Slate (Breaking the Declan Brothers #2) (6 page)

Is the son-of-a-bitch serious? Never my friend? How can he say that? “Wow, you really have changed.”

“Yeah, I have.” He smiles suggestively. “And the way I see it, we’ve got a few hours before you get to see who I really am. So, is there anything you want to do before that happens?” His eyes drop to my heaving chest and I feel them burning through my thin tank top. He’s certainly changed. He’s never been this forward, this blunt, or this sexual. He said he was going to spank me and then fuck me. My Slate never talked like that. Dammit, I hate to admit it, but a part of me likes him talking this way. I like him raw and uncensored. Too bad it’s taken all of this shit for him to get this way.

“Why don’t we sit down and talk for a bit,” I say, trying to draw away from the sexual tension brewing between us.

He flashes his elusive dark eyes back up at me, grabs the bottle of water from the table, and walks past me. He sits down on the sofa, lounges back, and sprawls an arm along the top of the cushion. “You can talk.” He rests his head back.

As I gaze into those dark eyes, I have to say he looks older. He’s not the twenty-three-year-old I remember. He’s a man now. He must think what I’ve done today is immature and impulsive, and in some sense, it was. I was desperate. When I saw him in that bed totally wasted, I couldn’t stop myself. It took some convincing, but once I got Jax on board, the rest went smoothly. That is until Slate the asshole woke up.

My eyes move along his bruised cheek, passing his full lips. They meander down to his chin where his scars crawl up from his strong jawline. The dark red shadows of the healed wounds spread down to his neck disappearing into the start of his hoodie. I slowly move back up, pausing again at his chin, then continue on to his hooded eyes.

“Ya like that?” He gives his chin a slight jar as a small smile tilts up his lips.

“What, your scars?” I’ll call him out on the smartass remark. I refuse to feel sorry for him. At least, I refuse to show it. He just gazes at me through the slits of his eyes. “They’re not all I see when I look at you. Sure, I see them, and I see what they’ve done to you, but I see you, too.” I inhale, leaning forward in the chair. “Look, I get what I’m doing to you is crazy and unfair, but I can’t stand to see you like this. I can’t stand to see you throwing your life away. And I know you don’t need me to tell you this. You always were a smart guy, Slate. You know what you’re doing to yourself. What I can’t figure out is why?” I pause, hoping he’ll say something, but he just keeps staring at me through those heavy lids. “I know what you’re gonna go through down here. You’ll get the shakes, get agitated, angry, and you’ll probably break some shit. Then you’ll get nauseous. Maybe even get sick. It’s going to feel like someone is tearing your insides apart. But I promise no matter what happens that I’m not going to leave you. I will stay right by your side.”

“Yeah.” His left eyebrow creases. “And why is that, Rayna?”

“Because you’re worth it, because I know who you are. And I know what we had was real, and although you may not care about me or anyone else, I care about you and so do a lot of other people, including the two guys who got your ass down here. You might not remember, but I do. I remember who you are. You’re the guy who tried to see the good in everyone. You were kind and caring. You were a man worth loving. So stop using those scars as an excuse, fight this damn addiction, and get your shit together.”

I wish that I could close my eyes, and like all the other times, she’d go away. But I can’t. I never wanted her to see me like this; I never wanted her to know how fucked-up I turned out. I loved her. I do remember what we had, and that shit doesn’t just disappear. The drugs might dull my feelings, but what I felt for Rayna, it was always real. I got lucky. I didn’t deserve to have her for as long as I did. She had dreams, aspirations, and I knew she was going to leave the Bayou, but I also knew that I wasn’t.

I shouldn’t take what she’s doing here personal, either; this is how she deals with her guilt. Always trying to save a lost soul and fix people—she’s been like that since her brother died. Late to pick her up from school, he ran a red light and died instantly in the collision. That’s when I told her the truth about my parents. Seeing her beautiful spirit broken, it just came out. We were young. She was thirteen when her brother died, and I wanted her to feel as though she wasn’t alone, that I understood her loss. I wanted her to know that sometimes shit happens. Over the years, I’ve come to learn that what happened to my parents made Jax grow up too fast and made it so that Zeke can’t let anyone love him. And me, it made me angry, a part of me that I was able to control when Rayna was in my life. But since the fire, since the drugs, the only thing that sedates the anger now is the fighting. But with fighting comes the pain and where there is pain, the drugs then follow. It’s a vicious cycle. One I can’t seem to break.

Like my brothers and me, Rayna’s tragedy still haunts her. Obviously, she’s still harboring the guilt of her brother’s death. Why else would she be putting up with my shit? I’ve intentionally been an asshole. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up the charade. It’s killing me to be so cruel to her.

Right now, I have a handle on things, but in a few hours, I’m going to lose all control. I’ve been down this road before, and she’s right. Everything she said is going to happen to me. The sweats, tremors, and the anger...fuck! I gotta get her out of here before all of that shit hits me.

“Are you hungry,” she asks.

“No,” I say closing my eyes. God, if only she’d disappear and go back to wherever she came from.

“How about a sandwich?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s going to be a long day. You’re going to need your strength. I’m making you a sandwich.”

A few minutes pass before she’s shaking my shoulder. I snap my eyes open. “Don’t touch me,” I say, glaring up at her. I don’t like to be touched; it’s something that helps me win most of my fights. For months, people poked and prodded my mangled body as they tried to heal my burns, and each time, it became nothing more than a painful reminder of what I’ve become.

She holds out the plate to me. “Take it,” she says. When I don’t respond, she sets it on the sofa beside me, sits back down in the chair, and starts to eat her sandwich. She looks around the den. “Jax said you guys made this into an apartment so that you could rent it out for extra cash when you first opened JZS’s.” She glances at my untouched sandwich. “Zeke says it’s now where he comes to kick your ass in Grand Theft Auto. So,” she looks up at me, “is that what you’re doing with your life? Fighting and playing PlayStation with your little brother. What happened to college? Did you get your degree?”

Fuck. She’s going there. Well, I’m not. Instead of engaging in any conversation, I pick up the sandwich. Might as well eat. I hope that it’ll digest before I start puking my brains out from the withdrawals, and it’s better than talking about my fucked-up life. And I’m right. It shuts her up; she doesn’t say another word. She turns on the TV, and we sit in silence for the next couple of hours.

I’m waiting for it. I feel the first tremor, my finger twitches, and I get nervous. Another hour ticks by. I get up and start to pace the room. Curled up on the chair, Rayna keeps her eyes glued to the TV as though she doesn’t notice my restless prowl. But I know she does.

I have to get out of here. I need to pop a pill, and I know there’s a few stashed in my room, which is right above my fucking head. I climb up the stairs, grab the knob with my sweaty palm, and jiggle it. “Jax! Zeke! Come on, you fuckers, open this fucking door!” Nothing, I hear absolutely nothing. It’s getting late. They’re probably at JZS’s. I hammer back down the stairs, head straight for the door that goes to the gym and try to open it. It’s fucking locked. I push my shoulder against it then I give it a few kicks but the thing won’t budge. They must’ve boarded it up, too. Motherfuckers!

I go and sit back on the sofa. She’s still staring at the TV. I scrub my hands over my sweaty face. I swipe them over my jeans. “Hey,” I say and Rayna’s eyes slither over to me. “Monkey, you really gotta let me go.”

Assessing me, her eyes move from my face to my trembling hands. She drops her feet from the chair and sits up straight. “I’m sorry, Slate. You’re going to have to push through this.”

I shoot to my feet, hands balling into tight fists. “Fuck!” I take a step toward her. I see her flinch and every muscle in my body tightens. I’m scaring her. Not good to know. If I get desperate enough, then I might just use that fear to get to my stash. “Fuck!” I clench my hands. “This is dangerous; let me the fuck out of here before I do something we both regret.”

“Relax.” She holds up a hand. Her fierce green diamonds beam up at me as she rises from the chair. “Take deep breaths.” She moves a little closer. “You will get through this.”

Heart racing, my tightened muscles ache like hell, and my eyes start to water. The chills should be hitting me soon along with the abdominal pains, not to mention the nausea and vomiting that’ll follow. “You have no idea how this fucking feels.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Her tone softens. “Try to exert some energy, do some sit-ups or some push-ups.”

This is usually about the time that I’d jump in the ring to get rid of some of the aggression, but I can’t do that now. “Sit-ups aren’t going to fucking work.”

“Well, I don’t know.” She throws her arms out in the air. “Do something that’ll take your mind off it.”

“Okay.” I nod and try to relax my tight fists. Fuck it. She pushed me into this. “Come here,” I say, hearing the persistent aggression lingering in my voice.

Her brows gather. “Why?”

“You wanted to help me, so get your ass over here.”

She slowly moves toward me. “All right.” She lifts her head and our eyes meet. “Here I am, now what?”

“Now-” I lift my shaky hand, the unblemished one, and slip it around her nape. “We’re going to see if you can help me keep my mind off this shit.”

She barely gets, “Slate,” out as my mouth slides over hers. I push my tongue between her soft, moist lips. The second our tongues meet, I forget everything and lose myself to the sweet taste of her. She’s always been like a drug to me that I could never get enough of. And, normally, I could restrain myself, regulate myself, but right now, I’m too hyped up, and all I want to do is strip her clothes off and fuck her. Fuck her hard until she’s beating my chest and screaming out my name.

The tips of my fingers press down on her neck as I pull her closer and deepen the kiss. She moans against my mouth and clutches the front of my hoodie. Her hand slips upward, her palm rests on my neck, on my scars. “No,” I withdraw, “don’t touch me.”

She pulls back her hand, curling it against her chest. “Why?”

Out of breath from the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers. “Right now, I need to stay in control. If you touch me, my defenses will go up and everything else will shut down. It’ll make the withdrawals that much worse. It’ll make me need the drugs that much more, and we don’t want that, do we?”

“No.” She licks her lips. “We don’t want that.”

“Place your hands behind your back,” I say, and to my astonishment, she does as I’ve requested. “Good.” I palm her cheek. She’s so soft. “Stay just like that.” I run my hand from her neck to her shoulder and drag the thin strap of her tank top down her arm. I tug, exposing her white lacy bra. She gasps and the sound ripples through my cock. “God, I’ve missed these tits.” I trace a finger along the lace. I grip the material and pull her bra down to reveal an erect pink nipple. Brushing the pad of my thumb over her rosy tip, I look up. Head tilted back, with her eyes closed, she lets out a sweet little moan. The sound draws my head down to her breast for a lick. Feeling her harden against my tongue, I bite her tightly beaded nipple.

“Slate…” She huskily says my name, beckoning me to her.

I move up to her willowy neck, sucking and nipping her silky flesh until finally arriving at her hungry mouth. I suck in her bottom lip, and then sink my teeth into it. Hands still behind her back, she crushes her body against mine, and she lets out a needy cry. Fuck! This was supposed to be a distraction, but I also intended to scare her into letting me go. But, dammit, she wants this, too. How could she still want me? I pull back from her mouth and gaze into her glossy eyes.

Her whole face spreads into a smile. “Ah, there it is,” she whispers, as if she just found something she lost. “There’s that beautiful glint in your eyes. I thought it might be gone forever.”

Her and my eyes; she’s been fascinated with them since we were kids. I never understood it. “Babe, what you see in my eyes, it’s got nothing to do with me. And why you’re the only one who sees it.” I stroke her cheek. “Well, that’s because that glint is nothing more than the reflection of you. You are and always have been that light you speak of in my eyes.” Her smile slips away as she goes to open her mouth. “No.” I shake my head. “Don’t say anything. You always do this fucking shit to me. You make me honest and that is the truth.” I take a deep breath and back up. “But, right now, that’s the best I can give you.” I gently pull her bra back up and fix her tank top while she quietly watches me. “Okay?”