Fracture

14. Levi

CHAPTER 14

LEVI

My cock is almost protesting by the time dawn begins to filter through the curtains. No amount of lube can soothe the fucking chafe that has formed along my sensitive skin. With a huffed breath, I throw myself back on the bed, feeling sticky and disgusting, needing a shower but unable to bring myself to wash off the feeling of the past night.

Stella, my Stella, my perfect girl - fuck, watching her come, watching her split open and unbutton me at the same time, tearing out my heart and mind and my fucking soul. It was just sex - well, it wasn’t even that. It was just me watching her, and it was a fucking religious experience. I can’t even imagine what it will feel like when I’m inside her, when I feel that pussy coming on my cock, when I feel that hot, panting mouth wrapped around me.

These thoughts don’t do anything to calm my raging erection, and I decide that I really do need that shower.

But before I can move off the bed, the door opens, and Dylan walks in. He’s dressed in shorts and a black shirt, drenched in sweat, his chest pounding.

“What happened to you?” I ask, sitting up and pulling a sheet over my obscenely red and swollen cock.

He gestures to the door and nods. “I ran. For a long time. I needed to, uh.” He sucks in a breath. “Run.”

“Yeah, that was probably a good idea.”

He takes in my appearance, and frowns. “So you and Stella, you…”

I shake my head as he trails off. “No. We didn’t have sex.”

He lifts an eyebrow, shifting on his feet. “No? Why?”

“Because we don’t want to hurt you.”

Both his eyebrows shoot up, and he scoffs out a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“No.”

“I guess I don’t have a right to be mad even if you did.” He rubs a hand across his sweaty brow. “I’m a fucking hypocrite, huh?”

“You’re just surprised.”

“I just always…” He clears his throat, holding out his hands in front of him. “You two, you know, you’re… You’ve always been like brother and sister in my eyes. So this, I mean, this… Yeah, I’m fucking surprised.”

“I’ve never thought of her that way,” I admit, and the realization seems to blindside both of us a little. “Our parents wanted it like that, for the cameras, for the press. The perfect blended family. But it wasn’t ever that way in my head.”

Dylan puts his hands on his hips as he looks at the floor, shifting on his feet again, like he’s unsure whether he should go back to running away from his problems, or stay here and face them head on. “So, how do you want this to work?”

“I think we should all talk about this together.”

He raises a hand, his eyes meeting mine with fierce determination. “I want to hear it from you first. I want to know how you see this working.”

I shrug. “We’ll be together, the three of us.”

“So you fuck her and I fuck her, and…”

I chuckle, leaning back against the headboard. “I’d kind of like to fuck you, too.”

His eyebrows knit together, and suddenly I see all the hesitation and worry, the pain and insecurity that’s plagued him and sent him running and running til his body was worn out.

“Dylan, I want you.” I rise from the bed, and he watches me with a look of pain in his eyes. “I do. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I didn’t think I could. But you make me fucking nervous. I look at you and you’re so fucking beautiful, it makes me want to cry and laugh at the same damn time that you’d even look at me.”

“How… How long have you felt this way?”

I shrug, trying to pinpoint the moment. “I can’t even tell you, it just… It just happened.”

“While we were in prison?”

I hesitate for a second, before I nod, and he clenches his eyes shut. “God fucking dammit, Fenton.”

I take a step towards him, but he holds up a hand.

“You should have told me.” He leans against the door, shaking his head. “I want both of you. I need you, both of you. I can’t be without you.”

I walk up to him to take his face in my hands, his beautiful brown skin covered in sweat. I draw his face down to mine, so his head rests against mine. “I want you to let me love you, Dylan. In the ways you need me to. I know you need love, so fucking badly. And I can’t believe I’m fucking lucky enough to be the man you want to love like that.”

His mouth quirks into a painful, cynical smile. “Who knew Levi Fenton was a poet?”

“Who knew Levi Fenton had a heart?” I stroke his jaw with my fingertips. “Who knew it would belong to the both of you?”

Dylan wraps his arms around me, tugging me close and I don’t care that he’s drenched in sweat. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, peppering kisses over his heated skin and promise myself that I’ll love him til all the pain and hurt he’s suffered is nothing but a blip, a speck in the distance that he never has to worry about ever again.

“And Stella wants this too?” Dylan asks after a while.

“She does. She feels sick about it, but she does.”

“There’s nothing sick about this.” Dylan tips my head back, his eyes wandering over my face as he sighs. “I was worried too. Last night, this morning, I was all tangled up wondering if it was wrong. Wondering if I was sick. If we all were. But we’re not.”

“No.” I smile at him. “She even asked about threesomes.”

“Jesus.” Dylan hisses and releases me. He braces his hands against his hips, his body tilting forward as he laughs breathlessly. “Fuck me. Our girl sure is full of surprises.”

“That she is.”

“She still asleep?” He strips out of his soaked shirt, and the way his abs glisten with sweat in the sunlight does nothing to abate my poor, punished cock.

“I guess so. I was just going for a shower.”

He chews the inside of his cheek, tilting his head in a way that makes me want to kiss him hard. “Want company?”

I have to stifle a groan, and between him and Stella I don’t know how much more edging I can take. Yes, I want company. I want company that pins me against the wall and lathers me up and fucks me til I can’t fucking breathe anymore. I resisted last night, even though watching Stella fuck herself in the shower was torture and all I could think of was how that sweet pussy would taste dripping her release on my tongue. And now Dylan’s standing in front of me like some sort of God with his brown skin and those huge dark eyes, and my restraint is about as worn out and chafed as my poor assaulted dick.

“Sure.” You fucking idiot that’s the wrong answer . It feels so normal to follow him to the bathroom, like a regular thing we do. And fuck it if that doesn’t make me feel as giddy as a teenage boy with a crush. I want this to feel normal. I want to shower with my… my boyfriend.

I’m sure I’m grinning like a total asshole, and that word shouldn’t make me as happy as it does. I shouldn’t get too far ahead of myself, because we still need to talk to Stella. We still need to work this out. We still need to make sure this all works for us.

But then Dylan drops his shorts to the ground, and his perfect, chiseled ass reminds me that only a few short weeks ago I was buried balls deep in that ass and… My dick practically weeps.

He reaches for my hand without looking, and I find his fingers eagerly, letting him pull me in under the water with him. I’m not used to this. I’m the one in control. Levi Fenton, alpha Dom asshole. But fuck, the feeling I get as Dylan takes my hand and wraps my arm around his waist so his back is pressed to my chest. I turn my head to lay my cheek against the back of his neck, and he makes a sound like a sigh, like he’s relieved. Relieved to have me close.

It’s the first time I’ve been naked with another person and have it not be about sex. It’s just about being . Sure, I’m hard as a fucking steel rod, and I’m leaking precum all over Dylan’s ass. But there’s no urgency, no need to fuck and get it over with. No desire to just get down to it and walk away like it’s meaningless.

I stroke Dylan’s stomach, relishing the feeling of his hard muscles under my fingertips. He turns his head, as though to look over his shoulder at me, but his eyes are closed. He looks at peace, and warmth blooms in my stomach at the sight.

“What’re you thinking, pretty boy?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head, his eyes still closed. “I’m not thinking. I’m just here, with you.”

I take the soap and lather it up between my hands, then set about washing down his back, kneading his tight muscles with my hands, and the groan he lets out has me gritting my teeth to stop myself coming all over his back right here and now.

“That feel good?”

He nods, putting his hands against the wall. “What did you and Stella do last night?”

“I told you, we didn’t have sex.”

“I know. But you did something.” He looks over his shoulder at me with a cocked eyebrow. “You don’t wanna tell me?”

I’m about to say that I don’t want to make him jealous, that I don’t want to rub it in his face that I was ogling Stella’s perfect, smooth pussy while he was probably in agony just a few feet away. Then I have to remember that there isn’t any jealousy here. Seeing Stella and Dylan fuck on the stairs was hot. I didn’t feel a single pang of envy, not once.

Maybe it’s the same for Dylan.

“I didn’t touch her, but she got herself off for me.” I continue rubbing soap over Dylan’s back, lowering my hands to his ass and curving around his hips. “First she bent over her bed and showed me her pussy.”

“Fucking beautiful, isn’t it?” Dylan laughs softly, a sound which turns into a growl as my hands feather closer to his dick.

“Perfect.” I breathe against his ear, grazing his earlobe with my teeth. “Bet it feels like heaven.”

“It does.” His head falls back against my shoulder. “She’s so tight and hot, and fuck, her taste.”

“Not touching her was torture.” I rake my clawed fingers along his hips and he bucks against me. “Her face when she comes, she’s like a goddess.” I run my soapy hand up his stomach, over his chest to land around his throat. When I brace my fingers around his strong neck, he moans. “Would you like to watch me lick her pussy, make her come for us?”

“Oh fuck. ” His words are hitched, and he laughs. “Why does the idea of you being with her turn me on so much?”

“It’s meant to be.” I nip at his shoulder, sucking on the skin at the base of his throat, knowing I’m probably leaving a mark but not caring because he melts against me with another delicious moan.

“Tell me it’s real.” His tone shifts suddenly back to that insecure plea. “Tell me this is real.”

“It’s real, pretty boy. We’re the only thing that ever was.”

He turns around, and I almost slip over on the tiles as he pushes me against the wall. His mouth descends on mine, hungry and furious and full of all the need that he could never give a voice. His hands spear into my hair, and he grinds his hard dick against me, and there’s a very strange and unfamiliar flutter in my belly as I think of him being inside me.

Another thing I’ve never done. The thought is electric and daunting at the same time - Dylan’s huge in every possible way.

But I can’t give those thoughts too much time. Not now. Not when I tore myself away from Stella promising myself we’d work this all out first. I allow myself a few more moments of Dylan consuming me. Finally I push against his chest, trying to catch my breath and laugh at the same time, and he slumps, puffing out heavy breaths, running a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I liked it.” I move my hands up his chest to lay around the back of his neck. “But I think we need to call it for now, and go get our girl some breakfast.”

“You’re right.” He gives me a crooked smile.

I think he’s going to say something else, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to fucking drown in his dark eyes if he keeps staring at me like this, but then he shuts off the water, sliding back the screen to retrieve a towel for each of us.

By the time we’re dry and dressed, Stella’s voice is audible through the walls. She’s talking loud, in a tight staccato that tells me something isn’t right. Dylan frowns at me, and we head out into the hall just as Stella emerges from her room. She’s dressed in a black slip dress, her hair loose around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed bright crimson as she rubs her forehead with her index finger and thumb.

“Mallory, I am not going public with this.” She sighs heavily. “With this . What happened back then. I’m not doing it.” She waves a hand angrily through the air as though whoever this Mallory is were right in front of her. “No, enough. I cannot go through that again. I won’t. Please don’t call this number again.”

She swipes her finger over her phone screen, and looks up at us both, eyes wide and shoulders heaving.

“Who was that?” Dylan asks, moving towards her slowly as though she’s a deer he’ll startle back into the woods.

“A re- reporter.” Stella’s breath hitches in her throat, and her hands start to tremble violently. “She- she keeps fucking calling me, ab-about…” She cuts off suddenly, her hands shaking so hard she drops her phone, and her pupils blown as she looks at us. “D-Dylan, I-” She gasps, her chest sucking in hard.

I’ve seen this too many times, when I held Dylan as he tried to stay quiet, so the other inmates wouldn’t hear him and think he was weak, an easy target for being a kid scared out of his fucking mind in prison.

Stella’s having a panic attack.

Dylan reaches her before me, closing the distance between them and taking her in his arms.

“I’m here, guera . You can feel my skin, it’s real, and I’m here.”

She makes a sound like a sob, strained and catching amongst the breaths that can’t escape her throat. Her knuckles are white as she clutches onto Dylan’s arms.

“I’ve got you, guera ,” Dylan murmurs soothingly. “The floor under your feet, can you feel it?”

Stella nods frantically.

“Feel how cool it is,” he croons, threading his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, rubbing gently. “Feel my hand? That’s real, Stella. This is real. You’re safe, we’re here. Breathe for us, guera .”

“She… She told me…” Stella’s voice is high-pitched, still filled with panic. “She told me, Stanley Iverson, he’s… He’s sponsoring Gloria’s campaign.”

Dylan gives me a sideways frown. “Iverson?”

I shake my head, trying to remember the name. Trying to place it amongst all the bloated elites my mother mingled with, the pasty white faces of all those disgusting men who leched over Stella whenever our parents threw a party.

“Baby girl, who’s Stanley Iverson?”

Tears run down her cheeks, and her eyes are wide with terror as she looks at me. “Remember m-my s-sixteenth birthday.” It’s all she says before she covers her face with her hands, and burrows into Dylan’s chest.

Dylan’s arms crush her against him as she starts to wail, and ice and fire run down my spine at the same time.

Her sixteenth birthday .

As if I could ever forget. When Dylan had bought her all the flowers. When she’d worn that cute white and red polka dot dress, and danced with me under the full moon.

When her father had let her have her first glass of red wine.

And she’d started to sway on her feet. And he’d scooped her up, and told her what a special day it was.

The day after her sixteenth birthday, I found her crying in the bathroom, covered in bite marks and scratches, and unable to sit down.

It would be over a year before I’d understand what had happened. Before she’d finally tell me what caused the screaming nightmares that had me rushing into her room to hold her until she fell asleep again.

I stalk into my bedroom and type out a quick text, before pulling on a t-shirt and jeans, shoving my feet into my sneakers and heading back out to where Dylan is still holding Stella. She’s gone eerily silent, just trembling in Dylan’s arms every few seconds, as shocks of grief travel through her nerves.

“Stay with her,” I tell him. “I need to go see somebody.”

Dylan doesn’t even need to ask me for what.

He knows.

We’ve always known this was coming.

I throw my car into reverse and tear down the drive, tires screeching as I speed along Stella’s street in the direction of the garage. I catch sight of my eyes in the rear view mirror.

They’re going to wish you stayed locked up .

Eric sidles into the office, dressed in a loose purple t-shirt and yellow shorts, the picture of a family father who’s just been torn away from breakfast. He lifts his head in greeting when he spots me behind the desk, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Hey boss.”

“Hey.” I gesture to the chair opposite. “Sorry to call you in so early on a Saturday morning.”

He shrugs as he sits down. “No problem.”

“I promise this won’t take long.” I point to the bottle of water and two glasses on my desk, and he shakes his head. “But I do need to discuss something pretty important with you.”

“Sure.” He watches me expectantly.

“Mario tells me you’ve worked for him for a long time.”

“Yes sir, 15 years, since I left the service.”

I nod, pouring myself a glass of water. “He mentioned you were a veteran. Purple Heart and everything?”

Eric’s chest puffs a little. “That’s right.”

“He assures me you’re a good man.” I roll the glass back and forth in my hand. “I hope my past doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all. I know you did what you had to do to protect your buddy. I understand that.”

“I’m sure you do, probably better than most.” I take a sip of the water, wishing it was something stronger. “You know I’m on parole, right?”

He gives a curt nod. “Of course.”

“And I’m sure you know that comes with limitations.”

His brow furrows for just a split second before he gives that military nod again. “Sure.”

I rub my chin, hoping I’ve judged Eric accurately and I’m not about to make a big mistake. “Among other things, I’m not allowed to own a firearm.”

Eric doesn’t nod, just regards me with a deepening frown. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

I lean on the desk, taking a deep breath before I look him square in the eye. “I need you to get me a gun.”

Eric’s eyebrows shoot up as he grunts out a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“I need a gun. Something small, easily concealed.”

Eric shakes his head, pursing his lips to exhale heavily, rubbing his hands along his thighs. “Sorry, I mean, I’m all for helping a fella out, but, I’m sure you understand that if I get you a gun, I’m committing a felony.”

“I know that.” I take another sip of the water. “I have something I need to tell you, and I’m going to hope I can trust you with this information.”

He sighs heavily, but when my eyes flash to his face he sees something that makes his shoulders go straight, and that quick nod is back. “Of course.”

“You said you understood why I did what I did, when I killed my stepfather.” I put the glass down, leaning on my elbows and rubbing my hands together. “But the actual story of what happened was never released.”

Eric narrows his eyes, shaking his head as he blinks at me. “The actual story? You mean, like a cover-up?”

“Something like that.” I rub a hand across my forehead. “I need you to understand this isn’t my story to tell, and I can’t betray this person’s trust. But I understand you’re a father?”

“Yes, sir. Two girls. Eldest just started college.” The pride in his face at this little statement puts any doubt I had to rest.

“That’s amazing, good for her.” I give him a smile. “I can imagine that if anyone hurt your girls, you wouldn't hesitate to get revenge, right?”

“Not for a second.” His demeanor shifts from proud to lethal in a split second. He may be a jovial family man and wise-cracking mechanic, but underneath he still has the instincts of a soldier.

“I didn’t kill my stepfather that night, but I helped. Dylan and I took a plea bargain in exchange for a reduced sentence, because the truth… Well, no one wanted that getting out.”

“And what is the truth?”

I look at this man before me, knowing exactly what I’m drawing him into.

No, it’s the gun and that’s all. He’ll get me the gun and then he’ll have nothing to do with this .

“My stepfather was helping powerful men in all levels of this country’s administration abuse his daughter.”

Eric’s jaw drops, his eyes almost bulging from his head. “He did what?”

“She broke down one night and told Dylan everything, and then he came to me. We decided that we had to put a stop to it. So we cornered him in his office, and Dylan put a bullet in his skull.”

“His own daughter ?” Eric’s head shakes his head, his fingers braced against his temples. “He was helping men rape his own child? For what purpose?”

Anger claws at the edges of my vision, blank white and simmering with heat. “It would appear he was trying to further his political career, and learned early on what powerful men would give him in exchange for… her.”

Eric gets to his feet, leaning heavily on his thighs. “Jesus Christ.” He straightens quickly, meeting my eyes. “So this is why you need the gun?”

I nod slowly, pulling open the drawer beside me and taking out my last pack of cigarettes. “A name has come up, and…” I light the cigarette as Eric waits, back tense and brows drawn down. I shrug as I exhale a swirl of white smoke. “You don’t need to know any more than that.”

“What’s the name?” Eric’s hands have balled into fists at his sides, and I can see the protector instinct threatening to burst out of him.

“Eric, I’m not drawing you into this any further.” I motion for him to sit back down, which he does after a moment’s hesitation. “I need a gun, and that’s all. Your name never comes up.”

“And if the gun gets traced back to me?”

I take a long drag of the cigarette. “I stole it. You’d come into work and showed your new gun to the fellas, so I knew you had it. I obviously know where you live. You smash your basement window, say you didn’t even notice it until I was charged.”

Eric scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve got this all figured out.”

“I’m not intending on getting caught, but if anything happens to me, there’s a sealed letter with my lawyer that has you taking over this place. Your name will be on the deed, the whole works.” I wave the cigarette in a circle. “All of this is yours.”

Eric’s eyes bug out in earnest. “What?”

“And your girl, which college is she going to?” I tap the cigarette on the edge of the ash tray. “I’d like to see that she’s not saddled with debts just for getting an education.”

Eric runs his hands over his head, his mouth hanging open. “I - I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just say whether or not you’ll get me the gun.”

He considers for a moment, weighing up everything I’ve just dumped on him, his eyes searching the table as though a clean, easy answer will be found in the scratched formica surface. He finally meets my gaze, nodding slowly.

“I’ll do it. I’ll have it for you by Tuesday.”

“Fantastic.” I hold out my hand, which he takes with conviction. “I appreciate it. And so we’re clear, I’m not buying your silence. I’m rewarding loyalty.”

He gives me that curt nod again. “Yes, sir. And you have it.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you get back to your family.” I stamp out the cigarette in the ash tray as he retreats.

Eric stops suddenly in the doorway, and turns back to me. “Sir, your step-sister.” He hesitates, frowning. “I mean… is she alright?”

I swallow hard. Because no, she’s not alright. She’s at home crying her eyes out and unable to breathe at just the mention of a name. She’s so far from alright I’m not sure killing all these ghosts will be enough to soothe her nightmares.

But I don’t say any of that. I simply give Eric a smile, and a nod.

“She has us back. She’ll be alright.”