Page 29 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

“Tell you what, if we survive this, I’ll take you to get checked to make sure a cow isn’t growing inside you or something.”

He exhales sharply as I smother the remaining butter over his hot hole. It melts on contact. I tap my finger over his entrance and then slip a finger inside. He shifts his body backward to take the entire length of my greasy finger. I keep it there, moving in slow circles as he adjusts.

He reaches backward and grips my cock. Lifts it upward. He wants so much more than my finger, and I’m happy to oblige.

I watch the show as my thick cock disappears into his body, pushing curds of butter up against his entrance.

When I begin to thrust in measured strokes, I take notice of the way my precum combines with the butter, creating a foamy yellow glaze.

I reach forward through the bars, grab him by the chest, and pull him all the way back as I slam inside.

Move my hips in circles and feel every thump of his heart underneath my touch.

Feel the way he loses his breath every time I punch against his prostate.

I reach through a gap and grab him by the cock. The skin of his hardness is silky smooth. I palm over his head, collecting a pool of precum and slather it over him in slow strokes.

The cold bars do a number on my pelvic bone, but when I’m this feral, I don’t really mind. The pain aids the pleasure, heightens the intensity, and all I can think about is giving myself to him completely.

“Shit. Shit.” His hole tightens as he shoots his load onto the stone floor. Continues to break as I stroke him from base to tip, over and over again. “Fuck!”

My grip on his chest tightens as I find myself nearing release. I huff through gritted teeth with every thrust. Hard. Fast. To the hilt. Each pump is another load of sweet release, filling up the deepest parts of him. Taking him. Marking him.

I whisper into his ear, “I love you, Punk.”

When we are done, we get dressed in a hurry. And in the silence that comes after, we sit on the floor with our cheeks pressed into the bars. I reach through an opening and take him by his hand.

Hold it.

Hold him .

This stupid fucking boy who saved me.

This irritating little shit who I adore so much.

Now, it’s my turn to save him.

Seven munches on a biscuit with his free hand. Guess getting fucked burns enough energy to make him end the hunger strike.

“I’m not complaining,” he says with a mouth full of food.

“But why couldn’t you say that back at the church?

Couldn’t say it when you could cuddle me after?

When you could have held me tightly and snuggled with me?

” He takes another bite. “Instead, you wait until I’m on the opposite side of these prison bars. ”

“I didn’t want you going out not knowing.” I squeeze his hand tighter. “Didn’t want you to die thinking you weren’t loved. ”

“Every word you continue to say makes it feel a lot less romantic. Are you only saying this because you think we’re going to die?”

“I’m saying it because maybe I’ve been wanting to say it, but I was too afraid. But I don’t want to die having not said it.”

The door at the top of the stairs rips open, and judging by what little light cascades down the hallway, we’re out of time.

I shuffle away from Seven and step to the gate at the front of the cell.

Rory parks himself in front of me, dressed in his Sunday best, which is a far cry from the usual attire.

Guess he’s ready to meet his maker. He reeks of cigarette smoke, and his fingers dance nervously, tapping at his hip.

“It’s time to go.” He retrieves the ring of keys from his belt loop.

I force a smile. “Can I have a cigarette first? It’s kind of my vice and, uhm, I think it’ll make me feel a lot better.”

He shakes his head as he continues to search for the right key.

“Please,” I beg. “I know you smoke. I can smell it all over you. I know you’re nervous. I’m nervous too.”

His chest sinks with a huff. He reaches into the pocket of his button-up shirt and produces a cigarette from a plastic pack.

I position my dry lips between the bars and let him place it into my mouth.

He draws a lighter from his pocket, flicks it twice, and the ember burns the paper end of the cancer stick.

I lean my head back, taking a long drag.

Feel the toxins billow to the back of my throat, drowning me in the warmth of what I’m about to do.

I grip the cigarette at the butt and take another quick hit.

Hold it in place with my lips as it dangles out of my mouth.

I point to the empty space behind Rory. “Who is that?”

He spins in a quick circle.

Of course, there’s nobody there.

By the time my arm is around his throat, he’s well aware of that.

He struggles beneath my iron grip, his neck muscles throbbing against the crook of my elbow.

I grab the cigarette and stab it into his eye.

He screams in agony, fingers digging into the side of my throat, tearing at my flesh.

The cigarette slips from my fingers and falls to the ground.

I clasp my free hand over his mouth to shut him up and wait until he passes out before letting him go.

His unconscious body slides down the front of the gate, the keys dropping to his side.

I grab them, search for the right key, and unlock the gate. Rory’s body falls forward as I push the door open. I make quick working dragging him into my cage and locking him inside.

Seven waits for me in his cage, and when I unlock it, he charges through the gate and launches himself into my arms. For the first time, he’s above me because I usually tower over him.

But holding him like this, it offers an entirely new view of my little punk.

A view that makes me momentarily push away the thought of the horrible thing I just did to that horrible man.

He thrusts forward, pressing his dry lips against mine. Breathes into me. Just two men who haven’t brushed their teeth in four days kissing as if it’s the last time we’ll ever kiss. My hands crawl up his back as he jumps free, landing on his feet.

“You smell like an ashtray,” he says.

“Really?” I furrow a brow. “Don’t do this right now.”

He points to Rory on the ground. “We can’t leave him like this. He might wake up.”

“Let's see how he likes living in a cage.” I drag him by his feet into the cell while Seven waits on the other side. “Sorry about your eye, Rory.” I bring the gate to a gentle close and lock it. “You’ll wake up and thank me later for saving you.”

“Yeah, he’s going to be real thankful you charred his eye.”

“At least he’ll be alive.”

I brush a hand over Seven’s cheek. Every part of me screams to run, to leave this place without looking back.

To leave without trying to save his family because I’m terrified of losing him.

Terrified this place is going to drag him to hell with it when it burns to the ground.

Stare at him a little too long, then realize there’s something in this picture that doesn’t belong.

The gold ring on my finger.

The same ring that caresses Seven’s skin .

The same ring that binds me to the ghosts of yesterday.

I pull away with a trembling hand. A ghost is incorporeal. It can’t hurt and it can’t touch. A ghost is nothing more than the shadows of trauma, and yet its weight is an anchor capable of sinking the strongest souls.

I turn away from Seven, clamp my fingers around the ring and pry it from my warm flesh. My mind goes back to Kevin's penthouse, three days after I met him. This stupid ring hasn’t left my hand since. It has suffocated me enough.

I toss the ring into the cell.

It lands with a clink against the floor and rolls behind the stained metal toilet.

Out of sight, out of mind. The burial I couldn’t give him. May he find an eternal home in this hellscape. Forever and always, I’ll hate him. But from this day one, I won’t be burdened by his actions.

“I forgive you,” I whisper.

And I forgive myself for all the times I wasn’t strong enough to fight back.

For all the time I wasted.

For all the different versions of myself I could have been.

For living in the dark, away from the harsh light of day.

For dreaming about dying all the fucking time. A vision that always crossed my mind, but one I pushed further away with every mile of worn roads. Self-inflicted carnage was always one corner away... until it wasn’t. Until it was the next corner up ahead.

Seven didn’t save me from wanting to die. He just showed up at the right place at the right time. Showed me what love could be, what it should be. Forgiving. On the other side of this, I pray I learn to love myself again. The way he loves me. The way I love him.