Page 51 of Sugar Rush

Here’s a new fun fact: I couldn't stand to have X out of my sight, even for a second.

I found out that little tidbit immediately; stress wrung my body so viciously that I bent over and vomited.

Ugh. Fuck.

Warm hands brushed my hair out of my face as I retched miserably, my stomach cramping. I was so fucking tired of being sick; stress was a nightmare. My coping mechanism of choice was sarcasm and murder, not vomit, and my body needed to remember that.

"I'll clean this up," Taj offered as Joseph held my hair. "Go get X in the shower."

"You?" I rasped, standing up. "Clean?"

"I've got golden retrievers; I neverstopcleaning," he retorted, waving me off with an impatient hand.

The romantic in me said he could feel my turmoil and frantic urgency, and was trying to ease my pain. The realist said he wanted me out of the way so he could clean up the foul-smelling vomit.

I didn't argue; I hurried for the steps and took them two at a time, getting to the bathroom on the third floor in time to watch Arkan sit X in my big, marble shower.

"I've got him," I promised, squeezing Arkan's arm in thanks.

He dropped a kiss on my head and murmured, "If you need me, I'll come back instantly."

"We'll be okay," I replied, mostly because I needed to hear the words out loud. My mate was covered in blood, had been tortured for days, and had fuck knows what trauma; it would be nice to think we'd be okay.

I turned the dial to the lowest water pressure and put it on warm, my chest tightening when Ark left in a rush of shadows. But Joseph strode into the bathroom, his presence a much-needed balm. I felt like I'd barely had any time to appreciate him being back, but the fucked up truth was my almost-dying mates had to be the priority right now. I hated it.

X was shocked back to consciousness when the water sprayed over his head, the shower instantly stained red. There were so many layers of crusted dried blood as well as the fresh blood, that even with water drenching his naked body, I couldn't see his skin.

"Don't touch me," X snarled, his eyes so wide the whites showed and his teeth bared. He slammed himself into the corner of the shower so hard that bloody water splashed my pink shower curtain, and pain crossed his face.

"It's me, it's Avie," I rushed out, too panicked to be gentle. I reached through the pain in our bond and grabbed his soul, holding him tight.

X made a deep, throaty sound, and I stumbled into the wall when lust slammed into me. My inner muscles clenched, my stomach cramping, and wetness dripped from my entrance. My underwear was thoroughly wrecked by now.

I bit my lip against a moan of pain and pleasure and—the brutal need ripped away.

I panted, my head spinning, a fierce ache between my legs.

"Sorry," X whimpered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Hey, it's okay," I gasped out, kneeling beside him. Water soaked through my clothes and I shuddered at the weight, the sudden warmth. "You don't have to be sorry for anything. Turn your head up, honey."

X tipped his head back, every moment gingerly and hesitant. "Honey is sweet," he murmured. "The name. I like it."

My heart compacted into a tight knot. "Then I'll call you that forever."

I gently ran my thumbs over his cheeks as the blood began to wash away, avoiding areas that were obviously cut, my stomach turning over at the short slashes and wicked curves that had been cut into his jaw and continued down his neck and body. The spade on his cheek was the only tattoo on his body that hadn't been damaged; even if he healed, he'd be a patchwork of art.

"How does the water feel?" I asked when X closed his eyes, pain etched in his features.

"It's okay," he said, his voice raspy. Not because of emotion—because he'd screamed himself hoarse.

I shook with rage, a lump swollen in my throat, but I buried it where he wouldn't see and took the shower head off its hook, moving the water over his shoulders and chest.

"Tell me if it hurts," I gently ordered, movement drawing my eye to the door when Taj slumped into the bathroom, his jaw clenched as he looked at X and devastation in his eyes.

"It doesn’t hurt," X murmured, his eyes closed and head tipped back as I cleaned the blood from him, the water dark pink as it swirled down the drain.

The more clean skin that revealed itself, the more cuts I saw in his beautiful inked skin … and the more I understood what the slashes were. Not random wounds, but intentional carvings.

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