He turns, and I watch the stupid muscles on his back contract as he retreats upstairs.
Storming back to my room, I’m even more annoyed when I see Keaton is still on my bed, now snoring.
I exhale, dropping down beside him. I turn to face his back, studying all of the tattoos that go up the back of his neck. They’re almost demonic. I’ve heard people say that some use tattoos as a way to express how they feel inside. If that’s the case with Keaton, I wouldn’t want to know who he is inside. It’s a form of art, and there’s no right or wrong way to art. No one can tell you what is wrong art or what is right art. If you don’t see what the artist wants you to see, then that art is simply not for you—that doesn’t make it wrong. It makes it wrong for you. My eyes drift closed and I’m pulled into a deep sleep.
I’d made a lot of mistakes growing up, but I’ve never thought of them that way. I never regretted the decisions I made because, essentially, who was to say that those decisions weren’t what saved me from another.
That night with The Shadow ate away at my insides and turned me rotten at my core.
Not because I hated it or regretted it.
Not because I felt dirty or disgusting.
It turned me rotten because I found myself drawn to him even more. Like a moth to a flame, uncaring by the fact that I could die if I flew too close to the very thing that I’m attracted to. But that feeling became worn as time went on. The Shadow became more violent with his presence. He never touched me again like he did that night.
He never teased me or drew me in.
He took back the fear that he had installed in me when my parents died and threw it back in my face at supersonic speed.
Fifteen years old
“Are you on your way?” My father asked through the phone.
I brought my eyes up to Killian, Keaton, and Kryin, who were all opposite me in the back of the limo.
“Yes. How long will you be?”
There was a long stretch of silence before he answered. “Twenty minutes.”
I pushed up my bandana, hanging up the phone and tossing it onto the seat beside me.
“What’d he say?” Killian asked, watching me as he pulled his up to cover his mouth.
“He’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“King,” Kyrin murmured, but I ignored him. I knew what he was going to say. “They won’t initiate the kill on her. They can’t.”
I cranked my neck. “She doesn’t deserve to live.”
“She can’t even…” Kill shook his head, exhausted. “Never mind.” I knew what he was going to say, though, and although he was right, it still didn’t trump the fact that Dove was the reason why so much tragedy had happened.
Present
My hand rests on my stomach as my other shades my eyes. I’m trying to fucking sleep, but all I can think about is her. And it’s fucking annoying. I don’t want to have anything to do with her any more than what I’m here to do. She’s waning on my restraint, teasing it. I hate her with a fire so hot I want to dip her in gasoline and use it to detonate her. But I can’t. I have to stick to the fucking plan, even if the plan kills me.
I wake up the next morning, my limbs sore, and my head pounding. An arm tightens around me, and I freeze, the recollection of last night coming back to me at one hundred miles an hour. Picking up the thick, muscled arm, I fling it off me and curl off my bed.
I groan again, my hair falling to the front of my face. I didn’t think I drank that much.
Padding my way into the kitchen, I clamber for a glass of water.
“Have a good night’s sleep?”
I spin around to catch Killian walking in, sweat pouring down his bare chest. I notice that the star that King has on his chest, Killian has over his lower left hip.
He catches me staring because he clears his throat. “You’re a little pervy.”
I snort, turning back around to empty the water out of my glass. “Not at what you think.”
He chuckles, his hand coming to my hip. I freeze at his contact, when his lips touch the side of my shoulder. “Chill,” he whispers, sending goosebumps over my flesh. “I’m not King. I’m not like the rest of them.”
My eyes close as I relish in his untrustworthy words, before shaking him off and spinning around in his grasp. “It doesn’t matter, Killian. You’re all bad.”
He seems to think over my words, because his eyes search mine. I take a moment to admire his bright blue eyes and tanned skin, and the way his dark hair flops over his forehead slightly.
“Yeah, so what if we are?”
I pause. “That’s your answer? You’re not even going to pretend that you’re not bad guys?”
Killian smirks, and for a second, I want to step backward, but I can’t. The damn kitchen counter is, once again, pressing against my ass. “If that’s what you want, Little Bird, to have us reassure you that we’re not bad people, then you’re tripping.”
“Oh really?”
His eyes narrow, his mouth opening. Just when he’s about to say something, I notice another shadow behind him. I feel him before I see him, and as cliché as that may sound to most people, it’s the only way I can describe the attraction I have to Kingston right now. Or the only way I want to describe him right now.
King steps into the space that Killian left. His eyes drop to my mouth. “We’re not good people, Dovey.” His eyes come to mine, the dark green depths enticing me to test him. Just push him a little further. His eyes narrow. “But I think you know that.”
I swallow, just as his hand comes to my chin, tipping my face up to him. “Have a good sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Did Keaton fuck you good?”
“What?” I yank my face out of his grip. “No.”
Just when I think he’s serious, his lip curls. But it’s not a smirk. It’s more of a satanic smile. One I don’t really want to test today.
I step around him, only for his hand to come to my arm. “We’re on the road today. The next show, you’ll be rehearsing.”
“Okay,” I answer, wanting his hand to release me, but not wanting him to release me. Oh, what a mindfuck.
He cages me back into the corner, both hands resting on either side of my body. “And you won’t go off on your own again.”
I shove him away, dipping out of the kitchen and making my way back to the end room. Keaton is bent over the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands.
“Hurt that bad, huh?” I tease, feeling strangely comfortable in his presence.
His hands move out of the way, his head tilting to the side. “Something like that.”
Annoyed with the ever-growing cryptic messages I get thrown at me by everyone except Kyrin, I pull open my closet door and take out some comfortable clothes that I can wear today, since we’re back on the road.
“Dove.” Keaton’s voice is so low I almost miss it.
“Yeah?” I answer, slamming the closet door closed.
His eyes come to mine, and for a brief second, I think I see something pass between us. Feel something pass between us. “Do as he says.” He stammers off my bed and disappears through the curtain, leaving me standing there speechless. Again.