Page 49

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

REMI

When we’re in his truck, parked on the main dirt road that forks off to the different cabins, after he dragged me through the house, he turns on me, pinning me against the passenger side of the door, his hand on my chest.

“What the fuck was that?”

I swallow down my nerves at his anger, his eyes gleaming silver in the lights from his dash, the engine not running, but the battery on.

“Passenger” by Deftones is playing, and that, combined with my heartbeat, are the only sounds out here in the dark, this far from the party.

My head is against the window, one hand on the dash, the other on his leather seat, the way I’m twisted toward him.

“I should’ve sucked his dick and let you watch,” I tell him, my chest heaving under his hand.

“I should’ve let them both fuck me while you stood in that doorway like a fucking stalker. ”

He grabs the collar of my dress, pulling me closer, his mouth over mine. “Is that what you should’ve done, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Nah,” he says, laughing, his breath minty against my lips. “What you should do is tell me you’re fucking sorry that I had to see that.”

I laugh, my temper flaring. “You are unreal.”

He tilts his head, running his mouth over mine. I suck in a breath, butterflies flipping in my stomach, despite my anger, and my words. “You sorry, baby?”

“Fuck you.”

“Not unless you apologize.”

“You let her suck your dick.” The words come out jagged, and I hate that, but I can’t hold it back.

What I’ve been wanting to say to him for over a week.

“You let her…” I close my eyes, his hand still wrapped around the collar of my dress.

“She said she fucking loved you.” Those words taste bitter in my mouth.

He’s quiet, but he doesn’t release me.

“And you… you’ve been following me, and touching me, and all along, you were fucking around with her.” I grit my teeth, unwilling to say anything else, to damn myself here in this truck with him.

He runs his mouth over mine again, and I hate that my stomach twists into knots, fire in my veins. “It was before you , and it didn’t happen,” he tells me, his voice low. “And anything that might have actually happened before you, that didn’t mean anything.”

“Well back there,” I counter, my eyes flying open, staring at him in my face, “that was my cousin, and that was after you, and it wouldn’t have meant anything either, so why don’t you let me finish?—”

“Your cousin?” He sounds livid, but not disgusted.

I don’t look away from him. “We’re all fucked up, aren’t we, Cortland?”

We’re both breathing hard and he hasn’t released me. I want to push him away. I want to make him recoil, but he doesn’t. He’s still right here.

“I guess in your part of the South, you know all about?—”

“Shut the fuck up, Remi.” He kisses me, hard and punishing, his lips bruising.

I grab his shoulders, feeling the soft material of his gray sweater under my fingers as I yank him closer to me. He’s nearly on top of me in the truck, crowding me against the door. It’s uncomfortable, but I don’t care.

I just want him.

I know I shouldn’t, but I fucking want him.

His tongue collides with mine, his hand moves to my throat, and it feels good. I let him take, and take, and fucking take.

Then I think of Van. What he’d say if he saw me out here. What Sloane would say.

I push on Cort’s shoulders, and he resists.

I pull away from his kiss, both of us catching our breath, my lips swollen as I push him again. “What are we doing?” I whisper in the space between us.

He fists my dress in his hand. “What does it feel like we’re doing?”

I stare at him in the dark, breathing hard. What does it feel like? It feels like jumping. Or dying. Love always feels like fucking. Dying.

It always has for me.

My mom, literally.

Leaving me with Silas, and his words, his touches… dying.

Then Cortland, and the charges and the emptiness…

Love feels like fucking dying.

“I don’t know,” I answer him, my heart racing as I hold myself up in his truck, one hand still on the dash.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head, frowning.

“This… it’s just…” I take a breath as he stares at me, my dress still fisted in his hand.

“What do you want from me, Cortland?” Haven’t you taken enough?

“Whatever you’re willing to give.” It sounds like an honest answer and I’m stunned into silence.

He drags me closer to him, running his mouth over mine.

His breath smells clean, no alcohol on his tongue.

“I know this is… fucked up. I know we fucked up,” he says.

No. You did that. I want to scream it at him, but my blood is hot and I don’t want him off of me. Not yet.

“But we keep finding our way to each other. I don’t know what that means, but I kind of want to find out.”

I swallow down my fear. This will never work. I know that. But I think about Ryann’s mouth on my throat. Van’s hand on my thigh.

Cortland’s fingers inside me, and Storm watching me in their house.

I’ve spent a year fighting against lust. Being wanted.

I don’t want to fight anymore.

I sit up straighter, pushing against his shoulder.

He doesn’t move.

“Let me,” I tell him as he resists. “Let me be in control.”

He stills, his fingers stiff around my neck as he stares at me.

I hear him swallow, and slowly, he pulls back, releasing me.

He reaches into his pants, adjusting himself, and I lean across the console, my fingers going to his hand.

“Remi,” he says, surprise in his words. He wasn’t expecting that conversation to go this way. But I’m tired of being what everyone expects. Quiet, damaged, broken.

What’s the point of breaking if you don’t get to make other people bleed every once in a while?

I flick open the button of his dark gray pants, pull down the zipper as I meet his gaze. Then I tug on the waistband, and he stares at me a moment in the dark.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to… to prove you’re better than her.”

My chest tightens. “I know.”

“Let’s just go back to my?—”

I tug on his pants again. “You want me to be innocent and sweet and docile for you, Cortland?” I ask him quietly, seeing his jaw tick in the darkness, his head against his seat, turned toward me.

I glance at his pants, his black boots, letting my gaze slowly travel back up to his face.

“If I were that kind of girl, you wouldn’t have walked in on what you did. ”

“Remi,” he says warningly, his hand coming over mine, like a threat.

I ignore him. “I wouldn’t want to suck your dick right now in your truck.”

He stares at me in the dark, then his hand comes back around my throat, his grip tight. He squeezes—not hard enough that I can’t breathe, but close. I drag my hand down over his pants, feeling his hard cock as I squeeze it beneath my fingers.

His grip on my throat tightens and there’s something about the dominant position he’s in that, despite what I’m trying to do to him, I kind of like.

“Is this another way to hurt yourself?” he asks me quietly, leaning over the console, his breath over my mouth as he speaks. “Is this like a blade to your wrist, my cock in your mouth?”

I swallow hard, beneath his hand, and I don’t know what to say.

Yeah, I think, it is just like that.

“Another form of self-harm?” He runs his mouth over mine. “Is that what you’re doing here, baby? Breaking your own heart?”

My face flames with him seeing through me so easily. But it’s not just me I want to cut. It’s him.

He laughs when I don’t speak. “That’s okay. I’ll take your mouth any way I can get it. But do you want to suck my dick?” His hand tightens around my throat, fingers flexing. “Or did you want to suck his?”

Warmth spreads through me with his question. “I think I owe you,” I tell him, thinking of the library. The graveyard.

His lip ring brushes over my mouth and I dart my tongue out, my piercing hitting his own. “Yeah,” he whispers against my lips, “I think you do, pretty baby.” He grips me tighter, but pulls back, glancing down at his lap. “Come here, Remi. Come suck my cock.”

My heart pounds in my head, and I stare at him for a long moment, his hand still on my throat.

I know it’s a bad idea. Especially with Maya’s texts.

I’m not different.

But I can’t get him out of my head.

Maybe I could fuck him out of my system. Maybe that’s what I need to get past this. Maybe one more hit of the poison is the antidote.

His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, his hand still wrapped tight around my throat as we stare at each other. “Having second thoughts?” he asks me quietly.

“Have you fucked her… since…” I trail off, scared of the answer.

His grip tightens, but he forces himself to loosen it, his fingers flexing then curling against my skin again. “No.”

“Why?” I whisper, the word quiet in the cabin of his truck.

“I don’t want to,” he answers me, his voice low.

“Why not?” I press, desperate and nervous to hear more truths.

“Remi,” he scolds me, “why are we talking about someone who doesn’t matter?” His hand trails lower, down the front of my dress, his fingers grazing my breast.

I suck in a breath, trying to focus. “We’re talking about you,” I tell him, aware of his hand dipping into the cup of my bra.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he admits quietly.

My pulse flies. “Why?”

He palms my breast and pulls on my nipple. I wince, but don’t move as he takes in my face. My eyes, as he plays with me. “Because I want you.”

“I won’t be your dirty little secret.”

He scowls at me, sliding his hand between the dip of my breasts, palming the other roughly as my body tenses. “Who said you were dirty?”

With those words, it’s like the armor of marijuana and my new and improved self cracks.

That’s all I’m good for.

They used me, because what else could they possibly want from me?

“You enjoy being a piece of meat, Remi? Just like your mother. You disgust me.”