Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Because she’s mine.
Not Denver’s.
Not Wolf’s or Kody’s.
Mine.
A sticky, snarling, possessive sensation pulls through me. For the first time in my life, I want something for myself.
I want her, and I don’t want to fucking share her.
No need to tell her that. She can feel the meat of it jabbing against her stomach. Christ almighty, I’ve never been this hard.
“Leo, please, no.” Tears well in her eyes as she rapidly shakes her head. “I don’t want this. Please, don’t hurt me. I just lost my baby. I love my husband, and—”
I slap a hand over her mouth. “Your husband no longer exists. Marriage doesn’t exist. We have no laws, no borders, and no gods here. This is your life now. Your future. Don’t speak of him again.”
She blinks. Her nostrils pulse, and several tears drip down my fingers.
“I need to fuck you right now, right up against this wall.” I thrust my hips, crushing her against the unforgiving surface. “You’re overpowered, and you know it.”
Her eyes drift closed for a span of heartbeats. When they reopen, she meets my stare with glinting ferocity, promising she won’t go down without a fight.
It’s a fight I’d relish, and the thought alone nearly makes me come.
The instant I remove my hand from her mouth, she seethes.
“You told me to stay away from you. To stay away from all of you.” She thrashes against me. “I’m trying, and you’re clearly not! What is this? A symptom of your mental disorder? You’re breaking your own goddamn rule!”
She’s right. That rule applies to me more than anyone else. I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop fantasizing about what-ifs.
“I can’t stay away from you.” I can’t stop myself from kissing her. Hard.
She tries to bite me, which only compels me to steal another taste, this time with teeth and a firm grip on her jaw. My kiss is brutal, piercing her bottom lip and drawing blood on the inner flesh.
She whimpers, her little fists beating against my chest.
“You asked me what I want from you.” I release her and step back, tucking my hard-on beneath my waistband. “I want you to remember that I didn’t fuck you against that wall. I may be a mean, heartless monster or whatever else you call me, but I didn’t rape you. There will come a time, sometime soon, when I tell you to do something important. When that time comes, I want you to remember this moment.”
We breathe at each other, battling without words. Fuck me, but I’m enjoying this. Our chemistry, my clawing hunger, her passionate rancor. She invigorates me like nothing ever has.
Too soon, she wipes the wetness from her cheeks, straightens her shoulders, and gives me a reluctant nod.
“Say it.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Good.” I grab a canvas bag from the top shelf and collect the supplies from the floor.
After a few seconds, she releases a breath and helps me.
No words are spoken. I’m lost in thought, every moment of our kiss replaying in my head. It wasn’t enough. Not even close.
I watch her, not the mess we’re picking up. I feel her lips, not the supplies in my hands. I need her.
But now isn’t the time.
My surly, hardheaded brother needs her more.
21
Kodiak
—
The throbbing pain in my hand takes a back seat to Wolf’s mental health.
I sit on the floor of the room he shares with Leo, my back against the wall, watching him stare at the instrument on his lap. I’m relieved he’s holding his saxophone, not a weapon to harm himself. Though I can only imagine the harmful thoughts he’s entertaining right now.
“Wolf.” I start to stand, and the room topples sideways. “Talk to me.”
Lightheaded, I slump against the wall, and my wrapped hand falls on my stomach with a wet smack. Instant agony. Blurry vision. Fuck, I’ve lost too much blood.
He blows hard on the instrument, shutting me out with a bellow of noise. Then, as if I’m not here, he runs through a warm-up melody.
I can’t remember the last time he played. He doesn’t touch the instrument when Denver’s around.
I don’t want to play.
He wanted that knife in his hand to punish Denver.
If there’s one thing Denver cherishes more than anything else in the world, it’s listening to Wolf play. And that’s the problem.
Wolf does the opposite of what Denver wants.
The strange clothes, body drawings, punky Euro hair, chain-smoking. On the surface, Wolf is an eccentric, rebellious jokester, seemingly carefree and youthful, but it’s all a facade. An attempt to repel Denver’s attention and hide the swamp of sadness bubbling inside him.
Shadows cling to him. Damage bleeds from him. My brother has never been okay.
Denver knows he’s sinking. We all do. But only Wolf knows how deep the destruction goes. He won’t let us in.
I should’ve let him take the punishment tonight. He’ll never forgive me for intervening. But I couldn’t stomach it. He’s suffered enough.