Twisted Complications by Nikita Parmenter
Chapter Twelve
Istare up at bedroom ceiling. Both Trick and Luc are snoring on either side of me and normally I’d be right there with them. We spent the evening watching movies until Rage had to leave for his job. As soon as he walked out of the door, I felt twitchy. Admittedly I’m worried about him. I know that he said it was simple retrieval, but I really wish he would’ve taken someone with him. I don’t like the idea of him being by himself.
It’s ridiculous to be worrying about someone who does this as regularly as he does and who clearly has mixed feelings about me. One minute he’s treating me with cold indifference and the next, he’s sounding impressed and advocating for me. He’s a strange mix. I think that sometimes I make him nervous like he doesn’t quite know what to make of me.
I lie there for a bit longer before deciding that it really is useless and I’m not going to be getting any sleep. I slowly get up, being careful not to disturb Trick and Luc. Once I make it to the end of the bed, I grab Luc’s hoodie and pull on some sleep shorts before quietly making my way out of the room and downstairs, figuring that warm milk might help me get to sleep or failing that at least it will give me something to do. The house is silent, everyone fast asleep like I should be. I leave all of the lights off apart from the ones in the kitchen, cooking in the dark is not a good idea and bound to end in disaster.
My bare feet are chilly against the tile of the kitchen floor, and I briefly entertain the idea of going back upstairs to grab some socks but dismiss it quickly, I don’t want to wake the guys up.
Setting the milk to heat on the stove, I search the cupboards to see if I can find any honey. Milk and honey is the classic sleepy drink right?
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think anyone would still be up.” Rage suddenly says from behind me, making me jump.
“Holy shit dude, you’re like a damn ghost.” I mutter, turning the stove off before turning to face him. “Shit!” I exclaim.
Rage is leaning heavily on the doorframe, one arm wrapped around his ribs. Most likely meaning that he’s done some damage to them. His face is bruised, his knuckles bloody and split. The thing concerning me the most though, is the large gash on his forehead, even from here I can tell that it needs stitches.
“Sit down.” I order, grateful that he doesn’t try to argue with me for once and actually sits his ass down at the table.
I search through the cupboards, pulling out a medical kit, glass bowl, wash cloth, and whiskey. I carefully fill the bowl up with warm water aware that Rage is watching my every move and bring everything over to the table and take a seat near to him.
“It’s okay, I can do it.” He says swallowing nervously.
“You have a cut on your forehead that needs stitches. I have stitched up many wounds, mostly on myself. I promise you I can do it well enough that you’ll barely scar. If you’re worried about the needle you won’t even be able to see it.” I try to reassure him, before adding, “It’s pretty damn difficult to stitch up your own forehead.”
He stares at me intently. Searching for something in my eyes, I don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for, but he reluctantly nods.
“Good, clean the blood off your face while I get everything ready. Are your ribs, bruised or broken?” I ask, assuming that he’s had broken ribs before and knows the difference.
“Bruised.” He replies shortly as he dips the cloth into the warm water and begins to clean the blood off his face.
His eyes watch me like a hawk.
“What happened?” I ask quietly, still rummaging through the medic kit.
“It was an ambush, not for me but for the informant I was meeting. We both got out, but it was a fairly close call.” He explains, surprising me that he answered at all.
“Do you need to send a clean-up crew out to the location?” I ask.
His eyes snap up to mine as his gaze once again becomes assessing. “Already have.”
“Good, you need to move forward so I can reach. I found some numbing cream but it’s up to you if I use it.”
“No numbing creams.” He says his eyes going wide.
“If you’d rather I go get one of the guys to do it, I don’t mind.” I offer, starting to get the feeling that there’s more to this than not liking needles, it’s almost like a trauma response.
That thought sends anger flooding through me, but I quickly push it away, he does not need my anger right now. I watch as he takes a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes, when he opens them again, they’re filled with a steely determination that I admire.
“No, it’s okay, you can do it. Just talk to me whilst you work?” He grimaces as his voice trails off, like he’s embarrassed.
“Of course. Alright, I’m going to start now.” I warn him, moving slowly. He tenses and I try to think of ridiculous topics of conversation to put him at ease. “You know I could never finish watching titanic, it seems like an utterly ridiculous film to me. My favourite colour is black, and I’ll fight anyone who tells me it can’t be. I don’t get everyone’s obsession with chicken nuggets; I just don’t get it. When I was six before I left the boys, I desperately wanted to be a librarian, I love books. But even back then, I had terrible people skills.” I carry on listing ridiculous things about myself in a bid to distract him while I stitch up his cut.
I even catch a few miniscule smiles at some of the things I say.
“I don’t like puppies.”
“What, who doesn’t like puppies?” He gasps sounding completely outraged.
“It’s not that I like hate them or anything. I just prefer it when they get to the age where you’ve trained them, they don’t shit in the house anymore and you’ve had time to develop a proper bond with them.” I defend myself, “I like puppies, I just prefer it when they’ve grown up. Done.”
“That actually makes a weird kind of sense.” He mutters, reaching up to run his fingers lightly over the cut, “That was quick. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I say, getting trapped in his gaze, he leans closer before his eyes widen and he abruptly sits back, rubbing a hand through his curly, dark auburn locks.
“I better get going.” He mutters as he stands up and starts to head towards the door, I watch his retreating back, feeling confused.
We almost had a freaking moment then and I’m not quite sure how to handle it.
He pauses when he gets to the door, his hand on the handle ready to pull it open and make his escape. That is what he’s doing, he’s escaping from whatever the fuck that was. His back tenses and he looks over his shoulder at me.
“Do you miss him?” He asks, the question clearly important to him.
“Who?” I frown, not really understanding where he’s going with this.
He turns fully and leans back against the door, “Your father.”
“Oh, fuck no.” I growl and his eyes widen slightly as if he expected me to say something else. “It probably makes me the worlds shitiest person, but I am so grateful that he’s dead.”
I haven’t ever said that to anyone out loud before but its fucking true, I wanted to dance for joy when that cop told me he’d been killed. It may make me a shitty person, but I think after everything that asshole put me through, it’s understandable. My eyes roam over his face, unsure of where the question came from, he’s frowning heavily, his jaw clenching. He seems to be fighting himself over something.
Just as I think he’s going to say something, his shoulders sag slightly and he turns back to the door, pulling it open. Again, he hesitates, on the threshold. I want to tell him to just say whatever is on his mind, but I get the feeling that one word out of me and I’ll spook him, I may never know what this is about. Instead, I get up and walk further down the hallway, waiting.
“I was there.” He mutters, not looking back at me. His knuckles have turned white, he’s gripping the door so damn hard.
I tilt my head, “Where?”
“When your father was killed. It was a job, D ordered it. We knew he had been trying to get someone out of a shitty situation for a while. He got word that time had run out, so he called in a favour. I was the one that killed your father.” He says, his voice cold as he slams the door behind him.
What the fuck.
Rage
The sound of the door echoes behind me in the quiet of the night and I rush to the car like the coward I am. I don’t know why I decided to tell her the truth. I was there that night, I had specific orders to take out her father. Our fed contact got me all the gear and I seamlessly blended in with the rest of them. None of them even realised that I wasn’t really a cop.
I don’t regret it. He deserved to be taken out, what I do regret though is the way that Ever will see me now. She said she doesn’t miss him but that doesn’t mean that she won’t hate the person that took him out. I hope I haven’t just fucking dropped D in the shit too.
Why did I tell her?
I’m self-destructive, that’s fucking why. She was so gentle while she stitched me up, never accidentally on purpose pushing the needle too deep and instead of berating me and telling me how useless I am for getting hurt in the first place, she tried to distract me from it with silly facts about herself. Women have not been kind to me, so it baffles me that she would be. She wanted me there for family dinners and insisted I’m there every time someone goes on a job, like I’m actually a part of this family.
Me?
My mind spins as I speed through the quiet streets and back to my house. I make it there in record time, easing my sore body out of the car and into the house, finally, I get to my room, lock the door and collapse on my bed, my mind still torturing me.
I’m not worthy of being part of a family, I know that, but she makes me feel like I could be. Atlas is the closest thing I’ve had to family, ever. The women who raised me, hated me and I’ve never figured out why.
There’s a part of me that wanted to tell her because no matter how hard I try to keep my distance from her, there’s something about her that just keeps pulling me in. I didn’t want there to be this massive secret between us. I’d rather know that she hates me for it now instead of later, if I actually start to let my walls down around her, on purpose. She has an uncanny ability to make them crumble with no effort on her part.
I’m man enough to admit that it fucking terrifies me.
Send me on a job where there’s a high possibility that I’ll die, no problem, but put me up against Ever and I’m done for.
That’s where the self-destructive part of me comes in, if she hates me then I don’t have to deal with the feelings I’m developing for her. I know I can’t have her; she’s got seven men who love her. I’d never get in the way of that and I can’t even let myself think of the possibility of her including me as one of hers.
I stop my thought process right there, nothing good can come of that.
I close my eyes, resigned to a restless night’s sleep, I can’t even avoid her for a few days, Atlas wants me there tomorrow.
Fuck.
Ever
After Rage’s confession last night, it took me even longer to get to sleep. He didn’t give me a chance to reply, to thank him. It’s become my mission for today, he needs to know that I don’t hate him or any other ridiculous notion that may be going through his head. The bed dips behind me and I open my eyes, turning to face a shirtless Riot. I glance around realising that Trick and Luc have already gotten up, deciding to let me sleep. I vaguely remember them each kissing my cheek softly before they went.
“Good morning, Sunshine.” Riot greets me.
“Morning, what time is it?”
“Nearly lunch, Rafe sent me up to get you.” He smirks. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep last night.” I reply and he raises his eyebrow at me in question, “Worrying about Rage.” I admit.
“That’s understandable.” A knowing glint in his eyes but no animosity.
I frown, “Is it?”
“Yeah, Sunshine.” He reassures me.
I scoot closer to him, done with this conversation. My eyes greedily take in his bare chest, tracing the dips and grooves of his toned muscles. His eyes heat as he watches me admire him, I swing my leg over so that I’m straddling him and his hands grip my hips, his eyes make a searing path over my curves. I dip my head down and start to slowly kiss along his collar bone, his head tilts back as he runs large, rough palms up my back, dragging my shirt up and pulling it over my head in one swift move. Once my head is free, my mouth immediately claims his. His tongue swipes along the seam of my lips and I open up for him, my hips grinding down on his hard length, heat floods my core. His hand reaches between us, dipping into my underwear, he growls as his fingers slide through my wet folds.
He gently circles his fingers over my clit, moving tantalisingly slowly, driving me wild with his teasing touch.
“More, I need you inside me.” I breathe on a moan, already nearing the edge of the cliff. I want to come with him inside me.
The sudden tearing of my underwear makes me smirk against Riot’s lips as he easily tears them and throws them off to the side. I lift up slightly, my lips never leaving his as he removes his sweats, his hard cock springing free. I slowly lower myself back down onto him. We both groan as he’s fully sheathed in me. My walls clench around him and slowly start to move, loving the deliciously unhurried pace. His hips rise up to meet mine. I can feel my orgasm building as his hard length hits exactly the right place.
My mouth breaks from his as I rise up slightly and he raises his head, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth, and swirling his tongue around the pebbled peak. The sensation sends a zing of desire straight to my clit and my hips speed up, increasing the pressure, changing the angle slightly allowing him to go impossibly deeper. He kisses my neck, biting down and sending me hurtling over the edge and into an orgasm.
His thrusts speed up prolonging my orgasm as he reaches his, the friction making mine last longer than I thought possible. I collapse on top of him, my head in the crook of his neck as his arms wrap around me, holding me close. As our breaths slow, I tilt my head and look up at him.
“Are we late for lunch now?” I ask, smirking cheekily.
He chuckles, “Nah, he was only just starting to make it when he sent me up, we should probably hurry though.”
“Well, I’ve certainly worked up an appetite now.” I chuckle, moving off Riot and sitting on the edge of the bed, stretching. “I’m just going to shower quickly.”
“Okay, Sunshine. I’ll meet you downstairs?”
“Sounds, good.” I reply, starting to make my way into the bathroom. “Is Rage here yet?”
“Not yet, why?”
“I just need to talk to him.” I reply vaguely, not wanting to tell the guys what he told me last night until I’ve had a chance to talk to him myself.
His eyes fill with curiosity, but he just smiles softly and nods.
After a quick shower, I start to dress in some comfy sweats before remembering that we’re going to explore the bunker today. Instead, I opt for light blue, distressed skinny jeans, a grey loose oversized shirt and a dark blue zip up hoody. My doc martens are downstairs by the front door and perfect for exploring the bunker in. I quickly do my make up and throw my wet hair into a messy bun, I can’t be bothered to do much else with it right now.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me I missed breakfast as I make way downstairs. Not that long ago I would’ve been able to go days on the minimal amount of food that I could find, and my stomach wouldn’t start grumbling. A wave of gratitude over comes me at how far I’ve come since then. The added bonus of eating regularly, of course means that I actually have an ass now, I’m pretty fucking proud of that.