Board games, memories, promises—all torn apart.
I stand in the middle of the wreckage, my rib cage heaving and mind in chaos. Still, above the clamor, the mantra persists, seeking my undivided attention.
Burn it.
Burn it.
Burn it.
I pick up Zilphia’s heather-gray fleece blanket and draw in her titillating honeysuckle fragrance, getting drunk off her sweet essence one last time.
My Zilphia.No, not my Zilphia.
I let the blanket slip from my fingers. The girl I thought I knew was a mirage.
I pluck Zilphia’s nail polish remover from the scattered debris, pour the clear liquid onto the futon, then set it on fire.
I stumble down the stairs and watch the flames spread, incinerating my once-coveted sanctuary.
Our story, our safe place… gone.
Three years later
I palm my throbbing dick in one calloused hand and hold a doobie in the other, higher than the Milky Way. My boy Ghoul hooked me up. He grows the best Hindi Kush this side of the United States. I place the rolled Bambú paper between my lips and pull the potent herb into my lungs.
My boneless body sinks farther into the mustard-colored armchair, dopamine levels kicking into overdrive. This shit will have the most seasoned stoners tweaking. I part my lips, releasing smoky ringlets into the hazy air. The strong pinewood aroma cloaks the room in a thick, calming blanket.
Between the weed and girl-on-girl action taking place on the bed, my cock is ready to do parlor tricks. Riley’s lithe frame undulates on the mattress, her legs spread eagle while she kneads those lovely raspberry-colored nipples of hers. Cherry, her fellow twinkie and companion, goes to town on her bald pussy real messy like, soaking the mattressin cunt juice.
They’re wet dreams in motion—blonde, sun-kissed, tight waists, big tits, and squeezable, round asses. Just my kind of art.
I avidly watch the steamy performance, chasing my high while briskly coasting my hand along my silken length, using the pearly pre-cum beading at my bulbous tip as lubricant.
The door flies open, striking the wall with a shuddering bang. “Get your ass home pronto,” Draco growls, his fists clenched at his sides. “We have Church in thirty.”
I take in his snarling countenance and hold out the jay in offering, knowing my gesture will only raise his hackles further. It’s his second dramatic entrance in less than twenty minutes to relay Zeus’s summons. He faithfully follows the dictates of his master.
Fucking lapdog.
“Wanna hit?” I ask, then nod toward the writhing bodies. “Or maybe you’d prefer a little dessert.”
“Double penetration,” Riley purrs, licking her lips. “Yummy.”
“Me first,” Cherry says, her voice low and teasing.
“Your presence is required now,” Draco reiterates, anger rippling under his granite jaw.
“Well, as you can see, I’m preoccupied at the moment.” I shrug and wave for the show to resume.
“Zeus shouldn’t have brought you here,” Draco seethes, resentment pinching his hard features. “You’ll never be a true God.”
“Pull the wedgie out of your ass and relax,big bro,” I drawl, flashing him a crocodile smile.
Draco pounds into the room, blocking the carnal display from my view. Indignation stains his skin ruby red. I stay planted in the chair, unbothered by his mounting fury. He doesn’t like being reminded of our shared DNA. I’m not exactly thrilled to be related to the fucker either.
Regrettably, one can’t choose who their family members are. Three years ago, I learned my father wasn’t dead like my mother led me to believe. I have a younger brother too—Lucien, aka Snake. He and I get along just fine.
The almighty Zeus is our father and the president of theGods of Ruin, the most notorious motorcycle club in the Western Hemisphere. Draco is the veep. We have different mothers—all were twinkies at one point. Mine aspired to upgrade her status to old lady, but Zeus isn’t the settling type. She ran off pregnant and pissed, without telling him about the life growing in her womb. Her vindictiveness caused a domino effect, resulting in the permanent scar on my heart.
