And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2) (20 page)

I guess in the long run, his feeling of betrayal is nothing compared to mine. He believed unequivocally. Didn’t even bother to verify. Just accepted. Wholly.

Of course I do not fail, in this horrible realization of my former best friend, to realize how that had been me, and not even that long ago.

I too had accepted as fact unverified claims. Unsubstantiated statements and lies were made real and a feeling of ultimate duplicity had washed over me. I thankfully pulled my head out of my ass. I’ve righted my wrong.

I will continue to right my wrong for the rest of my life.

It’s too bad Nolan never thought to do the same.

I hear the little bell on the door jingle.

After moving in, Celia placed a tiny bell on the front door. When I’d asked her why, she said it was two-fold. The first, in case anyone tried breaking in, we’d hear it and know. It would hopefully deter the person any further too. While we had upgraded our home, it still existed in the Southside, still existed in an area not known for fancy residents. And second, she’d heard the bell kept bad spirits out and that given our history, we needed all the help we could get.

I think she thought I’d laugh at her for her belief. But I was right there with her. Any sort of luck we could find, I was willing to run with it for as long as possible.

Heading back toward the front room, I see the door open and a tired looking Cecelia stumble in. She looks tired. Worn down but I can’t tell if it’s just from her job, or if it’s because of something more sinister.

“Hey.” My voice is rough, showing my nerves.

“Hi.”

Celia moves further into our apartment, walking past me to the bedroom, shrugging her top over her head as she goes. I watch her remove her bra, sigh in relief from having the restricting garment no longer on, before moving to strip off her pants and shoes. She’s not wearing panties, per usual, so she’s standing before me naked. As much as I always want her, something is going on, tempering my typical thirst for her. I remain quiet as she rummages through the drawers pulling out a pair of sleep shorts and tank top.

I remain silent as she goes through her nightly routine. I remain close-lipped as she works hard to keep up pretenses that everything is fine with her. Of course, what she fails to realize is since everything went down, I’ve made it my mission to make sure I know her mannerisms, her tells inside and out.

“How was your night?”

“Fine.”

I’m curious as to why she’s avoiding me. “Just fine? Nothing happened? No visitors?” She shakes her head and I frown. “Then what’s going on?”

A shrug. “Just a feeling.” I cock an eyebrow, imploring her to continue. “I didn’t see
him
. Like at all. I kept watch, had the bouncers watching too, not that they’d be able to tell with the crowd. But nothing.”

“Then what was the feeling?”

“Fife,” she responds and I am not prepared for this answer. “I don’t know if it was him or not, but I thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye once or twice. And I kept feeling like someone was watching me, like if was Fife watching. It freaked me out but I couldn’t prove he was there.”

“Fife?” I repeat like a dumbass.

“The bar was really crowded. Jeena and I were overrun most of the night. So I thought I was imagining things. But I swear he was there.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide and tinged with uncertainty that stems more from anxiety than me not believing her. “It was like his stare was on me all night. Felt dirty.”

I pull her to me, wrapping my body around hers as though I can protect her this way. Celia is quite a bit shorter than me, fitting perfectly under my chin. When I hold her like this, I feel like I can protect her, feel like I can keep her safe. It may not be true, but feeling like I can is helping to calm those nerves she stirs inside me.

And with uncertainty about Fife, about why he would be stalking her at work, I need this moment as much as she does. Because I have a bad feeling about all of this and there’s no way for me to shake it either.

TWENTY-ONE

Celia doesn’t have the feeling of being watched the rest of the week. By our stalker, or Fife. She goes to work, comes home, and tells me everything is fine. Everything feels normal. Honestly. She doesn’t understand it. Neither do I. What’s the game? The motive? And why, for that matter.

              By the time Friday shows, there’s a false sense of calm trying to cover us. Of course given the trajectory of our lives, we know not to believe the calm. Not only is that dangerous, it’s downright foolish. It’s a trap of the worst kind.

              So when we reach the fights Friday night, neither of us is surprised to see Bryant or Bryson standing amongst the group of guys looking to fight and slipping their names into the draw.

              “I can scratch tonight, if you want me to.”

              Eyes on Bryant or Bryson, though working to not be obvious about it, she shakes her head. “No. No, scratching would mean he’s getting to us. I don’t want him to think you’re not fighting just because he’s here.”

              “What if he tries to talk to you, corner you?” I don’t want to be distracted in the middle of a fight worrying he’ll talk to her or too distracted by the fight to miss seeing him get to her. Either way, I’ll be more than useless during any match. And I hate to fight that way.

              “He won’t,” she promises and I can’t help my skepticism.

              “You know this how?”

“He won’t because there are too many people here. Maybe before, when there were less people around to watch he would have, especially with the way things were.” She says this with a quiet sigh and my heart clenches. “But look at how many people are here now.” I do as she says, pushing aside the anguish I feel, and see that though it’s been months since my fights with Brutal and Fife, the crowds have not waned. Even with the cooling nights. “Trust me, Chace.”

              “You entering tonight?” Before I can respond to Cecelia, Stretch is standing beside me, hat out, waiting.

              I sigh heavily. I really don’t want to. I’d rather hang back tonight, see if the asshole is selected and then if he is, watch him. Instead of doing that though, I grab a scrap of paper, scribble my name and throw it the hat. “Yeah. I’m entering.”

              In the end, I’m not selected. Neither is our nemesis. But he still hangs out. Still hangs out and keeps a lecherous gaze on us.

              It’s infuriating as fuck.

              This deranged act continues for two more weeks.

              Bryant or Bryson shows to the fights. Puts his name in to be called and in the end, isn’t selected. Given the amount of people clamoring for a shot, I’m not surprised. I mean I’m not selected either. And that’s fine. I’m good with it. Means I can keep an eye on Celia, keep an eye on the crowd and specifically keep an eye on Bryant or Bryson or whatever the fuck his name is. And with what I’ve won, I’m not in need of a match. Apparently, the asshole is though.

              “I think you’re rigging this,” he shouts at Stretch after names have been called and fights decided. I’d been in the process of telling Celia we should head home instead of sticking around this time when he explodes. “You got something against me or something? Huh? You stupid cripple. How’d you get the bum leg, huh? Get involved with someone you shouldn’t have? Try moving in on someone else’s property? Someone teach you a lesson, huh?”

              “You need to back off,” Toby tells him though the jackass ignores him with a shove, as he continues to press in on Stretch.

              “Come on, I want to fight. When am I gonna get a shot.”

              “You get a shot like everyone else. You put your name in, slips are drawn at random. You haven’t been random enough to be picked,” I hear Stretch tell Bryant or Bryson, irritation thick in his tone. “You keep this up, you won’t ever get picked. Mark my words.”

              “Ooh, what are you gonna do? Huh? Fucking cripple.” He laughs like he’s so fucking funny. But no one else is laughing. I hear some of the other guys lambasting him, calling him a tweaker, calling him a piece of shit. Others tell him to get lost. He doesn’t listen. “You can’t do nothing, you fucking cripple. Got your ass kicked and now you’re nothing but a pussy. See what you get when you intrude, huh? See?
See
?”

              Bryant or Bryson’s words rankle. He keeps referring to Stretch’s injuries, and how he received them. They make the hair stand up all over my body. I may not know Stretch very well, and he may keep what happened completely to himself, but he’s not a user. Not even weed. Says it gives him tunnel vision so he doesn’t do more than drink a beer on occasion. So I doubt he was trying to hit anyone up for drugs. So what the fuck does this jackass mean about being involved with someone he shouldn’t have? I can’t place it and it’s pissing me off. Just like the asshole spewing the words is doing.

              But a part of me wonders. Wonders if Bryant or Bryson or whatever, or at least the people he knows are the ones who hurt Stretch. It’d be too coincidental if true, but I never believed in coincidences before anyhow.

              “I want a match next week. I know you can set it up.” He tells Stretch but as he says it, he looks my and Cecelia’s way. “I want a match, a challenge set for next week.”

              “Whatever, asshole.”

              With a wink in our direction, the fucker finally leaves.

              “God, he is disgusting.” Celia shivers and I know it’s not from the cold. I agree with her and then finally get around to asking if she wants to leave. She nods and we meet up with Stretch to tell him we’re going.

              “Can you believe that guy?” he asks and I shake my head. “What the hell was he talking about, you know? Fucking druggies.”

              I don’t let his words get to me. He doesn’t know and honestly, this guy is a different breed than us. So I shake off the comment and our shame. “We’re heading out. Done with the drama for the night.”

              “Gotcha. See you guys next week.”

              “Yeah, we’ll catch you later.”

With that we leave.

              Hightail it home to be with each other. To forget this night and all the ridiculousness it brought. We barely make it through the front door before we’re all over each other, giving in to our need.

The rustle of sheets, the sound of sweat slick skin against sweat slick skin. The scent of sex and desire combine, ready for explosion.

“You feel so good. Too good. I want to come inside you so badly.”

Heavy pants break against the night. Breathy moans, and chest-deep grunts and groans create a symphony in the streetlight lit dark. Truths and vows made of reinforced steel are set.

“Chace,” she gasps against my lips, her body quaking in completion.

“Celia,” I exhale as I join her in bliss.

We lay, our bodies still tethered, me atop her trembling form, my head resting in the crook of her neck. The slight flutters of her internal walls have me shivering from sensitivity. I don’t want to move from this spot and I know with the way her hands still clutch at my back, she wants me to stay put. Lifting my head to brush lips against lips, I instinctively thrust forward, my hips rocking of their own volition.

I may have just come. I may have just come for the third time tonight, but I’ve no doubt I’ll be hard again, hard and wanting in no time. My body craves Cecelia like she’s water or air. My heart loves her heart. My soul knows her soul. My mind thirsts for her mind. And my body, as it begins to stir for her once again, my body aches for her body.

I want my mouth, my tongue, my fingers, my cock buried inside of her every moment of every day, making her cry out in ecstasy. I want to feel her mouth, her pussy tugging my piercing, giving me that pleasurable pain only she’s capable of. She’s my addiction. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Slowly rocking my hips, letting my erection build, letting her work through her own sensitivity, I kiss her again. “I love you, Cecelia. I love you so fucking much.”

“Oh God,” she gasps, breaking our kiss and throwing her head back. I take advantage of her exposed neck, letting my lips trail kisses against her soft skin, and my teeth nibble against her flesh. “Fuck! I love you too.”

“Mmm. You feel so fucking good baby.” I’ve marked her and I know she’ll be pissed because of her job, but I want to be all over her. Just like she wants me to be. I was never possessive or domineering before. It took losing Cecelia to bring the caveman out of me. I won’t lose her again. She will have to send me away before I ever go a moment without her.

“Oh God, Chace.” She writhes under me, her breasts pushed against my chest. I move to take a nipple into my mouth, tugging the hard, pierced bud until she starts gulping for air. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.”

“Oh yeah. Come for me. I love it when you come all over my cock,” I command though I know I can’t just demand it to happen, my ego isn’t
that
big. Still, Cecelia has always loved it when I talk dirty to her and now is no exception. With a strangled cry, I feel her whole frame begin to quake. It’s enough to send me over the edge again too, though my orgasm is not nearly as explosive this time around after having just come only moments earlier. It doesn’t matter though. As long as she’s satisfied, I am too.

It really is amazing to me the stamina I have with her. I wonder idly if it has something to do with fighting, keeping up my strength, because it certainly would help. But then I wonder if it’s just Cecelia. Because no other woman makes me feel this way.

Porn turns me on. It turns Cecelia on too. But I get hard
for
Cecelia. I honestly feel like there might be something wrong with me, the way my brain, my desire is so devoted to this woman. Because shouldn’t a man have the compulsion, at least once in his life, to look elsewhere, even if he never actually travels elsewhere?

I don’t know. And in so many ways, I don’t care to because I don’t want it to take away from this, from here.

Lust, love, the insatiable need to be with her, inside her. Every second of every moment.

It’s unnerving and overwhelming and I am terrified to lose it. Terrified to lose her.

And right now, there is a threat against us. A threat we need to find a way to defeat before it can defeat us.

Flopping onto my side to keep from crushing her, I watch the staccato rise and fall of her chest. The way her nipple rings glint from the streetlight and our sweat. She’s so fucking beautiful I want to cry. There is nothing in this world or the next that I wouldn’t do for her.

I hope she knows this. I hope she understands this. Because she is my whole world and I’ve already experienced a life without her. I can’t go back to that. I refuse to. And she needs to know exactly how important she is to me. Because I will never ever allow her to feel inferior again. I will never allow her to feel as though I see her that way. I will never allow her heart to be broken, not by me or anyone.

And I will never allow anyone to bring harm or humiliation to her because they are a sick and twisted fuck looking to manipulate two people who once upon a time were almost beyond broken and the situation presented itself to have advantage taken of it.

No. It won’t happen.

Trailing my thumb across her bottom lip, I speak softly but firmly to her, “I would kill for you, Cecelia. I would walk through the very fires of Hell for you. Just say the word.”

Her eyes land on my face. She’s studying me, working through my words, my sincerity and what it can do for her. Though she’s still catching her breath, I see a determination set there that had been lost amidst her fear on the street as she exposed a truth we were too fucked up to remember. And then her words, though quiet, soft, reiterate it. “I want him dead, Chace.”

“As you wish.”

We stare at each other for a long time. Searching. Seeing. Understanding. Accepting.

Bryson or Bryant or whatever the fuck his name is, he’s going to die. This is not a joke. This is not a game. These are not words spoken in the heat of the moment but mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. This asshole wants to use us. He wants to take advantage of a moment from years ago for his own personal gain. He wants to destroy us. It won’t happen.

We’re going to need a plan. We’re also going to need to find out how he came to be back in our lives and why he said the things he did. What everything means.

He doesn’t know it, but he picked the wrong people to fuck with.