Four

four

LORI

I wake up slowly. My head feels messy, like a sack filled with parrots and squirrels. It takes quite a lot of effort to shake some of the fogginess away. It feels like one of those times when I've drunk way too much and I'm in need of a whole new identity.

My body is playing possum, not answering to the simple instructions my melted brain is trying to send. I ache everywhere. Even my damn toes are asking for mercy. It takes a second to force my caked eyes to open—I'm at Ollie's.

I see the picture of me, Ollie, and Sully-doo skating at Maggie Daley Park that I left on the dresser to remind Rague that this is my room—not just a guest room. Even though it seems like Brad, Sully's bestie, has moved in here. His stuff is everywhere. Sport gear, clothes, and more junk scattered on every surface.

Pink, the house cat is studying me from the foot of the bed. His white fur shines under the artificial light, making the scar crossing his face even more visible than usual, but his missing ear is hidden by the night shadows. I try to greet him, but my throat feels like sandpaper and I let out a cough instead.

My head falls on the soft pillow again, and I catch the shape of a small bottle of water on the side table. I move my boulder-heavy arm to grab it and frown at the sight of a gray suit sleeve covering my whole hand. An expensive suit. Gabe's.

The cashmere blanket covering me can't stop the sudden chill spreading through my body. Flashes from the sex club come back to me, and my heart starts pounding inside my chest.

Everything else slows down, the air around me turns suffocating and slippery against my face. The unbearable pain is the first memory hitting me. The excruciating agony that clouded my mind, the blazing torment submerging my body. The chill sinks in too far, and shivers skitter down my arms and legs. My teeth start to chatter.

Then Gabe's face appears, blurry at first. His handsome features turn more definite, his slate-gray eyes, light eyelashes, shiny hair, parted lips. I can feel his solid body like a wall of wondrous heat against mine, pulling me up, arms sliding around me. The chills disappear, replaced by smoldering flames licking my whole body. I hear his voice, filled with tension, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

I'm panting, trying to center myself. It doesn't work; I'm bombarded by broken memories. I let out a pitiful moan, remembering some of the words I uttered as his fingers stretched me deliciously and achingly open, the craving in my abdomen almost unbearable. It was bliss—the scent of him, the strength of his arms as they held me against him, his voice low and tight as the heaviness in my gut built and built. His hands cupping my ass, kneading hard, parting my flesh, fingers sliding between my cheeks, holding me down. I squeeze my eyes even tighter.

The ridge of his thick, perfect erection pushed between the cheeks of my ass, teasing my hole, making me burn with helpless want and erasing any other thoughts from my mind. His hands rested on my waist, fingers digging in, the long, thick erection pressing against my greedy entrance. My center stuffed open, wet with cum, filled with heat, impaled by his cock. His dark gaze on me, setting me on fire.

Everything went upside down, my stomach flipped, and then suddenly, I was pushed onto a leather car seat. My knees spread; my hips went up. "Please give me more cock," I said at some point. The memory of his low grunt sends hot shivers down my spine, straight to my balls.

Is that a memory or a drug-induced dream? My sore butt answers for me. Gabe fucked me. Gabe put his long dick inside me.

My own dick twitches at the images shuffling in my head.

"Sod a dog! I'm horny for Gabe," I scream to the empty room. He fucked me, and I begged for it! Bleeding hell! I shoved myself against him, threw my entire body, clung to him, moaning like a whore. I craved him between my legs, inside me. And I could feel it. His cock, thick and hard against my thigh. In me.

He's definitely not straight, but that doesn't mean anything. Most of the time he ignores me, looking down at me like I'm some kind of nuisance, not worthy of any attention. But while giving me pleasure, his eyes were full of fire and embers.

What the fuck have I done? The memories are a jumbled mess inside my head, but I can clearly remember how I'd gone far beyond the point of having any pride or self-respect. It doesn't matter that I was under the influence of a very, very powerful drug. Whatever the reason, I still acted like a horny, rabid chipmunk.

This demonic shitty day couldn't end more miserably. But that's Sod's Law, isn't it? Maybe I can drown myself in the river and get eaten by alligators. Are there any alligators in the Chicago River? Baby piranhas? A lost anaconda?

I moan and shudder, making Pink jump down the bed with a hiss my way. It takes more than a moment for me to kick my own misery in the balls and let anger take the reins.

That tosser, wanker, dead-from-the-neck-up, nobsocket owner of the club, Mr. Hot Shot. He will feel my wrath as soon as I can get some strength into my aching body again. I slump back, and with the movement, a warm comforting scent enters my nostrils. I raise my arm and draw my nose near the incredibly soft fabric of Gabe's suit. I'm about to take a cautious inhale when the bedroom door starts opening.

Like a kid caught stealing an extra chocolate biscuit, I quickly slide my arm back under the blanket as I turn my head toward Ollie. He isn't moving, standing in the room's threshold, simply staring at me. Then he lets out a high-pitched scream and runs toward me. In the next breath, he's on me, pulling me up and squeezing me like a used lemon slice.

"Death by boa constrictor, now I know the feeling." I sound like a three-pack-a-day geezer.

Ollie doesn't let go of me. "If I ever get an ulcer, I'll name it after you," he grumbles, but I can hear the relief in his voice at seeing me awake.

"Ulcer Boone? It's catchy," I retort.

"Ulcer Gremlin sounds better," I hear Sully-doo's joking voice. I can barely shift my body with Ollie still wrapped all around me, but my eyes find him standing near the door.

"You scared me. You can't leave me, Lor, remember our promise?" Ollie whispers in my ear. Of course, I do. I even have a tattoo on my hip as a proof.

"I need you," he adds, and damn, it's nice to hear it since I've felt a little left out after he found Rague. I'm very happy for them. Hell, I know how much Ollie deserves love and happiness, but I've missed him. His life has been so chaotic lately that we've barely had time to see each other.

"Everybody needs a Lori," Sully-doo says sweetly.

"Aw, I love it when you pump my tires. I surely am a limited edition." I wink at him even though I'm strangely uneasy. I feel off. My muscles have turned rigid, and I'm trying like hell to relax against Ollie. When he lets me go, the stiffness lessens a little. It's like my body doesn't want to be touched.

"You're the peanut butter to my jelly toast," he quotes the words of the very clingy boy I dated in junior high, Gooey Louie.

"Together we are puke-inducing, then."

His throat bobs, and then he lets out a short laugh. It sounds wet, but he's clear-eyed by the time he stops. Rague quickly appears behind him, pulling Ollie's back to his front.

"How do you feel?" he asks me.

I shift my body until my back is against the wooden headboard. "I wouldn't be opposed to you using your shiny axe to chop my head off right about now. But other than that, I'm bloody thirsty." I cough and Sully-doo passes me the water bottle, handing me also a couple of pills. I don't ask what they are for, just down them with the water.

Michael enters the room, and after a couple of seconds when he is not followed by Raph I ask, "Bones! Where's Bully Boy? Why isn't he here groping you?"

"Raph is not here," Michael replies as he starts checking my vitals.

"Not here means away from you."

Michael sighs as he lets go of my wrist and replies with a nod.

"Open the window, KKJ," I tell Rague. "I need to see the pigs flying in the sky, looking up, and forming fart clouds."

"Pigs can't look upward, and it's nighttime."

"Raph is at the base," Michael clarifies. Oh, okay that's the only reason Raph would detach himself from his husband's cute butt. "I'm glad to see you're you again." He doesn't sound very glad.

"Do you remember what happened?" he then asks with a serious tone.

I feel my cheeks grow warm, but I don't lower my eyes. "Some of it. I know I was dosed, and I remember the killer pain and some of what followed." The memory of the contrast between my wrecked, blissed-out state and Gabe's immaculate, composed selfis so positively filthy. It's also deeply and bloody embarrassing, but at the same time hot beyond belief.

"Did you get Mr. Hot Shot?" I ask, then looking at their confused faces I add, "The owner of the club."

"Philip Bailey is in the wind. The club is closed for now, Rami and the triplets released some rats in the kitchen, which the firemen were not very happy about. We're focusing on the drugs now; Hunter and his cousin Opal are working to find out the source of the components, which Sari figured out thanks to your and Gabe's blood samples," Rague explains.

"Gabe was dosed, too?" He looked fine by my recollection. Not as sex-crazed as me.

"Less than you. He took only a sip of his drink."

While I drank it all in one gulp. Wait, does that mean that the drug made him hard for me?

Did it turn him gay just for a few hours, forcing him to fuck me?

Is that why he isn't here?

My heart thunders and blood rushes around my head as I try to think back. He surely knew what he was doing. I don't remember any hesitation or embarrassment on his part. But the drug messed my memories up and the pain took away all my sanity—just the thought of the agony I suffered has goose bumps cover my entire body. I surely cannot trust my recollection of what happened. Fuck!

"Where's Rami?" I hear Ollie as I'm trying to stop my inner freak-out.

"Coming," Rami's voice reaches the room just before he walks through the door.

"With Hunter's snake lodged inside your behind?" The joke slips out of my lips, showing me I'm regaining some control over my mind.

Hunter stops behind Rami, looming over my bed as he hands his boyfriend a tumbler that reads " my boyfriend ' s python makes me happy ." How he can keep a straight face is beyond me.

Rami looks tired. "I see you feel fine. Sully said you remember more or less what happened."

I look around the room, just now noticing his absence. Since his near-death experience a few months back, he's gotten more closed-off. He's always been an introvert, but the tragic experience turned him into a loner, which is not acceptable. He's part of our triad: Ollie, me, and him.

We've helped each other endure the dreadful events of…life. Family is not always the picture that comes with the frame.

"Which means that they gave you the latest variety of the drug. Gabe told me it worked kind of like a truth serum, loosening your tongue."

"It did?" I search my mind, but I cannot recall saying anything apart from the obscene begging.

"Do you feel achy all over? Dry throat? Tired and dizzy?"

"Yes, to all of them."

"The woman who was hospitalized three days ago had the same symptoms, and the more time passed, the more she could remember."

"Is she okay?" Michael asks.

"Um, she tried to kill herself. She had it rough." Rami doesn't add anything else, and my imagination runs free, making me shiver, and reminding me how defenseless I was when the drug was doing its job inside me. I actually feel lucky Gabe was there.

"Fuck!" Rague cusses, holding Ollie closer to his body.

"The warehouse search was a bust," Rami continues. "We only found a couple of empty crates."

"You got closer to Phoenix, though," Michael says.

Rami makes a noncommittal sound. His lips are twisted in an angry line. "I did, but that fucker discovered we were coming somehow," he barks.

"You'll get him, Red," Hunter tells Rami in a confident tone.

"You will," Rague agrees, and they all nod or make some kind of encouraging noise.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Seven p.m. on Friday," Hunter answers.

"Friday?" I slept an entire day. "Crikey, work!"

"Don't worry, Gabe put you on a medical leave. He said to take a few days," Ollie lets me know.

"A few days? I can't. I have work to do, people are counting on me." I try to sit up straighter, and although my body hurts less, I feel so damn exhausted.

"You need rest. I'll go get you some juice and something to eat," Michael says before leaving the room.

"Where's my phone?" I hiss at nobody in particular.

"Right there." Hunter points at the nightstand, and sure enough, the sparkly rainbow middle finger on the cover is shining on top of the dark wooden surface.

I grab it and dial Gabe's number, but after one ring it goes to voicemail. The bastard hung up on me. I try again. One ring. Voicemail. Gritted teeth…my teeth.

"Rague, gimme." I pull back the too-long sleeve of the suit jacket and wiggle my fingers at him, extending my arm.

His scowl makes people run away in fear—along with his ginormous bod—but I've learned it's just his regular face. Plus, I've heard him say such syrupy stuff to Ollie, I could never be afraid of him, not that I ever was.

"Your phone. I need to call my jerk of a boss," I huff at him.

"He's busy," he replies.

"He's always busy. Gimme!" I wait impatiently as he slides his cell out of his pocket and hands it to me so bloody slowly.

My irritation reaches higher levels when Gabe answers on the second ring, "What? Everything okay? Lori?"

"Arsehole" is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down, reminding myself what he did for me…to me. "I can't stay at home for a few days!"

My loud statement is met with silence. Then he simply says, "You have to."

His monotone voice starts a familiar flutter in my stomach. I hate it. I want it.

"No, I won't. I have two cases I'm helping with. They are pro bono, the clients are counting on me."

I hear a muffled sound, like he covered the phone with his hand, and then someone in the background…crying? Firing another PA? He's always at the office, the first one to arrive and the last one to leave. I kind of admire his dedication.

After a few seconds Gabe replies, "Cutler will take care of them."

Cutler? King Midas? He doesn't give a bloody fuck about anything but money. "He won't even spare them a glance."

"I'll look into them, then," he hurriedly says, like he wants to end the conversation.

My mouth turns slack. Whiplash! He's still an arrogant prick, but at the same time a caring…boss? Friend ? The idea of being friends with Gabe feels ridiculous.

"You…will?" I ask dubiously. I mean I have no doubt he will, but Gabe taking care of my little pro bono cases is so surreal to me. "Yourself?"

Another loud cry reaches my ear from the phone. It sounded pained. Is he with a donor?

"That's what I said. I dislike redundancy. Don't come to work. Rest," he practically orders me, before hanging up. I move the phone so that I can turn a death glare at it, hoping it will fly through time and space and reach Gabe's stupid face.

If it's true that God created the world in six days, on the seventh, he made Gabe just to bother me.

"Fucking hate when he hangs up like that," Rami mutters. "So rude."

Yeah, Gabe is not a time waster, nor does he care about other people's feelings. But he's a skilled lawyer, and I know he'll take good care of my pro bono cases. I, on the other hand, can use those free days to start hunting Mr. Hot Shot. Thoughts fire in my head as I think about my next step.

"I want my revenge, Reacher. Tell me, what's your plan?" I ask Rami.

"First, regain your strength, Gremlin." He takes a sip from his tumbler and leans back against Hunter's massive chest. They are both brawny and sexy. I had a sandwich dream a few weeks back, in which I was the ham in between their baguettes . But I usually have sex dreams at night, I even sleepwalk when I'm stressed.

"I just need to eat something, and I'll be good to go. This is fucking personal to me."

"It's also personal to Gabe. And he's…working on it, while you're in no shape to do that," Rague states.

"Working? What does that mean?" I ask.

"He's hunting down the people who were watching you from the gallery room inside the sex club," Ollie lets me know.

"And fucking them up," Hunter adds.

"Gabe? Fucking them up?" I sound incredulous to my own ears. He's the embodiment of icy control when he takes care of a maggot.

"He's relentless and unpredictable when he turns into B—" Rami cuts off whatever he was about to say.

"B?" I repeat.

"From C-3PO to…Terminator," Rague interjects.

"Terminator? Unpredictable? Come on, Magnum P.I. here could stop Gabe with a punch to the face."

Hunter shrugs with a grunt.

"Despite the fact that I'd pay to see that, no, not even my grizzly could halt…his thirst for revenge," Rami insists.

Really? It must be a side of him I've never seen. The thought of not knowing him entirely bugs me for some weird reason. But at the same time, Gabe punishing those disgusting fuckers for me spreads a delicious warmth inside me. Still, I would have liked to be a part of it.

"It's not fucking fair. Those are my kills! Mine!" I complain.

"Philip Bailey is still out there," Rague reminds me.

"I want to tear the daft prick's spinal column out and beat him to death with it," I hiss.

"Lor, it's not over until the fat lady sings!" Ollie quotes one of my gran's sayings. It lifts and crashes my spirit at the same time. "When you get out of that bed we'll get him."

Michael enters the room, holding a tray with some food and a drink.

"Freshly squeezed orange juice, and I made you a sponge cake!" he announces, placing the tray on my lap. Rague shakes his head at me, while Ollie widens his eyes with horror.

"Looks like Rocky Balboa went a round with it." The shapeless cake has cracks all over, burned edges, and an uncooked core. Michael is a terrible baker, and the worst part is that he doesn't give up even though all of us have told him so.

"Why do you keep doing this to us?" Rami whines at him.

"He's probably man-struating again. Are you a tipped down little Tabasco bottle, Bones?" I smirk at him, before taking a sip from the glass.

Everybody scrunches their noses, and I snort. Menstrual blood is a no, but seeing it spraying from a maggot's carotid is fine. Figures.

Rami comes to my aid. "Didn't he suffer enough?"

Michael heaves a sigh of sheer exasperation. "You didn't even try it."

"And I'm not going to. Save it to poison your husband. Also, when I'm indisposed, I follow the lovely tradition of dunking myself in a tub of frozen yogurt," I tell Michael. He yanks the tray away and stomps out of the room. Thank God, I was holding the juice.

"That wasn't very nice," Ollie scolds me.

"I didn't hear you offer to try that atrocity," I retort. "None of you did!"

"I just got my taste back, thanks to Hunter's magic dick. Don't wish to lose it again." Hunter grunts at his boyfriend's words. But it's actually true. Rami had a condition called sensory numbness, which disappeared when he started dating Hunter. "Not to mention that at the sight of that cake, Gordon Ramsey would've thrown himself out of the window." Rami shakes his head.

"Welcome to cynical island, population you!" Ollie taunts Rami.

"Calm down, Kitty," Rague tries to soothe his husband, caressing his belly in small circles.

"Ollague has been sickeningly sweet since they got back," Rami states.

"Ollague?"

"Ollie and Rague…Ollague!" Rami announces excitedly. After Miphael—Michael and Raphael—he had to make up more ship names.

"How about you two?" Michael asks, coming back in the room with a bowl filled with frozen yogurt and a spoon. He glares at me as he unceremoniously drops the bowl on my lap. Touchy tosser.

Then he looks at Rami and Hunter. "So? What's your combined name?"

"Ramer, duh!" Rami answers.

"Ramer? I don't know if I like it, Red," Hunter tells him, which starts a discussion among them.

"Ollie?" I call him. "Wednesday? Did someone feed her?" I can't believe I remembered my sweetly vicious pet only now.

"She's fine. Ren is taking care of her."

Ren, one of the triplets, loves animals. He's working at a pet clinic, and we volunteer together at a pet shelter that he and his brothers started.

"…Hantami? That's terrible, Hunter Bear!" I half hear Rami saying as I finish the yogurt. I didn't know how hungry I was before I started eating. But I need more. First though…I remove the blanket and look down at the suit jacket covering me for a second. It looks big on me. The softness of the fabric and Gabe's scent coming off it as I move are so damn comforting somehow.

When I slide my legs off the bed, Ollie jumps toward me. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Mmm, this sausage fest is great, but it's like I have a fish tank in my pelvis in urgent need of clearing."

"I read somewhere that people make better decisions with their bladder full," Michael lets us know one of his interesting facts.

"Like pissing in the frozen yogurt bowl. I'm very close to doing that," I drawl, all skepticism as I stand up, swatting Ollie's hand away.

"Is that Gabe's suit jacket?" Rami sounds surprised to see me wearing it. No more than me though.

"It is," Ollie answers, then turns toward me. "I couldn't take it off you, you kept slapping my hands away."

"I did?" I must have been really out of it.

"I'll come back with Sari tomorrow." Michael squeezes my shoulder, and the urge to remove his hand is strong. But I fight against it, almost sighing in relief as he moves away.

"Where is he?"

"He sent you a text, his flight was delayed. Uri went to the airport to get him," Michael says as he walks toward the door. "I need to go. Drink and eat if you're hungry. You'll be great in no time."

"We'll let you be. Try to sleep, Gremlin, and no eating after midnight," Rami jokes at my expense. He moves toward me, and I instinctively take a step back.

"Hey, just want to give you a hug." Rami lifts his palms up.

My laugh is too high-pitched to sound real. I feel awkward, my body doesn't want to be near anybody.

"If you need a hugasm give it to your boyfriend," I try to make a joke of it.

"Hugasm?" Hunter echoes.

"Hug plus orgasm. A hugasm."

"He already gave me one of those today…twice."

"TMI, Rami. As always." Ollie rolls his eyes.

Hunter lets out a low, raspy laugh, pulling Rami toward the door, looking at him with an expression of adoration. He tilts his head my way in goodbye.

"You keep me posted, Reacher, or I'll come after you too," I yell over my shoulder at Rami as I slowly make my way to the bathroom. Damn, my ass hurts with every step. And I feel dry cum scratching my skin.

"Meg said to call her." Their foster mother is a psychiatrist, and she surely wants to check on my mental health. Maybe I should ring her.

"Do you need anything?" Ollie asks, seemingly not quite ready to leave me alone. Rague takes a step toward him, looking ready to fight whatever invisible danger hides in the shadows to protect his hubby.

I missed Ollie so fucking much, but right now, I need some time alone to actually process what the bloody hell happened to me.

"Pizza. Vegetables, no tomatoes." I send him a pleading look. "From In Crust We Trust?" Which is the best pizza place in Chicago.

"Sure," Rague hurriedly replies. "Come on, Kitty." When Ollie doesn't move from the en suite threshold, Rague grabs his hand. "Sully is here; Lori will be fine."

"I need to take a shower, Ollie. I know you want to take a peek at all this again." I slide a hand down my body, smirking at Rague's growl. It's so easy to rattle him. Too easy. "KKJ, this has gotten old. Chill!" I say as I let the door close on their faces a bit too hard.

I unbutton the jacket and carefully hang it on the hook on the wall. I lean toward it, letting my nose dive into the fabric. Gabe's cologne and something else, a more intimate scent fills my lungs. My shoulders slump and that weird flutter is back in my belly.

When my eyes open again, they fall on my reflection in the mirror over the sink.

My curls look like a preschooler's scribble, crazily pointing in every possible direction. Black shadows are visible under my eyes and my lips are chapped and puffed. I let go of the jacket and take the two steps to the sink. My nipples are red, and bruises mar my hips, and when I turn to check my back, my tushy as well.

A sudden memory of Gabe's fingers digging into my flesh assails me.

The slap of skin against skin echoes in my ears, my own pants against his silence. Me splayed open with his hips pressing, hitting my arse every time he thrust. The heat in me an inferno, burning my insides as I writhed under him, begging him to come inside me, to make my hole his.

My fingers slide down the crack of my butt, and I follow the path his dry jizz left between my legs. I just now realize.

He…he came inside me.

Too many thoughts, too many feelings, all battling in my overwhelmed mind. And Christ, my arse hurts. A flash of Gabe's gray eyes filled with heat, his mouth parted to let my name slip out, his strong grip on my hips, his cock spearing me again and again, rutting me, hits me, and my body trembles with desire while my mind is engulfed by incredulity.

A tiny, shameless flash of vicious satisfaction spreads in my chest at the sight of those purple marks on me because cool and composed Gabe couldn't control himself while he fucked me. The gratification is quickly accompanied by a dreadful thought. He felt forced to help me, and even worse, in front of a bunch of perverts. I enjoyed some voyeurism when I was younger, but never when drugged or against my will.

I hope Gabe found his inner Sweeney Todd, cutting those bastards' throats one by one.

I feel violated. A shiver runs through my body, and I hug myself for a minute, struggling against the distressing sensation. It helps to remember that Gabe was with me. I know he covered me with his body from the leery stares. He protected me.

Does he regret it? Not seeing him when I woke up has left me strangely unsettled. I can still smell him on my skin, or imagine I can. It doesn't help the crazy train of thought.

I move to the shower and turn on the water, letting it pelt down the stall walls as it warms. Once I've washed myself—extensively and thoroughly—I can still somehow feel Gabe on me. I physically removed the evidence of our sex marathon, but the bruises, the soreness, and the memories are still here, with me.

I never felt this marked, taken before, like no one but him will do.

What the bleeding, sodding fuck! Gabe Reed. That's ridonkulous. I rub myself furiously in body cream and then attack my face with toner and moisturizer.

The experience is still too fresh, or maybe this is a horrible side effect of the drug. I need to stop this before it festers. I need a distraction. Maybe I should eat something while I wait for Ollie and Rague to come back.

I grab one of the oversized t-shirts I left in the dresser and slide it on as I make my way out of the room and to the living room.

I'm opening a pack of chips when Sully appears in the kitchen—almost tripping on one of the chairs around the table. He's such an uncoordinated klutz, an adorable one with a propensity for accidents. His square black glasses have slid down his nose a little, and his hair is mussed, like he's run his hands in it multiple times. I know it's hard for him to sleep. The haunted look has become a permanent feature in his oddly beautiful eyes, one brown, one green. He was never the confident type, but he's turned into an insecure recluse.

"You know the sun is the best source of vitamin D? Your skin will turn see-through if you spend another day indoors." I drop onto the couch near him with enough force to push a whoosh out of it, regretting it straight away as my tushy protests in pain.

"How are you?"

"I'm splendid," I reply a little too forcefully.

"Are you going to act like a bitch for the rest of the night and pretend nothing happened?" he retorts. I'm glad to hear that his spirit is not broken, but the boy needs to start living again.

"Is that an invitation to your club? What's the website address again? Miserydwellers.com?" I taunt back.

"Do you still have those bats in the trunk of your car? I need one to beat your insensitive ass up!"

"Bugger, my car!"

"It's in the garage. Uri drove it here this morning before he left," Sully lets me know. I tilt the pack of chips his way, but he shakes his head and hugs his bent long legs close to his chest, placing his cheek on his knees. He looks so damn young and lost. But I'm done feeling sorry for him. He's seventeen and needs to fight for his future.

"Look, making peace is a skill I've never had. I rut and pout, until the time for healing has gone and the wounds become permanent scars that keep me awake at night. Until they morph into shadows and haunt my dreams as well."

He nods, knowing what I'm talking about, but he has enough grace to stay silent, probably at the sight of my watery eyes.

"Don't follow my limping footsteps. Happiness comes from you. You're the architect of your own. It took you a while to heal, and you partly did, at least physically, but now it's time you face your fears and tell them to sod off. Don't waste your life like this, Sully-doo."

His trembling smile is not very convincing, but I see something new in his eyes. Hopefully determination.

"Where's Brad tonight? And did he move in here?" I ask him, since it feels like we both need a change of topic. Plus, I don't like Brad in my room. He used some of my body cream and moisturizer.

"School away game." He shrugs. "He didn't move in. It's just temporary. His father is renovating their house."

"Aren't they gazillionaires? Can't he go to a five star hotel?"

"He could, but you know Brad." Sully's lips turn into an affectionate smile. "He hates all that fake, pretentious luxury."

"And he loves his Sully-doo!" I boop his nose. "Have you fucked yet?"

"What?" Sully's head snaps up so fast his glasses bump against his forearm sliding all the way down his nose. The temple tips avoid the fall remaining miraculously behind his ears. "Ech!" he makes a revolted sound while pushing his glasses back up.

"Why not? Brad is Thor-hot…in a sweet, loyal, himbo kind of way." I really like Brad. Physically, he's Sully's opposite: tall, brawny, long blond hair and smiley blue eyes. And his personality is very different as well; he's cheerful and easy to befriend, there's no cloud shadowing his thoughts. Perfect for a first time.

"Don't see anything wrong in starting to explore with a friend."

"Are you telling me you and…Ollie?" He makes a disgusted face.

"Come off it! If that was the case, I'd have reminded him every chance I got. ‘Oh, Ollie, pass the cheese, and do remember that time I smashed you?'"

"You smashing him?"

"Hey, I can be vers if I feel like it." I make thrusting movements with my hips, causing him to wince.

"Brad is like a brother to me. No smashing there unless he does it on a football field. Plus, I'm not sure he's into boys." He makes a pondering face.

Sully doesn't know if his bestie likes the chimichanga? That's odd. I know almost everything about Ollie and vice versa. Although, every friendship has its own boundaries and precious little peculiarities.

"Ren Wright just arrived." Serena's voice coming from the front door intercom stops our conversation, making Sully jerk back, almost pushing the bag of chips out of my hand.

"Easy," I tell him in a soothing tone. The alarm system Rami installed is very cool and sort of creepy, but Sully has turned a tad jumpy since what he went through.

A few seconds later, the door opens and in comes Ren, one of Hunter's triplets.

"Hey, if it's not Offspring Two from the Scooby Gang," I joke, alluding to the way he and his brothers call Rami, Velma.

He makes a clicking sound with his tongue, staring at my loose t-shirt that reaches my knees—it's hippie-fabulous. His mirrored glasses are, as usual, covering his eyes, sandy blond hair waving around his temples, and a small smirk on his lips. But it's his clothes that make my eyes widen with horror.

"The atrocious ensemble you're wearing is a crime against eyesight." I cover my eyes, not wanting to look at his prison-orange t-shirt and blue cargo shorts anymore. What happened to his no-brainer, polo-and-jeans look?

When I lower my hand, I notice that my statement doesn't seem to have affected him. So, either he doesn't care—which is impossible because I know he's the only one among his bros who has taste—or…

"It's a walk of shame! You shagged someone," I yell.

He nods, and after stealing the forgotten bag of chips from my hand, drops himself on the black armchair to my left.

"Did they tear off your clothes with their teeth? That's hot!" I wiggle my eyebrows at him suggestively.

"You look as annoying as usual. So, why did I have to take care of Wednesday?" Ren completely ignores my question and instead complains around a mouthful of chips.

"Is she okay?"

"She mauled both your pillows. There were feathers all over your tiny apartment. Still are." He's such a prick, a lovable one, but still a prick.

"My spiteful little lady. She must have felt abandoned." I make a sympathetic sound.

"She stole my wallet from my jacket. Twice."

"Her previous owner must have taught her that," Sully suggests.

"You mean the one she beaked to death and ate?" Ren jokes.

"Nobody talks shite about my lady pet! Sully-doo, release the Pink Kraken on him!" I point a finger at Ren while looking around for the cat. She can be a real bitch when she wants.

"Already have Ash's diabolical cat in my house, thank you very fucking much." Now, his brother's cat is really an unholy monster—and I'm not referring to her vicious personality.

"Don't you have a snake in your room?" Sully reminds him, and he's correct, Ren owns a snake that likes to wrap itself around things like arms and legs.

"Aren't you supposed to love animals working at a pet clinic and volunteering at Pet Palace?" I taunt him.

"Animals, sure. Ungodly creatures, fuck no." Ren tsks.

"How are things at the clinic?" Sully asks him. He worked there for a couple of months, until he had a relapse and stopped going out again. I don't know what triggered it, but it has been three months since then.

"Dr. Rupert is as forgetful as usual, and Pearl misses you," Ren tells him.

"She misses my morning coffee and our chats during breaks." Sully's face has turned melancholic.

"Are you going to come back anytime soon?" Ren hazards. The two boys have become friends. I thought Sully would have hit it off with Dare, the silent one of the triplets, but Ren is the one he has more in common with. Their passion for anything furry brought them together. And perhaps their painful pasts as well.

"I want to," is Sully's vague reply.

They start talking about animal stuff as my eyes catch on my reflection in But right now, it's my exhausted face in the mirrored lenses that gets all my attention.

"Fuck, I look terrible." The words slip out of my mouth. "What happened to my porcelain skin?"

"Porcelain?" Sully snorts.

"Like a human toilet?" Ren adds.

"Eat shit, both of you." I flip them off.

"Shouldn't you be the mature one?" Sully jokes.

Ren clicks his tongue again. "The same guy that got drunk and dared me to do a striptease?"

"Offspring Two, come closer." I lean toward him. "Come on, I'm too tired to slap you, so bash your face against my palm."

"Nutcase!" Ren shakes his head at me. "Why are you sitting in this almost dark living room with those long faces?"

"Waiting."

Ren asks, "Your friend? What's his name again?" He turns to Sully.

"Brad. And no, he's at an away game. You met him?" Sully frowns at Ren.

"No, but you're always talking about him; seems almost like I did."

"Rague and Ollie are home," Serena announces. Finally. I'm starving.

Ren stays for dinner, and the banter at the table helps to get me out of my head for a while. After eating four slices of heaven, my eyes are sliding closed, so I say goodnight to everybody— spending a little more time to reassure Ollie I'm okay—and go to my room.

I lock the door and put the key in the dresser drawer under a pile of clothes. I tend to sleepwalk when I'm stressed, and I don't want to end up in bed between Ollie and his husband. Rague would take that as an invitation to maim me.

I flop down boneless, face-first on the bed. A groan leaves my mouth.

As soon as I close my eyes, a foreboding sensation assails me, forcing me to spin and sit. Flashes from last night at the club shuffle too fast in front of my eyes. Cold sweat rolls down my body, and a fight-or-flight response starts inside my panicked brain.

Hearing the crazy rhythm of my heart, I jog to the bathroom and messily splash water on my face, holding on to the edge of the sink as I attempt to calm myself down. I look at my reflection in the mirror as I count my breaths.

My eyes are caught by something gray behind me. Gabe's jacket hanging from the wall.

Without a single thought, I take off my t-shirt and wrap myself in the soft fabric again. I don't care if it's filthy. I inhale deeply and feel my rigid muscles loosen as I succumb to Gabe's smell. It prompts a relaxed feeling all through my body and mind. I'm instantaneously safe.

Then it sets off something else. My traitorous body does a happy dance. My nipples turn hard. My sore pucker clenches and unclenches, and my balls feel heavy all of a sudden. But exhaustion wins, and I turn off the bathroom switch and lie on the bed again.

Falling asleep while I smell him around me keeps dark thoughts away, and not only the ones from two nights ago. Gran's smile suddenly pops in front of my eyes, filling them with tears. Her frail figure on her bed comes next, her almost transparent skin, her empty eyes. The syringe.

I lift my arm and push my nose into the jacket sleeve, filling my lungs full until I feel like they are close to exploding and then let all the air out. I do it again and again until I find myself nuzzling the fabric like a child's blanket.

I don't want to think about why or how his scent has the power to calm me down. Tonight, I just need to sleep.

The next two nights as well, enveloped in his rich smell.