RUBI - Part One

RUBI - PART ONE

They kept Nash in that hell hole for the best part of a week. I retrieved his smashed up bike from the recovery yard and escorted it back to the compound. Collected the phone Alexei had remotely wiped immediately after the crash and loaded it with brand new playlists and a hundred apps he didn't need or want.

But I didn't set foot in the hospital. Couldn't. My tender heart would've eaten itself whole.

"Boo." River watched me cook a dozen dishes to stash in Orla's freezer. And eleventy more for Cam while he was technically supposed to be resting. As if Captain O'Brian wouldn't be doing enough stress cooking of his own. "Nash would happily eat cold spaghetti hoops for the rest of his life. He needs to see your face more than he needs eight chicken pies."

"He likes chicken pie."

"He likes you ," River countered, his tone lacking the bite he inflicted on most other people. "And he's used to you being all up in his business. You don't think he might wonder where you are?"

"He knows where I am."

"How?"

"Common fucking sense. Someone has to keep the home fires burning." Truth. With Cam and Nash injured, and everyone else running to and from Hereford to keep Nash safe in the hospital, someone had to do the basic shit.

Doesn't have to be you . Decoy had stayed home too. River was here. And beyond cooking eighty-seven pies, there was nothing I could do that they couldn't. But still I stayed. I cooked. I cleaned Orla's flat and stuffed a drawer in her bedroom with extra helpful mucky ornaments to keep Nash occupied for the months he'd be incapacitated. I filled out the insurance paperwork and washed all Nashie's clothes. I did every helpful fucking thing I could think of, except go and see him, because I couldn't .

And I didn't feel bad about it.

Much.

How could I when he had the daddiest daddy and the queen taking care of him? Alexei and Folk guarding him? Fucking Mateo making him sandwiches? Nash didn't need me. He was fine.

"You're an idiot." River kicked the oven door shut. "A cute one. Misguided and sexy as hell. But still a fucking idiot."

I walked out of the kitchen for that one and stomped upstairs. The shower gave me refuge, but not for long, because the rowdiest dragon that ever lived turned off the hot water.

"Fucking chaos goblin." I twisted the dial, cutting the freezing spray, and stepped out of the shower, winding a towel around my waist.

Hair dripping, I crossed the landing to the bedroom.

River was already there, rummaging under the bed. "Nice shower?"

"Fuck off."

"No." River tugged a box into the open and shoved the lid off, showering the carpet with dust.

Huh. So apparently I'd cleaned every place on earth except my own fucking house. "What are you doing?"

River ignored me and flipped through a stack of vinyl I'd forgotten about. My dad's Dire Straits collection. Cameron O'Brian Senior's Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac. It was too valuable to keep at the club and somehow it had ended up here. Hidden. Unplayed. Forgotten about until River had discovered it.

I tossed my towel in the basket and perched on the edge of the bed, flicking water from my skin in River's general direction.

He flipped me off. "Now you want my attention?"

"I always want your attention."

"Unless I'm telling you something you don't want to hear."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, boo. I'm worried about you."

"Why?"

River pried Then Play On free of the stack and handed it to me. "Take Nash this one."

"That's your answer?"

"What do you want me to say?" River jammed the lid on the box and pushed it back under the bed with his socked foot. "That I fucking see you running around in circles instead of doing the one thing that would make you feel better? That I know you haven't eaten a square meal since this happened? That you're surviving on protein shakes and batshit workouts like that fucking madness will make anything better?"

"If you like?"

River snatched a pillow off the bed and hurled it at my face. "Don't be a dick."

I wasn't. Not on purpose, anyway. I was messy and I knew it, but despite knowing everything River said was true, I couldn't seem to reason my way out of it. Not that I'd tried that hard. Nash nearly dying had turned me into a masochist and I lacked the emotional energy to make it make sense.

River wasn't a fan of loaded silences. He snarled into the quiet and left the room.

I missed him instantly.

But not for long.

He came back and wedged his fine self between my legs. "Your phone's dead. I plugged it in downstairs."

"How very organised of you on my behalf. Why don't you ever plug in your own?"

"I do."

I had receipts for all the times he'd forgotten for days at a time, but sliding my palms up the back of his thighs derailed my train of thought, reminding me that I was naked and River was O'Brian-ing around the house in nothing but his vintage jeans.

The ink on his belly called to me. I pressed my lips to a trash polka piece that spanned his entire abdomen, black and red skeletons dancing across his lean flesh. Kissing him. Licking. Biting as my touch made him shiver.

"Boo, are you trying to distract me with sex?"

"Not on purpose." Mother of Dragons, every second I spent with River was a bonus, and if anyone was distracting, it was him. "Ain't my fault you smell like sugar and sarcasm."

River put his fist to my chin and tilted my head back. "You smell like bullshit, but I'll allow it because you're fucking naked."

My face had forgotten how to smile. But for a man who made his own life colossally difficult, Riv had a knack for making mine easier.

Some of the stress binding my chest evaporated. "Does that mean I get to have you naked too?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"On how seriously you took everything I just said about calming your fucking tits."

"I always take you seriously."

River leaned over me, forcing me back onto the bed. "Your best friend is in hospital and you haven't been to see him. Rationalise it and I'll believe you."

"Why does it have to be rational?"

"Because it's hurting you."

I found myself splayed out on the bed, legs wide, dick hard, heart in fucking tatters. "Pain doesn't always make sense."

River's dark eyes flashed and he unbuckled his belt. "Prove it."

I had no idea what he meant. Just that he was out of ideas when it came to verbalising his point with actual words.

River lost his jeans. He wore no underwear. No socks, bare to me in the blink of an eye.

He had the best hips, made for my hands. I tugged him down on me. We tangled together like an ancient puzzle, and his rough kiss lit me up inside, breaking a dam I hadn't realised was so pent up and listing.

We rolled on the bed, fighting for dominance. I was bigger than River. Wider. Taller. But he was meaner, and he fought dirty, taking advantage of my permanent inability to throw my full weight at him.

He took my dick in his mouth, his lips as harsh as his tongue, wrenching deep groans from my chest, my sweaty hands gripping the bed frame for dear life, a shattering climax beating on the door of my control with heavy fists.

I fought it off.

Begged for his cock in my mouth and he shoved it down my throat.

River wasn't small. He cut off my oxygen supply and my eyes leaked at the pressure, fresh sweat coating my skin, vision flickering as River's rough gasp went straight to my tight balls.

We needed to fuck before I exploded.

River slid from my mouth, breathing hard, skin reddened from me clawing at him. "What do you need, boo? Anything. Just tell me."

I knew he meant it. With me, River was vers. I couldn't think of a single way we hadn't fucked each other. But it ran deeper than that. On paper, I was the big toppy bear, and sometimes I milked that shit for all it was worth, but in moments like these, I needed something else. I needed to go back to the start, to those complex days we'd spent holed up in this house and he'd fucked my brains out for a week solid. When he'd taken me out of the world that was slowly killing me and showed me another way.

"Fuck me, Riv? Please?"

"You don't have to beg."

"What if I want to?"

For a blistering second, River stared me down. Then he moved like a snake and wrestled me onto my stomach, pinning my arms over my head. " Anything. I'll always hear you ."

I'd missed him lubing his dick. Was thankful he'd taken the time to bother as he slid inside me, filling me with a brutal, eye-rolling thrust.

Fucking me.

I smothered my face with a pillow and let my body do whatever the fuck it wanted. Back arching. Toes curling. I shouted into clean cotton, like River's hot dick could exorcise all the demons from me, and you know what? Maybe it could. Sex didn't cure anything, but love did. And that's what fuelled the savage drive of River's hips.

What fuelled him.

What fuelled us .

I reached the point of blackout intensity, River's hoarse sounds of pleasure my only anchor to the goddamn planet. My body burned, pressure expanding in my belly, searing the base of my spine. My hands found the bed frame again, death grip returning. A primal shout tore from my lungs and I came so hard the neighbours were probably gonna call the local authority noise feds again.

Damn.

Behind me—above me—River eased down, milking his own climax. I felt him slip from me and grasp my shoulders, turning me into him. "There you go, boo. Let it all out."

Fuck a duck, I was crying. Bawling . But it felt good, so I didn't care. I lost myself in the arms of my one true love, and then I fell asleep. Like, a coma-esque nap that took me to another fucking realm.

I woke up alone. Like me when I wasn't so frazzled by life that my body clock took an acid trip, River wasn't good at sleeping in daylight. Or sitting around waiting for me to wake up. He'd left me a note, though.

I left you for a reason—a good one—but I'm with you always, boo xx

Last time he'd disappeared on me it had been to aid and abet his sister in bloody murder. His absence now didn't feel anything like that, but these days, it was hard to tell, especially when I was as cock-drunk as I felt right now.

I staggered out of bed and into the shower, washing my hair all over again, grateful that River had turned the hot water back on before he'd gone wherever he'd gone.

Downstairs, I was confronted by so many pies. With a sigh, I boxed them up and loaded them into Cam's car, texting him that I'd drop it off when I was done with Orla's freezer.

No reply, but I didn't let it worry me. Saint hadn't left his side since Folk had taken over hospital security and there was no one better at O'Brian trauma therapy than Chattypants Malone.

I made the drive to Orla's place, tipping my head at the diligent gaggle of prospects hanging around outside. At some point, I'd have to relieve them from guarding an empty flat, but still woozy from the hottest cry-sex ever, I didn't have the energy.

My key to Orla's place was bent. I jammed it in the lock and let myself in, my entire focus on getting through the damn door without losing the teetering box of pies obscuring my vision.

I made it.

Just.

The door slammed shut behind me and I stepped into the hallway, moving through the flat in a daze, knowing my way to the kitchen like the back of my hand.

I mechanically loaded the freezer, counting on the queen to chew me out for messing up her system. Helping myself to a sneaky swig of Alexei's special vodka.

His brand of wobble juice was as mean as River. Eyes watering, I shut the freezer and folded my box, trying not to give weight to the heaviness in my chest, the niggling reality that I had no idea what to do with myself when my manic pie runs were over.

In a daze, I left the kitchen, but the thing about this life was that no matter how in my feelings or wasted I was, I'd be forever attuned to every sound and movement in my immediate surroundings. The presence of another human in my orbit.

It came from the bedroom.

On alert, I set the box down, reaching for the tool always present in my pocket—a chisel small enough to be easily explained to any fed who picked me up, but efficient enough to do serious damage to any fool who came at me.

I crept through the hallway, keeping my back to the wall as the muffled sound came again. The low curse. The sound of metal impacting the hardwood floor.

It was a sound I knew. I'd heard it before too many times to count. But it didn't register—didn't solidify in my fucked up brain until I rounded the corner to the open bedroom door, and the healing grin of my best friend.