Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“Maybe I like to be roughed up. Maybe we were fucking and he—”
I pressed my hand over his mouth, unable to hear any more. He was trying to piss me off, trying to get under my skin, and it was working. Voice low, mouth close to his lips, I forced out, “Get in. The fucking. Truck.” Cyrus stilled against me, before a tremble ran the length of his body. I inhaled a deep breath, taking in the scent of him. The sweetness that was Cyrus and the fear, wrapped up in desire, was a heady combination that made my cock throb. “Now.”
When I pulled back slightly, our eyes met. He studied me, trying to make sense of this, make sense of me, but it was impossible. I wasn’t right. I was…unexplainable. The man who lived on the fringes.
Whatever he saw made a sigh fall from his lips before he got in.
I took the seat belt and wrapped it around him, clicking it closed.
“Are you trying to keep me from escaping? You know I can press a button.”
But he wouldn’t. I felt that deep in my bones. He wouldn’t because he didn’t want to.
I closed the door without a word, walked around, and got into the driver’s seat.
We were silent for the first few minutes as I headed toward the mountain. He fidgeted in his seat, and every once in a while, would raise his hand to cover his eye.
“I’m not weak. I might make stupid decisions, but I’m not weak, and I really can protect myself.”
I didn’t doubt that. Not in the least.
“It was my ex-boyfriend. I was feeling lonely. My mental health had taken a nosedive, and I called him. He also was my supplier when I did drugs. He brought coke, and I almost did it. He wanted to fuck and didn’t want to take no for an answer. I never should have called him. It was my stupid mistake.”
My hands ached as I tightened my hold on the steering wheel. “Don’t call him again.”
He flinched. “Yes, I know I’m an idiot. You don’t have to tell me. Of course he would want something in exchange for coming to see me.”
I nearly drove off the road, my heart pounding against my chest. Cyrus thought I was blaming him.
“Him,” was all I managed to say.
“Him what?”
I shook my head, frustrated with myself. “Not. Your. Fault.”
He didn’t respond, but when I glanced his way, I could see that Cyrus didn’t believe me. All I could think about was some motherfucker’s hands on him. The fact that he was so low that he’d called that prick, and I wondered if it had anything to do with me, with how I’d treated him. Maybe it was my fault.
“Why are you taking me up the mountain? It’s clear you don’t want me there. You haven’t spoken to me in months. You ignore me when I try to talk to you, and now because I have a little black eye—not the worst injury I’ve ever had, FYI—you’re suddenly kidnapping me? He’s gone. It’s been a few days, and he’s texted me, pissed off. I know he’s back in Denver, so you don’t have to trouble yourself with me.”
Trouble myself with him. There was a lot I wanted to do with him, and though in some ways it made things more difficult for me, it didn’t feel like I was troubling myself for him. It was…a need.
Now I just had to figure out what I was going to do with him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cyrus
Crow didn’t respond, but I hadn’t expected him to. I leaned my head against the window, watching the world travel by as he drove to his house. I hadn’t had to get into the truck. The odds of this being another mistake were high, but as angry as he made me, I wanted to go. It didn’t make sense that I could be furious at his caveman form of protecting me, feel hurt that he thought I couldn’t take care of myself, yet also feel wanted and happy, all at the same time.
I wasn’t sure what Crow expected from me. Maybe he felt some strange obligation because I’d brought him food once and he saw me as helpless. Maybe he was queer and wanted nothing more than a hole, the way Eddie had. The difference was, I would welcome it with Crow. I would share my body willingly with him.
Maybe he was trying to recruit me into this cult of one and he still believed those things he’d been raised to believe: That the world was destined to end—whether from God or something else, I couldn’t say. That his father, The Chosen, had been…well, chosen to enlighten those who would be left behind to rebuild better. That following The Chosen was the only way not to be taken out in said ending of the world, and that Crow was supposed to lead, or whatever it was, with his father.