Page 42 of Speechless
Sire slammed the phone down and felt little satisfaction as the plastic shell exploded beneath the force. He needed bigger things to smash, more malleable forms to pulverize into bloody mush. Bones to twist and break, blood to paint on the walls.
Twenty-Two’s tally was growing rapidly, big black marks slashed through her name in his book of records. From a blank sheet of misdemeanors to a whole fucking page of sins, she would have to pay for each and every one tainting her record, shattering his faith in her.
She’d run. She’d evaded his search parties for nearly three weeks. Now she’d signed her death warrant in her own blood, daring to speak—major strike one—and having the audacity to give his name to the police—major strike two.
Sire didn’t offer second chances. Minor infractions were punished by violent means, often pushing his temper past breaking point. Major infractions were an automatic trip to the woods with the replacement in tow to witness the dispatch of his property. Luckily, most numbers fucked up royally toward the end of their term when their usefulness already waned.
Twenty-Two’s time was running into overtime. Not for much longer.
Chapter Nine
By the time Thursday night rolled around, Connor was battered, bruised, a little drunk, and back on an even keel. He’d been a young, fit teenager the last time he’d settled on the back of a bucking bull, full of piss and vinegar, but with an aptitude for the sport.
Several years down the line—definitely not as young, not quite as fit, and with considerably less piss and vinegar—the thrill of hurtling through the air on the back of a two-thousand-pound bull hadn’t waned in the slightest.
Of course, the landings were enough to rattle his teeth, and he’d taken a hoof or two in places he wished he hadn’t, but for the most part he remained unscathed.
Christ knew he hadn’t laughed so much or as hard for far too long.
Jenna remained a constant thought in his head.
He wondered if Sarah had persuaded her to eat while he and Cain enjoyed barbequed beef. Worried over whether she would have a nightmare and look for him as he drank himself into a drunken, stumbling stupor and almost drowned himself in the hot tub.
She’d woven herself into every fiber of his being.
“Ready to go home tomorrow?” Cain leaned back in the hot tub, beer in hand, and gave Connor a thorough once-over with assessing gray eyes a shade lighter than his own. “Gotta admit, you don’t look ready to hang yourself anymore.”
“I needed this,” Connor admitted, settling deeper into the bubbling water. Muscles ached in ways he hadn’t felt in forever. “Maybe I was closer to breaking point than I thought.”
“Nomaybeabout it, Con. You were done.”
Yeah. Yeah, he’d been done. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge he’d pushed himself well past his limits. What man did? Pride came from the knowledge he was able to support himself, his mate, a family. It was a primal response.
“I failed her, Cain. We took some small steps forward, all was good. Made a huge leap and sent her spinning back. Left her spinning, couldn’t find a way to help her, get through to her.” He chugged half the beer, sighed. “We’ll both have a rude awakening when I get home.”
Cain lifted an eyebrow. “Going to let the Dominant out for a play?”
Connor choked on a mouthful of beer. What the hell? “How the fuck do you know that?”
His brother shrugged nonchalantly, as unaffected by the knowledge as he was about anything else that might rock the waters of his world. “I spend my life in a bar, bro. I hear everything, see everything, and have my finger on the town pulse. Rumors started around the time that bitch slunk her skank ass back to wherever you found her; I canned most of them. None of the Creek’s business how you get your rocks off. Caleb was harder to convince.”
Now his jaw dropped. Jesus, he’d thought…everyone knew? All the effort he went through to conceal that side of himself, bottling up an innate part of himself, and the damn townknew? “You went up against Cal?”
“Head to head.” Cain snorted and drank. “We have a pious asshole for a brother, you know that right? Gave me the third degree on my own sexual exploits, wanted to know if I’d taken the same track as you. I told him what you needed was nothing to do with either of us, and the fact I’m basically a male slut shouldn’t bother him. He sure can turn a dark shade of red when he’s pissed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d gone a round with him?”
“Wasn’t worth mentioning. I shut him down, told him to keep his mouth shut if he didn’t want personal details of his own migrating around the Creek. Besides, you’re a world apart from me and Cal, Connor. Things like this, you take to heart. Fret over. Worry over them from every angle.” Kicking his legs out, Cain leaned his head back against the edge of the tub. “Caleb, he doesn’t give a fuck about much anymore. He’s bitter, rotten at the core. Don’t know if it’s police work, or just general dissatisfaction with himself, but he’s not the brother we grew up with. Me? I live my life how I want, fuck who I want when I want. My theory is, I’ll get what I want until I get what’s coming to me.”
“That’s a lot of wanting,” Connor murmured. He took a slow sip of beer this time, mulled over the data bomb dropped into his lap. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Seems like the night for answers.”
It took a second to formulate it without coming across like a dick. They were brothers, but even brothers could take offense. “Did it change your opinion of me, when you found out what I am?”
“What, like was I prepared to kneel at your feet and kiss them?” Cain laughed uproariously and, amazingly, Connor felt his lips curve in response. “Dude, I get it. I’ve dabbled. The whole control thing doesn’t work for me. There’re facets, I know, but…it’s nice for the woman to be in charge sometimes, you know? Without all that topping from the bottom shit or wondering if she’s crossed a line. I’d rather be the one chained to the bed, letting her do what the fuck she wants with me, than deal with the tending afterwards. Aftercare, right?”
“Yeah,” Connor confirmed absently.