"Kase Nicolás Cruz!" my father bellows again, garnishing my name with a few choice swear words. "You come out of there with that girl and–"
I hurry us forward through the fading light cast by the open door and toward the only exit left. My father's rage is a distant roar, growing nearer with every second as he bears down on us. I seize the handle and wrench the door open–
Only to be faced by another hulking figure silhouetted in its frame. I blink stars from my eyes and slowly the figure grows clearer. Brooklyn locks down, going as still as a marble statue beside me. A soft, panicked sound eases through her teeth and it takes all my control not to yelp as well.
Calamity Gardel appears as huge as a fucking house and dominates the space beyond the door. He's all muscle and at least a half a foot taller than me, maybe more. His biceps look big enough to pop my head off without much effort. They're inked nearly solid in some places. When my searching gaze finally finds his face, he's pulled something from within his coat pocket.
My eyes cross as the muzzle of a glock is shoved into the bridge of my nose. Brooklyn's shrill scream echoes throughout the warehouse.
"Daddy, no!"
And it's only the panicked shove she gives me that saves my brains from splattering the far wall. She and I go down in a tumble of limbs, landing splayed on the concrete floor. Every part of me hurts, my ears are ringing, and shock reigns in my head.
Calamity Gardel just tried to kill me. When we first devised this little plan, that possibility had seemed so remote as to be laughable. And now everything had just gotten a whole hell of a lot more real.
Confusion reigns inside the warehouse for a few seconds. My father's men are advancing, with he and Cruz at the spearhead. They're shifting shapes in the darkness, getting closer every moment.
Pressure builds in my throat as I form a warning, but my lungs still heave, trying to draw in air. My shout is breathless and doesn't carry and comes far, far too late.
Calamity's men open fire and the hail of bullets whizzes over our heads. I sling an arm over Brooklyn and press her flat against the floor, shielding her from the deadly rain. And I can only watch in horror as bodies jerk and come to a stop feet away. One of my father's men, Dante, drops to his knees, pressing a hand to his stomach. Crimson seeps through his fingers and he blinks stupidly at them before falling face down on the floor. Several of Calamity's men fall as well, but it's not enough. Brooklyn is still screaming, straining against me trying to get to her father. To stop him, or to embrace him, I'm not sure. I can't fucking move, fixed to the spot in horror when I see my father stumble.
Before his knees hit the stone floor, I already know. The white v-neck shirt is stained beneath his jacket, his eyes fixed in a dull and slightly bemused look as he tumbles to the ground. He impacts the cement with a sickening crack, tipping sideways so that his head lands a foot away from mine. He blinks twice, his lips struggling to form my name, before he expels a last breath and goes completely still.
I finally buck Brooklyn entirely, scrambling the few feet to his side. The bottom of my stomach falls out and I feel like I'm teetering at a great height, about to take a fatal plunge into whatever waits below.
"Dad," I croak, trying to shake him. His head lolls to one side, the only response I get. "Dad!"
Cruz barrels forward and before I can even process it, he's seized my shoulders and set his knee on a collision course with my face. My nose shatters with a white-hot slam of pain and I swallow half the blood that gushes forth. The thick metallic taste coats my tongue and makes me gag. Brooklyn staggers to her feet, tries to stop him from raining down another blow, but he pushes her aside easily. He stoops and seizes the .9mm I'd taken from dad and hefts it into position, sighting Calamity Gardel.
He pulls the trigger.
Brooklyn screams.
The pain that explodes across my face jerks me into consciousness again. Even so, it's still a weak echo of what Cruz did to me all those years back. The break never healed just right, and it was a distinguishing mark one could use to tell us apart, even if it was only slightly out of alignment. Cold sweat clings to my neck, gathers at the small of my back, and beads on my forehead. Brooklyn looms above me, a pale ghost against the darkness. Her features are sharper in this painful reality than they were in the agony of my dreams. Time has changed her from who I remembered. Time and tragedy has shoved a yawning chasm between us.
And before I can think, can convince myself it's wrong, I pull her into me, erasing that distance. I roll her beneath me, easing my knee between her creamy thighs, making the fabric ride up around her hips. She grinds against me, warm and wet and ready. I crush my lips to hers, burying what should have been a sob in pure bliss.
Brooklyn puts up only a second's resistance and then she's arching into me, a small moan on her lips. And she offers her body to me in silent capitulation.
And I take her.
8
Brooklyn
Kase bears down on me, a muscled wall of frustration and desire and I don't stop him. I don'twantto stop him. This is what I've been aching for since he seized me that night at the community center. It's the culmination of years of my own frustration, as I failed to find release in the arms of anyone else. And though it would be smart to tell him no, I can't. It's like an avalanche has started, and there's no stopping it once gravity kicks in. So when he pulls me into his body, I'm ready.
My hands slide automatically up his back, my nails scraping patterns into the warm skin beneath them. If the pain bothers him, he doesn't show it. He lets out a soft growl and tugs the hem of my ridiculous dress up around my waist. I take it a step further, shimmying it all the way up and over my head. I can't say I'm sad to see the hideous and smelly thing go. It leaves me bare and ready beneath him, as I abandoned my undergarments hours ago.
Kase's fingers immediately trace my silhouette, pressure light, his expression almost reverent. My heart clenches tight. He'd looked at me almost the same way the first night we made love. I'd been fifteen, a virgin, and desperately in love with him.
Sad to say, the last bit still holds true, even all these years later. This was going to hurt me in the end, but I was going to enjoy the ride for as long as I could.
"Christ, Brook," he groans. "You're so fucking beautiful."
His lips find and trace my jaw, hot breaths and sticky kisses pepper my throat as he works his way down. His knee presses between my legs and I grind up against it, desperate for more contact. I'm already flushed and eager.
I don't know what's gotten into him but I can't find it in myself to feel badly about it. He'd almost seemed to be having a nightmare, but when he came awake, instead of panicking, he attacked me like some hedonistic monster, desperate for one last fuck. I'm only too willing to oblige.
