Page 13

THIRTEEN

WWIII - grandson

When I wake up again, I no longer feel like puking. Instead, I feel like shitting. Violently.

I barely make it to the bathroom before I lose it in a way that rivals fast-food burrito legends. And for the second time in like six hours, I’m getting religious again.

Once the current bout is done, I drop my head on my knees. Fucking hell. I don’t know why they demonize alcohol if it brings you back to god this hard. I’m gonna have to toss whatever brand I have. No offense to the brand, but like, fuck that shit.

When I finally change, I realize something doesn’t feel right with my hand. I glance down, and there, on my index finger, is a ring. A ring I’ve never seen before.

I blink.

The ring has a thick, silver band, and on the face is a skeleton of a man. The skeleton is curled around a bright purple gemstone, like it died clutching its last treasure. It’s fucking weird.

Am I…seeing things? I glance at Buffalo on the bed.

Oh, goody. I’m looking at my talking stuffed animal to verify if I’m seeing things.

I need to stop fucking drinking.

The ring feels heavy around my finger. I swallow, hesitating, and then grab it. The ring is real. It’s solid in my fingers, and the metal is so thick it’s cool to the touch.

There’s a small sound coming from my living room, and immediately, I freeze. All my senses are on alert. Was that a…sigh?

I dart to the side of my bed to grab my gun, only it’s not there.

“Gonna come out and say hi?” the deep voice rumbles, full of threat, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

What the hell? Immediately, I transition to action mode. There’s someone in my house?

There’s someone in my house.

I need to fucking kill him.

I jump to my closet, searching for the smaller pistol I have stored there. Only it’s not there, either.

“Or you gonna make me come in there and get you?”

The adrenaline pumps through my body, but I take calming breaths. Like fuck am I going to walk into a trap. Which, clearly, I’ve already done. But I won’t make it worse. I slip back to my bed and pull the knife I have tucked between the mattress and the box spring.

I don’t have time to set up by the doorway before a huge form pushes through it. Sucking in a breath, I brace as a tall man strides into my room, pointing a gun at me. He has a half-mask on with a ball cap turned backward. The man is built and covered in tattoos, with a blackout sleeve going down his right arm. The arm that’s pointed at me with a gun in his hand.

The man cocks an eyebrow. “Put it down.”

Rage rushes through me, and for a second, I want to do nothing but jump at him and stab him in the throat. He must see it because I watch him line up his sights on me, eyeing me from between the iron sights.

“Put the knife down,” he demands again. His eyes are fierce and piercing blue. Well, the one eye I’m looking at down the barrel of the gun. It’s like he’s looking through me.

I drop the knife. “Don’t bring a gun to a knife fight,” I grit. “It’s rude.” The man doesn’t move. The knife isn’t far from my hand, but the man is too fucking far. If he was any closer, I’d risk jumping him, but with him so far away, I have no chance. My heart races. Why the fuck hasn’t he shot me?

The man peers at me. I can’t see the rest of his face, but he looks…bored. Which fucking scares me. Working the streets, I never trusted the ones who looked bored. They’d kill you and not bat an eye.

“What do you want?” I can only assume this is my copycat. He’s bigger and stronger than me, and it’s clear he’s not new to violence. He’s also handsome. I’m sure he gets all the ladies. Fuck him for that.

“Good boy, glad you can follow directions.” The man ignores my question, his voice sultry and mocking. It makes heat run over my skin. “Do you like my ring?” He stares at me.

I blink, then glance down. It’s still on my finger, and without thinking, I move to take it off.

“No.” The man’s voice deepens in threat. “Leave it.”

I swallow. What is happening? Why the fuck hasn’t he killed me? Why the fuck won’t he get closer so I can jump him?

“Sing for me.”

I blink, focusing back on my attacker. Did I hear him right?

He lowered the gun slightly. Not that it really matters. He’s close enough to point and shoot, and I’m sure he’ll hit me.

“Sing something,” the man grinds out.

The demand is so absurd I question my sanity. Are we on the phantom of the fucking opera right now? Is this where my psychosis decided to take us? A model of a man breaks into my apartment and demands I sing? So he can what? Fall in love with me? Steal my voice?

“Buff?” I glance at the highland cow. He’s still on the bed. And very, very silent.

The man cocks an eyebrow. “Thanks, I am. But that’s not singing.”

I hold my hands up like I’m placating a wild beast. “Are you real?”

“Want a bullet in your head to check and see?”

“No?” I blink. Maybe I just had a bad batch or something. Maybe I never woke up. The man looks real, though. Very real and very serious.

“If you don’t sing in the next five seconds?—”

“Okay!” Fuck it. If I’m dreaming, I may as well sing.

And as I decide that, it’s like suddenly I’ve forgotten every song I’ve ever heard.

The man makes a pissed sound and raises the gun.

“No! No, I’m thinking.” I raise my hands and start humming nonsense. Then, all I can think is to sing Sweet Home Alabama in my skivvies so my brains don’t get splattered across the wall behind me.

Sweet Jesus, I am definitely going insane. But it’s this, or go to see Jesus. And fuck that. That’s one man I don’t want to meet.

So, I start singing. I immediately jump into the chorus. I don’t remember the exact words; it’s something about blue skies and Alabama. It’s bad and completely off-tune, and I fuck up the lyrics, but I make it through the chorus and then slowly stop singing until the room goes quiet.

The silence is painful before the man shakes his head. “What in the incest? You’re terrible.”

“Sorry?” What is going on here?

“I mean, like, your voice is really horrible.” The man shakes his head, beginning to laugh like I’ve told the worst joke.

It’s then that I notice he’s edged closer. My breathing picks up, and the man throws me a look full of indecision.

That’s when I strike. Reaching down to grab the knife, I launch myself at him. He tries to react, but action is always faster than reaction. I duck, lowering my body so I slam into his legs. He stumbles back, and we both go crashing to the floor. It’s a mad scramble to get the upper hand, and a huge foot slams into my head, sending bright lights through my vision. It’s everything I can do to keep a grip on my knife.

If you bring a knife to a gunfight, you better be fucking fast.

I heave myself up, swinging the arm with the knife towards his body. I need to end this before he shoots me, and it’s night night for eternity. Just me and the Big Man himself, telling me all the reasons he allows pedos to prey on children.

The man grunts, rolling both of us over so he’s straddling me, pinning my knife hand to the floor. Both his hands are on me, and I don’t see the gun. He’s on top, but he’s not hurting me.

I try to breathe. The first 100 seconds in a fight are the most important. Just survive the first 100 seconds without dying, and your opponent will often be too gassed to fight effectively. With someone this big, I just need to wear him down till I can find an opening.

“You little fucking shit.” The man laughs, sucking air through his mask, his entire body pressed over mine in a crushing weight. I smell fucking bar soap and aftershave. “Stop fighting.”

“Make me,” I snap. I wrap my right leg around his, tuck my other to my butt, and bridge and roll. Instantly, the roles are reversed, although the man still has my knife wrist clamped heavily in his meaty hand.

“Oh, I’ll fucking make you ,” he snarls.

I’m not small, but I feel my bones crushing. Instead of fighting him, I swing my other hand, crashing it down into the man’s face. The ring rips into his skin, and I hit repeatedly until the ogre decides to fucking stand up .

He sits up like I weigh nothing, and before I can scramble off of him, he stands, taking me with him and slamming me back into the wall. That one rattles my brain hard, making my head go fuzzy and black for a second.

I suck in a breath, willing my vision to clear. When it does, the man has his hand around my throat and my knife pinned to the wall.

Immediately, I swipe my other hand up to scoop his eyes out. Just as quickly, the man ducks his head into my neck, and I can’t reach anything solid. I try though, kneeing and scratching. Anything to get him off me.

He just leans into me, pinning me so hard I can hardly breathe and squeezing my neck so my vision spots. Finally, I realize I’m wasting my energy, and I just focus on sucking in deep breaths. He’s not hurting me right now. Just holding me right on the edge of cutting off my circulation.

“You done?” The man’s masked lips brush my neck, the deep words grumbling through my entire body. It makes goosebumps prickle over my skin, and I realize in horror that he might be able to feel my reaction. Immediately, I shake my entire body.

“No, no. We were doing so good.” He doesn’t let me move; he just rides out my struggle.

“Let go of me.” The longer he doesn’t hurt me, the more angry I get. “You gonna slice me up?”

The damn mask keeps fluttering on my pulse point. The pulse point he’s also strangling with a single, giant hand.

“Fuck you.” I struggle, and the hand clamps down tighter, sending spots all over my vision. As soon as I relax, he loosens the pressure. This fucker is just playing with me.

“Fuck. You smell so good,” he groans. “That fear.”

It’s everything I can do not to explode again. But it’s wasting my energy.

“What do you want?”

The man untucks his head, pulling around so he can lock those eyes on mine. He narrows them, waiting to see if I’ll try for them again.

I don’t. Instead, I try to catch my breath, looking at the bright red slice the ring made across his face.

“What do you want ?” I demand again. None of this makes sense. If he wanted to kill me, why hasn’t he already?

“I want,” the man leans closer, “to ruin you, Ronan Carter.”

There’s so much hatred in his eyes I can feel it like a punch to the gut.

“What the fuck did I do?” I glance around the room, looking for the gun.

“Uh uh,” he tsks, squeezing hard so my vision narrows and my gaze snaps back to him. “Eyes on me. Atta boy.”

Humiliation spreads through me, and if my mouth wasn’t so dry, I’d spit on him.

The man pulls in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes for a brief second. When he does, I notice he has light freckles on his eyelids.

And that’s when I headbutt him. Or, I try. It’s a pretty pathetic try, with my head pinned against the wall. Our foreheads touch briefly, and it’s the briefest of brushes.

The man’s eyes narrow, and, if possible, he’s pressing into me more. His whole body is hot and toned, and I can feel how strong he is. Suddenly, I also feel how hard he is.

A flush of heat runs through me.

The man looks at me again, and I know he knows that I know. He smirks.

“No.” I thrash, going for his eyes again. He just ducks back into my neck, and I feel his grip move. Suddenly, his bare lips are on my throat, and my brain short-circuits.

The man laughs roughly, then bites down right above where his thumb is digging into me. I make a startled sound as a jolt of pain bursts through me. The pain is followed immediately by heat, crackling over my skin and lighting my nerve endings on fire. And then, he sucks the spot he bit, pulling the skin into his mouth and pulsing his tongue against it. My whole body stiffens, and blood immediately rushes to my dick. Pleasure shoots through me, and I’m hard.

And then I really panic.

The man grunts, letting go of the skin and biting down again, harder this time, squeezing my arteries until my ears buzz. Faintly, I feel my hand slam into the wall, then the clatter of the knife. The man shifts, kicking it away before he presses his leg between both of mine. It rubs against my dick, sending electric sparks up my body.

“You like this, straight boy?” he mutters.

“Get off me, fag.” I claw at him, trying to go dead weight and slide down the wall, but that only puts more pressure on my neck, and I’m sucking for air.

“My name’s Logan. You call me that again, and I’ll shove my dick so far up your ass you won’t even remember what you look like.”

Another bite, right under my jawline, and his hand traces down my side and to my belt line. Every part Logan touches lights up with sensation.

“No, get off me!”

“Let’s just test something out.” Logan reaches further down, and despite my struggles, I know what he’s going to feel. I know he’s going to know my body is confused.

“It’s not because of you,” I spit.

“No?” Logan sounds bored, and his hand slips under my boxers.

“No.” At this point, I’m not sure if it’s a demand or a request. Stop, or please stop? Despite everything, I’m hard as fuck, and I can feel the precum dripping out of me.

It’s just because my body is programmed to like hickeys. That’s all it is.

And then Logan’s warm hand closes around my dick, and suddenly, the world stops. It’s like every nerve ending has gone straight to my dick, and they’re on fire and ready to combust. Logan grips me hard, his hand strong and demanding, wrapping around my shaft like he owns it. It feels fucking good.

Logan chuckles. “You’re hard, Ronan.”

“It’s just a reaction,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

He jerks his hand, immediately shooting electric pleasure through me. “I think you’re hard for me .”

I’m already so riled up that I feel my dick pulse once in his hand. He must feel it too, cause he laughs again. “Oh, I’m going to have fun breaking you.”

“I’ll kill you.” I’m squeezing my eyes shut, trying to erase the feeling of his hand on my dick.

Logan’s lips go to my ear. “I’d love to see you try.”

Then he wraps both hands around my neck and squeezes till my world goes black.