Violent Angel (Pretty Broken Things #1)

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

A thin layer of blood covering almost every inch of skin made for an uncomfortable ride home, but didn’t bother Elliot as much as the uncleanliness that went much deeper. There were a hundred places to stop along the way, motels he could have gone in through the side, without drawing notice from civilians. Damon had offered, more than once, to bring him to one.

I need to be home. I need my own space. I need…I need…I need…

He didn’t even know, not until they finally got to The Inn and he was taking the stairs, two at a time, ignoring Damon’s startled call.

Close, so close, the bathroom only feet away, and air became impossible to breath. The pressure inside his chest, the silent scream he couldn’t voice, his heart pounding like a sledgehammer against the cage of his ribs, all combined sent him stumbling inside. He slammed the door, crossed the room, and fumbled with the faucets.

While the water sprayed, he peeled off his clothes, working his sneakers off along with his jeans. A sob tore from his throat as he stepped into the shower. The water hitting him brought damp air to his lungs, but it wasn’t enough.

“Filthy. Look at how filthy you are!”

“I’m sorry…” Elliot knocked over the bottle of shampoo, the bodywash, the shaving cream. His scrub brush was on the wrong shelf. Snatching it up, he covered it with soap. “I can do it. Please…please, I’ll make it better.”

Flashes of reality assaulted him. He was a man. He was a boy. Powerless, trapped, sensing something foul on his skin, like slugs leaving trails of slime all over.

His big bathroom disappeared, replaced by a much smaller one. The tub was rimmed with a black line of scum, and the water stank of rust, but it would still make him clean. Everything would be okay again once he was clean.

“Don’t you dare cry. Don’t pretend you didn’t want this.”

Biting back another sob, Elliot shook his head. “I don’t, Mommy. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

A rough grip, down low, tugging as a cruel smile warped the red lips of the woman in front of him. She twisted, twisted, kept twisting until he screamed. “This is what you like? Do you know what happens to little boys who like this too much? Dirty, dirty things. Is that what you want? Tell me, and I’ll make sure it happens.”

“No!” Elliot grabbed the rough brush, with all its bristles stained red, and held it out to his mother. “Please…please help me, Mommy? I’m not clean. I’m bad. I’m bad and I need you to make me better.”

The offer, the surrender, chased away some of the zealous rage in her eyes as she took the brush. His skin stung, but it was better. She wouldn’t find other ways to hurt him. And maybe…maybe she was right. She was doing this because she loved him.

All he knew for sure was he needed it to stop.

He’d do anything, absolutely anything, to make it stop.

“Elliot?”

Pounding at the door. Elliot was in the darkness, in his bed, but he hadn’t been sleeping. He was doing the bad thing. Did she know?

Maybe, if he hid under his blankets and pretended to be asleep, she’d go away.

The door opened, Damon’s voice breaking through the flashbacks. “Oh, baby. Hey, hey, give me that.”

“No. No, I’m dirty. I can do it, I can…” Elliot spoke in a rush, clinging to the brush as fresh blood joined the older blood circling the drain. “Please let me do it.”

Stepping into the shower fully dressed, Damon pried to brush out of his hand. “Elliot, you don’t need to do it. You’re hurting yourself.” He tossed the brush outside of the shower, then brought both hands up to frame Elliot’s face. “Talk to me. Can you even see me right now?”

One blink, Damon’s face was clear, another, and she was there. If he finished scrubbing everywhere, she would disappear and he’d be in control again. “I see you, but she’s not gone. Let me…let me do this and she’ll be gone. It’ll be just me and you again.”

“It’s just me and you now , my little python.” Damon took his hand, holding it between both of his own. “Do you feel this? Me touching you? No one else can touch you. Not while we’re here, not until you decide it’s okay.”

“But I’m dirty. I’m so dirty, Damon.”

Damon’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you let me bring you somewhere to wash off the blood sooner?”

“It’s not the blood.” Elliot closed his eye, opening them again quickly so he could look into Damon’s, instead of seeing the fucked up stuff in his head. “It’s…those hands, all over. I can still feel them. I don’t know why it’s messing with me, it’s my job and I’m usually fine until…”

“Until you’re not.” Damon nodded, smoothing Elliot’s wet hair away from his face. “Is it just women who trigger this feeling?”

Elliot shook his head. He hated talking about this shit, but when Damon touched him, when he heard his man’s voice, everything else was pushed further and further away. “When I don’t have control over what’s happening, it’s…it’s like I’m little again. Before the orphanage. I ran away, I remember that. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I ran away. But I was so small, I didn’t get far.”

Still stroking his hair, Damon waited patiently for him to continue.

And the part of his life he’d never told anyone about, not even Lux, came pouring out.

“There were missing posters everywhere. I tore them up every time I saw them and I was so scared. I knew she wouldn’t stop until she got me back. Until she could punish me for how disgusting I was.” Elliot shuddered, still feeling the paper in his hands, crumpled up as he stared at every person walking by. Any one of them might try to ‘help’. Bring him back to his mother, who would do such a good job at pretending to be worried sick. “Maybe she was right, maybe there was something wrong with me. Even though I knew she might catch me, I couldn’t stop…”

Damon cupped his cheek. “Couldn’t stop what?”

“Touching myself.” Elliot lowered his gaze. “It was sick.”

Making a low, frustrated sound, Damon tipped his chin up. “A little boy being curious about his own body? No, that’s not sick. That’s normal . Healthy even. What was sick was her turning it into…whatever she turned it into in her head. Fuck, Elliot, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry you had to deal with that. You were a child, she was supposed to protect you, not…not do that.”

Elliot swallowed hard, leaning into Damon’s touch. “At least…at least I escaped. The police found me and…saw the marks on me. I don’t know exactly what happened, but the next thing I knew, I was in a strange place and they told me she was dead.” He let out a bitter laugh. “She wouldn’t be dead if she hadn’t failed.”

“No. But you might be.” Damon drew Elliot against his chest, wrapping him up in his strong arms, all those muscles, the broad chest, bringing the jagged pieces of him back together again. “I’m not a therapist, and I think you know you should talk to one, but I need you to do something for me.”

Head rested right over Damon’s heart, Elliot nodded as the steady beat reminded his own to slow down. “Yeah…yeah, I’ll talk to one of the Nexus ones. They won’t freak when I tell them about how killing makes me feel good, but the wrong touch and I have a fucking mental breakdown.”

“You chose the wrong line of work to avoid that, didn’t you? I’m trying to understand, but it’s hard to avoid getting in a situation where you lose that control.” Damon gently traced his fingers down Elliot’s arm, under the raw flesh where the brush had left surprisingly deep gouges. “If you were just a merc—”

“Then I’d never feel like…I’m the one using what was used against me.” Elliot gripped the soaked fabric of Damon’s shirt. “When I turn it into a weapon, it settled something in my head. But it’s like a blade that can cut both ways if I’m not careful.”

“And when I’m in control?”

“It’s not a weapon at all. It’s safe.”

Damon gave him a soft smile. “Good. If nothing else, I’m glad I can give you that.”

For a while Damon simply stood there, fully dressed, and held him tight. His presence, his calm, his efforts to understand things that had never been part of his world before, all played a part in stitching the torn and frayed pieces of Elliot’s heart and soul back together again.

Something that was too much to ask of any man, any person at all, but with Damon, Elliot didn’t feel like he was asking for anything at all. He was accepting what Damon offered, what his man wanted him to have.

And that, along with Damon’s ability to tease him out of a funk, or switch quickly from playful to serious as needed, or make him smile first thing in the morning, were all part of why he’d fallen in love with this man. Elliot couldn’t pretend it was anything else, even though he was holding on to the words for now, his own precious secret.

But with how intuned Damon was to him?

I bet he already knows.

Finally put back together enough to think straight, Elliot slipped out of Damon’s embrace to tug at his shirt. “Can you take this off? That can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s really not.” Damon chuckled as he peeled off his shirt, then undid his jeans. But he paused before taking them off, catching Elliot’s gaze with his own. “I’ll shower with you, but that’s all we’re doing for now, got it? You seem fine, but I need to make sure.”

Elliot nodded, his stomach doing the silly fluttery thing. It was moments like this that made him believe Damon really cared about him, and not just for his cute ass or perfectly maintained body. Every member of Eros’ Eight used their looks and their skills for one ultimate purpose, and it was hard not to see everyone in the same toxic light as their marks. And most of the time, it didn’t matter.

The job became their whole lives and the only people they needed to trust had the same fucked up views.

If he hadn’t asked Damon to take control sometimes, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to accept being taken care of. He wouldn’t get a chance to set everything aside and see the world through Damon’s eyes.

A place where pleasure didn’t have to come with pain, and where he didn’t have to purchase every small comfort. Where he could just exist and be…happy.

Fuck, Damon made him so damn happy.

Once his man was naked, Elliot moved to grab a cloth to wash him, but Damon clucked his tongue and claimed it. Wetting the soft cloth, he used it on Elliot’s face first, adding a gentle face scrub to clean away every last trace of blood. Then he palmed some shampoo and had Elliot turn around.

Regular grooming meant Elliot got his hair washed by a Nexus hairstylist—a retired Navy Officer named Pedro, who’d been thrilled when Elliot asked for his first bit of hair color—and it was always pretty relaxing. But nothing compared to having Damon behind him, massaging his scalp while his dick bumped lightly against his ass.

Blood pulsed low as Elliot’s dick took interest.

He found himself reaching for his scrub brush.

Gently circling his wrist with a soapy hand, Damon spoke quietly, close to his ear. “There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s okay to feel good. I want you to feel good, especially when you’re with me.”

Closing his eyes, Elliot tipped his head back as Damon used the shower extension to rinse off his hair. “I do…I hope you know that. It’s just…” He sighed, turning at a light nudge and meeting his man’s eyes. “I hate that we probably won’t ever have hot shower sex.”

“We might someday. I’m not worried about it, though.” Damon sudsed up some body wash on a fresh cloth, using it to clean behind Elliot’s ears, his neck, and his chest. It joined the first one on the shower floor when it became more red than white. “I have a whole list of places I’ve fantasized about taking you. Our bed, obviously. The kitchen counter, the table, the sofa. Then there’s the less tame stuff, like the elevator, on top of my car…”

Elliot’s lips slanted. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Both Virgil and the doctor reminded me, repeatedly, that I shouldn’t attempt any ‘vigorous activity’ for at least a month. Now that I’m approved for regular workouts and training…” Damon gave him a hooded look. “We’re good to go. Whenever you’re ready.”

Heart stuttering, Elliot licked his bottom lip, his gaze trailing over the body he hadn’t been able to enjoy nearly as much as he’d wanted to. Not only because of Damon’s healing restrictions, but because they’d both been too damn tired.

Tonight was exhausting, and if all Damon’d wanted to do was cuddle up in bed with a few soft kisses, like they did every other night? He would’ve been fine with that.

But now that they were discussing it?

I’m wide awake.

And so fucking ready.

Trailing a finger down his man’s throat, then to his chest, over the bullet wound near his shoulder, and the other one on his side, Elliot made a thoughtful sound. “Damon?”

“Yes?”

“If you don’t fuck me tonight, I think I’m gonna have to give you another one of these.” Elliot peered up at Damon, giving him a sweet smile. “Does that answer your question?”

Damon raked his fingers into Elliot’s hair, gripping it in a tight fist, bending down as though to kiss him, stopping just above his lips. “What did I tell you about the threats?”

“Not to use them unless it’s sexy?”

“Hmm…interesting interpretation. I’ll allow it.” Damon claimed a deep kiss, stealing every last breath of air before he let Elliot go. “Let’s finish washing up, then we can make a mess of your bed. I plan to get you too tired to even care about changing the sheets.”

Elliot spat out a laugh, shaking his head. “Never gonna happen.”

Kissing the tip of his nose, Damon smirked. “Challenge accepted.”