16. Brixton

Chapter 16

Brixton

I open my eyes a crack then fling an arm over them to keep out the annoying as fuck stream of blinding light. My skin tingles and the corners of my lips creep upward. Damn. Is it possible to still feel aftershocks hours later?

Stretching my arms overhead, I let out a low groan.

Goddammit.

Waking up means I can’t keep dreaming about Sam fucking me like a savage last night.

I reach under the sheets to stroke my half-hard cock, imagining it’s his hand rubbing me up and down. I settle into the mattress with a deep sigh, still grinning like an idiot.

My mouth isn’t used to that kind of movement. I don’t do a lot of smiling these days. But Sam shocked the hell out of me last night. He turned my view of him completely inside out. When he pulled me off that guy at the bar, I figured him for a total softie do-gooder. But when he drop kicked that asshole at the hospital in my defense and then brought me back here to violate me in the best fucking way possible, I saw a deeper layer. It’s obviously one that he doesn’t show too often but somehow, I peeled away enough to get a glimpse.

Okay, more than a glimpse and I am not complaining about that.

Tingles erupt in my groin as I rub harder.

His thick muscles caging me against the wall, strong thighs locked against mine, his massive cock slamming into my ass to stake his claim on me…I want to lie here and let those memories loop through my mind forever.

That possessive streak is sexy as fuck.

I jerk into my hand, thrusting my hips. My breaths are stilted, short and sharp as the sensations course through me like a dose of adrenaline-spiked lust.

Precum seeps from my slit. It coats my fingers as I fuck my hand, my mind short-circuiting from the overload of carnal need consuming me. I squeeze my dick, dragging my hand up and down, eyes shut tight.

My balls tighten and I suck down air as sparks explode from my core. They shoot to the tips of my fingers and toes as the orgasm tears through me.

Holy fuck.

I lie there with my cum-soaked hand wrapped around my cock. I can barely think, the pounding between my temples is that hard.

And to think I could have probably just gotten up and pissed Sam off to the point of fucking me again instead of doing the job myself.

A buzzing sound jolts me from my vision of Sam’s lips wrapped tight around my cock. My eyes fly open and with my free hand, I grab my phone off the nightstand.

A text from Ben flashes across the screen.

Press conference will be at the Wallingford Hotel in an hour. I’ll send a car to Sam’s apartment.

I let out an unsteady breath. Fuck. I forgot about the press conference.

This whole thing is such bullshit. The guy was looking to flex his dick and he picked the wrong audience. Why should that become my problem? Does everyone really think we’ll lose fans because I defended my bandmate? Are they gonna suddenly start hating our music? There are plenty of celebrities who’ve done way worse shit than me and guess what? Nobody’s canceled them .

So why the hell are they so goddamned worried?

Scrolling through my notifications, I roll my eyes at the endless string of texts from Lane and the rest of the guys and toss the phone onto the mattress.

I sit up slowly and reach for my t-shirt on the floor. I clean myself up and get out of the bed. My jeans and boxer briefs are on the floor, too. But instead of getting dressed, maybe I should take a stroll around the place to see if I can find Sam.

Let off some steam before I have a sea of cameras stuck in front of my face.

An hour won’t give us a lot of time, but judging by the way my cock jerks when Sam’s face floats into my mind, I don’t think I need much at all.

I walk toward the bedroom door naked when chills spike down my back.

A deep ache assaults my heart when the music hits my ears.

That song.

My mind trips back to a Sunday morning before Davis had moved up north .

The smell of bacon and eggs filling our house, Davis playing Maroon 5 while he cooked, which was part of his whole breakfast ritual. Didn’t need to be Sunday morning, either. He played that song every damn day.

I let out a groan as I pad into the kitchen. “Not again with this song.”

Davis sings along, ignoring me as he scoops two platefuls of fluffy scrambled eggs out of the pan.

I stab a forkful from the pan mid-transfer and shove them into my mouth.

He flips me off but doesn’t stop singing.

“Adam Levine is a total hack,” I say before taking a long gulp of orange juice.

“Jesus, are you ever going to let it go? Just because he ignored you after your opening set at their show doesn’t mean he’s a hack.”

“No, but it does mean he’s a dick,” I grunt.

Davis laughs. “You’re still my favorite front man.”

I stiffen, my hand frozen on the door handle.

Whoever is singing…isn’t Sam.

But who the hell is it?

I grab my jeans and pull them on along with my shoes. Then I stuff my phone into my back pocket. My eyes fall to my cum-stained t-shirt.

Fuck it.

Then I open the door and creep down the hallway, my shoes squeaking on the tile floor. I stop short when I get to the doorway to the kitchen. I stare into the dark eyes of a guy who looks almost exactly like Sam.

Almost.

Actually, he looks like a dark-haired version of Steve Rogers before he took the super serum in Captain America while Sam’s the after-serum version .

My heart hammers so hard, it drowns out Adam Levine’s annoying as fuck voice, but I can’t even be happy about it.

Because…it’s him.

Chase Hartley.

The guy who took my brother’s heart.

It has to be him.

I reach for the edge of the counter, my fingertips digging into the granite.

He’s got the last living piece of my brother inside of him.

“Holy shit,” he says, dropping the piece of toast in his hand. He shoots up from his chair and takes a few steps toward me.

“This is so surreal. Sam didn’t tell me you were staying over last night.”

I just stare into his eyes. Can’t speak. There’s a strange sensation creeping into the air, winding around my limbs. The hairs on the back of my neck spring up as if they’re on high alert.

I’ve never felt him so strongly before.

But it doesn’t bring me comfort.

Only sadness.

And anger.

Chase shoots out his hand. “I, uh, I’m a huge fan. My name’s?—”

“I know who you are,” I choke out, edging away from him and toward the front door.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Chase says, his face lit up by a huge smile. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I know things got a little crazy last night, but just so you know, that guy at the bar was a total asshole. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A lump forms in my throat, closing it off to oxygen. I grab onto a chair as I move farther away from Chase.

“The whole social media circus is out of control. But don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. As far as I know, you and my brother are dating.”

Chase pauses and his eyes drop to the floor for a second. Then he sweeps his hand through his hair the same way Sam does. His smile fades, his face eclipsed by remorse.

“I’m so sorry about your brother. He gave me my life back. I tried to reach out a long time ago. I wanted his family to know how thankful I am every day.”

The words stab me like knife blades, slicing into my heart with their serrated edges. I press my fingers against my temples, Chase’s face swimming in front of my eyes. Then Davis’s face appears and they blur together, both talking at me. I grab the sides of my hair, blinking fast.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Shaking my head, I pull open the door and walk out without a single word. The door slams closed behind me and I collapse with my back against it, my shoulders shaking.

My brother is in that apartment.

And I have to get away from it as fast as I can because I’m damn close to shattering like fucking glass.

I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Ben to bring my clothes to the hotel. Then I order an Uber for myself, not giving a good goddamn that I am shirtless. By the time I get downstairs, the car is waiting at the curb.

The driver’s eyes widen as I slide into the backseat.

“Just go,” I grumble.

I hang my head, covering my face with my hands.

My pulse hammers against my throat.

Seeing Chase was like pouring alcohol directly onto a raw and bloody wound. The searing pain that follows is unbearable.

Sam never told me his brother would be at the apartment. He knew how fucked up I was about that letter, how unglued I’d become if I was faced with that loss again. And he left without a warning, that fuckhead.

How ironic that the reason why I woke up with a smile on my face is the same one making me want to throw a fist through this car window.

Saint Sam, my ass.

I was right about him being the fucking Devil.

Except he’s not the only one with darkness in him.

And he’d better watch his back.

Beware the pitchfork, dickbag.