He went in completely unprepared for what would be thrown at him. And he is leaving . . . different. He can sense a change in himself. And not only that, but he’s leaving a part of himself behind. In the form of someone he never would have seen himself with had he met Sinn'ous anywhere else.
“Jasper.”
He swivels to the voice, and nearly gapes. The man standing by a sleek black car is . . . Wow. . . Just . . . Wow.
Black hair tousled in a way that is messily styled, tattoos running the length of one arm that are a whole connecting tangle of spider webs, covered in too many tiny spiders to count. But what has him picking his jaw up off the floor are the eyes. They’re grey, a silvery grey that is completely mesmerising.
Izz clears his throat, and inwardly winces, ‘cause he is not checking out his boyfriend’s brother.
Boyfriend . . .
It’s so unreal. But it is real. And they will be back together once Sin is released.
“I, um, hi—hi. You can just call me Izz. You must be Zayne . . .?” he trails the name in case he mispronounced it. That would be fucking embarrassing if he did.
“Yeah. Get in.” Zayne glides around the car’s front, and slips into the driver’s side.
Izz glances back one last time to the high walls and chain link that had been his cagefor what felt like a century. Then he’s opening a car door—he’s proud of himself for not screwing up, it’s been so long since he did this, he’s surprised he didn’t—and slips inside. Ass nestling into a softly cushioned seat which is about to drive him back to the real world.
He’s not sure he even knows how to function out here anymore.
~~~
They’re a ways down the road when he can’t keep the silence going.
“Who are you to Sin—Sinn'ous.”
Zayne quirks a brow at the stuttered slip up of the pet name Izz has taken to calling Sinn'ous.
“Brothers. No need to be jealous.” A dark chuckle follows the declaration, and reassurance . . . ? It’s questionable in the motives because the words, eyes, and laugh all say different things. Izz is terrible at reading people so he can’t put his finger on what’s wrong. On why it doesn’t line up and fit seamlessly together.
“I knew that, and I’m not jealous.” Izz can hear the exasperated edge to his tone, and he can hear the twinge of jealousy there. It’s more he hates that Zayne knows more about Sin than he does. Which is a weird thing to be annoyed over. Of course Sin’s brother will know more, they grew up together. Didn’t they?
Sin said he was adopted, not remembering his parents would mean he was young when it happened?
Izz sighs, knowing these are all questions he’ll have to wait to ask Sin about, but when he broached the subject before, it felt like Sin didn’t want to talk about it.
Zayne has a devilish grin on his face. It has Izz rolling his eyes.
“Shut up.” Izz half laughs, because it is ridiculous to be jealous over this. And then because he wants to make a joke of this, and pretend it was one the whole time, he adds, “I can stake my claim if I see fit.” He pulls on his own grin, only to lose the expression at his next question. “I just wanted to know the story to it. Sinn'ous said he was adopted. Were you adopted as well or are you blood related?”
This has Zayne laughing softly in a way that feels a little . . . off? Like it’s forced? Faked?
No. That can’t be right. Izz’s just out of it with the crap he went through in that Hell-hole prison. He’s not sure who he was before he went in but he’s starting to think he doesn’t recognise himself.
Everything is so different now, like he’s seeing people differently. Like the world has been hit with a spotlight and all the little details Izz wouldn’t have noticed before are on full display.
Figures, considering most of the people he met in that cage, turned on him. But not Sin. Sin was there for him through and through. From start to end.
Sin is a rock he can rely on.
“Story for another day.” Zayne concludes, slipping the car back into the silence they’d been in since Zayne picked him up.
Izz settles back in his seat, resigned to watch the world flash by in silence. At least he’s out, and he’ll see his sister soon, his mother. So why does his mind drift back to a Satanic cell he can’t get out of his head, and a man he can picture every detail of his body, down to the pentagram tattoo behind his ear.
I belong to him, don’t I . . . ?
71
