Zane (Inked Brotherhood 3)

Her eyes are wide as I flex my hips again, drawing out the last aftershocks, the last drops of pleasure. Her legs tighten around me, holding me in place, and it’s so good. I allow myself to relax a fraction, enjoy this moment.

And it happens, as I feared. She reaches up, winds her arms around my back, her fingers splaying over the burn scars—and I lose it.

I completely lose my shit. Mindless terror grips me, stealing my breath, freezing my heart in my chest.

Oh shit, no.

“Shit,” I choke out and push her off. I stagger backward, pulling out of her in the process. “Told you not to fucking touch me. Told you… oh fuck.”

Darkness rolls over my eyes, blanking everything for a long moment. Fear engulfs me, dragging me down.

No, no, no.

There are hands on me, on my chest, on my back. Searing pain tears me apart. She calls my name, reaching for me, but I stumble back, plowing into the coffee table, upturning it. Vases and ashtrays crash to the floor, and the sound is distant.

Desperately, I pull my pants back up. I need to cover up, protect myself. My sight returns, but it’s distorted and blurry. The walls bend inward, turning gray. Bending over, I rub my eyes to clear them, but nothing happens.

My back hurts. Everything hurts, and fear is crushing my chest. It feels as if my ribs will break from the pressure. Taunting voices whisper in my ear.

‘You can take it, boy. You’re good at this.’

My eyes burn. My heart is slamming against my ribs. Where am I? What’s happening? I need to get out. I grab the next thing I find and hurl it through the suffocating fog. “Leave me alone!”

“Zane!” The hands grab my arms, shake me. My stomach turns, and I gag. I shake the touch off me and trip over something, falling into a side table. A lamp smashes to the floor, and I fall on the shards.

A figure looms over me, and I scramble backward, blinking furiously. The pressure in my chest turns into a sharp sting. The only sound I can hear is someone gasping as if drowning.

It takes me a moment to realize it’s me.

I kick the shards, make it somehow to my feet and locate the door. Time to get the hell out of this nightmare.

Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen.

***

I sit in my truck, hands clenched on the wheel, my forehead resting on them. The small cuts on my hands burn. The blurriness takes some time to clear, and the phantom pain in my body lingers.

Dammit. Hasn’t been this bad in a while. Haven’t had this flashback for more than a year, although the damn memory walks my dreams.

It’s an old one, hazy and unclear, but the terror it carries with it is a thousand times worse than the memory of almost drowning. Even now the images, the sensations flash through my head, making it swim, tensing my body, and turning my stomach.

Shit, I’m gonna be sick. Opening the door of the truck, I barely have the time to bend over outside before I’m throwing up the sandwich I had for lunch. The bile burns my throat, but at least after that, my stomach isn’t trying to climb its way up anymore.

Fucking hell. I wipe my mouth and close the door. I’m a mess. First the flashback at the park, then this. This. This should never have happened. It doesn’t happen when I control the situation. If the chick doesn’t like my rules, I dump her and go look for another.

Damn. Dakota. I can still taste her on my tongue, so sweet.

I screwed up. Shoving her like that against the sofa, eating her up, then demanding to fuck her on the floor, and then... Then giving in, doing it face-to-face when I should have known better. When I should have known she’d wind her arms around my neck. Chicks like that. And when her hands touched the naked skin of my back and the burn scars…

Christ. I went batshit in front of her. I knew this was gonna end in disaster. And I can’t lose her. Oh fuck, I can’t. I slam my hand on the steering wheel.

Get real, Zane. How can you lose someone you don’t really have?

Just because I’m obsessed with her doesn’t mean she gives a fuck. I mean, she wants me, that’s clear, but she still doesn’t know me.

And she never will. Jesus. What was I thinking?

Don’t get attached to her. Don’t you know any better? The more attached you grow to someone, the sooner they die. That’s Zane’s Law.