Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4) (13 page)

I shook my head. “No.”

He cocked his head to the side as if no one had ever said that to him.

“You look like a fucking whore on your knees. NOW, GET THE FUCK UP!”

I shook my head again. “No.”

“What? You love him? You love that piece of shit?” He pointed to Esteban’s lifeless body.

I swallowed, hard. “No, Uncle. I don’t,” I answered the truth.  

His head jerked back, stunned. He believed me.

“So, you are a whore,” he stated. “Your mother would be so proud.”

I frowned not wavering. “Please. Please, don’t do this. Not for me, okay? You don’t have to do shit for me. Do it for my mom. The only sister you had. The one you loved so fucking much,” I reminded, throwing the words he spoke hours ago back at him.

His eyes glazed over as he narrowed them at me. For the first time he didn’t hide the fact that the mere mention of my mother could bring him to his knees.

He slowly lowered his gun, but didn’t holster it.

I exhaled for what felt like an eternity. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and walked towards my window. I immediately turned to check on Esteban.

I placed his head on my lap and caressed the sides of his bloody, bruised face. Barely recognizing the man who was in my arms.

“Hey…”

He stirred.  

“You’re going to be okay…” I coaxed.

“Venga a recoger a este hijo de puta antes de que yo lo mate,” Uncle roared, “
Come get this son of a bitch before I kill him.
”

He hung up, placing his phone back in his suit jacket, still facing the big, bay window in my room with his back to me.

After all these years, after all this time, I wanted to know what he was thinking. What he was feeling. I wanted to know his story. What made him the way he was? If he was ever a kind person… a loving man… a scared child…

I shook away the thoughts when I heard footsteps ascending down the hall. The same two men I’d met in the basement walked into the room. My uncle took one look at them and then nodded toward Esteban, turning to face the window once again.

They quickly picked him up, dragging him away from me. Taking the blanket off the bed and wrapping it around him. He was half-conscious when the men stood him up, but he was still hunched over, reeling in pain. They placed his arms around their necks for support.

Esteban opened his eyes as much as he could. Wanting to look for me I was sure. The men didn’t allow him any time and I wasn’t stupid enough to say anything to him. They carried him towards the door, leaving me to wonder if I would ever see him again.

It didn’t matter. He was alive.

“You know what?” Uncle said, bringing all of our attention back to him.  

The men holding Esteban spun to face him.

My uncle turned around and narrowed his dark, daunting, soulless eyes directly at Esteban.

“I changed my mind,” he simply stated.

And before it registered what he just said. He lifted his gun and shot him.

“NO!” I yelled out, placing my hand over my mouth.

Hearing him groan out in pain, it was then I noticed his leg was gushing blood and my hand fell to my heart.

Relieved.

“The next time you
fuck
with what's mine, Esteban, the bullet will go in your fucking head.”

With that the men turned and left, leaving a trail of his blood on the floor.

“Briggs,” Uncle announced and I glanced over at him with nothing but hatred in my glare.

He was lost in thought, staring at my shed innocence that stained the sheets on the bed. He walked over to me, every step precise and calculated with the same vicious expression on his face. He roughly gripped my chin, making me look him dead in the eyes. He looked at me like I had been reborn, like I was no longer a little girl and said,

“You’re a Martinez now.”

One thing I knew for sure…

I fucking hated school.

I sat in my freshman Psych class not paying any attention to the lecture, too distracted checking out the chick sitting one row below me in the auditorium. Her tits were on full display, making me want to bury my face in them and motorboat the shit out of her.

I grinned, biting the edge of my lip.

The best thing about college was the pussy and parties. The rest was just kind of a blur. I barely ever went to class, too hungover from the night before to give a shit about anything before noon.

That’s when my day started, most of the time I woke up alone, but I never went to sleep that way.

Not that we slept…

After the accident, I had a lot of time to make up for staying in the goddamn hospital for a month. Not to mention the countless fucking hours of physical therapy that followed shortly after my stay. I wasn’t miraculously cured, my back still hurt like a son of a bitch whenever I worked out.

Thank God for pain pills.  

My hair had grown back, covering the massive scar I had from surgery. I grew out my facial hair to cover the ones on my face. The only visible scar was a small one down my eyebrow, glass sliced right through the hair and left me with a missing patch. I had some wicked marks on my arms, back, chest, and legs, which I was self-conscious about at first. They were my motivation to start a daily regimen of working out at the gym like my life depended on it.

I accepted the fact that they were a part of me now, forever etched into my skin.

A daily reminder that I’d fucked up.

To my surprise the scars got chicks all hot-and-bothered, something about making me look like a bad boy. They were on me like bees on honey.

College was like sex Heaven on steroids. Chicks liked to experiment, they wanted to embrace their sexuality or some bullshit and I had no problem being their fucking subject.

I had missed so many days of my senior year after the accident that I had to take summer classes to graduate. They let me walk with my class though. I didn’t give a shit about any of it, I did it because it made my family and Half-Pint happy to see me walk across the stage and receive my diploma. My mom hung it proudly in her office, saying that my college diploma would go right next to it someday.

It was just another piece of paper that I could wipe my ass with as far as I was concerned. That’s how much school meant to me.

The boys and I saw each other here and there, but not nearly as much as we used to.

So much had changed.

So much had happened.

I spent my freshman year in the dorms instead of living with them. The plan had been to move in with them after graduation since they planned on getting a bigger apartment for all of us.

That was shot to shit real quick.

“Jacob and Dylan may have forgotten what the fuck you did, Austin, but I haven’t. And I won’t,” Lucas argued during my graduation party.

I didn’t say anything because what could I say to that. He was right.

“Lucas, calm the fuck down. He fucked up. He knows it. With the hours of community service, the legal fees, and his license being suspended for a year, not to mention the physical scars, I think it’s enough of a daily reminder for him,” Dylan intervened, holding him back with his forearm.

“He almost fucking killed her! She was in a goddamn coma!” He shoved Dylan’s arm away, pointing at me. “You stay the fuck away from, Alex. Do you understand me? Stay the fuck away from her!”

“I can’t do that,” I countered, not backing down.

He stepped closer to me. Our faces were an inch apart. Dylan and Jacob standing right beside us, waiting to step in.

“You may not remember what you did. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a fuck up,” he gritted out. “We give you one thing to do! One fucking thing! Take care of her. Just take care of her. It was fucking simple! You couldn’t even do that! I’m tired of making excuses for you. You’re lucky I don’t bury you alive.”

I held my chin higher. “So much for being brothers, Lucas.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not my brother.”

I looked him up and down.  

He stepped away from me, adding, “Not anymore.”

I swallowed hard, blinking away the hurt I felt in my heart.

“Give him time, Austin. He’ll come around,” Dylan coaxed.

I nodded.

“Dylan’s right. You know Lucas… he’s hotheaded and stubborn as all hell. When he’s ready, he’ll forgive you. He’ll get past this. ”

“Have you?” I blurted, already knowing the answer.

They both looked at each other and then back at me, the truth written clear across their faces.

“Exactly.”

“Hi,” the girl with the tits from class greeted, pulling me away from my thoughts as I walked out into the parking lot.

I glanced over at her and she smirked, playing with the ends of her hair. I immediately envisioned pulling it while I was balls deep inside her. Gripping it back by the nook of her neck as I fucked her doggy style.

My cock twitched.    

“Hey there.” I smiled.

“You want to hang out?” she asked, doing that thing chicks do with their lips. A pout that she seemed to have perfected, making me wonder what they would feel like wrapped around my cock.

“I have some weed back at the sorority house. We could smoke, talk, you know… whatever.”

I was about to say something when my phone rang. I grabbed it out of my pocket to see who was calling me. Alex’s smiling face illuminated the screen.

“He almost fucking killed her! She was in a goddamn coma!”

I hit ignore.

“Lead the fuckin’ way, sweetheart.”

Alejandro Martinez.

I never understood the importance of a name. It wasn’t until after that night three months ago that I learned that names carry a heavy load.

The connotation behind a name, and not just any name…

My name.

Martinez.

“Damn! I love your hair,” the girl behind the counter all but screamed as I walked into the tattoo shop. “How did you get such a vibrant purple? Oh my God! I would kill for that!”

I ignored her compliment and looked around the room, stopping when I spotted the guy in the back corner covered in tattoos. When he felt my gaze on him, he peered up and we locked eyes. I internally smiled.

I recognized those eyes.  

I walked toward him, never breaking our connection. The tattoo business card that I found on my uncle’s desk safely hidden in my pocket.

If you wanted to know the truth about someone…

The secrets that lurk in their dark corners.

What they’re feeling… what they want… what they need…

The depths of their soul.

Just look them in the eyes.

They never fucking lie.

I handed him the piece of paper that I had clutched in my tight grasp. He took it from me and looked it over, jerking his neck back with a fascinated regard.

“You want this tattooed?” he asked. His gaze still intently placed on the drawing in his hand.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“From the nook of my neck, down the center of my back, stopping in the middle.” I pointed to the sketch. “These I want on each of my shoulder blades, cascading down the sides of my entire back.”

He shook his head, mockingly. “Sweetie, this is an intricate tattoo. The detailed outline will take several hours, not to mention several sessions to do the color and shading. The pain alone can be unbearable.” He handed me back my drawing. “How about just a butterfly or something?”

I cocked my head to the side and narrowed my eyes at him. “I got nothing but time,
sweetie
.”

He arched an eyebrow. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

“Oh yeah?” He nodded at me. “Let me see your ID.”

“Alejandro Martinez is my ID.”

His eyes widened, it was quick but I saw it. I knew he would recognize the name, having an appearance of a man who was just released from prison.

“And trust me, he won’t give a fuck,” I added.

He stood up and gestured toward the chair in front of him. I sat down, waiting for him to get suited up. It didn’t take long for him to have everything ready. Pulling over the curtain to give us some privacy, he laid down the table and patted it.

“You can change in the bathroom. I have a smock in there you can use, just leave the opening in the back.”

I smiled, grabbing the hem of my shirt.

“I'm not shy, I don't need the bathroom. Be a gentleman and turn around.”

He smiled back at me, spinning the chair that he was sitting in. I threw my shirt and bra on the counter and laid face down on the table. I heard his movements and the sliding of his chair on the tile floor. I felt his warm hands, rubbing alcohol all over my back.

“This your first tattoo, little girl?”

“I don’t know, is it yours, big boy?”  

He softly laughed behind me. The vibration causing my back to stir.

“You sure about this? Once the needle hits your skin. There’s no going back.”

I looked at his reflection through the mirror to my right and then back at my own reflection and said,

“There’s no going back for me. Only forward.”