Fueled(book two)(70)

“What the f*ck was that?” he asks in an all too quiet voice—the voice of a disappointed parent to their child.

I unzip my suit to the waist and let the sleeves hang, before peeling off my shirt and falling back onto the couch. I close my eyes, swiveling so that my head rests on one armrest and my feet on the opposing one. I am so tired. I need sleep that’s not filled with all the f*cked up dreams that’ve been coming repeatedly since that morning with Rylee. I’m a f*cking mess. Can’t think straight. Obviously can’t drive worth a shit. “I don’t know, Becks,” I sigh out. “My head wasn’t in the right place. I shouldn’t have—“

“You’re goddamn right you shouldn’t have,” he yells at me. “That was a stupid f*cking stunt, and if you ever pull one like that again—get in the car when you’re head’s not straight—you can find yourself another goddamn crew chief.” The squeak of the chair tells me he’s just unfolded himself and stood. The motor home rocks with his movement and the door slams shut as he leaves.

I keep my eyes closed, sinking into the lumpy ass couch, just wanting to forget, wanting to talk to Rylee but knowing that she’s probably sleeping herself after the events of her night.

I don’t know why I got so panicked this morning when I couldn’t reach her. My mind immediately veered to thoughts of her in an accident. Trapped in a mangled f*cking car somewhere. Alone and scared. My chest tightened at the thought until I got a hold of Haddie who gave me the number to The House’s landline. I felt better—and worse—after speaking to Jackson about the chaos of Zander’s nightmare.

Poor f*cking kid. Nightmares can be so f*cking brutal. Cause such a setback and f*ck with your memories even more. Make them worse. Make you relive them in the worst possible way. Remember things you shouldn’t. Otherwise wouldn’t. Don’t ever want to. But at least he had Rylee to comfort him, stay with him, and keep the demons at bay with her soft voice and reassuring touch.

Exactly what I needed from her last night. What I still need from her today.

I sigh at the thought of her, wanting her in the worst way...in the best way. I laugh out loud at myself in the vacant RV. I can’t figure out what I want more, a dreamless sleep or to hear Rylee’s voice.

Shit, my head must really be f*cked up if all I want from Rylee is to hear her voice. I shake my head and scrub my hands over my face, feeling pussified from the thought. What I wouldn’t give to go back to a couple of months ago when sleep came easy.

When my dick and balls were firmly attached and in charge of my thoughts. When the choice between sleep, sex, or wanting to hear a specific woman’s voice was a no brainer; a few hours of uncomplicated sex led to the sleepless oblivion. Two down with one shot. And the woman’s voice? Who cared if she talked or what she did with her mouth as long as she opened wide and swallowed without a gag reflex.

Rylee flashes through my mind. Her dark hair on the white pillow as I hover over her. The look on her face—lips jolting apart, eyes widening, cheeks flushing with color—as I sink inside of her. How she tightens like a vice around me as she comes. Fucking voodoo *.

My dick stirs at the thought—wanting, no needing her—but my exhaustion overwhelms, and swallows me whole into its oblivion.





Spiderman, Batman, Superman, Ironman.

Spiderman, Batman, Superman, Ironman.

I jolt from the nightmare with a start, disoriented from the unknown passage of time. My heart thunders in my ears. My stomach churns. My head forgets specifics instantly, but the nightmare’s clutches of fear still hold me against my will, dragging me backwards through poisoned memories.