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“No,” he whispers, his voice sounding like he’s been screaming. “It’s not enough.”
I fight back an angry growl at the absurd statement. I want to grab the knife and throw it across the room. I want to take care of his injuries and fucking hug him. I want him totalkto me.
But I know that’s not going to happen. I stare him down, jaw clenching, as I consider my options. I know when he’s like this, there is no reasoning with him. I know when he feels like ‘it’s not enough’, his self-hatred and pain are too high for him to cope. He needs a way to expel his demons. He needs a way to feel something,anything,but the pain in his mind, his heart. I can understand in theory, why he does this. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with it, or that it doesn’t fucking destroy me to see.
Begrudgingly, I nod once before hissing out, “Give me a minute and don’t fucking move, or else, I swear to God, Alec, I will tie you up with your freaky ass chains and haul your ass out of here.” He doesn’t respond whatsoever but he also doesn’t continue hurting himself.
I quickly stand and rush out of the room and into the bathroom. I grab a towel from the rack and wet it with warm water before picking up a few extra towels. This is so fucking fucked.My stomach clenches at the thought of what I have to do. I wish I could do more help him. We've tried, fuck, we've tried so goddamned hard over the years, to help him, to get him help. But he's brilliant, he's smarter than any of us and he hasn't gone into this way of life blindly.
Stone has read, researched, and studied for a long fucking time. He has educated and spoken with each of us at great length about his lifestyle, sexual interests, andthis. The masochism, the self-injury. We’re hardened criminals, murderers, gangsters. We've tortured in cruel and unusual ways. But it's fucking different when it's someone you love, someone you woulddiefor.
I rush back into the room and hit the light switch, knowing I’ll need actual real light for this next part. I reach him quickly, relieved to see him still sitting in the same position, having not moved an inch. I don’t like the fact that he’s so clearly out of it, but I am glad that he didn’t do something stupid while I was gone.
I take a seat in front of him, crossing my thick legs almost painfully as I get as close to him as I can. With way more care and gentleness than even I knew I possessed, I softly wipe away and blot the blood that’s streaked across his arm. He doesn’t even flinch when I glide over the cuts that line his forearm. They are thin, delicate slices along the muscle of his upper forearm. There are 8 in total. The sight makes me gulp loudly, forcing the bile trying to creep up my throat back down.
As I finish cleaning him up, I take in what he’s done. Letting out a relieved sigh, I drop my head and squeeze my eyes shut. There was so much fucking blood, I thought he’d actually done it. I thought-I swallow and exhale, forcing the thoughts away. Even in his manic state, he had enough wherewithal to tie off the major blood supply and not do any serious damage.Thank fuck.
“How many more?” I murmur before slowly lifting my gaze back to him. Stone wipes his tears away by tucking his face into his shoulder before responding.
“Until it stops,” he chokes out. I grit my teeth, not liking the way that sounds one fucking bit.
“Isn’t there any other way?” I grunt as I grab a clean, dry towel to hold over the still bleeding wounds. “Can’t I just like, tie you up or some shit? Hit you a few times with one of your spanking toys?” He huffs out a laugh and my chest squeezes at the sound. God, I feel like a fucking pussy right now, wanting to tear up over his small laugh. But I know that if he can talk, if he can laugh, we haven’t lost him to this.
“Flogger,” he murmurs. He pauses as if considering, and I hold my breath. I was only partly joking, trying to get a reaction out of him, but I would literally beat his ass with a leather whip instead of watching him bleed like this. He sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head.
“Fuck, Alec. Anything fucking else but this. Want me to punch you? I’ll sock you in the fucking face, right now, brother. If you need the pain, we can hop in the ring and beat each other bloody. But this, man, this is fucked up.” I scrub my palm down my face thinking of any way to help him. “Do you need—” I sigh, already regretting what I’m about to say, “do you need to hurt someone else? Will that help?”
“Are you volunteering?” he huffs out, brows raised high. I stare at him for a moment, happy to see his face looking somewhat normal again, the color returning to his cheeks. I shrug and nod. I'll do whatever and the fuck I can to get him out of this room. “You would seriously let me flog you? Whip you? Chain you up and torture you?”
“Yes,” I growl, “if it gets you off this fucking floor and no longer bleeding.”
He looks at me, long and hard, his face scrunching up like he’s tasted something sour. I let him process my request. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous. I meant what I said, for him, I’d do whatever he needs. But this motherfucker does some weird, kinky ass shit in this room and I’m not sure I’m down with being his fucktoy.
Finally, he closes his eyes and leans his head back, resting it on the wall. He breaths deeply a few times before squeezing the handle of the knife so tightly that his fingers turn white. My hands flex instinctually as I prepare to grab the fucking thing if he does something idiotic. But he surprises me when he reaches his hand out, flips it over, and offers me the knife. I quickly grab it before he changes his mind.
“I’m good,” he mumbles. “I’m good.” He repeats the phrase again and again, and I know he’s saying it to himself, not me.
We sit in silence for a long time. Well past the point when my legs have cramped up and his arm has stopped bleeding. After a while, he opens his arms and without speaking, he removes the tourniquet and towel, dropping them onto the couch next to us.
“I need a fucking drink,” he mutters.
With that, we both stand up and make our way into his office without speaking. He drops down onto the sofa and leans forward, resting his head in his hands. I make my way to the bar cart and pour two glasses of scotch. I bring one over to him and slide it across the coffee table before sitting next to him. I pull my phone out, seeing a barrage of texts from Maddox and Gage asking what’s going on. I feel bad when I realize it’s been over an hour since I spoke to them. I shoot them a message letting them know where we are.
Both of us quietly drink the scotch, letting everything settle in silence. The liquor burns going down, but I relish the feel, enjoying the distraction.
“You would have really let me flog you?” he murmurs around his glass, finally looking up from his staring contest with his shoes. I bark out a laugh at the unexpected question.
“Yeah man, if that’s what you needed to happen,” I chuckle but I mean it. I may not like it but what the fuck ever he needs. We’d all do anything for each other. That’s what being family is. Especially the kind of family that us four are. We would gladly lay down our lives for one another. I have no doubt in my mind about that. “If I’d take a bullet for you, why wouldn’t I also let you slap my ass with a leather whip?”
“Woah, who the fuck is whipping who?” Maddox asks exactly 2.4 seconds after the door flies open. “I hope everyone’s dressed. I’m not in the mood to see your cocks.” He steps in, closely followed by Gage. They both look around, finding us leaning back on the couch, glasses of whiskey almost dry.
The Luna brothers both pause as they not so discretely take in Stone’s appearance, looking him over head to toe, checking for injuries. They both zero in on his left arm at the same time, almost as though the moment was planned. Gage’s jaw ticks and Maddox’s eyes narrow on the slices. They’ve stopped bleeding now but they are red and irritated looking.
Madd shakes his head and stalks into the room, heading straight for the bar cart. Gage grinds his teeth and slides his tongue over them before taking a seat across from us. His suit jacket is off and the first few buttons of his shirt are open. He looks undone, not put together. I already know it’s because he was probably freaking the fuck out in a rush to get here.
Maddox sits down next to Gage and passes him a tumbler full of brown liquor as he settles into the club chair. They both stare between the two of us as though they are waiting for an explanation. I shrug because even though I know what happened, it’s not my story or my place to tell it.
“I’m assuming you know,” Stone murmurs, breaking the silence. He tips the rest of his glass back, draining his drink before standing to refill it.
