Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(4)

The casket is too small.

This shouldn’t be happening.

“In the Arms of the Angels” croons through the cemetery from invisible speakers, and the air feels toxic.

Like I’m breathing in poison and it’s constricting my lungs, choking me. I wish it would crawl up my throat and strangle me so I don’t have to be here to feel this mourning.

My father sits, controlled and composed next to me, but his knuckles are white as he squeezes his gloves in his palm. Dark shades frame his face, hiding his sorrow behind them.

Flower arrangements formed into words mock me from the space separating us from his casket.

Son.

Brother.

I don’t even recognize half the people here. Sobs and sniffles sound all around me, and I want to block them out—claw at the mud to fill my own ears so I don’t have to witness their pain. Hear their grief.

It’s all too fucking much.

It’s all because of me.

When the casket begins to lower into the ground, a sound like I’ve never heard before rips from my mother’s lips, shattering the air and causing every hair follicle on my body to rise.

If death had a sound, it would be the broken wails of my mother. She’s dying, her broken heart ripping her to shreds for all to witness.

A chill races over my body, dampening my skin in a sheen of frost.

“No, no, no! Not my baby! Please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Robbie…” she howls, grief wrapping her in its tormenting grip and squeezing the air from her lungs.

Chest pains signal the cracking of my own ribcage as my heart spills free at her feet.

This is my fault.

I’m sorry, Mom.

The sky darkens as grey clouds roll in as If summoned by her pain. Rain pelts down, throwing my mind back to that night.

“He didn’t make it, son.”

Tears burn my eyes as I get to my feet and reach out for my mother, but she slaps my hands away, and any soul left inside me dissipates.

“Don’t touch me,” she chokes out. “I can’t look at you.”

I stumble away from her, ignoring the voices of my best friend and family members as they try to console me.

My feet move, and before I even realize it, I’m running.

Echoes of people shouting at me fade into the distance as rain pours over their words.

My legs burn, carrying me in the direction of the main road.

I don’t know how long I’m pounding the asphalt, but my lungs scream for relief. My boots have torn my feet to shreds, and the pain washes out the reality of why I’m running.

Focusing on the burn of my limbs, I will the images of my dead brother to vacate my mind.

The casket lowering into a dirt hole.

I want to feel numb, please, God.

The rhythm of my heart is erratic and labored by the time I reach the parking lot of where Robbie took Karate.

I don’t know why I’m here or how long it took me to get here, but the day is turning to night and the rain is dousing me in its memory of his death.

I’m choking on the downpour coating my lips as I gasp at the air to cool the lava in my lungs.

Everything feels suspended in time, like slow motion. My steps become heavy and sluggish as I approach the trees and push through the branches, twigs snapping underfoot.

When I clear the treeline, my body solidifies.

The tree is still there. It looks unmarked.

Tall and flourishing like nothing happened.

My brother’s life ended, and the world keeps turning, life goes on.

Water cascades down all around me just like that night, and my mind spins and churns. But it’s not just rain staining cheeks. Sobs wreck and ravage me, buckling my knees and bringing me to the ground.

Everything fucking hurts. My heart wants to flee, but as punishment for what I’ve done, it can’t escape. It’s trapped inside me to suffer in agony.

“Rhett?”

“Rhett?”

I hear my name, but I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.

My features pinch in confusion when lights flash and a car pulls up behind me.

The headlights illuminate the scene, lighting up everything I want kept in the dark.

“Robbie.” I heave his name, my stomach roiling, and body losing all ability to hold me upright. The darkness opens its arms to me, and I fall to meet it.





One Month Later…



Alcohol and coke burns in my bloodstream, giving me a false sense of courage.

Cheers ring out from the partygoers below, and the pool blurs my eyesight.

Holding up the bottle of Jack Daniels I have a brief recollection of being handed by my best friend, Baxter Goddard, aka God, I shout, “One!”

God, from the pool below, shouts back, “Two!”

The crowd continues the count, calling out, “Three!”

I down the contents of the bottle and take a running leap off the roof.

“Ohhh shit,” rings out from below, but it’s too late. The buzz of liquor hums through my veins, air whooshes past me in a flash, and then I’m hitting water, the cold liquid consuming me on entry.

A jolt sparks up my ankle, zapping a sharp stab of pain through my foot, and then everyone is cheering as I break the surface. Opening my eyes I float in the shallow end of the water.

“Oh fuck! There’s blood,” someone cries out, and next thing I know, I’m being dragged out of the pool by God.