Page 13 of Needing More
Now it was Hayden cutting her off. Snatching back the sheet until she was left exposed, he dipped his head down to one breast, taking the tender bud between his teeth. Sapphire felt his satisfied growl hum against her skin at the sound of her cry.
Pulling away from her with a drag of his teeth against her flesh, Hayden looked down at her. "You belong to us. There is nothing we won't do. No one we won't put down."
Joel nuzzled her neck. "Tyler had to learn, darlin'. Any and everyone will know that you're not to be touched—ever."
Chapter 6
Theloudthuddingfromabove didn't faze Vic as he lay across his bed with one arm slung over his eyes. Mentally, he counted to ten.
One
Two
Three
Four
"VICTOR!" the muffled shout of his name echoed through the walls of the house.
Vic didn’t move, he just waited.
The buzzing vibration came from his right and he knew without looking who was calling his phone. Taking a deep breath, Vic lay there for a few more minutes.
Yesterday, after they all left, Vic had turned back into the house and just stopped. It felt so bleak without her—without any of them. For her short time here, she had somehow shined a light into this place. He had listened and watched her fascination with this old house and for a moment allowed himself to look around and see the place through her rose-colored lenses. With all of her suggestions and all of her enthusiasm, he could see it. He could see the home she envisioned. Like a fragile bubble, the dream ended abruptly. Once Joel and Hayden showed up, Vic felt the old walls and creaking floorboards of the house close back in on him. The light that flowed from her, followed her down the drive as he watched their truck disappear.
He had gotten just a tiny sample of what his brothers experienced every day. Was it wrong that he wanted more?
Knowing he could put it off no longer, Vic finally sat up and stood from the bed with a tired sigh. Preparing some food and grabbing the pain medication, he carried it all on a tray up the stairs. The upstairs with its four bedrooms was as bleak and depressing as the downstairs, if not more so due to the floor's only occupant.
Turning right off the stairs, Vic balanced the tray with one hand and opened the door.
"There you are!" The old man rasped in Spanish. Sitting up in the hospital-grade bed. The frail almost skeletal man stared hatefully at him. "Just where the hell have you been?! I've been calling for you. I need the Oxy." There was a wild urgency shining in the man's black eyes.
"You know the drill. Eat first then meds," Vic answered calmly. Vic had learned that lesson the hard way. Morphine hitting an empty stomach equaled a fucking disaster of vomit and even worse pain.
The man lurched forward in the bed as if to swipe at him, but only ended up sitting back with a gasp of pain. The cotton gown gaped at his chest and Vic could see his father's bones pressing into his thin skin. With his shaved head and emaciated body, Mateo Ruiz was just a ghost of the man he once was. A man that used to tower over him as a kid, intimidating and commanding, was now sitting in his own filth begging for morphine from the last remaining family member he hadn’t run off.
"You little bastard. I'm the one in pain. Give me the goddamn-" Mateo's words were cut off by a wave of pain so strong Vic could hear the man's teeth grinding as he grunted through the pain.
Vic didn’t move. He just stood there watching and waiting for the pain to subside as he held the tray.
Taking an exhausted breath, Mateo sagged against the bedding behind him as the last of the tremors faded, leaving him weak. Still, his black eyes sought out his son with an accusing stare. "And where did you go last night?" The accusation thick in his frail voice. "Don't think I didn't hear you sneaking off," his voice rose with the accusation. "I know you didn't go to the bar-" His eyes went wide and his words stopped yet again. Clutching his stomach, Mateo cursed as a cold sweat broke out over his brow.
Vic stared down at him coldly, unmoved by the scene. "You're wasting time, old man. Stop worrying about what I'm doing and start worrying about yourself. Eat the damn food and I’ll give you your meds," Vic ground out, setting the tray loudly on the rolling table and sliding it close to his father.
Not waiting for a reply, Vic turned and heaved a sigh. Now for the worst part of his job. Near the bed stood a bedside toilet. And on the floor in front of it was a soiled diaper thrown haphazardly to the ground.
Vic snatched two latex gloves from the box sitting on top of the dresser along with the assortment of other medical supplies. How did his life become this? Picking up piss-filled diapers for an ungrateful bastard who could care less about his son or any of his other family. But he did know, didn't he?
Vic remembered exactly how his life went from hanging out with Joel and Hayden all day and running the bar all night to this hell hole. A little over a year ago Vic had gotten a call from one of his dad's farmhands that his father wasn't doing too well. That had been an understatement by far. Not having seen much of the old man in the last few years after the fall of the LeBlanc gang, Vic had stopped short at the sight of the emaciated husk of his father. The battle of getting him to the doctor and diagnosed was only the beginning. Stepping through the house he’d sworn to leave behind, Vic saw the exact state of his father's life. Piles of dirty dishes lined the kitchen counters while flies circled the rotting food clogging the drain. Each room was filled with junk and the floors tracked in mud and grime. Even the farm was completely useless, just a sinkhole of money. Between the lack of funds and its failing equipment, it was doomed to drag everything and everyone down with it.
Since then Vic had kept his head down and soldiered on. He renewed the farm with lavender fields instead of crops, hedging his bet that maybe by the time his dad met his doctor's grim timetable a potential buyer could see the opportunity in the land and he could be done with the place once and for all.
Vic grinned to himself even as he carried the used commode down the hall to the bathroom and emptied it out. What was the phrase he had heard? Oh, that's right.Evil don’t die easily. Despite all his doctor's predictions, his father made it past the six-month time frame they had given him. Whether it was the spite of knowing his son eventually came back as he predicted or just the satisfaction of stealing years of his son's youth, Vic's father lingered on. Vic flushed the toilet and stood up catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Sapphire's words replayed themselves in his head."I hate to see you throw years of your life away on a man that treats you so badly."
Yeah, he did, too.
