Page 31 of Ruthless Rebel

“I don’t,” I reply calmly, making him choke on the water in his mouth, before he coughs to clear it.

“You’re a virgin?” He asks incredulously, his mouth hanging open in shock, and for once I think I have the Ruthless Rebel Lincoln Blackwell completely stumped. I almost wish I was, just to keep that look on his face a moment longer, because I know when he discovers the truth he will never look at me the same again.

“I didn’t take you as one for such bullshit ideologies, Blackwell, but for the sake of transparency, I haven’t been a virgin since the night my father led ten women into my room until I no longer was, when I was fourteen.” My words are paired with the crack of my neck, as I focus between my statement and my breathing, as the plane starts to accelerate down the runway.

“What?” He snaps, even though I know he heard me perfectly, and when my eyes meet his, I see a mixture of hatred and fury. “Your father forced you to fuck ten women when you were still a child?” He asks, and I know from just his tone that if my father were still alive his days would be numbered, because he would have just found his way onto Lincoln Blackwell’s invisible hit list.

Yet still I almost laugh at what he just said. Ten.I wish.

The plane lifts off the tarmac into the air, and I can’t stop myself from replying, “No, my father forced me to fuck hundreds of women while I was still a child.” And it’s only once the words are out do I realize talking to him is distracting me slightly, so I find myself adding, “After Elle escaped and he thought I waswith them, he wanted to bring me fully into the fold, and train me until I was one of them. So first it was the ten women who, as he putit, showed me the ropes, and then I was expected to complete my own conquests at the parties he held for his sick friends.” My body presses back into my seat as we climb higher and higher in the plane, at an angle that doesn’t allow me to forget where I am.

“But you were just a child,” He whispers, the same words I said to him not that long ago, and I smile.

“I stopped being a child the second I heard Elle scream,” I tell him, the sound forever lingering in my brain like a phantom I can’t erase. “Elle was held down on a filthy table and raped by my brother like she was nothing. I was fucked in the comfort of my expensive bed sheets by beautiful women who were all more than happy to have a Donovan beneath them, even if I was only the spare.” I know he sees the way I look at things as soon as the words leave my mouth, but I know he won’t force me to admit the truth, not here at least.

Which I am grateful for, because when I close my eyes I can still feel their hands on my stomach as they rode me, smell their perfume in my nostrils as they crowded me, and hear their over the top moans as I fucked them as fast as I could so it would just be over quicker. My father never suspected the disdain I felt for them, in fact he was proud of me for fucking them and letting them go, never letting any of them get under my skin. Little did he know that I would have rather flayed my skin straight from my bones than let another one of them touch me, but that’s all in the past now. I haven’t touched a single woman since the night before my eighteenth birthday, the last time my father had control over where I put my dick, and I haven’t been interested in putting it in another woman since.

Silence lingers between Lincoln and I after my admission, and as soon as we are level and flying steady, he is out of his seat and storming down the aisle before I can even take another breath. I let my head sink back onto the seat, thinking that he has madehimself scarce, but then he is back with a full bottle of vodka and two glasses, taking his seat and sliding one of them towards me. He pours his own drink first, before moving to mine, spilling the perfect amount into the glass as always, as if he has taken notice of such things, and then nods for me to take it.

“To the only Donovan ever worth a damn,” he gestures towards me in cheers, downing the vodka without waiting for me to take a sip.

“I thought drowning my sorrows doesn’t help?” I ask, bringing the glass to my lips and taking a sip, savoring the burn it causes at the back of my tongue.

“Yeah, well, the person who deserves death is already rotting in hell, and I’m not currently in a position to dig up his fucking grave and piss on him,” Lincoln seethes, his temper flaring hot and heavy between us, as he sloshes more vodka into his glass, despite me knowing it’s not his drink of choice.

This moment, and his declaration, suddenly feel too serious, and I have to swallow another sip before I force my tone to be light as I ask, “Defending my honor now, Blackwell? I didn’t know you were so protective of me.”

Despite my attempt at a joke, Lincoln remains serious, spearing me with an almost soulless gaze as he replies, “I always protect the people I care about.”

Eight words that render me completely speechless, because despite everything he has done for me and our family, I never once stopped to think about how he would feel about me. I mean yes, he saved my daughter, walking right into a den of lions without any regard for himself, just to get her back. And I still remember how he looked at me, as I lay dying on the floor after my father shot me, but I have always pushed his attention away as if it meant nothing, but I’m not sure I can ignore it anymore.

For months now he has been trying to lure me in, to tempt me into something I had never once considered, but I think right now, at this moment, I’m in trouble, because for the first time ever, I just might want to give in to him.

14

LINCOLN

Ithought my first time on a plane would be tedious, but watching Asher Donovan squirm under my attention has quickly become my favorite pastime. Yet right now, I am struggling to keep my composure as we soar through the air above the clouds, without anything but him to distract me. After his sickening admission on the tales of how his virginity was stolen from him, things quickly turned silent, and after downing more than half the bottle of vodka I acquired for him, Asher is sitting rigid in his seat with his eyes closed. I know from experience not to try and speak to him right now, not like this, but it doesn’t stop me from imagining murdering every single woman who was in his room that night when he was fourteen.

I guess I really am my father’s son.

My own drink has long since been discarded, and all I can focus on is the rigid tension along Asher’s jaw, the way his chest inflates with every breath he takes, like it’s an effort to even take them, and the steady tap of his fingers against his armrest, as if he is trying to distract himself. It makes me want to throw myself to my knees before him, whether to beg for forgiveness, or to beg to give him salvation, I’m not sure. All I know is that if Elliot Donovan wasn’t rotting in the ground, I would enjoy taking my time making him pay for everything he did to his youngest son.

I can’t help but wonder if he has ever indulged in his own sexual wants and needs. Does he even know what they are? Or was he just abused and put on show like a damn stallion until he was old enough to escape it? I can’t even begin to understand what that must feel like. I knew, from the moment a girl in foster care tried to kiss me when we were ten, that I was gay, never once taking an interest in any girl, and I haven’t looked back since. I have never been forced to shy away from who I am, what I want, or explore my sexual desires, and have indulged in many over the years.

Elliot Donovan just presumed his son would be the same brand of sickness as him, and Greg, he didn’t stop for a second to consider anything else. What kind of fantasies did he have before that? Did he like girls? Did he like guys? Did he have desires he wanted to fulfill before his father tainted his childhood? What would he have been like if he grew up in the light?

My thoughts are clouded with wonder as I imagine meeting him before. Before Cassie was born, before Elle was raped, before everything went to fucking shit and his entire life was blown to pieces. Would we have gotten along? If I flirted with him, would he have flirted back?

I can’t stop my eyes from trailing over him once more, this beautiful and brooding dark prince who is so strong and so broken at the same time. And I know he tries, that he puts on a mask for Cassie to give her the peace and safety he never experienced as a child, but her tiny and fragile hands aren’t big enough to hold the jagged pieces of his heart. Asher might be rich and powerful, a Donovan in his own right, but he’s still vulnerable, and I don’t think he even realizes it, and I know because I was the same.

Before Elle came along, I thought I was fine just coasting along, with my brothers by my side. I’d already felt the stain of grief and loss against my black heart, and I wasn’t interested in it anymore. Yet now I have a whole family I would give up my life to protect, and I thought I was done, but then Logan came along and changed everything. He worked his way under my skin, deeper than I anticipated, and I know he’s there to stay, but my heart still wants more. It wants Asher Donovan in all his fucked up glory, but for the first time ever I am truly scared that I will never be able to have him.

My eyes trail over him again, taking in the strong column of his throat that my hand itches to wrap around, the smooth planes of his chest covered by his shirt, that I know is hiding his angel tattoo and the bullet scar that almost took his life, and the long length of his legs beneath his slacks. Fuck, what I would give to feel them wrapped around me, to have him writhing beneath me and moaning my name. My cock thickens in my jeans, and I inhale deeply in an attempt to calm my rapidly accelerating heart rate, but it’s no use. From the moment I got up close with Asher Donovan he has had this effect on me, and nothing short of owning him and letting him have every part of me will be enough.

I jump up from my seat and his eyes snap open, meeting mine in confusion, and I’m not sure what he sees in them, but his own darken slightly. He opens his mouth to say something, but I am already moving, desperation and lust clinging to me, as I storm toward the bedroom at the back of the plane and fling open the door. As soon as it closes behind me, I blow out an unsteady breath.

“Fuck,” I yell, slamming my fist into the wall, before I reach down and roughly rip open my jeans, shoving my fingers inside and gripping my hard cock, squeezing it tight.

---