MC Sinners Boxed Set #1-7

CHAPTER 13 | PRESENT - CIARA

CHAPTER 13

PRESENT - CIARA

I hear a bellow of pain, and I jerk awake. It takes me a moment to realize where I am, and what’s happening. Spike is beside me, thrashing in the sheets. His body is covered in sweat and he’s arching his back, gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles are white. He cries out again, tossing his head from side to side.

My heart begins to thump, and I feel awful for him. My stomach churns, because I know what he’s dreaming about. I know what he sees in his head every time he closes his eyes. He sees Cheyenne, and he shouldn’t have to see her. He’s living with so much guilt, and it’s slowly destroying him.

I gently reach over, touching his shoulder. “Spike, hey, it’s ok.”

He thrashes again, calling out her name. I swallow, and I can’t help it when I begin to cry. God, the poor man. I put my hand on his shoulder once more, shaking a little harder to try and get him to wake up. I know it’s risky; I’m touching a massive man who’s having a nightmare. He could easily swing his fist my way and cause big problems for both of us.

I can’t let him suffer any longer, though; he’s in pain. I shake him again, and he groans, fluttering his eyes open. I can see the moisture in them, and fuck, it hurts my heart. It really hurts. I don’t bother blinking my tears away.

“Hey, you’re okay, it’s okay.”

He stares at the roof for a moment, and then he turns his face to me. I can see he’s confused, but I can also see when reality dawns. He swallows, and his face...it’s broken. He’s broken.

God, what an idiot I’ve been. I never looked at the black and white of the situation. I can see it now, plain and simple. Spike is fucking broken because he witnessed his own wife being shot. That’s it. Plain and simple.

Tears thunder down my cheeks, and I reach across, gripping his face and running my thumb over the one tear that slides down his cheek. For a man like Spike, that might as well be him crying a waterfall.

“Baby,” I rasp. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you lost her.”

He heaves, and turns his face away from me. His body shakes so violently, it worries me, but I let him go. He needs to feel this. He needs to just feel. I place my fingers on his chest, and I can feel his heart hammering under them.

“I’m so sorry, Danny. So sorry I didn’t just see this for what it was. I thought of myself, and I didn’t think enough of you. You lost your wife and your baby. God, I’m so sorry for that.”

He makes a pained sound and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He puts his head in his hands and his body starts shaking even harder. I put my hand on his back, and I scoot closer. He turns to the side, looking at me, cheeks wet with pain that runs so deep, even I could never imagine it.

I take his head, and I bring it down to my chest and he turns, wrapping his arms around my tiny body, and holding me so tightly I can hardly breathe. I let him. With my arms around his head, I hold him against my heart, letting him get it all out. If that takes all night, I’ll sit here all night.

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just sits there, holding onto me like he never wants to let me go. My legs begin to ache, and his body grows heavier, but I don’t complain. He needs this.

All along, he’s just needed someone. He never had anyone to break to. His best friend was gone, his wife was dead, and he had no family. God, I was such a fucking bitch. I’m a terrible person.

I stroke his thick hair, swallowing back my tears. How selfish I was. I feel him begin to move, and I look down as he lifts his head and looks up at me. He reaches up, gripping my face. I let him. He brings his lips up to mine. I let him. He moves us, so his body is over mine and my back is on the bed. I let him.

Then his lips are on mine, soft, gentle, and sweet as hell. His hands are in my hair, stroking, gently soothing me, even though it’s him who needs to be soothed. I close my eyes, and tears slip heavily down my cheeks. He wipes them away, and he deepens his kiss. I spread my legs, letting him shift between them, and I gently place them on either side of his body. He pushes inside me, his cock hard and full, stretching me. He begins to move, slow, beautiful. More tears fall, because I realize what he’s doing.

He’s making love to me.

I reach up, running my fingers up and down his sweat slicked back. He rocks his hips, gently, beautifully, bringing me to the edge. I bury my face in his neck, and I breathe him in, not wanting this moment to end.

Not a sound passes between us, and that’s perfectly ok. We don’t need to say anything. There are no words that could ever describe what we’re both feeling right now.

Instead, he’s showing me. He’s showing me with his lips. He’s showing me with his body. He’s showing me with his heart. He rocks in and out of my body until I’m silently shuddering around him, my orgasm warming me from the inside out. He follows a moment later, burying his head into my shoulder and pulsing deep inside me.

Then we just lay there, both of us breathing heavily. I run my fingers up and down his back, tickling his skin softly. For a long while, he doesn’t move, but finally he rolls off me. He hooks one arm around my body, and takes me with him, making sure I land in the crook of his arm. I rest my head there, and we just lie in pure silence, neither of us wanting to speak—or perhaps we just don’t know what to say. How do you speak in a situation like this? He knows how I feel, I know how he feels, now we’re just leaning on each other, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the other person might take a touch of the pain away.

“She wanted to get in the car,” he rasps.

I blink, and then I realize what’s happening. He’s telling me what happened...he’s opening up. I stroke his abs, letting him know I’m listening.

“She didn’t ask questions, she just got in the car. She kept it cool, takin’ charge.

“She was fine, until she saw the bikes. She was okay, and then they showed up and she started to panic. Fuck, she was so scared. I’ll never forget how scared she was in that last moment.”

I heave, because I have never stopped to think about the moments before Cheyenne’s death, and how scared she must have been. I break. I start to cry so much that I can’t breathe.

I struggle out of Spike’s arms, and roll off the bed. He sits up, his eyes wide and confused as I stumble toward the bathroom. I reach the toilet, drop to my knees, and I throw up. I heave and heave, my body shaking with pain, and loss. I finally break down. I hated my sister for what she did. I hated that she was the golden child. I hated the life we had, but fuck, I loved her so much. I didn’t realize how much until right now, when Spike gave me an image of her terrified before she died.

I scream.

I scream and hit the sides of the bowl with my fists, and then I reach up and tangle my fingers in my hair. We never had a chance. Not a chance. We never had great parents, we were always treated differently and therefore we always treated each other badly. We were never encouraged to love each other. I was a bad sister, and she was amazing. If we had a chance, if our parents were normal, and our lives were different, we would have had the chance to just be sisters. To love each other. To fight for each other. To breathe for each other. To always have each other’s backs. To never hurt each other.

“Cheyenne,” I scream, pulling out strands of my hair. “Oh god, Cheyenne.”

Spike wraps his arms around me from behind, and he pulls me backwards. We crash onto the floor, and I scream again. He grips my fingers, pulling them from my hair, forcing them down by my sides. Pinning them there, he holds me so tightly I can’t move.

“Cheyenne,” I bellow loudly. “I want her back. I want another chance. I want to be the sister I should have been. I want to defy my parents, and fight to show her we could have been so different. I want to fight and tell her not to touch you, and then she would have moved on and found someone else. God, I want her back.”

The words are broken, desperate and pathetic. Spike rocks me, backwards and forwards, as I wail for the sister I lost.

“I love her, I wanted her to know that. She never knew that because all we did was fight. I was so angry at her. Even after she died, I was so fucking angry at her. I never just told her I loved her.”

“She knew,” Spike rasps.

“No,” I sob.

“Yeah,” he says, pressing his face against mine and rocking us both harder.

“I’m so sorry, Spike. I’m so sorry about Cheyenne. I’m so sorry about your baby. I’m so sorry I was never there. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“Baby,” he soothes, his voice broken. “I know.”

“I want the pain to go away. It hurts,” I whimper.

“I know.”

He slows his rocking, and my tears gently begin to subside. When they finally stop, my eyes burn and my body hurts. It feels like I’ve run a marathon. Spike gently lets me go and he turns me around, running his finger over my puffy, red eyes.

“Fuck, Ciara, you’re hurtin’ me.”

“I’m sorry,” I croak.

“No, baby, don’t you be sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t about me and—”

He puts a finger to my lips. “She was your sister longer than she was ever my wife. You had every right to do that.”

I reach over and cup his face. “I love you, Spike. I don’t expect you to love me back, and I’m not asking you to even try. I just want you to know, that after everything, I still love you. I always have, and I always will.”

His jaw tightens, and he leans in close, bringing his lips over mine softly, slowly, deeply. When he pulls back our eyes meet, and so much passes between us.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Baby, I know.”

I know he knows.

I’ve always known he knows.

I just wanted him to know again.