Page 50 of Boy of Ruin
I put both hands on the wheel as I suck in a breath. Hear O unbuckle her seatbelt, see the sign indicating its undone flash on the dashboard.
I can’t do this.
I cannot do this. Not to my wife. Not to what could be my…family. That word feels thick in my head, too heavy. Weighted down.
I don’t know what a functional family is like.
None of my brothers do, either.
We were given the world on a silver platter, but love? That was something we had to figure out on our own, and no fucking surprise, we only found the worst forms of it.
But Ophelia is stretched across the seat now, her tits spilling out of her dress. I can see her hard, pink nipples as she looks up at me through her lash extensions, licking her plump lips. I think she gets filler, just like her mom does.
Like Pammie did.
Her fingers curl around my dick, her mouth open. “Let me help you,” she whispers, her head in my lap as I try to pay attention to the road, clenching my jaw as I do.
Wrestling with myself as I glance down at her, then back up.
She keeps stroking me, my dick growing harder with her touch.
I can’t believe I waited that year for Sid.
A year. An entire fucking year.
Me.
Maverick wouldn’t leave that shit alone. Cain is the biggest whore out of all of us, but I wasn’t far behind.
Still, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
I couldn’t get her out of my head. What he did to her. What we promised each other. The fucking Death Oath never meant shit to me before her. A ritual with no heart. An illusion of control. A practice for the responsibility we’ll all eventually carry.
The scars, the blood, the fucking sex in the asylum? That didn’t mean a fucking thing to me until I met Sid Rain at that intersection.
I was supposed to kill her.
I was supposed to bring her to my father.
But instead, I fell in love with her like I was a fucking boy. A child.
I swear to God, it took me two fucking minutes. That’s it, and I was hooked. Addicted. Before that, I never gave in to anyone. I didn’t let my girls fuck around because I didn’t have girls. I fucked them and I was done. I thought, sometimes, when I was alone, or blasting off into fucking outer space high on shrooms, I thought I was broken. That the gene to love, to feel compassion for someone outside of myself, I thought I didn’t have it.
The psychedelics helped. Helped me feel. But when I came back to earth, I was broken all over again.
Numb.
Until her.
But she left me. She fucking left me. Things were bad, and Mav encouraged her, and yeah, I didn’t act like husband of the fucking year, but she wasn’t exactly wife material, either.
But there was that night…that night I know she decided to do it. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fucking fault.
I slam my hand against the wheel and O flinches, startling in my lap.
My throat feels tight, and I’m about to tell her to stop when she whispers, “You can pretend I’m her,” and starts to pull down my shorts.
Pretend she’s her.
