Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

red of this? Like…really exhausted by everything?”

We’re all silent until Lo says, “Every damn day.”

I’m not sure how much longer we drive with no more words passed between us. Not until Daisy starts talking again.

“I can’t repeat Princesses of Philly,” Daisy admits. “So if Rose, Poppy, and Lily want to—”

“I’m not doing it without you,” Lily interjects.

I glance at Daisy through the rearview. She looks conflicted, wanting to be there for her sisters but Princesses of Philly was insane. Off camera, Daisy was upset during those six months. She was being overworked for modeling, and she felt like she had to paint on a smile every time she came home. The paparazzi grew crazy. Then she had trouble sleeping.

I don’t want history to repeat itself.

The car slows to a stop in traffic, and I have time to turn to my brother.

He takes a swig of water, his brows dusted with flour. “They hate us,” he says, not sounding put off about it.

Then he meets my eyes, and I see the confidence beneath his daggered amber irises, ones that seem ready for some kind of war.

“They think they’re being hurtful by hating us,” he says, “but I’ve spent more of my life being disliked than I have being loved. It’s not new shit. It’s just more shit.”

“Shit,” Moffy says in the backseat, rattling a toy.

Lo begins to smile. “That’s right, little guy.”

“So what do you want to do?” I ask my brother.

“I think we should tell them why we’re not signing on to another reality show, be honest about it, and if they’re all still furious—then that’s their prerogative. I don’t want to actively set out and make them love me. If our businesses dip a little because of it—whatever. I just want to live my life. With my family. In something close to peace.” He pauses. “How’s that?”

I nod a couple times, proud of my brother’s decision, and even though Rose and Connor are the most ambitious ones out of all of us—I’m pretty fucking certain they’ll want the same. They just love Jane more than they do their companies, and I’ve seen them both risk aspects of their reputations and businesses to protect her.

“What if they’re physical again?” Daisy asks. “When people disliked Ryke and me, I was slushied like three times just walking into Lucky’s.”

My brows knot. “I thought it was just once?” One time was already a fucking lot.

“…there were other times, but they weren’t memorable. Anyway,” she says quickly so we don’t hone in on it. “All I’m saying is that it’s likely this won’t end here, you know. It’s not just the neighbor guys pulling pranks. This is real hate from millions of people.”

“We have more bodyguards now,” Lo tells her. “And most of these people are all talk anyway. Just log off social media if it’s eating at you. Be done with that.”

“No one’s going to hurt you,” I chime in. “I promise you, Dais.” During Princesses of Philly, I was less vigilant than I could’ve been, and when people were tweeting Raisy is Dead—I could only keep up with Dais, I couldn’t keep pace with the world.

I know this promise is lofty and seemingly impossible, but I’d do anything for her, for my family. Lily once told me that she’d “go down with the Raisy ship”—and even though I rolled my eyes, it’s how I feel every day of my life.

I’d go down with Daisy, to the bitter fucking end.

RYKE MEADOWS

I watch Daisy pull off her helmet and shake out her hair, a smile already pulling her lips at our location. Up north. About five hours from the city. Our bikes parked in the middle of the forest. The weather is clear. The sun is out. I’m with a girl that I fucking love.

I inhale this moment, however simple, for all its worth.

“Where to, rock climber man?” she asks with the wag of her brows and hands on her hips. Her baggy white shirt says, Climb My Mountain in green cursive, the color matching her knee-high socks.

I toss her a stainless steel water bottle, and she fumbles with it before catching the thing.

“You’re rock climbing too, Calloway.”

She tries hard not to smile while I snap the buckles of my backpack across my chest, distributing the weight. I feel her giving me a long once-over, which pools blood to my cock. I try to concentrate on my gear and check everything before we leave.

Carabiners are clipped to a zipper strap and rattle when I walk around my bike, concealing it with a fallen branch. The leaves shroud the bright red paint on her Ducati.

She opens and closes the water bottle. “I’m only climbing if the wall doesn’t look like a fucking shit show,” she repeats what I told her earlier.

“Knowing Adam Sully, we could be hiking to a birthday party without the fucking cake and a piñata already broken in the corner.” I’ve never been here. I’ve never even seen this rock face, but my childhood climbing friend called me up, said he found a good one, and I drove five hours with the slight hope that this deserted wall isn’t riddled with loose rock and debris. That the crag is even semi-climbable.

His forest-green Jeep is hidden about five feet from our bikes, positioned between two shrubs and covered with foliage.

Daisy takes a sip of water. “What a sad metaphor. A birthday party without a cake.” She smiles in thought. “Sully would be attracted to piñatas.”

“Yeah, he would.” I check the coordinates on my phone and point north. “You lead the fucking way.”

Her smile explodes, and she gladly walks ahead of me, pushing tree limbs out of our path and stepping over rocks and fallen logs. It’s denser the farther north we go.

Half a mile in, Daisy begins glancing coyly over her shoulder at me. Blood thumps in my veins and circulates in my cock, and my arousal spikes more than I’ll let on.

I raise my brows at her, like she’s not affecting me. “You have something to say?”

She shakes her head and tries to contain another smile. When she faces the trees again, I hone in on her ass in frayed jean shorts. She climbs over a boulder, more of her skin exposed beneath them. Sex starts occupying ninety-nine percent of my fucking brain, a carnal desire that I don’t shut off.

I drop off the boulder behind her and then place a firm hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards the patch of large birch trees. Our silence spools tension, so extreme that my pulse thuds with each beat. I tower above her, watching her chest fall heavier in anticipation.

I push her body against the white trunk of a birch tree and raise her hands above her head. “Hold on.”

She does, and she watches me over her shoulder. I’m behind her, my hands on her waist, and I spread her legs open like a fucking cop about to pat-down a suspect.

She senses this, her lips rising. “Am I in trouble?”

My hands dip towards the front of her shorts, and my chest melds against her back. I whisper in her ear, “So much fucking trouble.” I unbutton and unzip her shorts. Pressing a palm to her lower abdomen, I push her body harder against mine.

She reciprocates, her ass grinding into me. I fucking harden, and I pull her jean shorts off. She kicks off her sneakers and then steps out of them, her hands tightening on the tree trunk.

“Ryke,” she rasps in want. Her neck strains as she continues to watch my movements. I meet her eyes more than once, my body fucking begging to be right up against her. To feel her. I run my hands down her hips again, her skin smooth and soft. I pull down her gray cotton panties.

She steps out again and spins around, unclipping my backpack straps. I pull off her shirt and shrug off my backpack. She lifts my charcoal tee over my head, our hands moving faster and faster to undress each other, prolonging an inevitable kiss.

I snap her bra off, our chests pressed together, while she fumbles with the buttons on my black climbing pants. My lips near hers, and she breathes deeply. Then shallowly. I slide her bra straps off her arms, and she yanks my pants down my ass.

After I slip off my

shoes, I step out of them.

In only her knee-high socks, she stands practically naked in the fucking forest. I’m in black compression shorts, and I pull her up against me, my hand combing back her brown hair, a shade lighter than her sisters’ from all the time she’s spent in the sun.

She smiles at me and edges close for a kiss, but I pull back, teasing her as much as she teases me. I cup her ass and push her against the tree trunk again.

She lets out a surprised noise, eagerness sparkling her green eyes. I massage her breast before my hands fall. I grip her hips, skimming her slender body with a long, fucking heady gaze.

Then I kiss her, finally, and her body curves into mine, her arms tugging at my hair. My tongue parts her lips, and she gasps. I break away quickly and drop to my knees.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, eyes growing as she watches me. I lift one of her legs over my shoulder, my right hand on her ass.

Her fingers rake through my thick hair. I’m in the perfect fucking position. I kiss her clit, slowly. I use my tongue and my mouth to send her to a new place of mind. Feeling her body tremble turns me into a fucking rock, my dick throbbing to push inside of her.

“Ryke.” Her fingers tighten, crying out. “Ryke…” She shudders, and I look up, her gaze right on me, her mouth permanently open. Her eyelids flutter. “Ahhhh.”

Fuck. I immediately lift her other leg on my shoulder and stand up, still sucking and kissing her, only now she’s on my fucking shoulders.

She gasps again, staring up at the trees. “I can’t…” She shakes her head like it’s too much. “I can’t…” She cries a sharp cry. Her toes curl and muscles clench. I feel her back arch against my palm, and sweat coats both of our bodies. When she comes down, I pull her off my shoulders and set her on her feet.

Daisy exhaustedly leans against me.

“We’re not done, Calloway.” I have to come inside of her in order to make a fucking baby, and I’m not about to drive into her without her being wet.

She clasps the band of my compressions shorts with a mischievous but tired smile. “Are you going to put your nine-inch cock inside of me?”