Page 37 of Darkness and Duress

The only reply I could muster was a soft grunt as I cinched my arms tight around his waist. He smelled good. It was a weird observation that cut through the chaos of my mind. I never paidattention to how anyone smelled before, unless the odor was unpleasant. But for some reason, his scent was the most effective perfume, a sedative for my racing thoughts and pounding heart.

“What happened, baby?” His fingers continued to comb through my hair as we sat together in his shitty bed. I exhaled and nuzzled further into the warmth of his bare chest beneath the leather jacket. I liked this outfit. I liked the way his skin felt against my stubbled cheek.

“I… it's…”Nothing. It's nothing. I'm nothing.I had to give him a better answer. Not talking had gotten me fucked up seven ways to Sunday. Maybe it was time to take my expensive therapist's advice and start actually talking about the real shit.

I took a deep breath and tried again. “I don't like it rough. But I like to be rough. Hate myself for it.”

“One day, doesn't have to be today, but one day… you're gonna tell me who hurt you.” He shifted and pressed a kiss to the side of my head, right above my ear. “And then I'm going to rip that fucker’s heart out through his asshole and feed it to my cat.”

“One of the Corrections Officers. And a few inmates.” The fact that the words came out at all stunned me. I'd never said it out loud. Half the time, I refused to even let myself think of the experience as something real. Despite the ease with which I spoke about my living nightmare, the effects were still the same—my body ran cold and then hot, a mixture of rage and shame and pain sweeping through me like a tornado of destruction.

“Yup. Gonna kill’em.” He clung tighter, his embrace becoming an all-consuming thing. “You like to fuck rough, and that's okay. You can like a rough fuck and not want to be fucked rough.”

“I don't wanna be fucked at all!” Tension had my muscles seizing as I shouted the words against his heart beat… the steady thump-thump not changing pace at all despite my erratic behavior.

“Good thing I prefer to be fucked, Sad Panda.” He eased backward, straining against my iron-grip until I relented. He forced my chin up and winked once I begrudgingly made eye contact. “You can be my stone top and I'll be your slutty bottom. You can even say ‘no homo’ before you wreck my ass, if that's what you need.”

“Fuck you,” I mumbled through a stifled smile. It shouldn't be so easy for him to make me smile. Especially not when I was hanging on by a thread. Yet here he was, making jokes and putting me at ease enough to find a spark of happiness amongst the dancing shadows.

“Please? I keep on begging, baby.”

With a sigh, I tugged him back against my chest. “Yeah, yeah. The mood’s ruined, but I did get my results back.”

“Is that where you disappeared to the other day? You were gone and came back with a bag… I assumed you went to grab your shit since we're 'roommates’ now. No homo.”

That time, I laughed for real. Sure, my heart was still pounding and my nerves were completely fucked. My brain was off catastrophizing everything I'd disclosed, but fuck it all, he made me laugh. I pressed my forehead to his chest and exhaled a shaky breath.

“Not gay, not straight… Honestly, Bran, if you need a label, you're shit out of luck.” I nuzzled his chest and squeezed him tighter. “I'm just a fucked up piece of shit and I want your body. Does that work?”

“Baby, eyes up.” He waited again and I muttered under my breath as I reluctantly turned my face up to make eye contact. He smirked and leaned in to whisper the next words against my lips. “The only label I want you to wear is Henny’s Man. Got it?”

I searched his twinkling, smiling eyes as my nose crinkled. “Not Henny. That’s a dumb fuck name. I can compromise on Bran. Or Brandon.”

“So long as it boils down to ‘mine,’ you can call me whatever the fuck you want, baby.” His smile was oddly sweet and full of warmth. Like a blanket or a hug. I wanted to live forever in the serenity it gave me.Mine. His.Fuck, that sounded too good to be true.

“Mine.” I tested the word on my lips and my arms tightened compulsively around his waist. “Mine.”

“And you are all mine.” He nudged the side of my nose with his, his lips brushing over mine with barely a breath. “Now pretty please, fuck my face before we leave?”

And fuck his face I did. No shame, no second thoughts, and not a single fuck to give as he took it like a champ and left me feeling floaty and fulfilled and a little bit like I might have found my salvation once and for all. I'd been looking in all the wrong places—hope was evidently shaped like a six-foot tall tatted up bad boy with a penchant for hugging. And I wasn't even a little bit mad about it.

Chapter Eighteen

Henny

I'd forgotten Marco could ride. God, could the man ride. I'd insisted we take my bike to the meet-up. It was a lot easier to get away when the cops inevitably showed up if I had my bike, but naturally, Marco insisted he drive. Honestly, it was for the best. Marco in a leather jacket and helmet I stole from Jericho’s bedroom was fucking hot. Marco handling a bike while I rode bitch was even hotter. It was especially sexy considering I was still riding the high of the feral way he’d ravaged my throat just minutes earlier, coming with a strained shout of my name as I jerked myself off on my knees with my nose buried in the nest of hair at the base of his dick. Fucking delicious.

Riding was good for him. I wondered how often he let himself enjoy the freedom of the open road. His perpetually tense muscles relaxed more and more with each car he dipped around. Once we made it out of the city, he let loose even more until we were flying over the asphalt with the wind whipping around us. I clocked the speedometer reading at least ninety at one point, laughing like a madman before squeezing myself tighter aroundhis bulky frame. We moved together like a well-oiled machine, leaning into every turn and dipping low on every straightaway. I was absolutely living.

Jer’s meet-ups typically took place in tiny towns scattered around outside the suburban stretches surrounding the city. This one was no exception. People came from miles around when they got the call—parking lots became meeting grounds for enthusiasts who came to gawk at modded cars or show off their modded cars. There was always a race of some sort, with rules of engagement that changed depending on who was participating and where. Nos or no Nos, drag or drift, melee or one-to-one. Not knowing was half the excitement. I loved attending these gatherings. The energy, the atmosphere, the anticipation. It didn't hurt that Jericho was the unrivaled winner of damn near every race and I usually made a pretty penny on the betting.

The excitement over the evening and the adrenaline of the ride there helped keep my thoughts in check, but the nagging, gnawing, ugly feeling was still there. Having my suspicions confirmed about Marco and his time behind bars left an oily mess in the pit of my stomach—I hadn't been lying when I told him I would murder every last one of the scumbags who ever dared lay a hand on him. I'd killed for him before and I wouldn't hesitate to do it again. I might not have pulled the trigger when Luca and I offed the cop who got Marc put away, but I was more than complicit in the homicide and had no problem whatsoever adding a few more heads to my tally.

I forced my thoughts back to more pleasant places as I shifted my hands over Marco’s stomach and focused on the planes of his chiseled body. Vengeance could wait for another day. I had him right here, right now, in my arms, and that in and of itself was a gift I had never thought possible. Hearing him call me ‘his’ was like a straight shot of pure cocaine. The road ahead of us was likely mired in obstacles, but I didn't give a fuck.I'd walk through hell with him as long as we were doing it together. The thought warmed my chest and settled my pulse, bringing a strange serenity that I hadn't felt in a long ass time. Maybe it was some sort of fucked up attachment disorder after a childhood spent in foster care and group homes, but whatever. I had my person now. Not just a surrogate family courtesy of my friendship with Gianluca, but an honest to God person of my own. Marco would need to kill my ass if he ever wanted to get rid of me, because I sure as shit wouldn't be letting him go any time soon.

We rounded the last bend in the road and the bike slowed. Fuck, it was busy tonight. The floodlights of the strip mall parking lot illuminated a pulsing crowd of people, the rays of light visible in the clouds of smoke billowing from the center of the mass. Burnouts. I never did understand why the rookies and wannabes destroyed their tires with burnouts and donuts before the main event, but that shit was still pretty fun to watch. Marco eased the bike around the fringes of the crowd, dodging drunk girls and rowdy scuffles between hotheaded men before finally skirting around the side of the strip mall. He found a shadowy spot and killed the engine, popping the kickstand out with a deft movement as I climbed off the back.

“This shit is insane. You do this for fun?” Marco tugged his helmet off and buckled it over the handlebars before reaching for mine. I chuckled at his scowling face.

---