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Home / Mafia / Two Brothers. One Ruin. / Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

All Chapters of Two Brothers. One Ruin.: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

125 Chapters

31

He sits hunched forward, elbows braced against his knees, his back a rigid line of tension. His head is bowed, as if the weight of the world is pressing down on his shoulders. The firelight caresses the sharp angles of his frame, painting him in gold and shadow, but it does nothing to soften the cold, hard truth of him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even breathe loud enough for me to hear. And yet, I feel him. Like a storm on the horizon. Like the first crack of thunder before the rain begins. The half-empty bottle of whiskey glints on the table in front of him. Is he drunk? I force myself to move, my steps slow, deliberate, as I descend the three stairs into the sunken seating area. I keep my distance, as I take a seat on one of the couches, my bag hits the floor with a soft thud, the sound swallowed by the suffocating silence. And then I look at him. His hair is a mess, tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it for hours. But God, it only makes him mor

32

My entire body gives out. My knees buckle, the strength just drains out of me like something vital has been ripped loose. I would’ve hit the floor if he wasn’t holding me. If his hands weren’t there, bracing me, taking my full weight like I’m something fragile he can’t afford to drop. “W-what?” My voice trembles, barely holding together. He says nothing. I should’ve seen it coming. I did see it coming—didn’t I? The way she was always there. The way he never pushed her away. Maybe some part of me already knew. But knowing… and hearing it from him? It’s not the same. It knocks the air straight out of my lungs. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. It’s like something is crushing my chest from the inside out. But I don’t stay broken. The embers of fury ignite, slow at first, then roaring to life. Heat floods my face, my ears ringing with the rush of blood, my skin prickling as it spreads. It burns through the shock, through the ache, until it’s the only thing I can hold onto.

33

For a heartbeat, he freezes. Shock locks him in place, his body rigid, unmoving. But I don’t stop. I can’t. I kiss him with everything I have, like this is the only language left to me. My hands tangling in his hair, my body pressing against his like I can fuse us together if I just try hard enough. And then—just as suddenly—he pulls me back a fraction, just enough to look at me. His eyes search mine, filled with questions, with doubt, with something unsteady. “Have me,” I whisper against his lips, the words barely more than breath. “And let me have you. One last time.” I don’t wait. I surge up again, capturing his mouth with mine. For a few agonizing seconds, he’s motionless, suspended between resistance and surrender. And then— His arms wrap around me, tight, almost desperate, hauling me up against him, until I’m balanced on the tips of my shoes. His restraint breaks, his hesitation shattering as he pulls me in, closer, deeper—like he’s trying to consume the moment be

34

My ass hits the cold, unforgiving surface of a table, and I’m already moving—fumbling with his belt, yanking at the buttons of his pants with shaking fingers. And then my hand is on him, wrapping around his thickness, his length, his heat. He’s hard as steel for me, every vein throbbing under my fingertips, pulsing with the same desperate need that’s tearing me apart. God, I want it. With a sharp tug, he shoves his pants and briefs down just enough, freeing himself. His cock presses against my entrance, hot and heavy, and I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Then—he thrusts. A gasp tears from my lips as he fills me, stretching me, owning me. My body clenches around him, a broken sound escaping me—half pain, half pleasure, all need. “Fuck,” he growls in my ear, his voice rough, wrecked. “I missed you.” My back flattens against the table as he begins. At first, it’s too much—too full, too deep, too raw. But then the pain melts into something else, something sweet, somethin

35

By the time I make it back to my apartment, I’m so late I barely have time to breathe—let alone take a proper shower. I twist the tap open and step under the water, barely giving it a chance to warm. It hits my skin in a rushed cascade, and I drag my hands over my body in quick, distracted motions, like I’m trying to erase something and hold onto it at the same time. It’s pointless. He’s still there. In the faint marks on my skin. In the lingering heat beneath it. In the scent that no amount of hurried washing can quite strip away. I shut the water off too soon. There’s no time. My hands move fast—too fast—as I gather my damp hair, twisting it up without care. A few strokes of makeup follow, rushed, imperfect, just enough to make me look presentable instead of wrecked. I catch my reflection for half a second. It’s convincing. Barely. As a precaution, I swallow a pill dry, the motion automatic, detached—just another thing to control in a night that spiraled far beyond

36

My eyes light up before I can stop them, something sharp and bright rushing through me as I open the message. “You left without saying goodbye.” A breath catches in my throat, but my fingers are already moving, fast, instinctive. “I thought everything we did last night was a goodbye.” The reply comes almost instantly. “Forget goodbye. Come back to me. I want to have you—always. Fuck everything and everyone that isn’t us.” It hits me like a surge—sudden, intoxicating, electric. Something floods my veins, fast and overwhelming, lifting me higher than before, higher than I should let myself go. My heart kicks hard against my ribs, my grip tightening around the phone as that dangerous, impossible feeling spreads— Hope. “I’ll come after my shift.” I type without hesitation, the decision already made somewhere deeper than logic. His reply comes almost immediately. “I’m at one of my father’s estates near the hospital. Come now. Just a few minutes.” I pause. A flicker of

37

Only a narrow opening reveals itself—just wide enough to see inside. And what I see—I don’t believe it. Not at first. Then the smell hits. Sharp. Metallic. Unmistakable. Blood. It floods my senses, tangled with sweat, alcohol, and that sterile, clinical scent I know too well—the kind that clings to hospitals, to operating rooms, to places where bodies are cut open and put back together. My stomach twists. Inside, figures in white scrubs move quickly between rows of makeshift beds. Their motions are efficient, practiced—but rushed. Too rushed. On those beds—God— Men. Broken. Covered in blood, soaked through, their clothes ruined, their bodies barely holding together. Some are conscious, groaning, low and guttural. Others lie too still, their chests rising in shallow, uneven breaths. The floor—It’s red. Not stained. Drenched. IV lines hang from metal poles, swaying slightly as people move past them. Equipment is scattered, half-organized, half-forgotten, like this place w

38

“What—?!” The protest barely forms before hands are on me. Everywhere. They grab, lock, restrain—arms pinned, wrists caught, my body yanked off balance before I can even fight properly. “No—what the hell are you doing?!” I twist, struggle, try to wrench myself free, but it’s useless. Their grip tightens, unyielding. My arms are forced in, my legs lifted clean off the ground. “Let go of me!” I shout, panic breaking through, sharp and raw. “Do you know who I am?!” My voice echoes uselessly as they carry me, my legs kicking wildly in the air, hitting nothing but empty space. “Where is Julian?!” I scream, the question tearing out of me, desperate now. “Where the fuck is he?!” “Don’t hurt her!” Randall’s voice cuts through the chaos, loud, commanding. “Sir—” Dr. Phillips’ voice follows, strained, urgent, “she’s George Carlson’s daughter!” My father. Yes—that matters. That has to matter. “He’ll destroy you if he finds out!” I shout, clinging to it, throwing the threat like it mig

39

“Shaun?” I whisper, the name barely forming as disbelief fractures my voice. “Hey, Doc.” The sound of it sends a cold shock through me—sharp, immediate. There’s something in his tone, something slick and taunting. And somehow his usual self. Like we’re still at the backseat of his car. My mind stumbles, scrambling to catch up, to make sense of it. He lowers himself into a crouch in front of me—casual, unbothered—like this is the most normal place in the world to be. Like there’s nothing strange about him standing free on one side of the bars while I sit trapped on the other. “Not your best day, huh?” His smirk deepens. “Kinda sucks, doesn’t it? Especially after the night you had.” Something coils tighter inside me. Colder than fear. Sharper. It creeps through my veins, threading itself into my thoughts—something close to understanding. “Did you have fun with my brother?” Each syllable is edged, like he’s slicing into me with nothing but his voice. There’s weight behind it.

40

For a second, everything goes white. “What the fuck?” His grin widens, and he points at me like I’ve just confirmed something for him. “You’re going to marry me, Doc. I gave my father my word—I can control you.” His tone is almost light. “This way, you get to stay alive.” Alive. Like it’s a gift. Like it’s something he’s offering out of generosity. My legs feel stiff, foreign, like they don’t belong to me anymore. Pain shoots through them as I force them to move, dragging myself upright. My hand presses against the wall behind me for support, the cold biting into my palm as I steady myself. “You’re insane,” I say, the words slipping out, shaking. “This is insane. All of this is insane!” I push myself forward, step by step, toward the bars. He mirrors me, rising to his feet just on the other side, close enough that I can see every line of that twisted calm on his face. “I wouldn’t marry you in a million fucking lifetimes. I’d rather die a hundred deaths than have to look at your

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