Page 75 of Inevitable Destruction

It all spiraled from there, my dependency growing significantly after the death of my parents. How could it not? How was I supposed to cope with the fact that my mom was a cheating whore, fucking my dad’s best friend behind his back, and my father was an emotional, unstable madman who emptied a fucking clip in the both of them, naked in bed, before blowing his brains out.

How fucking else was I supposed to get that image—which was burned so fucking deep in my brain—out so I could continue living the empty life I was left with?

I couldn’t. I still can’t.

Even the overdose I had at eighteen—two years after their death—doesn’t frighten me anymore. Hell, it seems like a fucking reprieve now.

Pressure against my temple pulls me out of my suffocating thoughts, and I lean into the touch, my eyelids falling closed. His fingertip trails one of the many teardrops up to the corner of my eye, where his touch disappears. My eyes fly open, terrified at the sudden loss of touch, only to find Everett’s face hovering above mine. His long, straight locks hang in front of my face, halfway obscuring his pinched brows, while his lips purse the longer he stares down at me.

He has sleep lines across his left cheek, and for some reason, that sight alone has a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. It makes him seem human, not so cold or brutal.

“What the fuck are you smiling for?” he grunts as he rolls off of me and flops onto his back with a sigh. He throws his arm over his face and breathes out. My eyes fall to his intricately tattooed chest—more specifically, the silver barbells running through his nipples. I swallow the saliva pooling on my tongue as the pulsing in my ass increases steadily, sending a signal directly to my dick.

“I can fucking feel your eyes on me.” He lifts his arm to peek at me and then groans. “Quit fucking staring at me, Dominik. You’re starting to piss me off.”

“I’m not.”

He scoffs as he sits up and tosses the blanket off while finally untangling his legs from mine. I fight my frown at the sudden overwhelming coolness slithering over my skin from the loss of his body heat. To combat it, I yank the blanket up until it’s to the middle of my chest but stop when my eyes land on bruises littering my entire torso.

“What the fuck?” I release the blanket, letting it pool in my lap as I trace the tender bruises on my chest and down my stomach. My inner arm catches my eye, the stark bruising and redness there, but I ignore it for the time being. Because the moment I start to think about how fucking high I was, how good everything felt afterwards, then I’ll really start to crave it to the point of obsession, and right now, I just want to look at Rhett’s grumpy morning face.

This feels almost… domestic. Sleeping together, fucking cuddling, waking up together…

“Get up,” Rhett’s voice barks out, and I dart my eyes up to his brooding figure standing at the foot of the bed, naked as the day he was born. When I don’t answer, he rounds the bed and grips my bicep to yank me up. I stumble and bite back a grimace at the pain lancing through my arm as I steady myself on my feet.

My legs wobble, feeling like jelly, but Rhett’s arms catch me as I fall into him. His warm, masculine scent invades my senses, and my eyes fall closed in comfort. His arms wrap around me, keeping me upright as he drags me across the room.

I shuffle to keep up with him, uncaring as to where we’re going as long as my face is pressed into his chest.

Rhett sighs and pulls away, but I press my face deeper into his chest until one of the barbells in his nipples bites into the soft skin of my cheek. “You need to let go of me.” I shake my head back and forth, refusing to give this up.

For a reason I can’t fathom, I’m comfortable, even with the deep aches pulsating throughout my body. He doesn’t clear the fog in my mind, but instead, he calms it to the point I don’t feel so panicked about a needle going in my arm again, or the fact that a man fucked my ass last night—and I fucking loved every minute of it—or that I actually feel comfort in this brutal man’s arms.

“Dominik.” The bite in his tone has me peeling my face away from his skin. I detach myself from him limb by limb until I’m standing naked with my arms hanging heavily by my sides. My skin breaks out in full-body gooseflesh, and I resist the urge to curl in on myself to help curb the pain.

“Look at me, beauty.” My heart kickstarts at the name, and my head lifts, my eyes immediately finding his. They’re a deep, navy color, staring right into me, seeing me for who I truly am—a broken, worthless man wholly dependent on illegal substances.

I’m a fucking mess.

My heart jumps into my throat when his eyes soften the longer he stares at me. The sharp angles of his features appear a little more docile, but I quickly realize it was all in my fucked up head when he opens his mouth, shattering my fantasy.

“God, you fucking stink,” he scoffs, and my body stiffens all over again. “Though, I will say, I do like you covered in cum. You look like a little whore.”

Heat travels up my spine and floods my face so hot, it feels like it will melt right off my skull. The warmth floods the rest of my body, unease settling deep in my gut. But the ache in my ass, the never-ending pulsation, kicks up in gear at his filthy, demeaning words, and I shift from leg to leg, trying to appease the ache.

His finger presses underneath my chin and lifts my head until my eyes move from what I presume to be the bathroom floor to his eyes. The moment our gazes connect, I dart mine away until he tightens his grip, a blunt nail biting into my flesh. I meet his eyes once more, against my will, but unable to deny him.

What’s happening to me?

Shameful tears sting my eyes at my thoughts. I may be a fucking addict, but I have never depended on another human being before—until now, apparently. I don’t know what this… draw is I feel toward Rhett, but it’s so fucking hard to deny. It feels . . . almost magnetic. Like those two buzz magnets that are so strong, they fight any resistance to be together, and once they’re free from it, they crash together, close to obliterating one another just to fucking touch.

That’s how Rhett feels—like a fucking buzz magnet.

I startle when a hand on my back pushes me forward, and I stumble into the shower. Warm water cascades over my skin, and goosebumps prickle my skin. I let my head hang, my black curls blocking my vision as I stare at the shower floor.

Feet come into my line of sight, stepping through the puddles of water as they move around me. The water hammering my back stops when Rhett’s hand tangles into my hair and yanks my head back, exposing my throat to him.

He pulls me backward until I slam against the damp shower wall. A hiss escapes my lips at the sudden frigidity against my skin.

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