Page 59 of Justice For Me

“Justice! What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

He squeezed his eyes together, blocking out the sweet concern. Love was there…at least he thought it was love. What the fuck did he know about love? Damn, he didn’t want to let this go. He wanted it to be love.

Drawing a deep breath, he forced a fake smile on his face. “I’m okay, Mistress. Just tired…and I’m not a cuddler.” He winked at Malachi, hoping a stupid fucking tear didn’t slip out when he performed the fake task.

Malachi frowned. “Pet?”

“Just drop it, guys. I’m fine. Stop acting like I’m broken.” He pushed away and stood up, offering them his back, hiding his face. His nakedness suddenly felt ugly…humiliating. With quick movements, he hustled into his clothes.

Malachi shook his head at Megan, indicating he was totally clueless about what was troubling the kid. Broken? An odd choice of words, especially coming from Justice. “Nobody thinks you’re broken, Justice,” he said calmly. “Do you?”

Shit, he needed to stop talking. Every time his mouth opened, dumb shit seemed to roll out. He was better than this. Hell, he should be a fucking expert at this.

They needed to stop looking at him like they were. Didn’t they know how easily he would misinterpret it for something it wasn’t? Fingertips massaged the tattoo. The more they dug around in his mind, the uglier it would get.

Angry and frustrated, hurt and betrayed, Justice eased back onto the bed and captured Malachi’s face between his hands and dropped his mouth down to the lips of the man he loved. It was a deep, all-consuming kiss that said all the words that he couldn’t speak. His tongue traced Malachi’s lips and then dipped back inside, plundering every inch, relishing the seconds of peace the kiss offered. Again and again, he pressed in harder…taking the kiss that his lover wouldn’t willing give him.

Finally, the need to breath forced him to pull away. He gasped in gulps of air and wondered if his heart was going to burst straight from his chest. He turned away, embarrassment mingling with his damned insecurities.

“You guys cuddle up. I’m going to hit the sack and get some rest.” He tossed them a look over his shoulder. “Today totally sucked the life out of me. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Walk. It was probably no more than twenty steps. Walk.

“We want you to sleep in here with us, babe,” Megan called out.

If he let his mind have its way, he could convince himself she sounded sincere…disappointed that he was leaving. Yea, they wanted him to sleep with them. That’s why he had his own room…with his own bed.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he whispered just loud enough for them to hear. Then he was at the door. It had only been seventeen steps after all, but they’d been the hardest he’d ever taken.

Let Go.

He lay on the bed, twisting and turning, angry with Malachi for shutting him out…angrier with himself for falling apart over it. It hurt, hurt so fucking bad, worse than it had ever hurt before. Beneath the soft sheets, his right leg stared jerking with the usual nervous twitches that always accompanied an episode. With sheer will power, determination, and years of practice, he forced it to lay still…lifeless like his heart felt at the moment.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he muttered into the darkness. “Don’t do this. Don’t throw this away.” He slammed his fist down on the empty space next to him on the bed. Empty. The way it would always be because he couldn’t hold his shit together.

“Please don’t fuck this up,” he whispered desperately.

The quietness mocked him, laughed at his feeble attempt to try to be loved. People like him, throw-away drug kids like him, weren’t worthy of love. He was meant to be used, not loved. But, fuck it, he couldn’t even be used right. He had to go and fall in love and fuck that up, too.

No matter how hard he fought against it, the harsh ugly reality of what he really was always revealed itself. He couldn’t hide it for long. He’d been such a fucking fool. Why the hell had he thought someone like Malachi could want him for something other than a fuck-toy to be punished.Thatwas what he was for.

Nagging warning bells echoed from the darkest corners of his mind. Angrily, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and dug around in the drawers until he found some workout sweats and a T-shirt. Sliding his feet into tennis shoes, he headed to the gym two floors above his room. Hard, physical labor could clear his head, help him focus again. If the ropes and soothing commands of his master and Mistress weren’t available, he could find another form of intense physical abuse.

Vomit threatened up his throat when he walked past the door of Malachi’s room and heard the distinct sounds of lovemaking…not fucking like they did when he was there. Forcing the bile back down and his feet to move forward, he tried to ignore the taunting sounds.

Six hours later, sweat dripping off his body and every muscle screaming in agony, he could still hear the moans and grunts weaving in and out of his mind. Six hours of physical torture hadn’t dulled the pain in the least. His mind wasn’t calm and clear like it always was after a scene with his masters. The doubts and insecurities still bit away at his self-esteem to the point that he feared the darkness might take over and consume him…destroy every hour of therapy he had suffered through over the years.

The sound of the gym door opening and slamming shut sent his pulse racing frantically but at the same time, he felt his cool, indifferent mask slide over his face. Using one of the towels hanging near him, he swiped the sweat from his face, neck, and arms while mentally preparing for one of his award-winning ‘I’m-fucking-fine’ acts. Hell, he should be an expert at them by now.

Dante. Thank the fuck for that. He wasn’t prepared to face Malachi or Megan…not yet, at least.

“Morning,” he said as cheerfully as possible as he drug his weary body past Travis’ Dom, his father’s friend. Bright blue eyes studied him closely as he passed. Almost. He’d almost fucking made it to the door when he heard the sharp order directed to him.

“Stop, Justice.”

His feet desperately wanted to keep moving, to bravely rebel against the confidently arrogant voice that did not belong to either ofhismasters but instead of rebellion, he froze in place. His mask threatened to slip away but he forced it to hold firm, to hide his pathetic weakness.

“Did you need something, Dante?” His voice sounded casual.

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