Chapter 3

3

The Archers - The Hills

The next morning…

The house feels emptier than it did last night, even with the morning light streaming through the windows. It’s cold, too cold for August, but maybe that’s just me. Maybe it’s the emptiness inside that makes everything feel colder and quieter like the world is holding its breath. Or maybe it’s what happened last night. What I let happen.

I can still feel him—Caius—his presence lingering in every room, like a shadow that won’t leave. I don’t know how to shake it off, how to make sense of what happened. It’s all tangled up inside me, a mess of grief and guilt and something darker that I don’t want to name. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.

I’m too scared of what I’ll see.

Caius said it doesn’t matter. That nothing matters but us. But how can he say that? How can he act like this is okay like what we did isn’t…wrong? We’re step-siblings, for God’s sake. We’re supposed to be grieving our parents, not…not whatever the hell that was last night. My cheeks burn at the memory, my body reacting in ways I wish it wouldn’t. Even now, with him upstairs, probably still asleep, I can’t stop thinking about it. About him.

It feels like I’m betraying them—my mom, his dad—by feeling this way. By wanting him. But I do. God help me, I do. And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? Deep down, I know this isn’t just about grief or loneliness or trying to fill some void. This is about Caius. It’s always been about Caius.

He’s always been there, watching me with those dark eyes, like he’s waiting for something. For me to fall apart, maybe. Or for me to let him in. Last night, I did both. And now…I don’t know how to go back.

I don’t even know if I want to.

After all, he was right about one thing. He is all I have left. It’s just us, and despite how fucking wrong I know everything that happened is, it somehow made me forget. He made me forget. It’s like he’s a narcotic, and I’m an addict. Last night was my first hit, and he numbed all the pain that’s been wreaking havoc on me since that phone call. He made me forget, even if only temporarily. But the problem is, even I know he isn’t good for me.

Ironic, isn’t it. How the one thing that seems to offer me relief is also the same thing that’s spent years causing me pain.

The creak of the stairs pulls me out of my thoughts, and I tense. My pulse increases as I hear him coming down. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my back to the stairs, my hands wrapped around a mug of freshly brewed coffee, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know how to face him after last night.

But he doesn’t seem to have that problem.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low and rough, like he just woke up. Or maybe he’s still drunk. I wouldn’t be surprised. By the way he smelled last night, I could tell he drank more than a shot or two. He was fucking hammered. I’m amazed he could even stand long enough to get himself home, let alone…do what he did.

I nod, my throat too tight to respond. I hear him moving around, the sound of cabinets opening and closing, the clink of a glass being set down on the counter. It’s all so normal, so mundane, but there’s nothing normal about this. About us .

He sits down across from me, his presence too big for the small kitchen, too overwhelming. I stare into my coffee, willing myself to speak, to say something that will make this all go away. But I don’t know what that is. I don’t think there is anything.

“Tatum,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me look up despite myself. He’s shirtless, toned chest covered in tattoos along with his muscular arms. Our parents, especially his dad, hated the tattoos. How he seemed to always have a new one until, eventually his entire body was covered with them. I think that’s why he kept adding to them. Knowing they hated it so much made him want to add more and more until he ran out of skin. My eyes rake across his body. Following the lines of ink until they reach the small cross below his right eye. His eyes are on me, dark and unreadable, but there’s something else there, too. Something that sends an uncontrollable shiver down my spine.

“What?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“Stop thinking so much,” he says, leaning forward, his gaze never leaving mine. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“How can I not?” I ask, my voice cracking. Is he for real? “How can you just…act like everything’s fine? Like what happened last night doesn’t change everything?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me, his eyes narrowing slightly like he’s trying to figure out the best way to get through to me. It makes me want to run, to hide from whatever he’s going to say next. But I can’t move. I’m trapped here, in this kitchen, in this life, with him.

Because he really is all I have left.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he finally says, his voice calm, too calm. “It just makes things clearer,” he adds, lifting the mug of coffee to his lips.

“Clearer?” I echo, not understanding.

He leans back in his chair, his eyes still on me, filled with their familiar coldness. “Yeah. Clearer. You and me, we’re the only ones left, Tatum. No one else fucking matters. Not them, not anyone. Just us.”

I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I set the mug down on the table. “But we’re step-siblings, Caius. This… this isn’t right.”

“Right?” He laughs, a low, bitter sound that makes my stomach turn. “Who decides what’s right? The people who are dead? The ones who left us behind? Fuck that. Fuck them. We don’t owe them anything. They’re gone, Tatum. And we’re still here.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. He’s twisting everything, turning it inside out until I don’t know which way is up. But there’s a part of me, a small, terrible part, that wants to believe him. That wants to let go of all the guilt and shame and just…be with him. Because he’s right about one thing. We are the only ones left. And I’m so fucking lonely.

He reaches across the table, his hand closing over mine, and I flinch at the contact, but I don’t pull away. I can’t. His touch is like a drug, something I know I shouldn’t want but crave all the same. “Don’t fight it,” he says, his voice softening, turning into something almost tender. “You’re mine. You were always meant to be mine, and now that you are, I’m not fucking letting you go. I don't care what anyone thinks or has to fucking say about it. If people don’t like it, I’ll show them how I handle problems.”

My breath catches in my throat, my pulse quickening as his thumb strokes over my skin, slow and deliberate. There’s something predatory in his eyes, something that makes my heart race and my stomach twist with fear and excitement. He’s pulling me into his world, into the darkness that surrounds him, and I don’t know if I have the strength to resist. I don’t know if I want to.

This side of him is new. He’s softer than the boy I grew up with, and right now, despite how fucked up I think all this is, this soft side is easier for me to handle than the cruelty he normally inflicts on me.

“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, but there’s no conviction in my voice. I’m already slipping, already falling under his spell. He knows it, too. I can see it in the way his lips curve into that satisfied and cocky smile.

“Who’s going to stop us?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous. “No one. Not a single fucking person. So why fight it? Why pretend to be something you’re not? You think you’re some kind of saint, some perfect little girl who can do no wrong? Cause you’re not. That might be who they wanted you to be. Who you pretended to be for them. But I know the truth, Tatum. I know what you really are.”

“What am I?” I ask, my voice trembling, a mix of fear and curiosity.

“A fucking lunatic. My fucking little lunatic,” he says, and there’s a finality in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine. “And I’m yours. We belong to each other now, no matter what anyone else thinks. And I’m going to show you just how much you belong to me.”

I should push him away. I should tell him he’s wrong, that this is sick, twisted. But I don’t. I let him pull me to my feet and guide me out of the kitchen, up the stairs, to his room. I let him close the door behind us, shutting out the world, the guilt, the shame.

He leads me to the bed and slowly begins to unbutton my blouse. Inside, my heart is racing. Both fear and anticipation flow through me. He can sense it, my uncertainty and internal panic. It causes him to pause.

“Hold on, I have something that will help,” he whispers before grabbing the bottle of water from his night table. He opens the drawer and pulls out a small baggy of white powder. Cocaine. Caius doing drugs is nothing new. He’s been arrested for possession more times than I can count, and more nights than not, he stumbles home, completely out of it. Our parents never approved. I mean, why would they? But at some point, they stopped trying to make him stop. At some point they realized that the stoned version of Caius was easier to manage, and so they looked the other way.

I, however, have never touched it. Drugs have never been my thing, but at this moment, I can understand why he was so obsessed with them. Why, despite the dangers, the relief, the freedom they can give you would feel so alluring.

The tiny bag in Caius's hand gleams under the morning light, the white powder inside almost shimmering as he holds it out to me. I can feel my pulse quicken, the weight of the last few days crushing me from the inside out. The guilt. The sorrow. The endless, gnawing pain of losing her—my mother. It’s too much, and I need it to stop.

Just for a little while.

I take the bag from him, my fingers trembling slightly as I open it. Caius watches me, his eyes dark and unreadable, but I don’t care what he’s thinking. All I can focus on is the escape that powder promises. The escape from everything that’s been eating me alive.

I pour a small amount onto the back of my hand, lowering my head as I bring it closer. The burn hits instantly, sharp and fierce, as the powder shoots up my nose and into my system. I close my eyes, leaning back against the wall as the intoxicating rush takes over, spreading warmth and numbness through my veins.

It’s fast, almost too fast, and I feel the tension start to melt away. The pain, the grief—it all begins to blur at the edges, becoming distant, less real. I just want to float, to lose myself in this moment where nothing hurts, where I can pretend for just a few minutes that I’m not drowning in my own mind. In my grief.

Caius kneels before me, his dark eyes locked on mine, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans in closer. The room feels like it’s spinning, the high from the cocaine rushing through my veins, making everything sharper, more intense. Every touch, every breath, every movement is magnified.

I can barely keep my head up as I watch him, my body humming with a mix of nerves and desire. The guilt and pain from earlier are dulled now, replaced by the rush of the high and the heat of the moment. I want to lose myself in this and forget everything.

Everything except him .

Caius places his hands on my thighs, his touch sending a shiver up my spine as he pushes up the yellow summer dress I put on this morning. He takes his time, almost like he’s savoring the moment. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. My breath hitches as he leans in, his lips brushing against the inside of my thigh in a teasing, tormenting, and forbidden way, making me ache with need.

My head falls back against the plaster wall, the ceiling blurring above me as I give in to the sensation and the warmth spreading through me like fire. His mouth moves higher, closer, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips.

“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve wanted to hear you make those goddamn sounds, Tatum,” he whispers with hot breath against my skin. The high makes everything more intense, every nerve in my body tingling as he finally reaches where I need him most.

The first touch of his mouth is electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. My hands find their way to his hair. His bleached locks threaded so tightly between my fingers my knuckles are turning white. I bite down on my lip, trying to keep quiet as my hips instinctively grind against his face, but it’s impossible. Every movement, every flick of his tongue, drives me closer to the edge; the pleasure building inside me is overwhelming and relentless.

Pulling his mouth from my core, and sinks his teeth into my thigh, “That’s it, my little lunatic. Let go of it all. Of everything and give me every goddamn drop of your forbidden juice,”

I can barely think, barely breathe, the world spinning around me as his mouth slams back down on me. Two of his fingers slide inside me, hooking before they begin to pump in and out in slow, deep, demanding motions. I’m lost in the sensation, in the heat, the rush, and the guttural need my body is demanding. My heart pounds in my chest, the high from the cocaine making it all too much, too fast, and yet, I don’t fucking care.

I want more. I need more.

“Caius─” I whimper, nearing the edge.

Caius looks up at me, his eyes dark and filled with something that sends another shiver through me. He knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to drive me crazy, how to push me right to the edge and hold me there, teetering between pleasure and oblivion.

“That’s it. See, how fucking good it feels to let go. To drown in the forbidden and not give a fuck what people think. Because it doesn’t fucking matter what anyone else thinks. All that matters is us. Right here, right now, and how fucking good it feels when we’re together,” he explains. He’s right. I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. At this moment, it doesn’t matter to me what they’d say. How they’d feel about what we’re doing.

All that matters is with him; everything is numb. There’s no pain. No guilt or grief. Only pleasure, and fuck if it isn’t intoxicating.

“Fuck me, Caius. Please,” I beg. Words I never thought I’d speak, but right now, he’s all I want. This is all I fucking want. I’m lost in the moment, in the high, in the way he makes me feel like nothing else in the world matters but this, but him, but the pleasure he’s pulling from me. The rest of the world fades away, and for a little while, there’s nothing but us and the rush of the high.

Caius’s eyes burn with a mix of triumph and desire as he looks up at me, his face half-shadowed in the dim light. His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, the kind that sends goosebumps prickling along my skin and makes my breath catch in my throat. He’s won, and he knows it. I can see it in the way his gaze never leaves mine, in the way his hands grip my hips as if claiming me.

I’m trembling, my resolve shattered, the last remnants of control slipping through my fingers. But I need this—need him—and he can see it all over my face. He rises slowly, his body unfolding with a lethal grace, never breaking eye contact.

“Say it,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, a challenge wrapped in a caress. “Tell me what you want, Tatum.”

His words send a thrill through me, a mix of fear, but it’s easily outweighed by desire. I swallow hard, my voice barely a whisper, but I know he hears it. “I want you , Caius… please.”

His smile deepens, satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he steps closer, his body pressing against mine. “Are you finally ready to be mine?” he whispers against my ear, his breath hot on my skin, sending a wave of heat through me. His hand slips between us, and I gasp as he touches me. His skilled fingers work my sensitive clit like they know exactly how to unravel me.

The tension between us is unbearable, the need for release coiling tighter inside me with every second. Every swirl of his fingers. I arch into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate for more. He moves his hand away, teasing me with the sudden loss of contact, and I can’t hold back the whimper of frustration.

“Patience, little lunatic,” he murmurs, his voice thick with dark amusement. “I’ll give you what you need, but on my fucking terms.”

His words only make me ache more, but before I can protest, he’s lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he slams my back against the wall. His mouth crashes against mine, and I kiss him back with all the desperation I feel, all the pent-up emotion I’ve been trying to bury. His taste is a mix of salt and something darker, almost metallic, like the edge of danger always lingering around him. There's a lingering hint of the cigarettes he smokes and a faint taste of the whiskey he drank last night, but both are overpowered by the taste of me that still coats his lips.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged as he slides his pants down, freeing his cock. “Say it,” he asks, his voice strained, his control slipping. “Say you’re fucking mine because there’s no going back after this.”

“I’m yours─” I breathe, my voice trembling with need. “Please, Caius… I’m yours.”

That’s all it takes. He doesn’t wait any longer, his control snapping as he enters me in one fluid motion. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure immediate, and I gasp as my nails dig into his back, and he fills me completely.

“Fucking hell, you’re tight,” Caius groans against my neck, his voice a low, guttural sound as he starts to move, slow and deliberate at first, like he’s savoring every second. His hands grip my hips tightly, holding me in place as he picks up the pace, each thrust driving me higher, closer to the edge.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice thick with desire. “I want to see you when you fall apart for me. I want to watch our parent’s precious little princess crumble on my cock,”

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there nearly undoes me. It’s too much—the heat between us, the way he’s looking at me like he’s never wanted anything more than this. Than to break me.

“Caius…” I gasp, my voice breaking as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Let. Go,” he commands, his lips brushing against mine as he drives into me harder, faster. Each thrust has his control slipping away. “Come with me, Tatum. Now.”

And I do. The release crashes over me, blinding and all-consuming, pulling me under as I cling to him, crying out his name. He follows a moment later, a strangled groan escaping his lips as he finds his own release, his body tensing against mine before he collapses into me, both of us trembling, spent.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, the feel of his heart pounding against mine, the reality of what just happened settling in. But even now, with the high and the pleasure fading, there’s a part of me that knows I’ve crossed a line I can never uncross. And that thought both thrills and terrifies me.