Hell on Wheels (Faetal Attraction #1)

Skin

When I wake up alone, I have a moment of pure panic.

Usually, I’m the one who skates out before dawn, leaving the person I exorcised my demons with behind. I never give my partners the impression that our time together is more than casual fun, so it’s never been an issue when I’m gone before they rise.

This was different.

It was Damon, and I asked him to come to my room.

I don’t know why I did it—it might be the sneaking suspicion it was more than just a drunken fling.

For the love of Mab Rogue, you shared blood. You know it was.

Pushing my hair out of my face, I sit up and wrap my arms around my knees. I rock front to back as my forehead rests against them, fighting the urge to scream as the voices that have whispered in my head since I was a child return. I’ve been fighting their siren song for so long, but I’ve never been able to quiet them. The only person who could help was Reck, and he’s gone.

The knowledge that I’m not worth caring about or valuable enough to trade has haunted me since the day they sent him away. Graciella and Odhran never physically abused me or left me without necessities, but their emotional neglect made me a broken toy with no ability to form connections for fear of being abandoned. One of my trainers tried to send me to therapy after a month-long sex and booze bender in middle school, but that lasted about as long as the flavor of Fruit Stripe gum.

They called my absent parents to force me to stick with it, but they couldn’t be arsed to come from Majorca. Their presence was ‘mission critical’ and they ‘simply couldn’t return early.’ Social media told me that was a lie, but I didn’t correct them. Why bother? I didn’t want to sit and spill my guts to an empath shrink.

Graciella adopted Rebel the week after they returned, and he’s been my anchor ever since.

Guess they were embarrassed about their ‘defective’ child and upgraded.

A new sibling isn’t a replacement for my twin, nor is a kid capable of helping another kid work through their mental health problems. But Reb’s always done his best to support me, even when he was being an overprotective fuckwhistle. I suppose it could have been worse—he brought an annoying little sister into his circle of friends with minimal complaints.

That helped me stay sane while I processed the grief of losing Reck.

When I joined the Bombers and met Mina, it took a lot of coaxing to get me to let her in. Reb encouraged me because I needed a female friend to share girly shit with. Or that’s how he put it. I don’t know if he was glad I was finally someone else’s problem, or he really meant it. I was so grateful to have another person truly give a shit about me that I didn’t question it.

I look at the mussed sheets for a moment, and my chest tightens. If Mina hadn’t betrayed me, I’d be calling her now. We’d gossip about the mind blowing sex I had with a super hot nerdy demon, and she’d help me climb out of the insecure pit I’m sliding into because he’s gone. She might even be able to help me figure out if last night was as big a deal as I think it was.

But she’s gone like everyone else. She left me for a better option.

They always leave for a better option.

Tears leak from my eyes and I burrow into myself, letting the pain of yet another loss run through me like a dagger in my gut. No matter what shields or walls or glamours I wear, I’m always going to be the girl no one picks. I can gird myself with fashion and flash and sass, but inside, there’s still a soul deep wound that won’t heal.

I sniffle, unsure what I’m going to do.

Obviously, I can’t stay here and look them in the eyes. Damon will have told them and they’ll all know what a fucking idiot I was. Hell, I should have known better than to think Reb or any of his friends are more than the bad boys they claim to be.

If someone shows you who they are, Rogue, believe them.

Reck’s voice echoes in my head as I indulge in the first genuine cry I’ve allowed myself since his unwilling departure. My shoulders shake as the sobs wrack my frame, desperately wishing I could rewind time like an ancient one so I could erase my drunken decision to ruin my life. The guys were all I had left, and now I’m truly alone.

What the fuck was I thinking ?!!

Lifting my head, I reach over and grab the comforter to wipe the snot and tears off my bare legs. Mina got one last shot at my kidneys, and she didn’t have to lift a finger this time. My drugged up, alcohol hazed brain did all the heavy lifting on this one. Fucking one of the guys so I could feel something, anything at all, and assigning meaning to it was the stupidest possible thing I could do.

Now, I have to live with the consequences of my choices every day or people will know.

Shame floods my system and I curl back into a ball, rocking myself as I try to figure out how I’m going to put all the armor back on so I can be seen in public again. Not one, but two strikes at my most vulnerable spot is something I can power through on the boards. I don’t know if I can do it when my heart is shattered.

The damn thing was barely held together with duct tape and super glue as it was.

When I’m able to grieve properly, I know all of this will fade to rage. The Dark Unseelie inside of me will break loose from its chains and I’ll be a terror on skates and behind the wheel. It’s happened before, for worse reasons, but letting the blackness I keep leashed is never a good thing. My thirst for blood and vengeance will make me more reckless, strip my empathic humanity, and send me on quest after quest to quench its hunger.

It might be a good thing that my wings need time to fully heal.

Distractions like the upcoming match against the Drop Kick Mollies from Mounty Cove or the big vehicle triathlon Roadrunner is sponsoring will keep me busy, too. I’ll have to train like hell for both—the Mollies are owned by some human gangster group headed by a badass chick married to a bunch of guys. Unusual for their species, but her team is ruthless and they move like they're used to ducking bullets rather than elbows. And the trike… Rebel and I will need to brush up on air and sea, but no one else has to be around for that.

Speed boats and helicopters and human assassins should be enough danger to keep the pit sated, right?

Sighing, I ease my way off of the massive bed. My arm hurts a lot less and I should probably look at it when I get dressed to face my failure. I can’t sit up here and wallow in my room forever or they’ll eventually come get me. I’d prefer my humiliation to be on my own terms, so I need to suck it up.

“Okay, Rogue. You can do this. Put on your fucking crown and make those boys bow.”

Especially that cowardly little demon that left you like a thief in the night.

I open the drawers, pulling out the tiniest, most badass set of lingerie I own. No one’s going to see it, but my sexuality is part of my disguise and I need to own it. The black and purple straps stand out against my pale skin and the tattoos like restraints—fitting, I think. I’m trapped in a cage of my own construction.

The mesh crop top and well-worn denim of my shortest cutoffs barely cover anything, but that’s the point. Padding into the bathroom, I brush my teeth and the tangles out of my hair. I decide to put it up in space buns before adding my signature pinup cat eyeliner and pink gloss. Piercings and tatts sparkle in the mirror's light as I stare at my reflection.

Sufficiently badass and hot simultaneously—this’ll do, pig.

I pat my rounded tummy as a memory of the first time I said that in front of Mina flashes in my mind. She thought I was dissing my curves, and I laughed. Fae don’t have the same hang ups many of the supes have. My body is made by the Goddess for me and it’s served me well in all my pursuits.

I’m solid enough to slam a bitch in the derby and strong enough to hold my own in a fair fight, even without magic. Men, women, and everything in between think I’m hot. What the fuck do I care if some raggedy humans decided beauty was defined by looking as if I’ve been starved by a sadist?

It’s a goddamn miracle they’ve survived the many plagues and extinctions the ancients have thrown at them over a millennium.

Not that they know that, nor is any supe allowed to tell them. The Society keeps us all under wraps except at the highest levels of their leaders because we’d terrify their simple minds. I’d disagree, but shit like the Salem Trials or genocides of their own people say it’s the right thing to do.

“Now that I’ve wandered all over history in an effort to avoid this confrontation, it’s time to Fae up and go downstairs,” I mutter under my breath.

I turn off the lights and pad out the door of the bedroom, listening for their voices. It sounds like they’re in the kitchen and the smells wafting in the air confirm it. My stomach rumbles as I hurry down, letting go of my fear in favor of getting fed.

When I step into the room, they’re all at the table, laughing as they put down various plates of food. Rebel looks worried, probably because I took my arm out of the brace. Archie beams and waves, while Javi continues filling the table with food. He doesn’t look at me, but Angelo and Damon are making up for that by staring at me with flames in their eyes.

Are they that angry at me for ruining our friendship?

Before I lose confidence and run, my stomach growls loudly, and I turn bright red.

“Guys, we better feed Wheels before she eats us,” Archie snorts, leaning back in his chair. “That growl sounded like a starving cub.”

Damon’s olive skin pales and he chokes on the bite he was taking. His twin claps him on the back, lips twisting in a smirk. The fire in his eyes jumps and I swallow hard as I feel the heat like it’s pushing at my skin. Finally, Javi breaks our standoff when he walks in front of me to put the last platter on the table.

“Sit, you fools. Dragonfly is hungry, and I’ll be damned if she's not going to eat, so she keeps healing.”

That kind of command isn’t like the easygoing phoenix, but it’s kind of hot.

Smirking, I drop into the chair at the head of the table, ignoring Rebel’s protests as I salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Every eye in the room lands on me as I sip the drink in front of me and I grin behind the glass.

That’s more like it. Never let them see you bleed, Rogue.