Курок Дуглас Пенелопа

Damon spooned me from behind, both of us still awake, but I knew he’d turned off the lights.

I hugged my arms to my chest as Damon held one of his over me, and now that we were all calm, I waited for the guilt to come.

The shame. The worry. The doubt.

But it didn’t. At least not yet.

We’d touched and kissed and fell into each other, and I was grateful they were here. Alive and safe.

I didn’t want to think.

“I’ve never let women do that to me,” Damon said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Do what?”

“Put their mouths on me,” he replied. “Down there.”

He didn’t let other women use their mouths on him?

“I just never…” he trailed off. “It’s not something I…”

He struggled to find the words, but I realized what he was talking about, and I tried to keep the sadness from my voice.

“I know,” I told him, saving him from having to say it.

His mother and what she did to him.

He didn’t like that, and the reason had to do with her.

“Why did you let me?” I asked, keeping my tone soft.

“I didn’t even think about it until it was over,” he whispered. “It was like she wasn’t here. It was just you.”

He sucked in a breath and tightened his arms around me. “I love you,” he said.

I immediately broke down, tears springing to my eyes.

Happy tears.

He turned me over, slid on top of me, and kissed me as he nestled himself between my legs again.

“I love you,” he whispered over my lips again.

I held his face in my hands. God, I love you.

And as I sucked in a breath, feeling him push inside of me again, I knew what he was talking about all those days ago. The anger and fury and heat and need—years of it leading to this moment when we finally knew what we were and who we lived for.

Red.

Out of all the colors, I liked red the best.

 

 

 

Winter

 

Present

 

Devil’s Night.

I woke up, unsure how long I’d been asleep, but I knew it was late when we came to bed. It had to be morning, which meant tonight was the night. Devil’s Night.

I felt bodies on my left and right, and a tiny cyclone swirled through my stomach as my hands rested on my belly, and I clutched the T-shirt I wore that Damon had found in one of the drawers in the room last night.

Everything from the night before came flooding back, and even though my cheeks warmed with embarrassment, I couldn’t negate how good I felt right here, right now. Every muscle still slumbered, and my mind was at peace, if even just for a few more moments.

Raising my right hand, I reached up and cupped a face, feeling Damon’s jaw and straight eyebrows, his nose and warm neck. Raising my other hand, I found Will asleep on his stomach, his soft hair falling over his forehead.

All three of us.

So much pain and disappointment. I was a little bit scared, but I knew they were, too.

I laid there, listening to the silence, knowing we were underground but surprised I couldn’t hear much. No footfalls above. No plumbing. It was a pretty solid little fortress down here. I’d never been before they renovated it, but that shower was impressive.

The catacombs.

Damon had said something about hiding something down here, didn’t he? In a shallow pool? Or a well?

I wondered if the room he described was still here.

Leaving them asleep, I quietly climbed out of the bed and found my way to the bedroom door.

Where did he say to go?

Something about the bottom of the stairs.

I walked out of the room, knowing the shower was across the hall, and we had come from my right. I didn’t think we’d passed any stairs, so I veered left and walked, hearing music playing, so I followed the sound as I trailed down the wall.

You turn left at the bottom of the stairs, he’d said, and keep going.

After what seemed like minutes and minutes, my heart racing a little more every step I took away from Damon, the music was loud now, and I held out my hand, feeling an entrance to a stone staircase. I put my foot on the first step, making sure. This must’ve been the stairwell leading up into the cathedral part of the house.

With my back to the stairs, I turned left, trailing down the hallway, the floor turning from marble to stone and dirt, and the walls less polished and grainier under my fingers. When I felt the draft, I turned right and held out my right hand, brushing the wall and counting the doorways.

Damn, this underground level was big. I wondered what I missed down here in high school, but then again, I was probably happier not knowing.

Reaching the fourth doorway, I stopped and immediately heard the trickle of water he’d told me about. Fear crept in, because I was far away from anyone else in the catacombs, but my heart leaped, too, because I’d found the place he described.

Stepping inside, I swallowed down my nerves, and followed the wall around to where I felt water spilling down the rocks and dribbling into a small pool. Kneeling down, I patted the rocks and stuck my fingers in the water, feeling its icy coolness.

Dipping my hand in, I felt around, touching rocks, until I came to a straight edge with a corner. I grabbed hold of it, recognizing that it was a box of some sort.

I shimmied it out from where it was lodged and set it down on the ground, finding the clasp, and opening it. Carefully, I grazed my hand over whatever was inside to make sure it was nothing sharp.

Finding a plastic bag, I pulled it out and unraveled it, feeling something hard inside. Opening it up, I felt around, fingering what seemed like beads and another small metal object.

Pulling both out, I held them in my hand, examining them.

Right away, I recognized the cross on the rosary.

It was Damon’s. The one he wore in high school, and the one he had in the fountain when we were kids.

The other object was metal, with a sharp clasp, and a design on it. A hair barrette.

And then a memory flashed—me taking this out of my hair. Why did I give this to him?

The rosary, the barrette, the fountain…

I bit him.

What?

The memory was so fleeting, but it was vivid and strong. “I’d bitten him that day,” I said out loud, realization flooding back. “Before we went to the treehouse. He let me bite him in the fountain. He was glad I did it. Why?”

What were we doing in that fountain? And why was it more important to Damon than what happened afterward in the treehouse?

Leaving the box and bag, I carried the items with me back out in the corridor, retracing my steps.

“Winter?” I heard Rika’s voice.

“Hey,” I replied, holding out my hand for her.

“Did you get lost?” she asked, coming over for me to take her arm.

But I just shook my head. “Just exploring,” I told her. “Would you take me to the bathroom, please?”

“Are you okay?”

“I hope so,” I joked.

I had no idea how to answer that, and the way my life had been going, the answer could be different in five minutes. Ask me later.

Right now, though, I just needed another shower. The floors in that part of the catacombs were non-renovated and filthy.

And then there was last night, so…

She walked us both to the spacious bathroom, and I found the vanity chair and lowered myself into the seat.

“Are they still in bed?” she asked, messing with some items in the cabinet.

I opened my mouth to tell her ‘yes’, but then the nature of her question hit me, and I froze.

Are they still in bed? There was more than one bedroom down here, I was sure. Why would I know if Will was still in bed?

Unless…

“You heard,” I said, my shoulders slumping a little.

I couldn’t catch a break. I’d never had much of a sex life, but when I did, everyone knew everything.

“I heard a little,” she said, and I could hear the amusement in her tone.

“Michael, too?”

When she didn’t answer, I knew.

Dammit.

“It’s okay,” she soothed, coming over and dabbing something on my forehead. I hissed at the sting of a cut I didn’t realize I had. Must’ve gotten it in the accident last night.

I frowned. “What you must think.”

Every moan and cry that left my mouth last night raced through my head, and I was a little mortified. Private things needed to stay private, because not everyone would understand. I could just see her and Michael coming down to make sure we were okay last night and hearing what they heard. It must’ve seemed so shallow.

“I’m thinking… I understand,” she told me. “And you don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

I appreciated her manners, but still…

She cleaned my cut, remaining quiet for a moment, and then affixed a Band-Aid to my hairline.

“Our life is a series of plans,” she finally said. “Days, weeks, months, years… And then, there are moments. Moments you don’t see coming and you don’t plan, but everything you need, all the things you want to feel, are in that moment.”

I listened to her, letting it sink in.

“People come together, and for a tiny space of time,” she went on, “it’s beautiful and raw, because you can’t think and you don’t want to. You just feel.” She paused and then continued. “The moments are what we remember.”

People come together. So…

“You and Michael and…?”

“Kai,” she answered quietly. “Before he was married, of course.”

She put the first aid stuff away, refastening a cap and closing the box.

“So believe me when I say I understand,” she explained. “Men don’t feel ashamed for enjoying sex on their terms. You shouldn’t either.”

I gave her a little smile, thankful we all had our secrets.

“You have some marks on your neck,” she told me. “Just an FYI.”

Marks? Like hickeys?

Splendid.

“So have you forgiven him?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Damon.”

I thought for a moment and let out a long sigh. Now that was a question.

“Yes,” I replied. “No…I don’t know. I’ve been angry for so long. But I love him.”

“You just don’t know if you can trust him.”

“I don’t know if I should,” I clarified.

Should I entirely?

I wanted to trust him, and there were things I would never doubt.

I knew he’d always come for me. I knew he loved me. I knew that however long this lasted, it would probably be the happiest and most miserable I’d ever been. He made me so angry, I wanted to punch him.

But then there was nothing like kissing him.

I shouldn’t forgive him. That was the textbook answer.

But I didn’t want to ever be without him, so in reality… There was never a question of forgiving him.

“Will you forgive me?” she suddenly asked.

I pinched my brows together, confused. “For what?”

She fell silent, and I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until my lungs started to ache.

“I gave Damon the information on your father,” she finally said.

My face fell, and I didn’t know how to respond. I’d thought Damon was entirely responsible for that, and it was something I’d already gone through the anger for. With Damon and my father.

But knowing she was working with him. That she knew his plans all along and helped him?

“Rika.” A stern voice pierced the silence, and I jumped.

Damon. He was across the room, probably in the doorway, and after a moment, I felt Rika leave my side, walking away.

“Call Banks and Kai,” he told her in a softer voice. “Get them over here. And can you get her something to eat?” And then he added, “Please?”

“We have breakfast laid out upstairs. I’ll bring a plate,” she said. “And some clothes.”

I kind of wished I didn’t have to borrow her clothes now, but I didn’t have a choice. Was I angry with her? She gave Damon information that changed my life forever and sent my father on the run.

But then again, the money we lived off of wasn’t ours, and my father wasn’t a good man.

One way or another Damon would’ve gotten what he wanted. I just didn’t like that more people than just him were in on it. It made me feel like a pawn in a scheme much grander than I knew. Powerless.

And their families weren’t exactly saintly, either, so what right did they have to take mine down?

Damon came over and cupped my face with one hand. I didn’t pull away, but I shifted in my seat, not really in the mood.

He knelt down, coming down to my level. “If you don’t hate me, don’t hate her,” he said. “I had info she needed, and she had what I needed. She regretted giving it to me almost immediately.”

I knew he was right. I shouldn’t hold her to a different standard than I held him.

I’d just already processed my anger with him, and this brought that up again.

He picked up the objects in my hand, and I blinked, remembering I was holding them.

“Why were they here?” I asked.

He didn’t answer immediately, but then told me, “They were safe here, I guess. I didn’t want to leave them at my house when I knew I was going to jail.”

Jail.

For three years.

And I’d been sent back to Montreal to escape the storm and chaos that raged over the town when he, Will, and Kai were sentenced, and to run away from the taunts and whispers of everyone who thought I was a slut.

He lied to me. He shouldn’t have done it, and he paid the price.

But there was so much more than that between us. Buried in the cracks of all the broken things, where the words were always true and days were too long without him.

When no one else could make the world look like he could, and even after years, in the quiet parts of my mind, I missed the feel of his eyes on me.

Maybe on those nights, sneaking into my house and taking me on adventures, was the real Damon Torrance.

I dipped my forehead to his and took my barrette back, clasping it in my hair.

“I need a shower.” I grinned. “Step into my fountain?”

I heard him exhale a laugh, and then he stood up, pulling me into his arms.

 

 

 

Damon

 

Present

 

“Ugh, what the fuck?” I said, wincing as I sucked a drag off my cigarette and watched Banks clean my wound.

It felt like I’d been stuck with a red-hot poker.

She sat in a chair in front of me, eye level with the stitches and shaking her head. “What the hell did you do to this?”

“Lots,” Will chuckled, coming into Michael and Rika’s luxury kitchen and rounding the massive marble island.

Just as I thought, they completely douched up the place. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the rest of the house after I’d come upstairs.

Banks dabbed at the blood from the torn stitch, and I just hoped nothing inside was torn as a tiny wave of nausea rolled through my stomach.

But thankfully, it quickly left.

Will came around to Winter’s side, who sat at the island facing me, and lowered his head next to hers, whispering in her ear.

“Get the fuck off,” I told him.

He could talk to her. Just not like that.

He looked up at me and laughed, but threw his hands up and backed off.

Nothing had changed. He’d remember that.

“You’re going to need to go to the hospital again, Damon,” Banks spoke up.

“Fuck that.” I blew out smoke. “Just butterfly bandage it.”

“Are you kidding?” she blurted out.

Rika blew through, carrying a small duffel bag and wearing a black suit with her hair teased and wild. She plucked the cigarette out of my mouth, quickly looking around for Michael before she took a drag.

But pain suddenly sliced through me, and I hissed, “Shit, Banks.”

She just shook her head, and I barely noticed as Rika stuck the cigarette back between my lips.

I blew a few breaths, using what nails I had to dig into my skin around the wound and detract at least a little of the pain.

I swallowed, looking at Rika who unzipped her bag and started adding shit to it.

“We need guns,” I told her.

She didn’t look at me, only grabbed something out of her bag and slammed it down on the counter next to me.

I looked down at it, arching a brow. “That’s not a gun.”

It was the dagger we gave her two years ago as a threat. Coincidentally, the same one she stabbed me with then, too, not very far from the wound I had now. Her cut wasn’t as deep, though.

“It’s our way,” she answered, still focused on her task.

“Our way?”

What the hell did that mean?

She zipped up her bag and fixed me with a hard stare. “If you want this town, we are not leading by creating a massacre in the streets,” she bit out. “They won’t fear us because we’re armed. They’ll fear us because we never fail.”

And she grabbed the bag and stalked off, head held high and shit.

I snorted. “Madame Mayor…”

“Shut up,” she fired back.

But Michael caught her, wrapped her in his arms, and led her off himself, smiling back at me. “I knew she’d warm to the idea.”

Yeah. We had her. Definitely.

Banks cut two-inch pieces of first aid tape, slicing off triangles to make the butterflies and started fixing them to the incision, keeping the skin together until I could get back to the hospital.

“What are you guys going to do?” Winter asked.

“You mean, what are we going to do?” I teased back.

She was coming tonight. We were ending this once and for all.

She shrugged. “I can stay here with Mr. Crane,” she said. “I’ll just slow you down.”

I narrowed my eyes, looking at her. She was beautiful in a tight black turtleneck and black pants, her hair loose and shining down her back, and Rika had even helped with her makeup. She was ready. Why did she think she wasn’t coming all of a sudden?

I’ll just slow you down.

I pulled away from Banks and headed around the island to where Winter sat. Leaning over the corner, I took her under her arms and lifted her off the seat slowly, bringing us nose to nose.