Page 18 of Pray for Scars
I don’t say a word. I can barely breathe, in the feel of him against me, at the mention of Lucifer’s name. Of my brother’s name.
The reason I’m like this?I was like this long before Jeremiah came back into my life.
Mayhem’s hand trails up my throat, his head pressed against my shoulder. His fingers glide over my chin, then they find my mouth. He sits up, hooks his fingers on the inside of my cheek and jerks my chin down, so I’m forced to face him, my eyes flying open.
“What did he do to you?” he asks, angrier now. “Use your fucking words.” He pulls, painfully, his fingers digging into my mouth.
My eyes narrow.
He snatches his fingers out of my mouth, grabs my throat instead and lifts my head up off the bed.
“Talk, Angel,” he growls, adjusting himself against me. The angrier he is, the harder his dick gets.
I understand that. Probably more than most.
But I still don’t talk.
Jeremiah ismyproblem. My problem to figure out, my problem to deal with, my problem to protect. And those other problems, before that Halloween night a year ago, those are mine to forget.
Mayhem slams my head against the bed, the palm of his hand pressing down on my throat. Reflexively, I cough, nearly gagging against the force of his hand as he leans into me.
I can’t breathe.
His eyes are inches from mine.
“Talk, Angel, or—”
I hear footsteps pounding up the stairs, coming closer to this room. Mayhem doesn’t take his hand off of me. Doesn’t move.
I close my eyes.
He snorts, but still stays where he is.
Even as I hear Lucifer Malikov snarl from the doorway, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
But before Mayhem can answer, he’s pulled off of me. I scramble to sit upright, watch Lucifer slam Mayhem against the wall, his shirt in his fist, one hand on Mayhem’s throat, just like his was on mine.
Mayhem smiles.
“Figuring out who fucked up your toy.”
I can only see Lucifer’s side profile, see his back muscles shift beneath his hoodie, the sleeves tugging against his arms, his dark head of curls. He stares at Mayhem a minute, then he lets him go, smoothing down his shirt, as if he’s making nice.
He turns from him for a second, and Mayhem’s smile widens as he sinks against the wall. But then Lucifer grabs the lamp beside my bed without looking at me, tears off the lampshade, and swings the base around, pressing the metal bar of it against Mayhem’s throat with both hands, leaning into him.
Mayhem gags.
He’s slowly turning blue,his eyes panicked as he realizes he might actually die.
Finally.
An appropriate reaction to trying to fuck my girl.
He mouths something to me, but I’m not done yet. This feels good, his life in my hands. It’s been too long since I’ve snapped.
I shove the metal bar of the lamp further into his throat, and he closes his mouth, his hands reaching for me, trying to shove me off. But he’s at a disadvantage at this angle, and all I have to do is lean my body weight against his fucking throat.
Sid has been silent this entire time. I saw her sweats on the floor—mine,actually—saw her wrists bound to the bed. But I saw, too, her defiance as she stared up at Mav, her life inhishands. She wasn’t gonna back down from whatever he wanted from her.
