Aiden narrowed his eyes at me.
Pops looked crestfallen.
I wanted to be the one to reach Damian and break his silence.
CHAPTER 3
DAMIAN
Sitting in the grass, with the perfect view of the bay, I sliced into the fish squirming in my hand. Its eyes widened, struggling to survive, desperate for another second of life. People made the same faces when they were about to die.
Life was such a precious thing, yet people abused their bodies and minds, inflicting the same poison on the world. I considered my kills a service I provided, a good deed to make the world a better place.
I heard footsteps behind me.
It was Bastian.
We’d been best friends since birth, and after our parents died in a plane crash, Arlo Salvatore adopted us. But not out of the kindness of his heart.
Bastian put his hand on my thigh, and I tried to ignore the tingling sensation that spread up my leg, hardening my cock.
I liked the way he made me feel.
Excited.
Turned on.
Scared.
Alive.
“You’re making a mess.” Bastian dug his fingers deeper into my skin. “Damian, what are you doing?”
Bastian was the only person besides our adoptive father who could snap me out of my bloodlust.
“I was bored.” I dropped the fish and the hunting knife on the ground and shrugged. “Just killing time before we meet Carl Wellington’s granddaughter.”
Bastian wiped the blood from my skin with the towel. “This has to stop. You promised to chill out with this shit. The urges are?—”
“I’m okay. I didn’t feel the need to…” I shrugged. “You know.”
His gray eyes met mine, and I considered pressing my lips to his. He wouldn’t let me kiss him.
Not on the lips.
After he wiped my fingers, I grabbed his hand and sucked his finger into my mouth, licking it clean. His chest rose and fell faster, his eyes fixed on me.
He wanted more.
But Bastian’s internalized homophobia caused him to hate himself for having feelings for a man. His shitty grandfather, who abused both of us as children, brainwashed him to feel shame every time we touched.
We were not gay. I’d never looked at another man and felt attraction. Bastian was my exception, and I was his. My therapist called it a trauma bond.
“D,” he groaned and yanked his finger from my mouth, wiping his hand on the towel. “Tonight is a big deal. Keep your shit together. The Founders Society won’t accept our family without Alexandrea Wellington.”
Technically, we didn’t need to marry anyone. We were born into powerful, connected families and could gain admittance into any exclusive club in the country.
Bastian Kincaid.
