Save Yourself (5 page)

Chapter Eight

** Brogan **

I was drunk on the taste of Kester’s Lust, devouring it greedily, gulping it down so fast it burned. The Hunger inside me was gluttonous, insatiable, endless. It soaked up her Lust like a sponge, spreading strength and energy through my body. It heightened every sense until I could hear the gasping hitch in Kester’s breathing as I kissed her, until I could smell the sweat and desire on her skin, until the slightest touch of her fingers on the back of my neck sent shockwaves through me. Her mouth tasted like cider and cherry lip-gloss, her breasts soft against my chest, her hair silky in my fingers. She was delicious.

The more of her Lust I devoured, the more rabid my other, darker Hunger became. My teeth ached with the urge to sink them into the smooth, warm flesh of her neck and drink deep of her blood. The need was almost irresistible, stronger than I’d felt it in years. If I wasn’t careful, the situation could get very dangerous for Kester. I was already on the edge of my control, barely resisting ripping her clothes off right there and bending her over the sofa in front of everyone. My jeans were so tight it was painful. Luckily for her, I wasn’t into exhibitionism.

When I couldn’t hold onto my control any longer, I regretfully broke away from her mouth—and took her hand. She looked up at me with dark green eyes and swollen lips, so dangerously sexy I knew I had to take her every way I knew how. Her Lust, her taste, was addictive. I couldn’t get enough.

“Come on,” I said, my voice rough with wanting.

I tugged her through the crowd to the hallway leading off from the main room, catching Jet’s gaze as I did. He rolled his eyes at me, and I showed him my middle finger. He grinned and turned up the music. I shoved open the door to my room, and pulled Kez inside. There, it was quieter and cooler, clearing my head a little. I turned around, and Kez was eyeing my room—there wasn’t much to see; just a wardrobe, a double bed, and a chest of drawers. I didn’t leave personal shit lying around for anyone to see.

Then Kester’s eyes came back to me, and the heat in them brought the Hunger roaring back full force. I strode across the room and backed her against the wall, pinning her there. Her lips parted as she stared up at me in surprise, desire pouring off her so thickly, it was like honey rolling down my throat.

“Say yes,” I growled. I needed to hear her say it. I wanted to make her beg, but I didn’t think my own control would last that long. Hearing her say the word, giving me total permission, would have to suffice.

Her breathing hitched, her eyes darkened, and she sighed the most beautiful word in the world.

“Yes.”

** Kester **

“Yes.”

The second I said it, I saw the triumph and hunger in Brogan’s eyes, and I wondered what the hell I’d just gotten myself into. I didn’t have time to back out. Brogan’s mouth descended on mine again, his tongue thrusting in time with his hips, and every thought vanished from my mind. His hands roamed my body, sliding over my breasts, and I tipped my head back, gasping, as his thumbs circled my nipples through the thin fabric. God, it had been so long since anyone had touched me like that. I was starving for it.

His mouth worked on my neck as his hands slid back up and around my neck to the bow holding my halter-neck up. In one swift yank, he pulled the knot free, and the top half of my shirt fell around my waist, leaving my breasts bare to him.

Brogan swore, reaching out to touch me almost reverently. “Damn, you are beautiful,” he whispered, palming my breasts.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. Every cell in my body was focussed on his touch, but he didn’t seem to require a reply. He bent his head and kissed my lips softly, then traced a path over my jaw, down my throat, pausing to nibble on my collarbone. He hooked his arms around my hips, lifting me up, and I reflexively wrapped my legs around his waist.

Brogan grinned at me, dark and sexy, and said, “I’ve been imagining this since the minute I saw you in that club.”

I bit my lip, refusing to admit I’d imagined it too, every night in my dreams.

As if he was reading my mind, he whispered darkly, “I know you’ve thought about it too. But how exactly did you picture it? Did you imagine me taking you against the wall? On the bed? The floor? On your knees?”

I swallowed, his words painting erotic pictures in my head.

He chuckled seductively, leaned close to my ear, and murmured, “I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m going to fuck you every single way you can think of, and a few more you can’t even imagine. And you’re going to love every second of it.”

I think my heart literally stopped beating, just for a second. Then Brogan cupped my ass, lifting me higher, and set his mouth to work on my breasts. At the first touch of his tongue on my nipple, I jerked as if I’d been electrocuted, and he pressed me harder into the wall to keep me still.

He licked and suckled and nibbled on one nipple before switching to the other and giving it the same thorough attention until I was mewling and writhing, arching into his mouth. He shifted me lower, so my thighs were around his hips, and I could feel his hardness pressing into me. I rocked against him, clutching his shoulders, and he groaned.

“Fuck, stop that,” he hissed. He let go of me, and I dropped to the floor, my knees shaky. He whipped off his t-shirt, exposing a seriously ripped torso. I’m talking a six pack you could bounce a brick off of. He thrust his jeans to the floor, stepping out of them. He was wearing plain black boxer shorts, stretched over his erection, and from what I could tell, he was big. Really big.

Eyeing me as if he wanted to devour me, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled my halter-top off over my head. Lifting me, he tossed me on the bed as if I weighed no more than a ragdoll. I yelped, startled, and he paused at the end of the bed. I watched, excited and anxious, as he knelt by my feet and unlaced my boots, dropping them to the floor one at a time with heavy clunks.

His hands skimmed up my legs, under my skirt, and hooked into the waistband of my tights, and my underwear too. He peeled them both off me in one smooth motion, leaving me naked but for my tiny tartan skirt. I propped myself on my elbows to see what he would do next. His gaze met mine, burning violet flames in his eyes, and he stood slowly, tracing his fingers up my inner thigh—.

I gasped, my hands fisting in the duvet as he slid a single finger inside me. My knees dropped to the sides, allowing him better access, my hips rolling against his hand, but he stopped, pulling out, and I growled in frustration.

He laughed quietly. “Patience, Kez. We’re almost there.”

He went to the bedside table and pulled open the drawer. My body thrummed in anticipation as he took out a foil packet and ripped it open with his teeth. He handed it to me, and slid his boxers off, freeing his erection. I’d been right; he
was
big. I took the condom and slid it carefully over him, watching his face as I did. His lips parted at my touch, his breath shuddering, and I grinned.

I sat back as he slid onto the bed and settled between my legs, pushing my skirt up around my waist. He stared down at me, his charcoal hair falling into his astonishing eyes, and his lips curved in a perfectly wicked smirk. “Ready?”

I nodded. I was so beyond ready. “Yes.”

He slid into me slowly, thick and hard, filling me up inside. I closed my eyes, sighing in bliss at the feeling of him inside me. He started moving, so slowly at first, then faster as I arched up to meet him, thrust for thrust. I could feel the tension coiling deep inside me, my chest heaving as I gasped, whimpering, whispering his name over and over like a prayer.

Like a spring, the tension exploded, and I cried out as my back arched off the bed, every muscle trembling with the force of my ecstasy. Brogan came seconds after me, swearing as he released into me. Breathing hard, he pulled out and collapsed next to me on the mattress. I shook with the aftershocks, my limbs liquid, and sighed. Brogan stroked his fingers over my cheek.

“Don’t go to sleep on me now. We’re just getting started.”

Chapter Nine

** Brogan **

The next morning, Kester was gone by the time I woke up. Normally, I would’ve been relieved not to have to kick her out, but I was oddly disappointed she’d left so quickly. The night had been…fun. I’d lost count of the amount of times I’d made her come, and I was sated in all sorts of blissful ways. I hadn’t fed that well in ages. I felt stronger than ever, ready for anything. I was even ready to go back to Brent and tell him I didn’t have his money.

I’d spent the whole week trying to scrounge up the money for him to pay back Red, but even with the remains of my last pay check after paying my half of the rent, and the rest of my savings, I barely had eighteen-hundred quid, and I refused to go back to Mrs Hamilton. I was done with that shit.

I was out of time, and so was Brent. I tried not to feel guilty. I’d done what I could. I’d tried to help him, but I couldn’t save his skin. He would have to find his own way out.

It was about two in the afternoon by the time I made it to Brent’s hotel room. I paused outside to listen for a moment, but it was silent within. I guessed he was alone—probably still sleeping off his last drinking binge. I knocked loudly on the door and waited, knowing it would take him a few minutes to haul his ass out of bed.

When five minutes had passed, I knocked again, louder and longer. “Hey, Brent, wake the fuck up!” I yelled through the door.

When five more minutes had passed and he still hadn’t answered the door, I started to worry. I pressed my ear to the door, but I couldn’t hear anything through the cheap wood. I wanted to think he just wasn’t in, that he’d popped out to buy more cigarettes, but the cold feeling in my gut told me otherwise. I swore.

Stepping back, I slammed my foot into the door, just below the lock, and the frame shattered as the door burst open. I rushed inside and wished I hadn’t. There was so much blood, all over the torn bed sheets, on the walls, on the floor. It looked as if someone had taken a bucket of red paint and thrown it over the room. Brent was on the bed, a mess of sliced flesh, barely recognisable. I knew, just by looking at him, that he’d fought hard, but he’d been caught off-guard and he was no match against a well-wielded knife.

It could only have been Red’s work or that of his trained men.

My stomach churned, and I ran to the bathroom. I puked in the toilet, throwing up until there was nothing left but bile burning my throat. My hands shook as I turned the sink taps and splashed water onto my face. Then I reached in my pocket for my mobile phone and called nine-nine-nine. I didn’t know what else to do. I doubted they’d try very hard to find Brent’s killer, and even if they did, they wouldn’t catch Red. They never did. I just didn’t know what else to do, and if I left, my DNA was all over the place. They’d think I’d done it.

I slumped on the grimy tiles of the bathroom floor, shivering, and put my head on my knees. Grief made a fist around my heart, and I choked on a sob. Sure, Brent had been a douche and had gotten me into a world of shit time and again, but he was my uncle, my only family left. I had nobody. I was totally alone.

I choked again, thought I might throw up, but I swallowed it back and tried to breathe deeply. I tried to think, but my mind was a mess, and I kept picturing Brent’s body lying out there, shredded. All I could think was,
Red did this. Red killed Brent
. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

White-hot rage overtook my grief, and I suddenly wanted to hunt down Red and kill him myself. I’d shove his fucking knife right up his fucking arse. I’d make him beg for mercy and then cut out his tongue.

Someone knocked on the door, and I shook off my fit of fury. I got to my feet unsteadily, surprised by how fast the cops had made it there, but as soon as I opened the hotel room door, I knew I’d made a huge mistake. It wasn’t the cops.

Two big, tough-looking guys stood in the hallway, dressed in dark clothes and oversized sunglasses. One of them had slicked-back hair. The other had a long, jagged scar on his face. I recognised them, though I didn’t know what their names were. I just knew they worked for Red, and that meant I was in deep shit.

Too late, I tried to slam the door, although, since I’d busted the lock when I’d smashed it open, I didn’t see what good it would do. Didn’t matter anyway. Scarface shoved the door back at me, hard, making me stumble, and pushed inside. His buddy, Slick, followed, and I backed up, looking around for some sort of weapon and knowing it was useless. If there had been a weapon in the room, Brent would have used it.

I tried a different tactic. “Guys, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m not involved in this. Brent is dead.”

Slick grinned, showing two missing teeth. “We know he’s dead, kid. We’re here to collect the money he owes Red.”

I blinked. “Eh, dunno how to you plan on doing that, seeing as dead guys tend to have a hard time paying their bills.”

Scarface chuckled darkly and reached into the inside pocket of his ratty leather jacket. I stubbornly didn’t flinch, but my heart was pounding. I needed a way out of there, and fast, but they were blocking the doorway. My only other option was to smash out the window and jump. It was a second-floor room, but I’d fed well last the night before, and I was strong. I could make it.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance. Scarface pulled a knife out of his jacket, and I felt the blood drain from my face. It was turning out to be a really bad fucking day, and it looked as if it was about to get worse.

“Listen here, kid,” Scarface growled. “This doesn’t have to be ugly. You just get Red his money, and we’ll leave you alone. We’ll consider Brent’s debt settled. Otherwise…well, things are going to get unpleasant for you.”

I should have nodded and kept my mouth shut, but being me, I did the stupid thing. I looked at the mangled mess of my uncle’s body on the bed and all the blood, and I felt my rage come rushing back. It wasn’t enough to kill Brent—Red had had him sliced him up like roast beef and then sent these bastards, his goons, to collect the rest of the money from me. Red knew me. He knew I paid Brent’s debts. If he couldn’t get the money from Brent, he’d get it from me, and he’d use my uncle’s death as motivation for me to cooperate.

Red was a sick fuck, a true minion of the fucking devil, and I wasn’t giving him one fucking penny. If he wanted his money, he’d have to sell my damn organs to get it.

Instead of being smart and agreeing to get Red his money, I looked Scarface straight in the Ray Bans and said, “Tell Red he can suck my dick, ‘cause that’s the only way I’m going to pay him a fucking thing.”

Slick laughed and reached up to slide off his sunglasses. Underneath, he had dark, cold grey eyes. He folded the glasses, stuck them in his pocket, and turned his merciless eyes on me. “I was so hoping you’d say that, kid.”

** Kester **

I ached. From the minute I woke up in Brogan’s bed that morning, I hurt in all sorts of ways. Just getting dressed and walking down the flights of stairs to the street took me almost twenty minutes. Brogan had made good on his promise. He’d taken me every which way I knew, and a couple I didn’t, and made me scream time and time again.

I’d been truly and thoroughly well fucked.

The only problem was, even after all that, I hadn’t gotten him out of my system. I still wanted him—. Hell, I wanted him even
more
once I knew what he could do. As I sat in the back of a cab on my way home, I replayed the night in excruciating detail. Despite my aching body, my toes curled with the hunger for more.

Surprisingly, Evie was already up by the time I got in, making coffee in the kitchen, still in her Disney pyjamas. Her eyes widened when she saw me come in, and a wry smile spread across her face.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in. If that isn’t the walk of shame, my name’s not Evelyn Marie Rose Carter.”

I collapsed on the sofa, face down on the cushions. A second later, I felt the back of the sofa dip as Evie leaned over it.

“So, who was he, and was he good? No, wait, don’t answer that. You wouldn’t be waddling like a penguin if he wasn’t good. Just tell me, on a scale of One to Mind Blowing, how good was he?”

I groaned into the sofa cushion and mumbled, “Coffee first. Details later.”

Evie heaved a sigh. “Fine. You might as well go and shower first. You smell like cheap cider and rough sex. And not in a good way.”

I lifted a hand to flip her off over the back of the sofa.

** Brogan **

Wiping the blood off my chin with the back of my hand, I waited for Scarface to come at me with the knife. My adrenaline was pumping, I could taste my own blood, and I was more than ready to take him on, blade and all. I had a split lip, bruised ribs, and a couple of broken knuckles from smashing my fist into Slick’s teeth. He was on the floor, out cold, and I doubted he was going to be fighting again for a while.

That was the problem with guys like them. They always underestimated me, but then, I could hardly blame them. After all, they didn’t know I wasn’t human, and that after a good feeding, I could probably bench-press a mini cooper.

Scarface didn’t look so eager to try and cut me up after he’d seen how fast I’d decked his partner. He hung back, eyeing me, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. The hunting knife in his hand glinted, wicked sharp with jagged teeth, the cold metal starving for blood.

But then, so was I.

My fun with Kester the night before may have more than sated my Hunger for Lust. But my other, darker Hunger was awake, famished, and demanding I sink my teeth into flesh and drink deep of human blood. The scent of blood was all around me, Brent’s, Slick’s and my own. It made my stomach clench and my jaws ache.

Filled with the rush of bloodlust and violence, I grinned at Scarface. “You still want some of this? Come and get it, pretty boy.”

With a growl, he lunged, slashing the blade, and I dodged easily. He was surprisingly fast for such a big guy, but I was much faster. I could match a cheetah in a footrace. He didn’t stand a chance. I caught his arm as he swung and brought it down over my knee. Scarface screamed in pain as his bone snapped with an audible crack. He dropped the knife with a clatter. I jammed my elbow under his armpit and bent, flipping him over my shoulder. He hit the floor with a thud and groaned, clutching his broken arm.

I bent and retrieved his knife, spinning it in my hand before bringing the hilt down hard on the side of Scarface’s head. He stopped groaning and slumped, unconscious. Breathing hard, I stashed the knife in my boot and cast a glance over the room. Two beaten, unconscious criminals, a dead body, and a lot of blood. It didn’t matter if I stayed or not—it wasn’t going to look good for me when the cops showed up, and I’d had enough shit for the day. I flushed the toilet I’d puked in, grabbed some toilet roll and did my best to clean up any fingerprints or DNA I’d left behind. Then I slung up my hood and beat the hell out of there, hearing sirens roaring down the street behind me as I rounded the corner and broke into a sprint.