Broken Pretty Things by Amber Faye

Chapter 45

As soon aswe get back to the Rayne house, Gunnar walks wordlessly away. I follow him to the entrance to the basement. “How long are you going to make me stay here?” I ask.

He gives me a puzzled look over his shoulder. “I thought you understood. The security here is better. You’re here until it’s safe.” He opens the door and switches on the light, heading down the stairs. He doesn’t shut me out, so I follow him down into the basement and lean against the wall as he searches through a closet.

“Can you just …” My sentence fades into nothing. I try not to watch as he pulls off his damp suit jacket, white shirt, and then his pants. His body is fit, muscular. He spends more time at the home gym in the next room than he spends with his family. He glances to me and catches me staring, head leaning sleepily against the wall, and he smirks at the same time as the bulge in his boxers starts to grow.

“Can I just what?” he teases, hooking his thumb under the waistband. “Can you give me some privacy?” Blushing, I turn, but I hear a laugh and I feel his hands at my waist, pulling me away from the steps, turning me around to face him.

He slides his boxers down his legs, his cock thick and hard by the time they’re kicked from his ankles onto the floor. He stands in front of me.

I haven’t seen him like this yet. Completely naked, fully lit. He stands tall, his legs apart, the dusting of dark hair leading from his belly button to his hand, drawn to his cock like a magnet. “You’re perfect,” I mutter, but it comes out angrier than I meant it to. That just makes him laugh. A thought emerges from the deepest parts of my mind as he turns away from me, digging around for new dry clothes.

“If I was as perfect as you, I think I wouldn’t have been so scared of the thought of being with you.” I don’t know why I said that out loud. “Actually, I know I wouldn’t have.” He frowns, pulling on shorts, and then spins to me.

“Are you kidding?” he asks. I meet his look, confused. “You know how hard it was to be best friends with someone like you? To be in love with someone like you? The whole school wanted you. And you treated me like a brother. A protector.”

I sit down hard on the couch. “You didn’t like that?” I wet my lips. “I’m sorry …”

He’s on the couch with me in a few steps, and he pulls my face close to his so we can breathe each other in. “The brother thing? I didn’t care at first, but when I did, I really did. Being your protector?” He gently takes my hand and rests it on his erection. “I fucking loved that.” Then we’re kissing again, and my head is swimming with confusion, and I pull away from the warm softness of his lips.

“But you stopped. You became the opposite.”

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

“No matter what your intentions were, or what you thought you were doing … You know we’re not OK,” I say slowly, “right? Just because we—”

He stops me from finishing with another gentle kiss. “I know,” he says, softly, his thumb stroking my cheek. “I’m going to figure this out.” I don’t know what that means, but he stretches out on the couch behind me, intertwining our fingers and bringing them up to his lips to kiss my knuckles.

“Relax,” he commands, though his voice is low and soft. I stretch out my legs, feeling the cool touch of his storm-soaked skin against my back, my legs. I feel my body start to warm him.

“I think it just passed midnight,” I say, sinking into his arms. He presses his lips against my hair. “Happy birthday, Gunnar.”

“Thank you,” he says. “And more importantly, Happy Halloween.” I let out a breathy laugh.

“The truth from now on?” I ask.

“The truth, I promise.” He kisses my temple. “I really do promise. If you do.”

“I promise,” I mumble, turning away from him. His hands slide over my hips and he pulls me back into the cradle of his lap, until I’m cupped completely by his full body. I can feel the heat of his cock against my ass and I hate how much I want to push back against him and feel more. “Well … I’ll tell you the truth, or I’ll tell you I can’t.”

“That works for me,” he says, which almost surprises me.

Then his hand reaches around to run between my thighs. “First truth, although it’s probably pretty clear by now: I have wanted you so bad for so long.” He pushes himself against me harder. I squirm against his fingers, feeling them brush against me through the leggings I pulled on after I showered.

I almost don’t, but then, “Me too,” I admit sorely, and he lets out a breath in a hot rush and clamps his teeth lightly on the side of my neck.

“How long?” he asks.

“Since …” I feel my cheeks heat up. “Last year, at a party— This is creepy as fuck,” I begin, at a mumble.

“You saw Elisa Marks suck my dick,” he continues for me, hands trailing over my suddenly hardened nipples. My eyes fly open wider.

“How do you know that?”

“And,” he says, breath hot on my ear, “it turned you on so fucking much you couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

I gasp, partly at the sensations he’s pulling out of me, partly because there’s no way he could know that. “How?”

With a low chuckle, he says, “You told me. Drunk. Well, sort of told me. I read between the lines.”

“Jeez,” I say, covering my face with my hands. “That’s mortifying.”

“Not at all.” His hips buck against me. “That’s actually when I …”

“What?” I turn a little and he catches my lips in his for a moment that sends tingling through my entire body.

“It’s funny. Usually people have a moment, maybe a couple moments, where they realize they’re falling in love. Instead, I had a moment where I realized I’d been in love with you since I could remember.” His words stir something in my chest, but I don’t say anything. “A moment where I realized that what I felt about you wasn’t the benchmark of a good friendship, or some sacred thing that would be ruined by losing myself inside you.”

He buries his face in the back of my neck, inhaling me, sounding wounded. “But that everything before or during or after you would be pale and numb and nothing, and there was nothing I could do to stop that. No matter what. Because I had already loved you every minute of every day since I met you.”

He kisses my neck. “And I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry. I loved you and I lost you and I was so, so mad, and then I was just nothing.”

He pushes down my pants, my underwear, and then lifts his hips as I reach behind me and help him push down his shorts. Then his head is pressing against me again. Insistent, his hips rolling. His fingers tap at my clit, sliding down to gather wetness and then up again to circle me.

I turn my head, muffling my face, teary, in the arm of the couch and angle myself better. The next instinctive thrust of his hips pushes him an inch inside me, and he grunts, his fingers pushing against me so hard I gasp. “You break me down, you shatter me into something I don’t recognize.” He pulls back and pushes deeper inside me. “I need that.”

I groan, resting my hand on his hand, feeling his fingers toy with me. Then his hips are rolling, his cock delving deeper and deeper into my already soaked pussy with every wavelike motion. He licks at the place on my neck he already marked, whispering filthy things about the way my pussy is clenching, throbbing, squeezing his cock. My mouth hangs open, a silent cry as he fills me. Stretches me. His hips beat a loud, slapping rhythm into my ass.

“Fuck.” It comes out in a desperate, heavy exhale, and he turns us so he’s underneath me, pounding into me from below. His strong hands raise me up a couple of inches above him so he can drive into me, his knee drawing up and then kicking down as shudders start to rip through his body. “I’m going to fuck you all night, Killer,” he pants, letting me go with one hand so I fall at an angle, and then mercilessly rubbing my clit with two soaked fingertips until I’m gyrating, thighs apart, head leaning back. The nickname is ridiculous, but in the moment it feels good. Like we’re owning everything that happened. “And then every fucking day after that.”

I come hard, squeezing his cock, and I hear a guttural, helpless noise behind me, and then feel a hot rush deep inside me as he empties himself. I trail my hand down his body, between our legs, and feel his balls jumping as his cock spasms. Come spills onto my fingers from where our bodies meet.

We catch our breath, still locked, limbs tangled, his teeth scraping up and down my neck. When I finally move to pull us apart, he stills me with a hand on my lower stomach. “I always want to be inside you,” he says, and then rubs my clit again, making my hips roll. “You feel so fucking good,” he adds at a whisper, letting his head fall back on the arm of the couch. “I—”

Buzzing distracts him. His phone is ringing. Who still has a ringer on their phone? He torturously parts us, turning my head and kissing me as he blindly grabs for it, and then holds it to his ear. “What?”

He listens for a second, and then his brow scrunches in confusion. Then they shoot up. “Fuck,” he says. “Where?” He shoots off the couch and I’m almost swept onto the floor as he gets dressed, hopping as he pulls shorts back on. “Baby,” he says, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me.

“Baby?” I repeat. We used to make fun of people who called each other baby. But the pet name coming from him made my stomach flip. Maybe I get it, after all. And is it better than Killer? Probably.

“Get dressed, we have to go get Ransom again.”

* * *

“Oh, damn,”I say, and get up to get dressed quickly, too. I smooth out my hair, but it was still wet from the shower and I rubbed it against the couch cushions, so it’s going to look a little wild no matter what I do. “He get stuck at the gala?”

“I guess he didn’t stick around. He snuck out with a couple other kids before the buffet.” He throws one of his sweatshirts at me and I catch it, smiling slightly before I put it on. It smells like him. “One of them just called me and said he’s cracked out.”

“Shit,” I say, hurrying after him up the stairs. I forgot shoes, but it doesn’t matter a lot if we’re just going in the car, so I don’t say anything. I rush across the wet gravel of the driveway, wincing at my stupid decision.

“Come on, come on,” he says, ducking into the car and slamming the door. I get in too, rubbing my feet on the carpet, and he slams the car into drive, screeching out as soon as the gates open.

He gets back on his phone as soon as we’re clear. “Did you guys call an ambulance?” he asks as soon as someone answers. “Yeah, don’t worry about that. He’s more important. I’ll be there soon.” He nods at the clock in the car, even though they can’t see it. “I’m 18 now. I can sign him out of the hospital and none of the parents have to know, OK?”

He hangs up and I run my fingers through my hair. “Is this smart, Gunnar? Shouldn’t we call your …” I trail off, nauseous suddenly as I think about the stuff his dad had been saying on the phone. About how I’d gone to the police. I swallow.

“No,” he says roughly, and it could either be to me or to the phone. He ends the call and jams the phone in the cup holder, speeding up until we get to the rougher side of town again, running a stop sign.

“Gunnar,” I snap, hooking my fingers inside my seatbelt. His knuckles are white on the wheel, his teeth on his lip.

“Come on, just wait for me,” he’s muttering, and pain knots in my throat.

“Is he OK?”

“I don’t fucking know,” he says, a lot sharper and louder than he needs to. Then he looks at me and tangles his fingers in his hair, elbow leaning on the window. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” I ask him. “Yell all you want.” I crane my neck, hoping to see teenagers, street lights, anything. “Did they call an ambulance yet?”

“Yes,” he says. “But they fucking waited.” The GPS asks him to take a left, and then chimes that we have arrived. He hauls himself out of the car, and then freezes and sticks his head back inside, holding his hands out. “Do me a favor. Wait here. Duck down. I don’t know where JJ is.”

“I can handle JJ goddamn Waller,” I protest, unclipping my seatbelt.

“Sit the fuck down, Andie,” he shouts. “Will you just do what I say?”

I frown after him as he slams the door shut. Hating feeling like a child, I let myself slide down lower in the seat. The windows are tinted, and the street is dark. I fold my arms around my chest. Outside, I hear helpless shouting. A scream. The smash of a glass. Then I hear the commanding bass of Gunnar’s voice. I cover my mouth with my hand and feel anger, confusion, worry curl around my limbs and threaten to bring tears to my eyes.

I have always hated how my body’s first response to anguish, fury, pretty much any emotion, has been to cry. I blink them back and pop the door, climbing out and jogging over to the lifeless-looking figure on someone’s front lawn.

“Ran,” I say, my feet slapping wet concrete. I kneel at his feet and Gunnar is holding him, patting his pale cheek. “Not like that,” I say, taking the younger Rayne kid and setting him into the recovery position. His head to the side in case he pukes. Gunnar is panicking too much to do anything. The rest of the kids are no help; drunk and high and wailing and cursing.

“Andie, get the fuck out of here,” I’m barely aware of him shouting. “He—”

“Did he throw up?” I ask them. One of the girls, mascara streaking her face, shakes her head hard. “Ransom. Sweetheart.” His dark hair is obscuring his eyes, which are open just a crack. His lips are parted, pale. I lower my ear to his mouth.

“Andie,” Gunnar shouts again.

I straighten up and yell, “Shush, everybody shut the hell up.” The teenagers stop squealing and I lower my head again. I feel breath. Blue flashing lights round the corner, just as a group of people run over.

“The hell’s happening here? Mina, Lana?” I recognize that voice. I straighten up, gesturing for everybody to move away from Ransom. He’s in the recovery position, nothing is blocking his airways. My heart is pounding, but there’s nothing else we can do here.

“Dimitri?” I say, squinting into the small crowd that’s beginning to gather in a circle around us. A couple of them are wearing sweatshirts emblazoned with the logo of Westerley High’s football team, the Redhawks.

“Is that Rayne? He take too much? I told him to go fuckin’ slow.” He looks around, holding a beer aloft and staggering a little. He sees Gunnar and his face splits into a grin. “Hey, it’s the other Rayne.”

“What did you give him?” Gunnar asks, his voice calm. I grab his wrist.

“Uhh,” Dimitri says, and then his heavy eyes widen as some realization hits him. “Hey, dude, it’s all cool.” He holds up his hands, his beer sloshing. “It’s all cool here. We’re buds. You and me. Me and him. You and him.”

“What did he take?” Gunnar asks, louder. “Fucking look at him, Dimitri. What did he take?”

The ambulance has stopped. Paramedics are rushing over. “Um, I dunno. Maybe a pill. Xanny. A line of coke. Maybe two.” He blinks hard. “Hopefully not two, or more, because that shit’s fucking pure. But you know him.” He almost falls into a nearby girl, and brushes against her tit. She gasps. “Shit, sorry,” he says. “Hi. Hey. Dimitri.”

Gunnar is a blur. On the dimly-lit lawn, the two guys roll around for a second before Gunnar rears up, pinning the slightly larger boy with his knees, pulls back his fist, and hammers into his face. He gets two loud, cracking punches in before I reach him, but I can’t pull him off. He’s stiff, heavy, unresponsive with rage. When he yanks his arm back for a third hit, he throws me back in the same motion, and I slip on the wet grass and land on my ass.

“Kid, kid,” a paramedic is yelling, and then two guys are heaving Gunnar off Dimitri. He struggles, kicks out, but they slam him into the grass, on his front, his arm twisted behind his back.

Even in the dark I can see something very clearly: My stepbrother is not moving. Something thick and dark covers most of his face, streaking over his pale cheek in the moonlight and soaking into the ground.