Satan's Revenge (9 page)

I feel his big hands under my ass, pulling my butt cheeks apart and toward him as his legs spread mine wider. I moan as I feel his dick at my slit and cry out as he enters me.

I spread my hands across his back as a feeling of almost impossible fullness takes over between my legs. Even after all this time, I’m still shocked by how big he feels every time he enters me. He moves slowly as he presses his hips toward mine. Finally, he’s all the way in, and he circles his hips. I feel his tip deep inside me, pressing against my g-spot, and arch my back against him.

He moves his head toward my ear, and I feel him biting my earlobe as he pulls back out to his tip and then thrusts in slowly again. His hands massage my ass as he slips his tongue into my ear. I moan, another orgasm already building inside me.

He begins to move a little faster now, and he picks his stomach up a little so that he can move one hand under his own body and onto my clit. He flicks his thumb back and forth across me and I bite my lip, trying not to come, wanting this feeling to go on forever. I bury my face in his shoulder and feel him move his hands to my arms and place them around his neck, and then he moves one hand under my back and the other behind my head.

“Look at me,” he orders, and I obey, pulling my head back and into his palm. As I make eye contact with him, he pulls his hips back and thrusts his cock into me hard. I cry out in surprise and pleasure, transfixed by the intense passion in his light eyes.

He thrusts in and out of me quickly now, our eyes still locked on each other. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve just had an orgasm, or my emotional experience earlier, or the sustained eye contact, but the pleasure is so intense that tears start leaking out of the sides of my eyes and falling into my hair. His eyes widen but he keeps going, knowing that whatever I’m feeling, it certainly isn’t pain.

Beads of sweat break out on his brow as he thrusts into me again and again. Our lips part at the same time and gasps of pleasure fill the air between us as we both build to an orgasm. Just when I think I can’t take it any longer, I lose control. My eyes roll back in my head and my body feels like it’s lifting off the bed completely. Pleasure overwhelms all my senses and it feels as though it’s bursting out of every pore of my skin.

I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually I’m aware of Drifter’s body still on top of mine, draped over me, completely spent. His head is tucked on the pillow next to mine, and he feels me stir underneath him. He looks at me with a dazed smile on his face.

He’s just opening his mouth to say something when we hear the front door open and the dogs barking. He glances toward the still-open bedroom door and hurriedly jumps off me to close it. I feel suddenly exposed, and pull the edge of the duvet cover over my naked body.

“Scott?” we hear Marcus call from the hallway, and we look at each other with guilty smiles.

“I better go out there,” Drifter says resignedly. I nod, still recovering, and watch him pull a fresh pair of jeans and a Henley from the bureau. He dresses and moves out into the hallway, throwing a quick wink over his shoulder as he closes the door behind him.

As he leaves, a worried frown crosses my face. Shit. I got so caught up in, well, Drifter, that I didn’t tell him about what I saw earlier today. I sigh, and push the bedspread off me as I stand up. I pull on a fresh set of underwear and a sundress from the closet. I run a comb through my mussed hair in the bathroom mirror before opening the bedroom door and joining the brothers in the living room.

“Would pizza be OK with you guys for dinner?” I ask as I walk in. I really don’t feel like putting together anything else after the day I’ve had.

“Sure, sounds good,” Drifter replies from the couch. Marcus is sitting in the armchair with a beer in his hand. “Oh, I saw this new place down by the gym and I grabbed a menu. Hang on, I think I put it in a drawer somewhere…”

He jumps up and heads to the kitchen, where he begins opening up the drawers under the counter.

“Got it!” he calls out, and heads back into the living room to sit down. I plop onto the couch next to him as he begins studying the menu.

“You have a good day at work?” Marcus asks me from the chair as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, it was fine,” I reply, a little surprised by his question.

“Must be tough to work in a hospital. You ever feel like you need to unwind after?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, frowning. Is he just being funny, knowing that Drifter and I were just “unwinding” in the bedroom? Drifter looks up from the menu, too, raising his eyebrows at his brother.

“You know, like go to a bar or something. You come straight home after work?” he asks, his tone a little more pointed.

I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. Shit.

“No, actually,” I reply. Drifter looks back and forth between us. This isn’t how I wanted this conversation to happen. I wanted to tell Drifter myself.

“Violet, if you didn’t trust me, I wish you had just come out and said it,” Marcus says, keeping his voice even, though I can hear anger behind his words.

“What’s going on?” Drifter asks.

“I…” I struggle to think of a way to phrase what happened. Marcus just got the jump on me, and now I feel completely off balance.

“Violet followed me around today, unless it was just complete coincidence that I saw her at the same bar as me,” Marcus says, turning to Drifter.

“You followed him?” Drifter says, turning to me with a frown.

“I just…when I came home, I saw him leaving, so I drove after him. I was curious about where he was getting all this money, and the hospital said he never dropped off his application.” God, I sound like a child ratting someone out. I rush ahead. “So I followed him to this bar, I don’t know what it’s called, Double Eights or something, and saw him playing cards.”

I see a small smile cross Marcus’s face as Drifter stares at me, incredulous.

“Violet, why would you do that?”

“I, I was worried…”

“I just like to play cards there sometimes. It’s just for fun,” Marcus adds earnestly. I almost believe him.

“See? God, I can’t believe you tailed my brother, Violet! Fuck!” he swears, and stands up. “I asked you to trust me, and this is what you do?” he continues, turning to glare at me.

I shrink against the couch pillows. I’m not used to Drifter speaking to me this way, especially not in front of someone else.

“That’s not…”

“That’s not what?!” he says angrily.

“That’s not the part I…there was something else.” I take a deep breath as he looks at me expectantly. “I saw Ace.”

“Ace,” Drifter repeats flatly.

“Yes, I saw him in the back room, with the card players,” I confirm, trying to put some conviction behind my voice.

Drifter runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Violet, Ace is dead. You know that.”

“No! I saw him!” my voice breaks with emotion. “He looked different, I mean, he’s a skinhead now, his head is shaved…”

“He’s a skinhead?” Drifter asks, looking confused, but also exhausted. Exhausted of me, I realize.

“Yes! It was a skinhead bar!” my voice rises in frustration.

“Violet, do you realize…I mean, you have to know how you sound right now,” Drifter says gently, which only pisses me off more.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of crazy person!” I spit out. “I know what I saw!”

“I’m talking to you like that because that’s how you’re acting!” Drifter spits out, trying to contain his anger. “I know you’ve had issues ever since…Rooster, and everything that happened, but trying to come between me and Marcus is just fucked up!”

“That’s not what I’m trying…you needed to know about Ace, the Sons…” I stammer, stung by his accusation.

“Don’t try to make this about the Sons! What you did was fucking ridiculous, so don’t try to justify it!”

“But he…”

“I will hear nothing else said against Marcus, you got it? Nothing. We’re done here.”

“You’re being unfair!” I counter, my voice rising in frustration.

“I said that we’re
done talking
, so that means
that we’re done fucking talking
!” he yells back and storms off toward the front door. I bite my lip, trying not to cry. “Marcus, let’s go to the clubhouse,” he calls back.

“Yep,” Marcus replies. I glance at him, and see a glint of triumph in his eyes that is quickly replaced with a frown at me as he stands and follows Drifter out the door.

As the door slams behind them, I release a low cry. I hear the dogs whine, and look into the dining room to see them hiding underneath the table. I sink down onto the couch and clasp my knees to my chest.

It’s amazing, how quickly everything can fall apart.

Chapter Nine

Drifter

15 years ago

I don’t run into Derek for a couple more days, but then he walks into shop class and beelines for a seat across from me. The rest of the guys file in and sit down, but Derek just stares at me. I try to concentrate on the demonstration that Mr. Laurits is beginning on the power sander. I can see his beady little eyes boring into me out of the corner of my vision, but will myself to ignore him.

“Ava told me she feels sorry for you,” he whispers under his breath. I refuse to look at him, but my hand starts twitching under the table. “I told her how you work at a gas station. She laughed.” He leans forward. “That’s a job for fucking immigrants. It’s you and the guy straight off the boat from fucking India.”

“Alright everybody, gather around for this part,” Mr. Laurits calls out.

Stools scrape the floor as we all stand up and form a semicircle around Mr. Laurits at the front of the classroom. I get a spot near the back, where I always stand because of my height, and out of the corner of my eye I see Derek position himself just behind me and to my left. I can feel his breath on my back.

“I think I’ll get my dad to buy that gas station,” he whispers. “It’ll be fun for me to come back home from college and see you still behind that counter. Oh man, I bet you have to clean up the bathrooms there, too. How’s it feel to know that’s all you’ll ever do with your life? Just clean up shit. That why your parents gave you up?”

I feel anger light me up like I’ve been set on fire. I spin around to face him and I’m just in time to see his fist meet my cheek. My head snaps back, but to my surprise, I don’t fall. And to Derek’s surprise, too, judging by the look on his face. He doesn’t know I’ve been hit before, by former foster dads, and they were way bigger than he is.

I’m vaguely aware of the guys around us stepping back. Before I can think, I cock my fist and slam it across Derek’s face, a solid jab to his nose. There’s a crack, and blood starts pouring down his chin. My left arm is up now and following up with a cross to his right eye. He falls backward and I jump on top of him, grabbing the front of his shirt. I raise my right arm again and bring it down on his right cheek two more times.

Around me, I hear yelling, and as I raise my fist to hit him again, I feel myself being yanked up and back. I struggle against whomever’s holding me, wanting to cause Derek some more pain.

“Enough, enough,” I hear yelled into my ear, and I jerk my head back angrily to see Mr. Laurits looking down at me intently.

“Scott, that’s enough,” he repeats, and this time I believe him. I nod, and he lets me go.

I look down at the floor to see Derek still lying there, holding a hand up to his bloody face. He looks up at me, fear in his eyes.

The anger drains out of me as one thought crystallizes in my head: I’m in trouble.

A couple of hours later I sit with a bag of ice on my swollen right hand. My face hurts a little from where Derek hit me, but my hand is much worse. It’s after school, and Mr. Laurits told me to wait here in the shop while he and the principal meet to discuss my fate.

I don’t know what came over me. I mean, I’m glad I hit him back, but it was the feeling I had when I was doing it that surprised me. Like I had no control over myself. Plus, I didn’t know I was that, well,
good
, at hitting someone. All my weightlifting hasn’t shown itself in much increased body mass, but I guess I am a lot stronger than I used to be.

If the principal and Mr. Laurits tell my case worker about what happened today, I could be pulled from the Ralstons house and put into a group home. Hell, that’s actually a good scenario. The real danger is going to juvie. They’d classify me as violent and I’d have to spend the next couple years escaping beatings or worse.

Fuck. I can’t believe I lost it. But that crack about my parents…

“What happened to you?” a gravelly voice asks from the door. I glance up to see Flint standing in the doorway. He looks…a little amused, actually. “Though maybe I should be asking, what happened to the other guy?”

“The other guy got punched in the face a few times,” I admit with a shrug.

“He deserve it?” Flint asks.

“Hell, yes,” I reply with conviction.

“I’m probably not supposed to be saying this to someone your age, but some guys just need to get hit in the face,” Flint says with a little smile.