What’s happening? All I know is the emotion welling up in me, rushing in waves.
“Now…” he sinks his fingers deeper into my curls and looks down, capturing me with the dark, moonless night in his eyes. “Place your hands on your chest between both our hearts. Feel the beats. Good girl. Tell me your favorite ice cream flavor.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the others, but Jude gives my head a little shake, summoning my eyes. “No, Briella. Look at me. Tell me.”
Cheekbones. Yeah, that’s what I’ll nickname him. I shouldn’t be thinking of nicknames. I shouldn’t be humanizing them, especially when they are gods in this place. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism. Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome. Whatever it is, it’s fucked up. But they’relettingme be fucked up.
With trembling lips, I answer, “Rocky Road.”
“Seriously?”
I nod.
“Well, then. Now, describe your current environment,” he directs me. “Name five things you can see.”
I flick my eyes on each of the men around me and burn my eyes against Jude’s. “I see five pricks who need a personality transplant. And one who thinks he’s a therapist.”
He rubs circles along the back of my neck, and I hate how it and his heartbeat and his deep chuckle all ground me. “Former combat Army medic,” he corrects me with a devilish smile. He was in the fucking Army? Before I can ask more, Jude says, “Name four things you feel.”
I whimper, glancing down at my shackled hands between our chests. “Your heartbeat, my heartbeat, your muscles, including the one between your legs that’s getting off on this.”
“Three things you hear.”
I blink, then close my eyes and say softly, “Your heavy breath. The clinking of the shackles.” I flex my fingers. “And… the sound of Rory’s thoughts mourning his missing ear. Oh. Now, he’s growling.”
Jude’s laughter is deep and throaty, comforting. “Two things you can smell.”
“Blood. Sweat.”
“And one thing you can taste.”
Before I can speak, he captures my chin, tilts my head up, and claims my mouth in a slow, seductive kiss, inviting me to taste him. And I do. I let him open my lips and flick my tongue with his until I respond, accepting, surrendering.
I’m losing myself. Pieces of me break off. And yet, other pieces, long since buried, crawl out of their graves and show me all their pretty, broken selves. Begging for these gods in hell to look at them. Never fix them.
But maybe…they could look at all the tiny, jagged smithereens of my darkness and find somethingbeautifulin them.
12
Vincent
A BEAUTIFUL, SWEET, STRANGE AND WONDROUS LITTLE MONSTER.
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Bulletproof”
“Forever Damned”
I’m almost amazed Raphael let Jude comfort her. He’s damn good at what he does. It’s why he’s second to Raph. The only one who can ground us, since I don’t give a fuck what the others do.
But I can’t deny how I give a fuck about her, give a fuck about her pretty hazel eyes looking up at Jude with that tear-stricken gaze of need, of want. She gave him her pain. She might be giving all of us shards of herself, but with him? She gave him deeper ones. He might not have built a bridge of trust, but it’s a start.
After she’s settled in Jude’s arms, he places her back on the floor.
We’re not done. But we give her some breathing room.
Fucking hate these initiations. They always end one way. All the others, except for Raph, think it’s because of my bloody past, history of violence in the underground. But it’s just the opposite.
