Page 7 of Connor (Total Sinners #2)

Connor

Laughter filled the apartment—soft, warm, familiar. It curled around the edges of the room, seeping into the walls, sinking into the furniture. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend things were normal. Almost.

Aiden sat across from Mom, legs stretched out, his cane balanced against the coffee table. He was shaking his head at something she said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She was laughing—really laughing. The kind that made her eyes crinkle.

I watched them from the hallway with hands balled into fists at my sides. Mom’s sweater sleeve slid up as she reached for her glass of wine, exposing the dark stain blooming across her forearm. A perfect imprint of Dad’s fingers, like he’d branded her.

My stomach twisted. I swallowed, forcing down the bile creeping up my throat.

Aiden saw it too. His gaze flicked to the bruise, his smile faltering for half a second before he forced it back into place, keeping the moment intact. But I caught it.

We weren’t going to talk about it.

Because we never did.

I ran my tongue along my teeth, jaw tight.

One week. That’s how long I’d been here, sleeping on Aiden’s couch, pretending like I wasn’t suffocating under the weight of it all.

I should have been grateful. He let me crash without asking for anything in return.

But every time I stepped through that door, I felt the walls pressing in on me, felt the silence creeping in through the cracks.

Felt the fucking lie we were all living.

Mom caught me staring. Her laughter softened, then faded, replaced by something unreadable. She pulled her sleeve down over the bruise like that would make a difference, like it would erase the fact that I had already seen it.

“Connor.” Her voice was too gentle. “Come sit with us.”

I couldn’t.

Not when I knew exactly where that bruise had come from. Not when I could still hear my father’s voice in my head, cutting through the phone call that had ended with me slamming my fist into the wall.

She had told me she fell.

Like that made it better.

Like I hadn’t heard her voice tremble when she said it.

“I’m heading out.”

Aiden’s brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. He just leaned back into the couch, twirling the stem of his glass between his fingers, waiting for me to get to the part where I told him where I was going.

I wasn’t going to.

Mom frowned. “Connor, it’s late.”

I forced a smile. “That ever stop me before?”

Aiden sighed, shaking his head like he was already tired of this conversation. Maybe he was.

Maybe I was too.

Mom hesitated, like she was debating whether or not to insist, but I could see the answer written in the bruises she was trying to hide. She wasn’t going to fight me on this. She never fought anyone on anything.

I grabbed my jacket from the hook near the door. “Don’t wait up.”

And before Aiden could tell me how fucking stupid this was, before Mom could try to convince me she was fine—I walked out, pulling my keys out of my back pocket as I headed to my car.

I slid behind the wheel of my car. I barely registered the action of turning the key in the ignition, didn’t notice the engine's hum as it roared to life.

I pulled out onto the road, my pulse hammering a steady rhythm in my ears.

I didn’t need to think about where I was going.

My body already knew the way. Muscle memory took over, guiding me through the streets, past the glowing neon of liquor stores and gas stations, past the familiar turns I’d taken too many times.

It didn’t take long before I reached the bar.

I parked in the same spot as always, the one near the flickering streetlight, the one that made it easy to get in and out without thinking too hard. My hands flexed around the wheel once before I let go.

The moment I stepped inside, the weight in my chest loosened just a little. It smelled like smoke and beer, the low murmur of conversation broken up by the occasional laugh or clink of glass. The jukebox in the corner hummed with a song I didn’t recognize, something slow and aching.

I walked to the bar without hesitation and Frank, the bartender, barely looked up when I sat down.

He was already reaching for a glass, already pouring me a drink before I had the chance to ask. He knew better. I knew I didn’t come here for the company, and I didn’t come here to talk.

The amber liquid hit the bottom of the glass, smooth and familiar, and he slid it across the counter with a practiced ease.

“Rough night?” he asked, voice gravelly.

I scoffed, picking up the glass. “Aren’t they all?”

Frank let out a quiet grunt, wiping down the counter with slow, methodical movements. He’d been working at this bar longer than I’d been of legal age to drink in it, long enough to know when to pry and when to leave things the fuck alone.

I tossed back the first sip, feeling the burn slide down my throat, hot and numbing. It settled in my stomach, pooling there like lead. I wanted more. Needed more.

Frank said nothing when I drained the rest in one swallow and nudged the glass forward.

He just poured me another.

And another.

By the time I was three drinks in, the noise of the bar faded into background static, the heat in my chest spreading, taking the edge off. It wasn’t enough. It was never fucking enough.

I let my head tip forward slightly, the cool rim of the glass pressing against my lips.

The memories still clung to me.

Summer’s voice. Summer’s touch. The way she looked at me the night she walked out of my apartment, eyes glassy, fingers trembling. The way I didn’t stop her. The way I should have.

The way I fucking couldn’t.

“Slow down, kid,” Frank muttered, eyes flicking to me. “Drinking like that won’t fix whatever’s got you looking like hell.”

I laughed, humorless. “Who said I’m trying to fix anything?”

“Suit yourself.” But he didn’t pour me another.

Not yet.

The barstool beside me scraped against the floor, and I barely glanced up as someone slid into the seat next to mine.

A woman. Red hair. Dressed to be noticed.

She drummed her nails against the counter, then glanced at me with a small smile. “You look like you could use a distraction.”

I let out a slow breath, tilting my glass toward her in a lazy acknowledgment. “You offering?”

Her face brightened, her eyes flicking over me like she was making a decision. Then she lifted her fingers and signaled Frank for a drink.

I watched her, detached. I should have been into this. Should have taken her up on whatever she was hinting at. It would have been easy. Just another night, just another warm body, just another way to forget.

But as she leaned closer, as her perfume wrapped around me, something in my chest twisted. I glanced at her. "Depends. You looking for conversation or something stronger?"

Her lips curled at the edge. "Maybe a little of both."

I thought about it. "Then by all means."

She crossed her legs, her knee brushing against mine. "You look like trouble."

I let my eyes drag over her bare neck, the teasing dip of her collarbone. "You have no idea."

She leaned in, voice just loud enough to cut through the music. "Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for."

I finally turned to face her fully, tilting my head. "You always go looking for trouble in places like this?"

She sipped her drink, watching me over the rim of her glass. "Only when I need to forget something. Or someone."

That hit a little too close to home, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I smirked, leaning in slightly. "And is it working?"

"Not yet." She traced a fingertip over my forearm. "But I have high hopes."

I hummed, hope buildingin my chest. "You expecting me to help with that?"

She set her glass down, turning toward me, her body angled closer. "You offering?"

I laughed a low chuckle. "I don’t do attachments."

She grinned. "Good. Neither do I."

It should have been easy. Just another nameless girl, another distraction, another night that blurred into the next.

But even as she pressed closer, her thigh warm against mine, her fingers teasing at the hem of my shirt, my mind drifted.

I shouldn’t have cared. I shouldn’t have noticed the way she wasn’t Summer. But my body did.

She noticed my hesitation and smirked. "You hesitating, handsome?"

I shook my head, downing the rest of my whiskey and setting the glass down with a hollow clink. "Not at all."

She took my hand, pulling me toward the door. I followed, not because I wanted her, but because stopping meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering a girl I’d much rather forget.

***

We barely made it through her apartment door before I had her against the wall—clothes ripping, teeth biting, nails clawing. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t passion. It wasn’t even fucking want.

Just need.

A filthy, mind-numbing, gut-churning need to bury myself so deep inside someone else that I could forget the goddamn weight pressing against my chest. Her dress was gone in seconds, torn from her body, tossed aside like trash.

Her tits bounced free, nipples hard, begging for something rough.

I didn’t bother appreciating the view—just grabbed her by the back of the neck, shoved her to her knees, and unzipped.

“Suck,” I ordered, yanking her hair, dragging my cock across her parted lips.

She moaned, tongue darting out, trying to tease, but I wasn’t in the mood for games.

I pushed forward, using my fingers to pop her jaw open and thrusting in.

Until her eyes bulged and my dick cut off her air.

Until all I felt was the heat of her mouth and the spasm of her throat as she tried to swallow.

Her hands clawed at my thighs, choking, gagging, tears streaking her face. She tried to pull back—I didn’t let her.

“Take it,” I growled, thrusting deeper, shoving her nose to my pelvis.

Her throat convulsed, spit dripping down her chin, her nails digging in harder as she fought for air.

I held her there, relishing the way she struggled, the pathetic whimpers muffled around my length.

Only when I felt her body start to give did I let her go.

She gasped, drool trailing from her lips as she stared up at me, eyes glassy, ruined.

“Get on the fucking bed,” I snapped, shoving her onto the mattress.

She scrambled up, ass high, spreading herself for me like a desperate little whore.

I didn’t bother teasing—just grabbed a condom, rolling it on with shaking fingers before slamming inside her without warning.

She screamed, body arching, fingers clutching the sheets, and fuck, it was tight. Searing. Perfect.

I set a brutal pace, hips snapping, cock spearing into her dripping cunt with wet, obscene sounds.

“You like that?” I growled, grabbing her by the throat, pulling her back against me, forcing her to take every inch.

She whimpered, nodding frantically, and I chuckled darkly. “Of course you do. Fucking slut.”

Her moans turned desperate, broken cries filling the room as I used her, shoving my dick as far as it would go and leaving bruises.

I slapped her ass, hard enough to leave prints, then wrapped her ponytail around my fist, yanking her head back as I fucked her deeper. “Fucking take it,” I spat, slamming into her with every filthy thrust.

Her walls clenched, her body seizing, and I knew she was close.

Knew she was about to fall apart. “Not yet,” I growled, pulling out, making her sob because ofthe loss.

I flipped her over, pinning her down, spreading her legs wide before ramming back inside.

She shrieked, nails raking my back, legs wrapping around me as she came hard, body spasming beneath me.

I didn’t stop. I fucked her through it, fucked her until my balls drew tight, until the pressure built so goddamn much I had no choice but to spill into the condom with a guttural groan.

I pulled out, tossing the used rubber aside, watching as she lay there—fucked, trembling, breathless. A ruined mess.

“We’re doing that again, right?” she panted, eyes hazy with lust.

I grunted, heading for the bathroom. And again. And again. As many times as it took to get my mother’s bruises and Summer fucking Blake out of my head.

***

In the morning, I woke up to the dull throb of a hangover and the sound of soft breathing beside me. Sunlight spilled through the window, casting sharp lines across the bed, across her . She was sprawled out, makeup smudged, skin warm where it pressed against mine.

I should’ve felt something. Regret, maybe. Disgust. But all I felt was nothing .

My mouth was dry, my body heavy, my mind already aching. I didn’t remember her name. Didn’t even remember if I cared enough to ask.

I stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly, hands resting against my stomach. My phone buzzed from the nightstand. I didn’t check it. I already knew it wasn’t my father. Not even Aiden.

Not Summer. And even if it was —what would I say? I turned my head, watching as the blonde shifted in her sleep, completely oblivious. I envied that. I wanted that.

To be unbothered. Unaffected.

But I wasn’t. Not even close. My cell phone screen was bright when I finally picked it up and opened it. Mom’s name popped up among the messages, the words blurring as I focused on the background picture.

It was wrong to have a photo of Summer as my background, but there she was—her body curled around mine, her eyes shut and a sunbeam reaching across her face.

Fast asleep and wrapped around me like she would never leave.

God only knew why I believed that at that moment, and maybe if things were different, we could’ve been so much more.

Dragging a hand down my face, I let out a sharp breath and murmured to myself, voice hoarse, heavy with something I refused to name—

“Jesus Christ.”

I sat up, running a hand over my mouth, trying to ignore the gnawing emptiness in my chest. My clothes were scattered across the floor, my wallet dumped on the bedside table. I reached for it, pulling out a few crumpled bills and leaving them there before standing up.

The blonde stirred but didn’t wake as I pulled on my jeans, buttoning them with slow, deliberate movements.

I needed coffee. I needed air. I needed to stop feeling like my fucking chest was caving in.

By the time I stepped out into the too-bright morning, the cold hit me like a slap. I lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, exhaling the smoke slowly, letting it curl around me like a shield.

I didn’t know where I was going.

Didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.

But I knew one thing for certain.

I was still thinking about Summer. And no amount of whiskey, no amount of meaningless sex, was going to change that.