Page 15 of Bound By Ruin

He’s not reminding me of our very first lesson together—he’s remindinghimself.

“—and control it,” we say in unison, our breaths mingling in the air.

“Exactly.” Slowly peeling his body from mine, he sighs. “Control.” Once he’s safely retreated a few more feet away, he buries his hands in his pockets and stares at the weapons over my head.

Shit.This isn’t good.

It’s one thing for him to have to master his own body—but it’s another if mine is reacting to him, too. We can’tbothbe tempted. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. A horrible, terrible thing that can never, ever,everbecome reality. I feel like a shitty person for even being tempted in the first place.

Grimacing, I tell myself that it’s because he looks so much like his brothers. That’s it. They all look alike, and I’m attracted to Rage, Rebel,andRuin, so it makes sense that I could be attracted to their older brother, too. It’s genetic, or biological, or whatever. Pheromones. Hormones. Tricky, little bastards that get humans in trouble.

Or knocked up.

The air punches from my lungs.

If I couldn’t get knocked up by three boyfriends, maybefour?—

I clench my fists hard enough for my manicure to cut into my palms.No.No way. I’m not going down that path. It’s selfish and cruel and manipulative to use someone for their sperm. I want a baby—a family—and I’ll get onewithoutsleeping with the older brother as an insurance policy, thank you very much.

The whole idea feels even more absurd once I realize Thanatos won’t even look at me. He gestures vaguely to the wall of hunting knives without making eye contact. “Grab a few to take with you. We’ll start practicing with them.”

“Great,” I murmur under my breath. “Can’t wait.”

If I’m expecting a reply, I don’t get one. Instead, he mechanically unlocks the gate, then the exit, and walks me across the hall to the apartment. Once I’ve stepped inside, he wastes no time in releasing the door so that it slams shut behind me.

He didn’t even bother saying goodbye.

I hate how much that hurts.

Chapter7

Thanatos

Ever since I was young,I’ve made a pointnotto want things. If you don’t want something, you won’t be disappointed when you can’t have it. Celia feels like one of those desires I’ve spent my whole life pushing away.

She should be inconsequential. A blip on my radar and nothing more.

But as soon as she was locked safely inside my brothers’ apartment, I went back to the weapons locker and breathed in her lingering scent in the air. After the kind of night we had, there’s little of her left beneath the smoke and salt, but if I close my eyes, I can taste her sweet perfume and pretend that she’s still here with me.

Touching me.

With a groan, I cup my erection and squeeze, knowing exactly where this is going. It’s the same routine I’ve had for the past week. Every time I get close to her, I feel like I’m a fire hydrant about to explode. The pressure builds to a breaking point until finally, I can’t take it anymore.

Ihaveto relieve the tension or I’ll go insane.

Pushing a button hidden beneath the counter, I activate the security monitors linked to the club’s surveillance system. As the screens hum to life, I check for the only ones I’m interested in—anything with a glimpse of Celia. The videos and pictures downloaded on my phone are of a woman I recognize but don’t actually know: a past version of Celia that’s only a part of who she is today. The 4K feed in front of me, however, shows the woman who’s captured my attention as much as she’s captured my brothers’.

I shouldn’t want her.

The warmth of her touch shouldn’t spark a fire in my blood, one that spreads to the depths of my twisted core and feeds off of the distinctlackI’ve nurtured for years. A lack of affection, or intimacy, or desire. For years, I’ve kept my distance from people, my sole purpose being to destroy the man who ruined my family’s chances at a happy future—one that isn’t broken and full of bloodshed. Until Celia came along, I hadn’t touched a woman in longer than I can remember.

Now, she’s the only person I crave.

More than my father, even, I’m ashamed to admit. I’d just as sooner cut ties with the whole investigation and murder plot if it meant I could steal her away and drown in her laughter, her anger, her tears. Every time I picture her standing in front of me, it’s never one version of her but multitudes, shifting faster than I can follow. One moment, she’s a young woman about to walk down the aisle in a white lace gown, then the next, she’s curled in on herself beneath the willow tree in her backyard, sobbing into the grass as the branches blow like a curtain hiding her misery from the world. The images of her spin round and round, between moments caught in suspended laughter at a public event, to the private whispers she once shared with her ex-husband, or her brother, or her friend Lilith.

All of them are a part of her, and I want to gather each and every shattered piece until she feels whole again in my arms.

It’s selfish and stupid and completely fucking unforgivable.

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