Page 6 of Tempted to Rebel

The cage was Rage’s idea, born from a need to keep Celia somewhere we can monitor her at all times. I suggested a tracking chip embedded in her neck—which is still on the table, as far as I’m concerned—but he wanted something bigger and louder so that it’s impossible for her to ignore. A microchip, she could pretend doesn’t exist.

But a cage?

She’ll be as trapped as the rest of us are, unable to escape each other.

I pull a box of smokes from my pocket and pinch one between my teeth. Rage hates when I smoke indoors, butfuck it, he isn’t here. I light up, taking my first hit of nicotine, and try to relax. Celia hasn’t said a word since Ruin traipsed upstairs to his bedroom, and the quiet feels like a buzz of its own, thrumming between the two of us. I’d usually chalk that up to sexual tension. Even my dick twitches, like it knows that she’s nearby.

I’m hungry for her. I always have been.

But the tension between us now isn’t sexual. It’s something I can’t name. An energy that’s tight and uncomfortable, like an itch I can’t scratch.

My life wasn’t great before we dragged Celia into the mix, but now it feels unbearable in the worst fucking way. Rage might be okay with possessing her like his favorite pet, but I’m not.

I don’t want to force her to be with me.

I want her towantme, no matter what our future together looks like. Isn’t that what partners do? They stick together through whatever life throws at them?

Celia turns her head to look at me as I blow smoke in her direction. It wafts through the doorway and dissipates once it reaches the main room. Now that I’m numbed to the turmoil brewing inside my chest, I can look at her without feeling like I’m falling apart.

Slowly, it dawns on me that she doesn’t look like her usual self. Her hair is a mess, the waves unraveling into a frizzy curtain over her shoulders. There are dark circles under her eyes, and if my own aren’t deceiving me, hers are bloodshot, too. There’s a pallor to her cheeks that can’t be healthy, and I can’t find a single trace of makeup on her skin. Not that I’d know what the fuck to look for when it comes to makeup, but despite the drying tear-tracks on her cheeks, her mascara hasn’t run, so she must not be wearing any.

Somehow, she’s still beautiful to look at. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking. Or the light playing tricks on me. Or the sudden, inescapable distance between us, or whatever the fuck that saying is. Distance makes the heart grow fonder? Time does?

Fuck it—she looks good, even all mussed up inside of a cage.

I let cigarette smoke pass my lips in a lazy cloud that obscures her from view. When it clears, she’s standing up, no longer hiding beneath a quilt, and I get the full-body experience of seeing her tanned skin wrapped in the scarlet lace I chose for her.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

The bra doesn’t stop just beneath her breasts. A band of lace continues down her ribs, ending where the curve of her waist begins. Then there’s the panties—boyshorts, technically, but with how thick Celia’s thighs are, they ride up her legs and let her ass hang out the back. The lace, although mostly sheer, bleeds in full color where it’s bunched between her thighs and across her tits, the peaks of her nipples hidden behind an intricate rose design. It’s not bright red, but a maroon that’s even sexier.

A mental image of Celia wearing bright red panties beneath a pleated skirt blips into mind, but unlike the woman standing before me, it’s pure fantasy that I conjured up while missing our girl. Rage couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the red fucking panties she wore to breakfast with him, but I bet shereallywore them for me.

I was supposed to be on that date with her, not my brother. She choseme.

Something’s been nagging me since that day, though, before everything went to shit. I flick cigarette ash onto the ground before taking another drag.

She opens her mouth to speak. “Rebel, I?—”

But I beat her to it. “Why’d you ghost me?”

“—what?” Her eyebrows scrunch together, the little divot between them driving me crazy. Were things better between us, I might run my thumb across her forehead to smooth it out, press a tender kiss against her skin, atop each of her cheekbones, then finally on her lips.

But I can’t see myself doing that anytime soon. My chest twinges, and I scratch my pec distractedly. “That morning. I was excited to see you, and you ghosted me after I sent you that pic.” I lick my lips, picturing the one she sent me. I’ve stared at it for hours by now, memorizing the way her skin glistens in the shower mist and her smile brightens the whole goddamn world.

My world.

Fuck, I’m such a goner for this girl.

Realization washes over her features. “Oh, Rebel.” She grabs the bars and presses her body against them, the tips of her breasts and her kneecaps fitting between the gaps.

I bet I could suck on her nipple if I got close enough.

“I dropped my phone in the shower, and it broke. Rage bought me a new one right before we—” She cuts herself off at first, but then she straightens her spine and looks me dead in the eyes. “Before we had sex.” Brushing a frizzy strand of hair behind her ear, she continues, “but I want you to know that I would have chosen you,Rebel, not Rage. I wanted to go to breakfast withyou.”

If this were a normal day and I hadn’t drank nearly an entire bottle of vodka, I’d feel a twisting ache beneath my ribs right about now. The alcohol is fucking bliss, though, numbing me to it. “You would have fucked me, then, right? I would have been the first?” I cling to the idea that Celia still wants me more than my brothers, no matter how foolish that idea is.

I exhale until the tight feeling in my chest dissipates. “I would have made it good for you.”

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