The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

Sage

I sit against the wall of the Pierson’s many spare bedrooms. Naively, I thought the inside of this place would look more like a morgue than a home. I fully expected to find a coffin inside of Thatcher’s bedroom. It made sense that he would sleep inside one. It would match the creature people loved comparing him to.

I’d been wrong.

The extravagant house that he called home was everything you would expect from someone with money like his. The first time I’d been here a few weeks ago, I was too distracted to pay attention to how much money the Piersons had.

While we were all well-off, Thatcher was bathing in wealth. His great grandfather’s hard work of pioneering a real estate company had secured his family’s lives well beyond his years. Even if Thatcher, his kids, and their grandchildren never worked another day in their lives, they would never want for anything.

The extremely tall ceilings and Gatsby inspired architecture made my family’s house look like a servants’ quarters. Much like Alistair, Thatcher lived on an estate.

We were staying along the west wing, where we were told most guests stayed. And it felt weird to be staying in such a casually expensive home after what we had just done.

Shutting my eyes, I rest my head against the wall, seeing nothing but smoke and a swirl of orange flames. I had stood frozen on the front lawn of my house, the flashing sirens simply a dull whine in the back of my mind.

My hand was curled through the slits of Rook’s fingers, both of us standing there hand in hand as the blue flashing lights reflected off our faces. My neighbors had come outside to examine the chaos. This would be the talk of the town for a good three months.

Tears were streaming down my face, not because of what I had lost inside, because while that fire was burning, it felt like it was over. For the first time since Rosie’s death, there was this peace that had settled over me, even though everyone around us saw the complete opposite.

My father, Detective Breck, all the painful memories that house had brought me over the course of a lifetime were now turning into nothing but ash and dust. Soot that firemen would wash off their boots in the morning.

Now, sitting here, I still can’t find it in me to regret what I had done.

I know that killing someone is supposed to be this mark on your soul that stays with you forever, something that eats away at the humanity inside you until you finally break and tell the world what you’ve done.

But it doesn’t feel like that.

And maybe that makes me some kind of psychopath or something, but all I feel is relief that he’s gone. That the man who was responsible for the sharpest pain I’d ever felt was no longer breathing, nothing but a pile of charred bones and seared skin. His body was destroyed, and I hoped his soul was headed to some form of internal torture. Where he would spend his years suffering for what he did to his own flesh and blood.

Rook referenced Dante’s Inferno when I asked him if he thought my father was in Hell. He said that those who choose the sin of greed are assigned to the fourth circle of Hell. Those who hoard too much money or choose wealth over anything else. But he believed that was too easy for him.

He said he’d be in the very last Ring, the ninth circle, those who betray their own kin. Where inside my father will spend eternity lodged inside of the frozen lake of ice headfirst. Contrary to most religious teachings, Dante said that the pit of hell was cold and without love.

Rook had told me this as we waited for the police and firefighters to arrive, and I distinctly remember smiling, recalling the times that my father would turn the thermostat up in our home because he couldn’t stand to be cold.

“Why are you on the floor?”

I open my eyes, seeing Rook wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist. His hair is wet and falling down his forehead, drips of water falling down onto his chest.

My body was tired, mentally exhausted from everything we’d just endured the past few hours. From the fire to the police, to the hospital afterward. But somehow, my legs find the strength to stand up and move towards him.

His skin is blistering red. He’d allowed himself to stand underneath the stream of searing hot water until it turned cold I’m sure. My fingers reach out to run across the top of his shoulder blade, sadness in my eyes.

“Rook—” I mutter,

“Don’t Sage.” He interrupts me, tightening his jaw. “I’m holding onto my promise by a thread here.”

“What happened to Silas tonight was not your fault,” I tell him anyway, even though he doesn’t want to hear it.

Angry at my words, he moves past me, walking towards our bed for the night, and falls to the edge of the mattress. With a sigh, he drops his head between his shoulders, looking at the ground.

I know he isn’t angry with me. Not really. He’s angry at himself because he felt like if anyone could have stopped this, it would have been him.

“Then whose fault was it? Hmm?” He grunts, emotion choking his throat. Rook had been so strong at the hospital. Stood his ground even when Silas’s mother, Zoe, broke down into a mess of tears in his arms.

He held her tightly, his spine stiff and jaw taunt at the hospital waiting room. For the first time since I’d met him, he’d been able to remove all the emotion from himself. The emotion that drives him was gone.

I knew he’d have to break down, eventually. He could only be strong for so long. And when he watched his best friend get wheeled into an ambulance for transportation to a facility, I could see the crack in his eyes.

This had broken him.

“I knew he wasn’t okay.” He presses his fingers into his chest. “I fucking knew it and I did nothing. That’s my best friend, Sage and I almost let him kill himself.”

His fingers turn into hard fists, he slams them into his chest repeatedly. Chasing the relief that comes from hurting himself.

I kneel between his legs, grabbing his wrists, hating to see him like this.

My fire god.

The one that burns so bright and so fierce, was dwindling out by the second.

“Rook, look at me,” I whisper, “Look at me,” I say again until he finally lifts his watery eyes to my own.

There is no hellfire inside them right now. Only a brilliant shade of hazel. There is no devil, no Lucifer. Only a man with a broken soul who does not know how to fix it.

“Schizophrenia.” I say, “That’s whose fault this is. Not yours, not mine, not anyone. Silas is sick and he just needs some help. There was nothing you could have done to prevent him from stopping his medicine.”

I’m trying to rationalize with him. To make him see that this was the sickness that lived inside of Silas. One that he had gotten too tired to fight against. But I should have known that would be impossible, not when the wound was this fresh.

All I could do now was hold pressure and hope he didn’t bleed out before I could stitch him up.

“I need to hurt, TG.” He chokes. “I need the pain. Fuck, I need it so bad right now. Someone needs to make me pay for this. Go get Thatcher. Call Alistair. Anything. Please, baby, I need to make it hurt.”

I felt like I’d been wrapped in barbed wire, which was slowly tightening around me the more he spoke. There was no way out of it without slicing myself to pieces. I couldn’t let him hurt himself. I couldn’t let him walk out of this room into Thatcher’s basement and let him cut.

I was stuck between letting someone else hurt him, letting him hurt himself, or taking this into my own hands. But the thought of causing him physical or mental anguish made my gut churn.

Bringing my hands down, I rest them on his thighs, licking my dry lips as I bring my forehead to his, our noses touching each other. The scent of his after-shave—the mix of smoke and mint fills my head. My eyes roamed his face, tracing the remaining water droplets that were missed by the towel.

He turns towards me, the proximity between our bodies reduced to mere inches, and suddenly the air is scorching. As if inhaling would only flood your lungs with smoke—a heat that would burn you from the inside out.

My hands inch upward, slipping beneath the towel. My fingers dip towards his crotch, and I hear him suck a breath in through his teeth.

“What are you doing?” He groans, and the sound makes a spark sizzle inside my stomach.

“The only thing I know I can do for you right now,” I mutter, “Trust me.”

Those words make me nervous. Asking him to do that, knowing all we’d been through.

I wrap my fingers around his semi-erect cock. The heat of his body heat from the shower warms my hand. My heart jumps to my throat as I feel him harden in my grasp.

“This is the opposite of what I need right now.” He inhales sharply as my thumb swipes across the tip. “Shit.” He hisses in pleasure.

I couldn’t hurt him. Not the way he wanted me to, but I knew he needed something to take the edge off, something to ground him. I just want to be what he needs right now. Maybe it’s my way of making it up to him for all the times I wasn’t there before.

Quickly I flip the towel up, exposing his shaft to the air, readjusting on my knees so I’m more comfortable between his legs. I guide the throbbing member to my lips, only letting my tongue swirl around the silver balls that pierce the top. I trace their pattern, repeatedly, until I know he’s miserable from the teasing.

My toes curl when he buries his hands in the back of my hair, both of them grabbing a chuck of my short locks. I can feel the passion in his grip. It radiates from my skull all the way to my toes.

“Sage…” He says to me in a tone of caution, I can feel him try to press my head lower, I can feel just how badly he is craving my entire throat. Wanting to fill it up and stretch it out until I’m choking.

But that isn’t happening tonight, even though I desperately want it to.

I pull back slightly, removing my tongue. My grip on his cock tightens. I test the waters with just how much he can take before he groans in a twisted mix of discomfort and pleasure.

“You get only what I give you, understand?” I tell him, looking up so he can see my eyes. There is a vortex churning behind those eyes, spinning so fast and so hot, it would swallow me whole if I let it. I knew if we were going to do this, it would be by my rules. I’d be taking his control for the time being.

As much as I loved kneeling at his feet, relinquishing my control for the sake of pleasure, there was something powerful in being in command.

“What—”

I twist my wrist, squeezing roughly, “You want to hurt? Then we do it on my terms.”

He doesn’t have a chance to reply because I take the tip of his cock into my mouth, playing with the balls of his piercing. Teasing for another aching moment, before I drop lower on his shaft, taking more of him into my mouth.

I feel the bulging veins tickling my throat as my hands and tongue work in unison. Working up a quick pace that has the room spinning. The sounds of his moans send waves of need throughout my body.

My jaw expands as I take him fully into my throat, my nose pressed against his pubic bone as I struggle to breathe. Fighting the urge to cough, but enjoying the feeling. Pushing myself to make sure I give him what he wants. What he needs.

There is a hunger in the pit of my stomach. A drive to prove a point. To make him understand. I continue to work up and down, speeding up just as my free hand cups his heavy balls, rolling them around my fingers before squeezing.

“Shit,” He curses, “Sage, I’m gonna—”

I knew this would be the hard part. Because as I look up, he looks so goddamn beautiful as he chases his release, the way his head falls back and the veins in his neck bulge from the skin. His taut jaw made my entire soul hum with excitement. I was constantly in awe of just how pretty Rook Van Doren was.

It physically hurts me to do what I need to, but I do it anyway. I suck the tip just a little too hard before I remove my touch altogether. Pulling myself away from his cock with a loud pop.

Spit drips in a thin line from his shaft and my mouth, my tongue rolling across my bottom lip, feeling how swollen it is.

“What the—” He looks down at me with furrowed eyebrows, frustrated by his lost orgasm.

The tip of my finger tugs deliberately at the piercings. Knowing it must feel at least uncomfortable, but with his pain tolerance, it probably barely bothers him.

“This was not your fault. None of this was your fault. There isn’t anything more you could have done, Rook.” I tell him, “Do you hear me?”

“Goddammit, Sage, this is not the conversation I want when my cock is in your hands.” He tries to thrust up towards me, his hips jerking, still needing release.

The air is suddenly scorching. As if inhaling would only flood my lungs with smoke—a heat that would burn me from the inside out. My breath caught, trapped inside my lungs.

I pull at the metal I little harder, “Tell me you understand. Tell me you know it wasn’t your fault and I’ll let you come.”

A surge of power washes over my bones. I would make him see the truth, the truth that had always been right in front of him. That he was punishing himself for things that were not his fault as a way of dealing with the hurt they caused.

Instead of blaming the world like the rest of us, Rook always chose himself.

“Fuck,” he says, head falling down, so he is looking at me.

His chest expands and falls repeatedly. I can see the deep-rooted fragility I had always known he had. The one he so badly tries to stifle and starve out until it dies. Right now, he is a brittle piece of glass. If I were to squeeze him too tight, he might shatter in my grip, splintering me with the jagged edges.

And the thing is, I would let him.

I would slice my fingers open until my palms were raw, just to pick up the broken shards. Just so I could help him put it all back together. I would do anything for him, even if it meant hurting myself.

He was my fire god.

And I live to burn for him.

“Do you want to come, Rook?” I raise an eyebrow, leaning dangerously close to the tip of his dick.

I can feel him jerk. “Yes, baby, please. I need—” He is taken by a groan that vibrates his entire frame. “Please let me come.”

“I will,” I mutter, “I want to make you come, babe. Just tell me the truth. Tell me you know.”

My whole life, I’d had this crushing weight of loneliness bearing down on my soul. Enduring years of solitude, even though I was surrounded by people. The burden of being alone, having only myself to rely on, held me below water for so long.

I almost forgot what it was like to breathe.

That was the power loneliness had on a person. It makes you so desperate for human contact, for a soul to cling to.

And here, with him, I know what it feels like to breathe. For the first time, I know what it feels like to be wanted. All I want to do is inhale him. To breathe nothing but him into my lungs until that is all that remains.

“It—” He grinds his teeth, “I know it’s not my fault. I know that none of it was my fault.”

“Good, good boy.” I purr, smirking a bit at the words I used, returning my mouth to his shaft.

I pump my hand up and down as I focus my suction on the tip, rolling my tongue around. His grip on the back of my head tightens and I feel his hips lift into my mouth, forcing himself down my throat.

We find our rhythm again and it’s not long before he’s groaning my name loudly, while I swallow all he will give. The slightly salty taste washes down my throat, doing nothing to sedate my hunger for him.

I pull away, panting as I wipe the saliva from my mouth with the back of my hand, falling back onto the back of my legs. Watching him fall down from his moment of climax.

Heat strikes my core when he makes eye contact with me, the left side of his mouth tipping up slightly.

“My turn, but like you said,” he says, “You’re going to need to trust me.”

He stands to his full height; the towel falling to the floor, and I look up at him, admiring the curves and dips of his body. When he reaches down for me, I let him help me up from the floor. Only for Rook to spin me around and press me onto the bed, my ass hanging off the edge.

I can feel his fingers trailing down my spine through the material of my shirt. My face chasing the cool material of the comforter, needing a relief from the heat that is coursing through my veins.

“Take your pants off. I need to grab something, but leave the panties. I want to take those off myself.” He mutters, leaving a kiss on the back of my head before he walks to the bathroom.

“You starting a collection of my underwear, Van Doren?” I ask, referring to my pair of missing panties from the theatre, as I wiggle out of my pants, kicking them across the room when they are off my legs. “Maybe.”

I liked the idea of him being just as obsessed with me as I was with him. I wanted us to eat, sleep, and breathe each other. The couple that became inherently annoying with how crazy we were about one another.

I wanted to be embarrassingly in love with him for the rest of my life.

When he comes back, I’m in the same position he left me in. Dangling off the edge of the bed, my ass up in the air towards him.

His hand splays across my hip bone, pulling me closer to his body. His fingers toy with the material of my panties before he pulls them off.

“Do you trust me, Sage?” He questions, the bass of his voice thrums a chord deep inside of me.

“Always,” I mutter, needing him in every way you could need a person.

“Good,” His hand skims the inner portion of my thigh, making me spread my legs wider for him, “Because what I’m gonna do won’t feel good. But afterward, everyone will know your mine. Ponderosa Springs, fate, there will be no question of who you belong to, TG.”

My mind races, trying to figure out what this means for me, but suddenly everything goes blank. Because pleasure licks my brain clean as his fingers dip between my legs.

He spreads my lips with the digits, just as his fingertips circle my clit carefully, deliberate yet soft. I moan, rolling my hips against his touch, urging him to give me more. I am so needy. I wanted him so badly I could cry. Needing to be filled until there was nothing but Rook.

I let him play with me, tease me, spreading my juices around until I’m a sloppy mess. My entire core is on the edge, needing just that little push so that I can fall into a pool of electric euphoria.

“Rook, please,” I beg, my voice cracking.

“I know baby, I know.”

It’s then that he inserts two fingers inside of me, my walls instantly clenching around him. The intrusion welcomed as I rock my hips against him, impetuous and desperate.

My nails tear into the bedsheet beneath me—my breath trapped in my lungs. There is no feeling like this. No feeling like him.

My body trembles as he works in and out of me, hitting that spot only he can. Mind, body, soul, all of it was sent into overdrive.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, wish I could feel this on my cock, baby.” He growls, “You are gonna come soon, aren’t you? Yeah, I can feel you getting wetter, your hips rocking faster, you’re so close.”

I moan, long and broken, “Yes, Rook. Fuck yes.”

My heart might give out at the rush of this.

I’m so close, right there, when he removes his fingers. I think it’s his way of repaying what I did to him earlier, but instead I feel his lips at the shell of my ear.

“Remember, it’ll only hurt for a few moments, then you’re mine forever.” He growls.

That’s when I feel it.

An intense sudden flash of heat sears the skin at the back of my hip. I let out a guttural scream, burying my face into the mattress as he holds the heat to my body before removing it when he’s finished.

The cold air makes the burn intensify. He was marking me with something, but I felt it all the way inside my soul.

Just when the pain was becoming too much, his fingers returned to my core. Sinking deep inside my channel, where they continued at the same pace as earlier. His finger bullying my G-spot repeatedly until I’m back on the edge.

Like fucking magic, he coaxes my orgasm out of my body.

“Come all of my fingers, baby. Be my good girl, be good for me.” He whispers, pumping inside of me harder until my legs shake.

Everything feels so intense.

The sting directly contrasts the waves of blissful pleasure that vibrate my body. I can’t focus on one or the other because of how well they blend together. That’s what Rook and I have always been.

The constant mixture of pain and pleasure. We could never have one without the other because without the hurt we would never understand just how good the bliss felt.

“That’s it, sweetness, that’s it. Ride it out.” His voice tickles me as he buries his face into the side of my neck peppering warm kisses against my skin.

The aftershock of my climax makes me shake and I can feel the sharp ache from whatever he did. My body and soul were so exhausted that it wouldn’t even matter.

I feel him leave my body for a quick moment, only to return seconds later. I feel the cold washcloth pressed against my skin, making me hiss.

“Fuck, that hurts,” I mutter, turning to look at him over my shoulder with half-lidded eyes, “What did you do to me?”

He looks down at his work, something like pride swimming inside of his eyes. Then he picks up the piece from a broken Zippo. It’s just the brass lid of the lighter and I can see his initials that are engraved on it.

“Most people would call it a brand,” He mutters, “But it’s more than that.”

Something claws at my chest and lights my heart ablaze. The love I have for him eats me alive from the inside out.

“It’s us.”

Our eyes meet and even though I’m moments from passing out from exhaustion, I don’t miss how the fire in his eyes catches, the steady flame inside of them burning once again.

Relit and ready to burn for eternity.

“Yeah, baby. It’s us.”