturer - their kill guy. He is all these things and yet his hold on her is gentle - almost protective. It disarms her. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, honey.”
Honey. He’s such a fucking shithead. She’s their captive. What else can she do, but beg for forgiveness - avoid them - stay out of the damn way. Isn’t that what Pope had demanded of her:
Stay put. Stay quiet. Don’t piss us off and maybe you’ll live.
She ignores Will, instead focusing on Fish as he cleans and wraps her foot. His breath is damp on her skin - his brow furrowed in concentration. She’d never noticed his handsomeness before - the strong jut of his nose - that plush lower lip - the fan of dark lashes. “You may need stitches,” he mumbles as he continues to bandage her. “Will will check it again, but I didn’t need you bleeding over everything.”
Whatever.
She leans slightly against Will’s chest - her head brushing his shoulder. He lowers his chin - lips faintly grazing her temple and she freezes. “It’s fine, babe,” he taunts. “You can relax.”
She sits back up - pushing away from him and Fish squeezes her foot in warning. “Stop moving.”
She grunts.
“Go upstairs,” Santi finally announces. She’d forgotten about him and his voice is gruff - splintering through the tension that nestles between the three of them. He sounds both frustrated and annoyed and she wonders if he’s mad at her. If he doesn’t like them focusing on her - if she fucked up because she got hurt and -
Frankie releases her ankle and Will rearranges her in his arms before he’s out of the room. “How come I have to leave?” she asks - unsure why she even cares.
“Because they have to clean that up - figure out what happened - how those fuckers got in.”
A chink in the armor. A hole in the wall. Their penthouse had seemed like a fortress - the whole damn place impenetrable. She could figure out how to leave - find out where the weakness sits.
“Scared I’ll learn how to escape then?” She doesn’t know why she says it - maybe she wants to hit back at him - emphasize that she still fucking hates being here - locked inside with them. A prisoner.
Will laughs and it's tinged with something unsettling. “If you even managed to leave, you wouldn’t get very far.” He angles his head to gaze down at her and she inhales sharply. There’s a cruelness to him - hidden in the sharp lines of his gorgeous face. “We’d find you - chase you down.” He taps the side of her head with one calloused, scarred fingertip. “We know you, pretty girl. We know where you’d go and what you’d do and where you’d try to hide.”
She swallows - her throat closing up. Tears begin to well in her eyes. She tries to swipe at them - furious with herself, but Will is already there and brushing them away.
“You’re with us,” he states like it’s a cold hard fact - like it’s law. “There’s no place for you, but here.”
A/N: Here’s the final installment of this fic about Ironhead with equal parts angst x smut x fluff! In which you’re helping Will heal through a time when he’s incapable of feeling love or making love. (He’s more than capable of sex – lots of hot sex – but you both know that’s not enough…)
Heads up: The backstory that I imagined here is pretty different from what anyone would probably expect, but I felt that the premise of this fic called for a compelling reason as to why his heart is so totally wrecked 💔
Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x Reader
Warnings: smut, swearing, angsty angst, rough sex, fluffy smut later on, heads up: I made up some sad shit that happened to somebody close to our captain…
… Continued from Part 3 [Read Here]
“Hey.”
You choose the simplest of the thousand things you could’ve thought to say. No need to even ask aloud if he’s okay.
The bed was empty when you woke today; for once you didn’t feel alone because of it. He’d cried himself to sleep last night—like, really cried—and let you hold him through the worst of it. Come morning light, he had to get away.
Not far—just cried a little more alone out in his car. He didn’t even hit the gas. Any speed would’ve been too fast. Too far from where you are. Kept it in park as rain beat down upon the glass, waiting until the storm inside and out both passed. Sometimes a soldier needs to be alone with his own scars.
Or so he’d thought until you came into his life. Light in the dark of that crap dive. Now he can never be alone, not even if he tried—his heart is yours to own. You’ve made your home inside.
The sun after the storm is always warm. Beckons him out of his cold lonely ride, all spent of tears to shed, the fallen dried. Opens the front door with a slow quiet nudge forward so as not to cause alarm. If you’re still sleeping you should stay in bed; he owes you that, after a long and restless night.
But you can hear him in his silence and you’re wide awake. You let him have a few more moments to himself just for the soldier’s sake. Warrior clad in iron armor only love like yours could break. Then wrap a robe around your shoulders, stepping out to meet your soldier, kitchen fragrant of the coffee he decided he should make. Coffee is what he does each morning and if he stops he might break.
He’s got his arms crossed over his broad chest. Wrapped in the soft blue hoodie that he zips up tight around him, every time he wants your presence to surround him. Fabric smells of you by now because he says you wear it best. You in this big hoodie and nothing else—his favorite look on you aside from when you’re spread out on the mattress, or on any surface, begging for his sex and beautifully undressed.
Whatever you may choose to wear, your heart for him is always laid beautifully bare. Whatever you may choose to say, or not to say, your heart speaks louder anyway. Today it’s just a quiet hey. Hand combing through his golden hair, the sun that lights his bright blue stare. Limbs intertwining soon enough, both of your clothes tossed off, lips locking soft yet rough, as he spreads you out on the table and takes you right then and there.
The coffee isn’t even done but for the first time in his life he doesn’t care.
A/N: So here’s a fic about Jax Teller in his high school days, finding hope and love and happiness in your embrace 🥰 Flirty stuff + smutty fluff + teenage angst. For a special request from @vixenrebellion who is graduating today and turning 19 in a few days! Con-grad-ulations and happy birthday in advance babe! ❤️
Pairing: Jax Teller x Reader
Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, teenage Jax treats you to his adult cock (you’re both 18+)
Request: Request from @vixenrebellion in celebration of birthday soon + graduation 🥳🎓
“As you embark on the next chapter of your lives…”
The voice of some old man drones on, from far across the crowded lawn. Every two seconds someone yawns. Someone else sneezes every five. Spring’s not yet done. The California sun beats down upon the sea of cheap black fabric, spread out thick, the edge of summer cutting through the current season with the dull weight of a butterknife.
High school was hell and you’re just glad to have survived.
“…lest you forget whence you have come…”
‘Lest’? ‘Whence’? This fucker clearly doesn’t know his audience. Two rows behind you the class clown cracks the obligatory ‘cum’ joke and the super-senior seated alphabetically beside you mutters fuck, this shit is dumb.
You’re sick of all the so-called circumstance and pomp. Mind wanders down a hazy path as the heat gathers in your gown. Drowning you in a fucking swamp. The heat is cruel. Just like this school, this whole damn town—Charming means nothing other than the miserable fact it’s where you’re from.
You think of prom.
You really shouldn’t think of prom.
Really should not have even gone but so you had and somehow ended up in none other than Jackson Teller’s arms…
A sudden shrill sound slices through this ring of hell: the ring of bells, audible from the school itself. Right by the sports field where the ceremony is now being held. Someone must have pulled the emergency alarm.
Principal Dipshit pauses in his speech and pushes his specs up his nose.
Throughout the white foldout chairs set in perfect rows, for this commencement, several students are conspicuously absent. From among them… only one of them would have the balls to make that kind of mayhem. Only one of them and everybody knows.
Of all the boys you could’ve fallen mad in love with you suppose… that is the one your stupid schoolgirl heart inevitably chose.
A/N: Here’s Part 2 of this fic about Ironhead with equal parts angst x smut x fluff! The premise is that you’re with Will during a time when he’s incapable of feeling love or making love. (He’s more than capable of sex – lots of hot sex – but soon you realize that the sex isn’t enough…)
Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x Reader
Warnings: smut, swearing, angsty angst, rough sex, fluffy smut later on
… Continued from Part 1 [Read Here]
Last lines of Part 1:
Heavy breathing. Breaking, healing. Shaking at the thought of needing… anything…
And at the feeling… that with you it’s more like everything.
***************
Everything turns to nothing real quick.
Two months to be exact. Though after two nights you stopped keeping track. Been pretty hard to think when you’re constantly drunk on his big ironheaded dick.
Will Miller always keeps a record though. The record is the only thing he knows.
That’s why he makes sure to put damn near nothing on it. Keep the record clean. That way his words can’t haunt it. Keep his mouth shut ‘cause it’s better to be silent than be honest. And for Ironhead there’s nothing in between.
You’ve spent two months trying in vain, to learn the language of his silence. Know it’s not your place to pressure him to revisit the pain. Relive the violence. Best to just assume the worst given where he has been, and what he must’ve seen. And done. No doubt it weighs a ton. He’ll tell you when the time comes. If this thing that you have going on lasts long enough for you to feel like home.
The issue… is that he had felt like home, to you, from that first night in that crap dive with your ass pressed against the sink. Brush off the thought ‘cause it’s a stupid thing to think. You hadn’t had that much to drink, but he himself had been a drug that hit faster than you could blink. Falling head over heels for him was a whole kink.
And so is every goddamn minute that you spend. After two months it’s like that first night never brought itself to end.
For all this time he’s been buried so deep inside you that you’re bursting at the seams. Whereas the other way around… Will hasn’t let you dig deep down. You only know him on the surface just enough to function as a sort of team.
He takes his coffee without cream. He hits the gym to let off steam. He visits demons in his dreams. Most days his silence fucking screams.
He rarely speaks; you’ve seen him smile twice in eight weeks. But goddamn if your life doesn’t revolve around those moments when the storm clouds in his blue gaze part and something sacred gleams.
You never knew that his revolved around yours too. You never knew because he never fucking told you. Never even let himself show it by holding you the way he’d want to hold you.
Even so you dared to dream it, to believe it, till the day his demons woke you from your dream.
Welcome to Charming - its name says it all. Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened. Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.
Rated M
Thank you all who have been reading. I hope you’ll enjoy the final chapter of this story.
Welcome to Charming - its name says it all.
Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened.
This Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.
This story is obviously non-canon. It will include characters from multiple seasons; some of them having never met on the show. In this universe, Tara didn’t come back from Chicago. I’ve done this to get the story I wanted.
I’ve also decided to give the protagonist a name in this story.
I hope you’ll enjoy reading it.
A/N: Sooo it’s been a minute since I’ve written something non-requested (I still have so much to get written from my request lists!! 🥴), but I got in a MOOD for Will Miller with some emotionally rich shit or whatever and just had to write it! (blame @charnelhouse for this exquisite Will fic) (not that this is anything like that one – it isn’t – but inspiration goes in weird directions…)
As with a few of my other Will fics the title is a quote from his epic speech at the start of the film, and the premise for this is one of the ideas that I listed ages ago in my Ironhead Imagine Ideas post for fics about him ✨
Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x Reader
Warnings: smut, swearing, angsty angst, rough sex, in a dive bar bathroom, fluffy smut later on
“Were you always like this?”
Storm-blue eyes stare at you down the statuesque slope of his nose. Throat contracts as he swallows. Somewhere deep in the pit of your own you can feel the tightness.
You wonder if he can feel yours, the fire the first sight of him set in your core. Figures he can see your inner whore. So desperate to ride his.
Whether or not he can tell you’re a cock-hungry slut, clearly wishes you’d kept your damn mouth shut. “Like what?”
No way of knowing that the word you’ve got in mind would drive him mad. “I dunno, ironclad?”
Dumb word just hit him somewhere bad.
They called him Ironhead. The brothers he once had. But you’ve got no clue about that.
Knew so little back then. Only that your best friend had the worst judgment setting you up on a date with this dickheaded captain.
“Listen,”he urges you with the intensity and the intention of someone who knows how to make the world stand at attention. Used to everyone yielding to him in submission. “Don’t go looking for something that’s broken or missing.”
So even just looking you need his permission? You seriously can’t begin to imagine what kind of restrictions he has against touching…
“I’m not big on this whole small talk thing.”
Shrug. Pretend not to give half a fuck. “It’s only small if you belittle it. Whatever shit you’re tackling, I’m happy backing off if you don’t want me in the middle of it.” Shift in your seat a little bit. Strategic angle hoping maybe he’ll steal a quick peek at your tits. “I get that you’re not big right now on any kind of talking.”
There’s not much hope of this night going well. Give up and end this date from hell.
But you’re still hungering for something from this dead man walking. Jealous of the stick of gum he’s furiously sucking. Only one thing left for you to say if he’s not big on talking.
Slap a twenty on the bar because you’re too proud not to pay, when this was not a real date anyway. This is when the night can finally begin. “Two options: go home glad that we’ll never see each other again. Or meet me in the bathroom if you’re big on fucking.”
A/N: Hello loves!! I’m SO OBSESSED with the below request 😍 In which you tell your BFF Jax Teller that your vanilla sex life with your current fuckbuddy just isn’t fulfilling your needs any longer… and Jax offers to satisfy your hungers. Fuck you rougher—harder, better, faster, stronger 😏🔥
Pairing: Jax Teller x Reader
Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex
Request: This AMAZING anon request
“Jax… you really didn’t have to do that.”
“What? Kick your fuckbuddy’s butt?” your best friend ever, badass motherfucker Jax Teller, approaches you now with his signature smirk and his swaggering strut. Glances back over his shoulder at the loser you’re ashamed to call your lover. The poor guy is in pieces. It was supposed to be a pointless little brawl, here in the middle of a random SAMCRO shindig, but Jackie Boy is standing proud and tall, as if he just won the Olympics. Everyone’s cheering for the golden champion with his stupidly sexy blonde man bun.
Jax snickers back again at the opponent he just effortlessly vanquished. “He fights like a pussy ass bitch, to be honest. For your sake I really hope his dick hits better than his fists.”
“His dick is none of your business. And I won’t be getting any for a while now you’ve fucked him up like this,” you hiss, licking your lips, trying hard not to stare at the sweat on your BFF’s bare sculpted chest as it glistens and drips. Jax has just walked off from the scuffle without so much as a scratch; meanwhile your fuckboy was just owned out of his wits, clearly outmatched.
Jax brushes it off with a laugh, playfully slapping you on the back. “Look, he started the fight. Said I’d been checking you out all night.”
Yeah fucking right. You heave a sigh. “Why didn’t you just tell him he was wrong, then?”
“I’m a lot of things, Y/N. Liar ain’t one of ‘em,” he replies, leaning in toward you with a twisted little twinkle in his eyes.
He’s always been a shameless flirt—even with you, the girl he’s friend-zoned for forever. Though you know that he means nothing by the words, that doesn’t stop the wet hot fire he ignites between your thighs.
“That dress is way too short,” he mutters, as the fire in your cunt burns even hotter. “And way too tight. The whole damn world can see that pretty little ass of yours. But you already knew that, right? Like knowing every man here wants a piece of you tonight?”
Not every man, you wish you could snap back at Jax. Not the one I want. Before you can, some random slut comes up behind him and attacks, clingy hands clawing at his bulging biceps. “Hey there, champ. Can I get you cleaned up?”
“Sounds good, darlin’…” Jax readily accepts, turning toward you then. “Oh, one more thing—he said I could smack his girl’s ass if I win.”
“No he fucking didn’t…!” you attempt to protest, but then Jax slaps you through your dress and you let out a goddamn yelp. The slut inside you can’t be helped.
He grins back at you as he struts off with the skank that he’s going to fuck, clearly pleased with himself. And it feels like you’ve been run over by a truck. Being in love with your BFF Jax Fucking Teller is literal hell.
A/N: Here’s the next fic for my Dirty Little Secret series! Based on the below requests for Jax and reader going rough for the first time and Jax insisting on a safeword… ‘cause he’s a dirty bastard but also a softie who wants to ensure his girl doesn’t get hurt 🥰
Pairing: Jax Teller x Reader
Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex (the smut is rough, but this fic is big on fluff so the dynamic is soft), light bondage, light choking, safewording
Request: Request from @rebelwrites for #2 on my DLS prompts list + a separate anon request
“Are you sure, sweetheart?”
You gaze up at your boyfriend, the glorious sex god, and bob your head in a provocative nod. “Yes, sir. Want you to tie me up and fuck me hard.”
His blue eyes glimmer at those words—he likes what he heard. With a low raspy chuckle, he softly caresses your cheek with his knuckle. “Who knew what a dirty little whore you are…”
You shrug your shoulders where you’re lying next to him in bed, swooning as he kisses your forehead. “Never was till you brought it out of me,” you tell him honestly.
Jax lets out an alpha-male growl of approval, quite proud and quite pleased of the slut that he’s made of his girl. So slutty it’s crazy. “Aw, you’re making me blush, baby.”
With a big grin, you lean in to place a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose, lips drifting all over his cheekbones, adoring the scratch of his stubble against your smooth skin. You could go on just kissing him like this for weeks. “Blush all you want, Teller,” you murmur to your badass biker lover, cuddling him under the covers. “Pink looks good on these cute little cheeks.”
He growls again, sliding his strong hands around your body and groping your perky butt cheeks through your panties. “Hmm, well, something tells me that color would look even better on these…”
Your man’s masterful hands never fail to make your toes curl. Needy and dripping wet, you eagerly flip over on the bed, giddy and giggling like a schoolgirl. “Then fuck me already!”
“Damn—you’re so fucking slutty,” he teases as he reaches down to deal your ass a playful little smack. He unfastens your bra with an effortless snap, then leaves a trail of tender kisses down your back, as you let out a pleasured sound between a whimper and a laugh. “So naughty. You like that?”
Saw our recommendations for another fandom. What are your fic recs for SOA?
The only soa fics I read are Jax x Tara, so if that’s what you are asking for, I can do that. *Some are AU, hope that’s okay.* Sorry for the long list, but this a collection of years reading Jax x Tara fanfics!
Still Gonna Stand My Solid Ground (my absolute fave)
