Page 4 of Drowning

Seven and Eli look at me, knowing I'm hiding something. But I can not bear to tell my brother that my boyfriend is beating the shit out of me. He'd be so disappointed that I haven't left him; he wouldn't understand.

"Well, if you want to stop by, Kane, Stone, Seven, and I will be at the bar." He kisses my forehead and turns away, saying, "Do not bring that fucking asshole, though."

Seven looks at me with admiration in his eyes, which breaks my heart. I have been in love with my brother's best friend since I was thirteen, but I have never told anyone. Is he really implying that he feels the same way? Is all of this innocent flirting and playful banter real, rather than a harmless game, as I had assumed?

"You know I'm always here, Princess. At the drop of a hat, I'll be by your side. Simply say the word." He takes another step closer to me, cups my cheek, and looks deeply into my eyes.

"Seven, I'm fine. I promise." I smile back, never taking my gaze away from his. "But whatever you're thinking, stop. It will never work. Eli would kill us both. You're eleven years older, and it just... it wouldn't go over well with him." I choked out, feeling my heart break even more.

"Who cares about the age difference? And I'm sure Eli would come aroundeventually. I want you, Emerson, and I will not stop trying." He gently kisses my lips before walking away, just like he did six months ago.

Finally, in the garage, I get on my bike and start it, feeling the rumble between my bruised thighs. After putting on my helmet, I press the door opener and slowly walk my bike out, feeling the heat of the sun's rays on me.

Fuck it.

I take off, paying no attention to my speed. Right now, the throttle is my best friend, and I squeeze it as I zip down the back roads of Boston.

What would happen if I wrapped myself around a tree right now? I would be with my parents and would not have to deal with Damon. But then I would have to leave my brother to pick up the pieces, which I simply cannot do.

So I just ride.

I ride for my parents.

I ride forme.

I let the serenity envelope me like an aura, feeling at peace with myself.

I ride to escape the negative aspects of my life.

I ride for the sensation of wind in my hair and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I just fucking ride.

two

Killer Thoughts

K a n e (42)

Iwatch the whiskey swirl elegantly in my glass, absentmindedly twirling it in circles with my fingers. The pulsating music fills the room, causing my foot to tap lightly on the bar floor. With each step, my black Jordans adhere to the tile, clinging to some spilled liquor. As I inhale deeply, the familiar aroma of cigarette smoke, marijuana, and alcohol floods my senses.

Leaning back against the booth, I watch the young crowd dance, laugh, and enjoy their escape from the past. I particularly notice Eli, who is working tirelessly to support his devastated sister, Emerson, while also dealing with his own grief as a result of their parents' deaths. It fucking hurts me to see them like this.

But Emerson.Fuck.

I shouldn't be feeling these things I feel for her. She has a model's body, perfect, perky tits, a juicy little ass you could set a glass on, and eyes that make my cock hard every time she looks at me.

She's only twenty-two, though. Would she even consider a man twice her age? I had not noticed her until a few years ago, when she joined the SSB—the biker crew her father and I founded twenty years ago.

I finally paid attention when I saw her riding a bike in tight leather pants and a crop top.

And she hasn't left my thoughts since.

But her fucking boyfriend has her under his control, and she is too afraid to leave. She hasn't said anything, but she doesn't have to. I notice the bruises. I can see the tears—we all do. But, in light of her parents' deaths, we do not want to say anything that could send her into another downward spiral.

Something else is lurking in the shadows of their relationship, but we haven't discovered it yet.

"What's up?" Stone, my son who is about Emerson's age, inquires as he slides into the booth across from me. He stands over six feet tall, tattooed and pierced, with slicked-back black hair and hazel eyes, reminding me of myself when I was his age.

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