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“Lollipop,” I say, licking my lips, breathing her in, fall, pumpkin, vanilla, warm and comforting, soft. “Lollipop, I need you to fucking hear me when I say this, please, fuck, pay me attention. I’m not going to give up and leave just because you ignore me, you little brat.”
That gets her fucking attention.
“I’m not a brat, you’re a fucking arsehole,” the way she pronounces it, rolling the R in the slur, all prim and proper and British, makes my lips twitch with a laugh and she hits me, her splayed hand, the heel of her palm colliding with my collarbone in a harsh smack. “Stop laughing.”
She scowls at me, her split lip pouting, slick with something shiny. That’s when I notice the bruises, really taking them in.
Poppy staggers forward, long, black dress clinging to every bone and curve, bag tight over her head, a gag, I tied, beneath it, in her mouth, tied at the back of her head, stopping her from objecting.
And Lynx is shoving her between the shoulder blades.Too hard.I think, blinking as I watch it happen, as though slow motion, her body slamming face first into the earth. I’m curling my fists and I’m staring down at her as Rex is gentle, lifting her beneath the arms, righting her, holding onto her like she’s ajewel, precious,his.Scowl on his face for my brother who keeps walking.
But she’s breathing hard, too hard, she’s panicking and I feel my own chest tighten with panic. Panic for her.I don't want you to die.I’m tearing the bag over her head, yanking the gag down her cheeks, rubbed red from it.Too tight. I tied it too fucking tight.
“Nothing you’ve ever done to me is funny, Bennett.”
It sobers me like a slap to the face. I swallow. Dryly, licking my tongue over my teeth, gritting them.
“I should take you to Urgent Care,” it’s raspy, the words, the way they come out, concern lacing them even though she wouldn’t know it. “You should get this looked at,” I breathe, my breath over her mouth where she’s glancing down at me, still in my lap, her hands coming up to rest on my shoulders. “I don’t think anything I’ve done to you is funny, Poppy.”
She drops her gaze, staring down between our bodies, where she finally, finally, is resting on me now, my cock limp beneath her, unthreatening. She swallows at the same time I do, and I smooth my hands up her back. Cupping the back of her neck, guiding her to look at me, my other splaying over the center of her spine. Holding her to me, her tits brushing my pecs.
“Baby girl, I’m sorry.” I might choke, waiting for her to say something. When she doesn’t, her lilac eyes on mine, shadows and bruising on her delicate face, I continue. “Those boys,” she flinches, but she doesn’t look away, this is how she was in the passenger seat of my car, soft, placid, all of her attention on me. “They hurt you because I told them to. After I met you, I got Flynn to look into you.”
She says nothing, still staring and then, “Because you wanted to check out who Lynx was going to be living with.”
“Exactly, I didn’t want him living with a-”
“An addict,” she says quietly, still holding my gaze and somehow it feels better and worse all wrapped in one.
I nod slowly, her fingers curling tighter into my shoulders. “And then,” I glance away, just trying to form the words in my head, the way everything seemed to spiral. “Then I found out who your father is.”
Her brow scrunches, confusion etched deep, because she doesn’t fucking understand, she knows nothing.
“What does he have to do with us?” she whispers, worry in her throat.
The way she saysushas my dick twitching, that means she thinks of us as something singular, in the present, not the past. I smooth my hands over her spine, squeezing her nape just a little tighter, my thumb pressing into the side of her throat.
“A long time ago, mine and Lynx’s dad was sent to jail. Money fraud, tax evasion. A whole host of other shit, but my dad is as straight laced as they come, never missed a receipt, always double checked everything he had to declare. He was a good guy, bit of a math nerd to be honest. Turns out it was his construction company’s offshore accountant that set it up. Moving money, pushing through fake contracts. Our dad ends up getting twenty years.”
Poppy gasps, fingers flexing in my shoulders, tightening, “Oh, that’s…” her forehead wrinkles, brows drawing in, beautiful, this girl, she’s fucking perfect. “I don’t understand…”
“What that has to do with your father,” I finish for her, nodding. “My dad’s accountant’s name was Michael Edward Carrington, an office in Kensington, a home address in Surrey, England.” I watch her as I tell her, my tone softening with each word as she takes it in, processing, and I’m staring into her eyes as they seem to glaze over, still on mine.
“You’re sure?” is all she says, a little blankly.
Disconnected.
Where do you go inside that pretty, dark head of yours, beautiful girl?
“Yes. I’m very sure.”
“I’m sorry,” she tries to duck her head.
Her hair swishing around us, curtaining us with it, but my grip on her neck doesn't allow her to move too far from me as I feel her try to lift up. Her fingers clench harder in my button down and I’m clutching her tighter to me. Our chests flush.
“Look at me,” I demand it, and her eyes snap to mine, glossy with tears. “Youneverapologize to me, Poppy,” I tell her seriously, meaning it with my whole fucking soul. “Never. You understand?”
She trembles, her entire body vibrating and I think back to her in my car again. That night screws with my fucking head. Fucking her in the bar.
