Page 170 of Boy of Ruin
He stares up at me with narrowed eyes, that glass pipe probably close to bursting in his hand. His fingers are digging into the wooden floor and his jaw is clenched tight.
My chest is heaving, and I want to grab the bandana around his throat and twist it. I want to hurt him. See him bleed all over again.
I don’t know what we’re doing here. I don’t know why we’re all pretending I’m not going to leave as soon as I can.
I glance at the edges of the Unsaints tattoo just visible because his black shorts have ridden up, the way he’s twisted toward me. There are so many scars there, mine just one of many.
I hate him all over again for that.
For dragging me into something he should’ve left me alone for.
I should be dead now.
I shouldn’t have to deal with this. With raising a baby in this world—his world— with running from what seems an inevitable early death.
I drop my hand, rake it through my hair as I step back, away from him.
My brother’s thumb strokes the inside of my ankle and finally, Lucifer speaks as I deflate, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry. The anger is slipping away, becoming impossible to hold onto. It’s so fucking heavy, sometimes I just want to drop all of it.
“Lilith,” Lucifer says, rough and gravely like his throat is tight. “It wasn’t...it wasn’t what you think it—”
“You didn’t fuck them? Because I saw you with her, in case you forgot,” I bite back, but the conviction is gone from my voice. I don’t even care anymore. I’m so fucking tired. So, so tired of this shit.
Maverick pulls gently on my leg and I turn to look at him for the first time since my tirade.
“Angel,” he says softly, his eyes kind, hand still gripped around me, “I was there.”
I know he’s talking about with Ella, and I already knew that, but still, tears blur my eyes and I take a shuddering breath, waiting for him to say something to make this better.
“It wasn’t…what you think. Come here,” he offers, letting me go and holding up his arms, muscles flexing beneath the ink coating his skin.
I bite my lip and shake my head, but he cocks his head, his eyes rounded, and Atlas says, “Come on, Sid, look at that pout,” and I hear Ella laugh at my back. For some reason, the sound of it doesn’t make my skin crawl.
I’m just so tired.
Reluctantly, I reach for Mav’s hands and he hauls me down to his lap, spinning me so I’m facing my husband, but his arms are banded around me.
A shiver slides down my spine as his breath caresses my ear. I see Lucifer’s jaw tighten, his eyes on Mav’s hands, linked together against my chest. I think about the fact my name is tattooed on one of his hands. “He needs to say he’s sorry, doesn’t he, Angel?”
I smell marijuana and I know my brother is probably high. I’m aware his girl is watching us, my husband, and all of the Unsaints. Maybe that’s why I lean back against his hard chest. I can feel his soft laughter rumble against my back.
“Yeah,” I say as Lucifer’s angry eyes find mine. “He does.”
Maverick shifts his hands, slides them down my arms, then back up, over and over, his grip firm, almost like a massage. He goes up to my upper arms, kneading my shoulders, then down to my fingers, his thumbs pressed hard on my palm. My body feels loose and limber, relaxed with his sure touch, some of the tension leaving me.
The fight, too.
“You heard her, bro.” Maverick’s voice sounds deeper. Hoarse. “Why don’t you tell my sister you’re sorry?”
Lucifer’s pale face is a granite mask of anger, and I see the muscles in his forearms flex as he brings his arms around his knees, pulled close to his chest.
“Get your fucking hands off of her,” he snarls.
Maverick laughs again, pausing his massage at the top of my shoulders, then moving his hands toward my chest, his fingers grazing my collarbone, exposed from my tank top. “Nah. Not until you say you’re sorry.”
“Maverick,” Lucifer counters through clenched teeth. “Watch your goddamn hands.”
I smile at Lucifer, tilting my head back against Maverick’s chest as he trails his fingers higher, circling my throat gently. An involuntary moan escapes my lips and he whispers in my ear, “I wonder if he’s hard right now.” Before I can respond, Mav’s hands come over my mouth. I part my lips and he pulls one down with his thumb, and with the opposite hand he puts his index finger in my mouth. “Suck it and let’s see what he does.”
