Page 104 of Give Me Peace

“Slow,” I direct, tightening my hold on her sides to help guide her movement. She’s so desperate for sensation she can’t stay still. But I want her to enjoy this. I refuse to give her a quick fuck in the middle of the ICU. I’m going to love her—deep and hard—enjoying every moan and sigh along the way. “Ride me. Nice and easy, love.” And Christ, does she. We fuck for so long the water runs cold. I’ve pushed back my release too many times to count, so caught up in how good she feels I don’t want it to end. I’m teetering at my limit, though. I thrust up, catching Saylor off guard. Her thighs are shaking, spent and overworked, but she’s too blissed out to stop. I hold her in place and take over, pistoning my hips forward.

“Lochlan!” Saylor squeals, clutching my shoulders as she fights to stay balanced. Her pussy pulses as she orgasms, her hot little pants tickling my neck as she squirms from the overstimulation.

“Bloody hell, love.” I jerk my cock free at the last second, letting my cum splash across the tile floor. One day, I’ll paint her fucking insides, but not yet. “Home. You’re home for me, Saylor.” I press my forehead to her stomach as she sways in front of me, both of us dead on our feet. Once we’re dried off and sporting another set of scrubs, we crowd the too-small bed with an exhausted sigh. She plants a half-assed, barely coherent kiss on my lips and passes out immediately. I laugh and hug her tighter, grateful she’s here. Grateful she’s ours.

At some point, sleep claims me, too. I have no idea how long I’m out for, but I wake up alone. The room is dark. A quick peek at my phone shows it’s just after 6pm. I scrub a hand down my face, stretching my back out as I slide on my glasses and head for Roan’s room. There’s a noticeable shift as I push through the door, a familiar, watery giggle greeting me as I round the privacy curtain. Ro is perched up on a stack of pillows, his hand gripping Saylor’s as his morphine-d ass attempts to focus his gaze on her. The weight of worry falls away at seeing my brother awake. He’s groggy and in desperate need of a bath, but he’s okay.

Goddamn him for kissing death like that.

“If you needed time off, all you had to do was ask. Seems a bit much to go to such lengths to get some PTO, don’t you think?” I stop beside his bed, paying no mind to the annoyed look Saylor shoots me. My eyes rake over Ro, pleased to see he has more color than he did. “That grey pallor you were rocking isn’t very fashion-forward. Happy to see you’ve gotten rid of it.” He smirks at my pathetic attempt at levity.

“Since when did you and Kash switch places? Dark humor is typically his MO.” Ro winces from the effort it takes to speak but telling him to shut the hell up wouldn’t do me any favors. It’d only piss Saylor off and he wouldn’t listen anyway.

“Glad to see you breathing, brother.” I squeeze his thigh—the uninjured one—and bend down to speak against his ear. “But mark my words, I will beat your ass—embarrassingly bad, I might add—if you ever pull some shit like that again. Got it?” Ro scoffs, knowing damn well I couldn’t harm a hair on his stupidly handsome head, even if I wanted to.

“I hear ya loud and clear, Boss Man,” he slurs, the drugs pumping through his body causing him to fade away. “No more playing tag with danger pellets.” Ro knocks out, his sleep so instant and heavy he starts to snore. I grin at Saylor, the pressure on my chest all but gone.

“What’d I say?” I cock my head to the side, enjoying the sweet, carefree smile she gives me in return. “Let’s go spread the good news.” I hold my hand out for her to take, giddy as a fucking preteen at the slightest contact.

“You were right,” Saylor states as we make our way to the waiting area.

“About?”

“The first thing out of Roan’s mouth was a lecture on de-escalation. Apparently, I did a stellar job of the exact opposite.” My laughter echoes through the quiet hallway as the guys come into view. Kade is star-fished on the 1970’s, germ-filled carpet, while the other two are shoulder-to-shoulder, braced against each other for support as they try and sleep through the noise filtering in from the emergency room. I kick the bottom of Kade’s shoe, causing him to bolt up, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

“The fuck?” His silver hair is pointed in every direction, looking ratty and gross.

“Sleeping beauty is awake. Time to go.” I lift my chin at Krew, knowing he’ll have Ro discharged in no time, releasing him to the care of a private physician. I’d be okay with staying put and giving his body a chance to heal, but God knows he’ll never go for that. The next time his eyes pop open, he’ll be demanding we leave.

“Halle-fucking-lujah. I’ve got swamp ass and my nuts stink.” Saylor’s nose scrunches at the imagery Kade’s just given her. Dumbass. “I’ll get his feet. You two limp dicks get his head.”

“Absolutely not,” Saylor sputters. “Roan will be leaving here in a wheelchair or not at all.” Silence greets her declaration, followed closely by Kash doubling over, laughing his ass off.

“This is going to be good,” Kade ribs, rubbing his hands together giddily. Oh, ye of little faith. If there’s anyone who can get Ro to do their bidding, it the five-foot-two spitfire stomping away, looking for anyone in charge to give her marching orders to.

And like the good little soldiers we are, we’ll fall in line without complaint.

Chapter Fifty-One

Saylor

Sometimes, it feels like that night just happened, and other times, it seems like ages ago. It’s Thanksgiving and the guys have gone all out to make this day special. Kade pulled out Mom’s cookbook, pouring over every detail of her dressing recipe. He’s been at it for hours, determined to perfect my favorite dish. The only person who’s let me help is Kash, and I’d barely call it that. I got to pick out the place settings and point to where I wanted them. It’s sweet, but I’m starting to feel useless.

Like it frequently does, the spot Roan nearly lost his life catches my eye. At first, I couldn’t be in here without having a flashback. His blood was scrubbed from the tile before we ever came home, but I can still see it when I close my eyes. Even now, I get queasy when I think about how much he lost. He pushed through his healing quicker than he should have, to absolutely no one’s surprise. But that puckered scar on his neck serves as a reminder of what could have been. Today would look a lot different without him.

I spent a lot of time afterwards on video calls with Danielle, trying to work through what I was feeling. It didn’t take long for Denvers to piece together a complete file on my tormentor. Jeremiah Cartwright, much like Liam, hid his depravity in plain sight. He was an eighth-grade robotics teacher who saw a few pictures of my adolescent, underdeveloped body and decided I was his. Simple as that. In his fucked-up mind, I was ownable. A thing he could claim and store away for safekeeping.

That level of insanity is terrifying. He risked everything—his career and family—to see through some half-cocked plan to retrieve his long-awaited prize. He cashed in his retirement to pay Liam off, arranging for him to keep me until his own children were grown and off to college. For whatever reason, Liam stopped sending the scheduled updates they’d agreed to. Maybe he didn’t want to part with his toy after having me at his disposal for so long, but Jeremiah had no intentions of letting that stand.

The FBI hasn’t been able to prove it, but they’re fairly certainly Liam’s death was ordered by Jeremiah. Some low life, hired help who was all too happy to oblige in the death of another human for the right amount of money. I’m not sad over it, but it does bother me that we never had our day in court. I didn’t get to say my piece to him the way I did with Jeremiah. Liam might not have been the mastermind, but he allowed his strings to be pulled and manipulated. And then he went completely off-script and hurt me in ways I’ll never fully heal from.

In possibly the biggest plot twist yet, Jeremiah’s family reached out shortly after he was put to rest. The burial was private, his wife and kids refusing to attend. In the end, he had no one. The greedy man who thought it okay to steal a child was left with nothing. His gravestone is free of filler words, simply stating his date of birth and death. As much as the people he left behind don’t deserve to bear his shame, I haven’t come to terms with facing them quite yet.

His wife wrote to me, explaining how sorry she was. How guilty they all feel for not picking up on anything off about Jeremiah. They lived with the man, clueless to how evil he was. I’d like to say it makes no sense, but what I went through opened my eyes to how easily we trust the picture presented to us. I hold no grudge toward them, and maybe one day I’ll be ready to meet with them. But at present and for the sake of my own mental health, I’m not on board with any sort of connection to Jeremiah.

“Hey.” Roan tilts my chin up, effectively breaking the stare-off I’d been engaged in with the tile.

“Hi,” I respond hoarsely, taking a second to clear my throat. If it only it was that easy to wipe away my memories, as well.