Sweet Retribution (Ruthless Games Book 2)

Pain sears through my body, radiating from the three points where the bullets pierced my flesh. Blood pools around me, warm and wet, and my vision goes in and out of focus as I stare at the three figures above me.

Marcus, Theo, and Ryland.

Marcus’s face hovers over mine, concern hardening his handsome features as Theo and Ryland flank him on either side. His sentinels. His partners. His brothers.

Earth and air churn violently as those beautiful, mesmerizing eyes gaze down at me. He’s speaking, but I can’t hear the words. I can’t make out what he’s saying.

I open my mouth, trying to speak back, but all that pours from my lips is a trickle of blood.

I have to talk.

I have to tell him.

I have to warn him.

He cups my face with one large hand, calloused fingers threading through my hair, and then he lowers his face to mine and kisses me.

It’s everything.

Pleasure.

Pain.

Hope.

Redemption.

Destruction.

It’s a promise made and broken at the same time, and I kiss him harder, ignoring the coppery taste of blood that lingers between our lips. My right arm lies useless on the cold pavement, nerves and tissue already fraying, but I palm the back of his head as our kiss deepens.

Pop, pop, pop!

Three sharp sounds pierce the night air, and Marcus’s body jerks three times. His body goes limp, his weight growing so heavy that it feels like it might crush me to dust.

But I keep trying to kiss him, lips and tongue moving against a mouth that’s gone lax.

Unresponsive.

Dead.

“No,” I mutter against his lips, my voice raw. They’re still warm. They’re still full and soft. But he won’t kiss me back. “No, no, no. Please.”

His head slumps to one side of mine, our cheeks pressed together, and I wait for the feel of his breath to tickle my ear and stir my hair. But it never does.

Blood pours from his wounds, mingling with mine on the pavement beneath us. My fingers clutch at his hair, holding tightly to the rich brown strands as my own heartbeat slows.

“You promised,” I whisper. “You promised you’d never let me go.”

A harsh, ragged sob jolts me from sleep.

I suck in a gasping breath, and as I do, I realize the sound came from me. Another sob follows it, wracking my lungs as it tears out of me.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe, Rose.”

Strong arms wrap around me from behind, a body curving around mine as I curl into a ball. Theo keeps whispering soft words into my hair as I cry, rubbing his hand gently up and down the remainder of my right arm. He doesn’t try to stop me from crying, just holds me until the heartbreaking terror of the dream subsides a little.

My throat is tight and scratchy, and my head hurts again—although nowhere near as bad as it did earlier.

It’s hard to catch a full breath. Every time I inhale, the exhale turns into another gasping sob, but finally I’m able to let out a shaky sigh.

We lie like that for a while, Theo’s body still tucked around mine, the warmth of him seeping into my cold bones.

It’s barely light outside. A few soft rays creep in through the cracks in the curtains, and I’m pretty sure it’s morning sunlight. That means I’ve slept for over twelve hours. Did Theo stay with me the whole time?

I burrow deeper into his embrace, shifting backward until my back is pressed against his front. Everywhere we’re connected feels like a place where pain can’t get inside, and I want more of that. I want him to envelop me completely, somehow.

“Bad dream?” he murmurs softly, tightening his grip a little.

I nod. Flashes of the dream parade through my mind, making my stomach sour. There were others throughout the night, I’m almost sure of it. I wonder if I cried during those too, and if Theo got any fucking sleep at all, curled up next me.

“I tell myself he might still be alive,” I murmur thickly. “I keep telling myself that. But I’m…”

“You’re grieving anyway.”

New tears sting my eyes as I nod again. Something in Theo’s voice tugs at me, and I turn around in his arms, rolling over onto my other side so we’re face to face. His arms stay wrapped around my waist in a loose hold, and we’re so close that my eyes have to bounce between his.

I wasn’t wrong about the roughness I heard in his voice. Tears glisten in his blue-green eyes, turning his irises a deeper, more vivid color. He makes no effort to brush them away or hide them, but his throat works as he swallows.

“My dad died five years ago,” he says quietly.

I bite my bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, dislodging a tear that was hovering at the corner of his eye. It slides down his temple, soaking into the pillow.

“It’s fine. We were never all that close. When he died, I felt sad, but in a way that made sense. In a way I could handle. Honestly, I was worried for my mom more than anything. My dad founded a massive tech company that made him billions, and ever since his death, my fucking uncle has been trying to take over the company.”

“Can he do that?” I frown. “Just take it over?”

Theo scoffs. “No. But my dad left the company to him and my mom, and my uncle keeps trying to push her out. I never really wanted anything to do with running the company, but if I step away entirely, he’ll steamroll my mom.” He shifts his arms around me, resting one hand on my hip. “I keep trying to get out, to build a life of my own, but I always end up getting dragged back into it.” His jaw clenches. “My uncle was the one who convinced my mom to sign me up for this fucking game.”

My eyes widen. When the guys explained the arrangement Luca D’Addario has set up to choose his successor—the person who will basically run Halston when Luca steps down—I could barely wrap my head around the fact that their own parents had signed them up for this shit. I still can’t, really.

I grew up in foster homes that ranged from hellish to merely shitty, so it’s not like I have an actual reference for what a healthy family dynamic should be.

But even I know that signing your kids up for what’s essentially a battle to the death is super fucked up.

Theo catches the expression on my face and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. My uncle’s a fucking asshole.” Then his expression grows serious again, pain reflecting in his eyes. “When my dad died, I just focused on getting my mom through it. I felt sad, but it was manageable. Now…”

He trails off, blowing out a breath.

“What?” I whisper, leaning a little closer as if I could lend support that way.

Theo makes a noise in the back of his throat. “There’s no body. We don’t know for sure that Marcus is dead. But I feel fucking wrecked anyway. I feel…”

“Empty,” I whisper.

I’m not entirely sure whether I’m filling in the answer for him or just describing how I feel, but Theo nods.

“Yeah.” His jaw clenches, and the hand resting on my hip flexes convulsively, digging into my flesh a little through the thin, soft material of my pants. “Ryland and Marcus are like brothers to me. More than fucking brothers. Better than brothers, because we chose each other. We aren’t in each other’s lives because of some accident of DNA or whatever. We’re in each other’s lives because we want to be. I’d do anything for either one of them. Lay down my fucking life.”

He stops, closing his eyes for a second as another tear slides down his temple.

“If someone told me where to go, what altar to lay myself down on to bring him back in one piece, I’d do it. I’d fucking run to do it.” His eyes open again, and the pain inside them burns so bright it nearly steals my breath. “But I don’t know where to go or what to do. I don’t know how to fucking fix this, and I don’t know how to live without him.”

Theo’s body shudders slightly, and I feel it in my own. His heartbreak is a visceral, palpable thing. I realize with a sudden rush of clarity that what he was doing yesterday—taking me to Doctor Adelman, making sure I took painkillers, bringing me a fresh change of clothes—was the same thing he did for his mom after his father died. He was trying to help me through it, to shoulder his own pain and help me bear mine at the same time.

And he’s known Marcus for most of his life. I’ve only known him for less than a month, even though it’s impossible to remember my life without him in it anymore.

My grief is eating a hole in my heart.

Theo’s must be a hundred times worse.

Bringing my hand up between us, I rest it against his chest. His skin is warm, and I can feel the heat on my palm even through his t-shirt. His heart gives a little stutter, pounding hard against his ribs as if in reaction to my touch.

I don’t think, don’t logically decide what to do next. I just reach out to the pain inside him, trying to soothe it and my own.

My head shifts forward on the pillow, and my lips press against his. The salty taste of tears lingers at the corner of my mouth, but it’s better than the taste of blood, and it’s tempered by the dark cherry and oak scent of him.

Theo reacts to my kiss immediately. His body doesn’t go stiff, exactly, but I can feel each of his muscles responding, coming alive under my touch. His lips move against mine, soft and unhurried, and his hand slides around to my lower back to pull me a little closer to him.

Our first kiss, in the alley the night Marcus beat the shit out of Greg, was hot and overwhelming, something that built from zero to one hundred so fast it almost scared me.

This kiss isn’t like that.

It builds slowly, achingly slowly, starting with little brushes of our lips and gentle swipes of our tongues, with breath shared in the space between us.

It’s… gentle.

This is the most gently I’ve ever been kissed, and it’s everything I need right now.

Theo rises up onto one elbow, rolling me onto my back and draping his upper body over mine as his tongue licks the seam of my lips. He pulls my lower lip between his, then releases it to pepper soft kisses to my cheeks, across the bridge of my nose, and along my jaw line.

I know he’s tasting salty tears just like I did earlier, and I get the strangest feeling that he’s trying to kiss the remnants of each teardrop from my skin.

With a soft noise, I turn my head and capture his lips again, sliding my tongue into his mouth as our kiss deepens.

It’s like we’re drawing the pain out of each other, exchanging pieces of our heartbreak through the connection between us, and although it doesn’t lessen the hurt, it diffuses it somehow, making it a little more bearable.

The slow, steady build of heat between us begins to burn hotter, and my chest rises and falls as I try to catch my breath. Theo breaks the kiss to glide his lips down the column of my throat, and my stomach clenches as my clit throbs. I roll us again, pressing him onto his back and draping my body over his, my legs straddling his lean hips.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he must’ve kicked off his pants to get more comfortable, and I can feel the growing shape of his cock through the thin material of his boxer briefs and my sleep pants. Resting my chest against his, I brace my hand on the mattress, my dark hair falling around my face like a curtain as I kiss him like I might never stop.

Honestly, in this moment, I don’t want to.

I want to keep rocking against him, tasting him, breathing him in. Stoking the slow-burning fire that flickers between us.

I want him to know that I’m still here. That he’s still here.

That we still have each other, and that we’ll get through this somehow.

He’s fully hard now, his cock throbbing between us, hitting the perfect spot on my clit each time I roll my hips against him and drawing little gasps of pleasure from me.

The room is quiet, our sounds muffled and soft. Small.

But what’s happening between us doesn’t feel small. It feels big. It feels meaningful, and I remember what Theo told me about being closer than brothers with Marcus and Ryland.

They chose each other.

And I choose them.

Theo’s fingers dig into my hips, some of the gentleness of the kiss fading as need flares between us like a physical force. He holds me tightly, guiding my movements as his hips thrust up against me—slow at first, then harder and faster, hitting my clit with each thrust.

I whimper into his mouth, breaking the connection of our lips to press my forehead against his, our noses practically touching as our gazes lock. His face is so close to mine that I can barely focus on him, but somehow I feel like I can see all of him.

I can see the way his mouth drops open slightly, his lips tight with effort as his sharp breaths collide with my own. I can see the way his eyes churn like a stormy sea as he pauses his strokes, grinding his clothed cock against my pussy as his grip on me shifts slightly, his palms sliding lower to grab handfuls of my ass.

My toes curl and my breath catches as I grind down on him too, using the thick length of him to chase the pleasure building in my core. We’re hardly moving anymore—just small, intense pulses as we hover on the precipice, rubbing against each other as if we’re trying to fuse our bodies together.

“Fuck, Rose.”

The words are a shuddering, whispered groan. Theo lifts his head off the mattress, finding my lips with his again as his whole body goes rigid. He thrusts his hips hard, and the pleasure rising up inside me reaches its peak, sending me tumbling over the other side.

I writhe against him, breath coming in choppy gasps, and as the orgasm cascades through me, I feel the warm, wet heat of his release. His cum spurts into his boxer briefs, soaking into my pajama bottoms as his cock pulses again and again, spilling every last drop.

My arm gives out, and I collapse on top of him, my face buried in the crook of his neck.

We’re both breathing hard, our chests pressing tighter together with each of our inhales. His skin is warm, flushed with arousal, and he wraps his arms around me, hugging me against him.

His cum is a sticky mess between us, but he doesn’t let go of me. He doesn’t roll me off of him and slide out of bed to get cleaned up. He just holds me.

And when I start to cry again, slow tears that seep from my eyes like molasses, he presses a kiss to my temple, reaching up to run his fingers through my hair.