Page 13 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

“No, the cops have already gotten a good look at you, so let someone else do it. You lie low for the next couple of drops. We don’t want them to keep seeing the same people.”

“You got it,” he says with a messy salute. “I’ll get the word out.”

“Thanks, Fallon. I’ll see you later.”

“Heading out?”

I can feel Emmett watching me as I turn to head for the door again. There’s nothing heated or upset about his gaze, it’s almost like he’s just concerned. But I don’t have the energy to reassure him or talk about it anymore right now.

“Yeah,” I say simply. “It’s been a day.”

It’s almost a fucking relief to get back in my car and drive home. After dealing with the Princes of Carnage and Nico’s ultimatum and Emmett’s grilling, I’m wound tight with tension, and I need some fucking peace and quiet.

The house isn’t all that far from the tattoo parlor, although the area looks completely different.

One of those little sections of Detroit that’s nicer than it should be, considering what’s around it, as if someone came in and built some nice ass houses, hoping the rest of the area would follow suit to look better. More presentable.

Needless to say, that didn’t happen.

So the old house seems big for the location, and definitely it sometimes feels too big for me. It has too many bedrooms for me to use, a basement that mostly sits empty, and a kitchen that’s outfitted for someone who’s definitely better at cooking than I am.

Still, it’s nice to get inside and to put the closed front door between me and the rest of the world for a while. As soon as I step into the living room, I take off my bra, pulling it free from my shirt with a sigh.

I drop the bra on the couch, since it’s not like anyone is here to care if I leave my shit lying around. It’s getting dark out by now, so I close the curtains over the blinds in the living room and turn on the lamps, letting the warm light flood the large space.

It’s tempting to flop face down on the couch and zone out for a while, or maybe turn something on the TV to add some background noise, but my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since I picked at lunch earlier.

So I go into the kitchen to see what I have that’s easy. The shining metal appliances gleam at me accusingly, and I roll my eyes at their silent judgement.

It’s not like my dad was a better cook than I am, but the house came with the upgraded stuff, and he at least tried to use it sometimes.

When he had time. How he had the time, I don’t know.

By the time I get done handling all the shit on my plate, I’m usually so tired that all I want to do is collapse with a pizza or Chinese food or whatever’s easy.

I bypass the stove for the fridge, pulling out the container of leftover takeout from a couple nights ago so that I can throw it in the microwave.

The smell of spiced lamb fills the kitchen, and my stomach growls in anticipation. I dump leftover garlic sauce on the gyro lamb and rice platter and then go sit in the living room to shovel it into my mouth.

It’s hot and good, but I don’t enjoy it the way I normally would.

There’s just too much shit on my mind right now. Running the gang on my own, taking over for my dad, was already a lot, and now there’s this new development that I still haven’t fully processed.

Dad used to say that a good leader was prepared for whatever they had to be prepared for, but that feels like one of those easier said than done kind of things.

Because shit just keeps happening, and it feels like all I can do is react to it when it happens, always a half step behind.

Trying to do my best to not make shit worse and keep it from blowing up in my face.

I can’t help but think about how Dad would handle this. If someone was fucking with his people, trying to attack his gang from the shadows.

Would he have dealt with it the way I did? Would he have tried to fight back head on somehow, instead of doing damage control?

I wish I’d spent more time talking to him about this shit. Asking him what the right things to do would be in various situations. But of course, he was determined to keep me safe, so he didn’t let me get my hands dirty as much as I wanted.

And now it’s too late.

Too late to do anything other than my best, however much that’s fucking worth. All I can hope is that I’m doing okay. That I’m doing justice to the legacy he left me.

I always miss him, especially when I’m doing work that once would’ve been his, trying to live up to his memory, but right now it’s like a physical ache in my chest. I wish more than anything that I could talk to him, get his advice. Or just… see him. Hear his voice.

Being in this house is like being close to him, but being so fucking far away at the same time.

Thinking about that makes me miss my Uncle Casey too. He died in jail, and the grief of it rocked my dad hard. It was one of those things that he never let go of, and I know he took that sadness and anger about his brother’s death to his grave.

It feels like I’m always losing people. My mom died a long time ago, my uncle is dead, my dad is dead. I have no blood family left. It’s just me. Me and all the people looking to me to figure things out and guide them in the right direction.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

My chest squeezes with a feeling that makes me drop my fork back into the take-out container. It feels like loneliness, crushing and intense. Like I have no one, and I’m just… adrift. Floating out in the world alone.

Nico’s words come back to me all over again, about how I don’t have anyone to watch my back. No one that I can trust completely. He was more right than he knew.

Thinking of Nico turns my thoughts back to our meetup today. I know he took some kind of pleasure in dropping the marriage shit in my lap unexpectedly the way he did, and I have to wonder if he actually thought I was going to agree.

Despite the fact that I was defending the idea and my decision to go along with it to Emmett not that long ago, I still haven’t fully wrapped my mind around the idea yet.

There’s going to be a wedding. I’m getting fucking married .

Is that what my dad would have wanted for me? A marriage that ties me and mine to a gang that have always been rivals of Enigma? A marriage without love?

Thinking about it makes my stomach and my chest hurt, so I push those thoughts away. There’s no point in dwelling on it. What’s done is done. I agreed to marry Nico, and my dad is dead. So there’s not much that I can do even if he would disapprove.

I flop back against the couch cushions, trying to relax. Even here, at my home with dinner in front of me, I’m on edge. I feel the same way I did a few days ago, when something in me just couldn’t calm down. When I was just antsy and agitated, everything weighing heavily on me.

Getting fucked by Phantom helped then, and for a second, I’m tempted to go back to Le Bal Masque to try to get another fix.

Nothing clears my head quite like those encounters with the masked stranger.

Between the endorphin release, the orgasms, and being too worn out to overthink afterward, it always works wonders.

But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to become too dependent on it, running to the club whenever there’s a problem. Because there’s never any shortage of fucking problems.

Instead, I get up, dumping the remnants of my food and the container into the trash. I chug a glass of water and then make my way upstairs to my bedroom.

I settle on the bed and pull open the drawer of my nightstand, rummaging around until I find what I want.

My fingers close around a dildo. It’s one of the biggest ones I own, thick and long and hard to take. But that’s what I want right now. What I need . I need to push myself so I have a reason to turn my brain off. I also grab a mini wand vibrator, so that I can have something to warm up with.

Letting out a slow breath, I lie back on the bed and shove my pants and panties down, kicking them off so I can spread my legs all the way. I tug off my shirt too, tossing it aside on the floor.

Trapping my lower lip between my teeth, I start with my fingers, touching myself, rubbing over my clit.

At first, I don’t really feel anything. The touch is too light, too gentle. It reminds me of the way Emmett touched me, and I quickly shake that thought from my head.

I grab for the wand and press it directly to my clit before turning it on to one of the middle settings. It flares to life, buzzing strong and fast, and I gasp softly at the sudden rush of sensation. It feels good, and I groan, my hips bucking up to grind against the rubbery head of the wand.

“Fuck,” I breathe. “Yes.”

I can feel myself getting wetter as my body responds to the vibrations, but it’s still not quite enough. The burning pulse of sensation and want is there, but it’s not flaring as hot as I need it to. It’s not enough to block out the stress. Not yet.

I turn the vibrator up another notch, and my eyes fly open wide as a jolt of pleasure jerks through me. That’s better. That’s so much better.

Holding the wand with one hand, I grope on the bed for the dildo and bring it down between my legs. I’m wet enough now that I can smear the silicone toy through my arousal, slicking it up.

Just the feeling of the girth of the dildo rubbing against me is enough to make me whimper softly, and I press the bulbous head of the toy to my entrance, feeling how thick it is.

“Oh fuck,” I gasp out. “Fuck, please.”

There’s no one here to beg to, but the words slip out of my mouth anyway. I grind against the vibrator and the dildo, and the sensation from both is enough to have my pussy clenching, wanting more.

It wants to be filled, and I start to press the thick toy into myself, the slickness of my pussy easing the way a bit.

But it’s not right. If this was the way I wanted it, it wouldn’t be gentle. It wouldn’t be easy.

I pull back with the silicone toy, slapping it against my wet pussy, feeling the weight of it as it connects.

I moan, biting down hard on my lip as I take a breath and then shove the dildo inside me.

It’s a stretch to take it, and the suddenness of it makes my muscles go tense.

My body protests for a few seconds before the roaring tide of pure desire takes over.

My clit throbs, and I bite my lip hard, trembling as I press harder, working the rest of the toy into my pussy.

I keep going until it’s buried to the hilt, almost too much for me to take. I can practically taste how full I am.

The vibrator keeps buzzing away, and I writhe on the bed, caught up in it.

My next moan sounds like a whimper, and I’m close to begging no one all over again.

Instead, I draw the dildo out a bit, feeling the way my inner walls cling to it, like they want to keep it buried inside.

Fire dances up my spine, and I let it slide out until just the silicone head is buried inside me… before shoving it right back in.

It’s a punishing pace, working the toy in and out, not giving myself a chance to breathe or adjust. I plant my feet on the bed and squeeze my thighs together so I can keep the vibrator pinned there and use my other hand.

Now freed up, I grope at my tits with one hand, pinching my nipples hard and twisting them ruthlessly.

“God, fuck,” I pant, arching and squirming. “ More . Harder.”

I’m only talking to myself, but my hands respond like they’ve got minds of their own.

I bring my hand down in a slap against my chest, hitting my tits hard enough that the sound echoes. At the same time, I keep fucking myself with the dildo, and the room is filled with the sound of my needy moans and the wetness of the toy plunging in and out of me.

I let my movements get rougher and rougher, pushing myself to the limits as pleasure and sensation climb hot and high in my belly, threatening to overflow.

“Please,” I whimper again. “Oh fuck, please…”