Page 68 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
“Grainger,” I start, but he’s already standing up and tucking his junk away, like he’s getting ready for a fight. Sin, the much younger and more inexperienced of the two, watches him warily, like he’ll fight if he has to, but doesn’t think he can win. “You said it yourself: you hate me. What do you care what happens between Sin and me?”
Cade’s eyes are raw with violence; I can see the veins in his neck pulsing with adrenaline.
“She has a point, Grainger. What the hell do you care? It’s not like we haven’t shared girls before.” Sin speaks slowly, but there’s a thread of steel in his voice. He’s challenging Grainger to fight with his words. Either Cade has to explain why he cares, or he has to let it go.
He stares Sin down, chocolate eyes boring into silver ones, and then he snarls and shoves the younger man out of his way.
“You wanted to be a whore in training, Gidge?” he sneers as he yanks the door open and shoves a cigarette between his lips. “You’re off to a real good start.”
“Go to hell, you—” I start, but Cade’s already storming off, slamming the door behind him and cracking the glass of the framed family photo beside it. It doesn’t fall off the wall though, just shatters into pieces, cutting Queenie’s and Posey’s smiling faces into shards. I’m fuming now, absolutely bristling, but there’s a storm raging outside, and the wild huntsmen of the mafia stalking around inside of it. Let Grainger stalk off. If God’s still listening, then maybe he’ll go outside and get himself killed. I couldn’t think of a greater blessing.
“I’m gonna go,” Sin starts, but I reach out and curl my fingers around his wrist.
Lightning crashes outside, so poetic in its timing.
For a moment there, hot yellow light limns Sin’s handsome face, but it doesn’t last, and we’re both plunged back into darkness, our night vision killed. I yank him toward me, and even though he’s a million times stronger than I am, he lets me pull him close, stumbling just a little from the booze.
“Gidge,” Sin starts, his voice burning like hot coals. He reaches down and cups my face with two big hands. “You’re too good for Grainger.”
“So I hear,” I whisper back, loving the way his thumb traces over my lower lip. Poor drunk Colton, tattooed in Americana from a time he’ll never see, looking down at me like I confuse the hell out of him. At least he’s a lot nicer when he’s drunk. I hadn’t even realized he was getting there, that he probably drove us home buzzed and then went straight to wasted after arrival. I must’ve been up here entertaining Grainger for longer than I thought. “What does that have to do with anything? We’re not exactly an item.”
I swallow hard as Sin straddles me, trapping me underneath him. When he leans down to kiss me, I get butterflies. It’s not at all like the way he kissed me at the funeral or in the clubhouse, but something different, something foreign.
“You don’t mind that I’m drunk?” he asks, but he tastes like whiskey, and I find myself licking my lower lip for another taste as he pulls back again. “Because, I get reckless when I’m drunk.”
“And screw groupies on the hood of Gaz’s ugly sportscar,” I insert, trying not to get jealous. Jealousy would imply that I care, and I don’t. Not at all. Sin is just … some guy who used to give me a ride home. There are no fucks to give in regards to this idiot.
And yet, when he smirks, the motion tugs at the scar on his lip and makes him look for the briefest of seconds like he’s the boy next door. I mean, we’re only like eight years apart. It’s not that big of a gap … Reaching my hand back, I grab the edge of the curtain and yank it closed, blocking out the porchlight.
Oblivion requires darkness, the complete and total absence of light.
Seeing Sin look like that almost reminds me that there’s life outside of pain, and I don’t want to remember that because it makes it all hurt that much worse. If I go on pretending that the whole world is dark and cruel and broken, then I don’t have to remember that I can’t be fixed.
“Kiss me, and make me forget,” I whisper, but Sin just barely gives me a brush of lips, like he can’t bear to taste whatever it is that’s between us. Instead, he climbs off of me, and then grabs me by the hips, flipping me over. His fingers curl tight against my pelvis, yanking me toward him.
“I’ll make you forget,” he says, his voice sounding surprisingly sober all of a sudden. “But I’m not going to kiss you again.” I close my eyes which makes no difference because it’s dark, but it helps calm my frantically racing heart. “I’m never going to kiss you again, Gidge. It’s too risky.”
