If The Seas Catch Fire (16 page)

“So you’ll feel better.”
Do they even make a difference anymore? Fuck, I wish I could do
something
for her.
He squeezed her hand gently. “Please Mama.”

She eyed them uncertainly. It was impossible to guess what was going through her mind. If she had any inkling of why she needed to take them. Sometimes she didn’t even seem to know how to take them, or what a pill was, never mind what it might do if she swallowed it.

Sergei pulled her water cup closer. “Take them. I promise, they’re good.”

She shifted her gaze to him. His heart clenched—
please don’t ask who I am
.

Then she nodded. “Okay, Vasya.”

Sergei had learned years ago how to wince without her seeing it. No need to alarm her. The mention of his long dead brother’s name hurt, but he didn’t want to upset her. To Mama, the Sergei sitting in front of her didn’t exist. She could only make sense of him as her eldest son because she probably couldn’t remember that so many years had gone by. That Vasily was dead and the Sergei she remembered—if she remembered him at all—was no longer a little boy.

One by one, he helped her take her pills. It was very much against policy, letting him administer her pills and vitamins, but everyone turned a blind eye. Whether it was out of sympathy, or because he had better luck convincing her to take them than they did, he didn’t know and he didn’t ask.

After she’d taken her pills, he sat with her quietly. There wasn’t much more he could do. She could still speak, but her mind was too far gone to have a meaningful conversation. He’d learned that the first year she was here, when he’d tried to coax her back to him and succeeded only in confusing her. Even frightening her. Most of the time, she didn’t seem aware of how unaware she was. When she caught on, when the confusion was unavoidable, she’d get scared, and he didn’t know if those episodes were worse for him or for her, but they were hellish.

So he didn’t try. He’d simply be here with her. Let her have some company for a little while. She seemed to like that. She couldn’t remember enough to look forward to his visits, and she rarely had any idea who he was—sometimes she didn’t even think he was Vasily—but his presence seemed to make her happy.

Her presence hurt like hell, though, especially on days like this. When it was painfully clear that she didn’t remember. He was thankful she didn’t remember what had happened, or why the two of them were all that were left, but God, what he wouldn’t have given for a moment—even a few fleeting seconds—of recognition.

He took her fragile hand and stroked it gently with his thumb.

I wish you could see me, Mama.

The docs couldn’t agree on what the fuck was the matter. It wasn’t Alzheimer’s. Brain damage from one of her almost successful suicide attempts? Extreme PTSD? Hard to say. She’d been nearly catatonic since the last suicide attempt, and now she was… this.

Well, it was a wonder Sergei wasn’t as fucked up as she was. Or maybe he was. Mama had gone up inside her own head, disappeared from the whole world and never come back. Him? He’d planned and planned and worked his way into a position to destroy every last one of the motherfuckers who’d destroyed the family.

Which of them was more fucked up? It didn’t matter. She was here, and she was all he had left except vengeance. Some of the men filling contracts in this town were psychopaths. Serial killers. Not Sergei. He wasn’t a remorseless murderer. But these families were subhuman, menaces to society, and he owed it to his own family to eradicate them. To erase them from existence like they’d done to his father and his brothers and, to perhaps a crueler extent, his mother.

Eventually, he took a deep breath and sat up. “I’m going to go, Mama.”

“Oh.” She held his gaze. “Okay, Vasya. It was nice to see you.”

Sergei cringed. She was making that mistake more and more often these days. Even with his hair cut short and bleached, he couldn’t escape how much he was looking like his eldest brother. On the other hand, if she thought Sergei was Vasily, then she didn’t remember what had happened, and in her world, Sergei was still eight years old and Vasily was still alive along with Papa and Mikhail.

So Sergei didn’t correct her.

He stood, wrapped his arm around her thin shoulders, and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back next week.”

“Good, good.” She smiled broadly. “Bring Sergei and Mikhail with you. I’d like to see them.”

It was a struggle, but he made himself smile. “I’ll try, Mama.”

He hugged her once more, and then left. He didn’t bother avoiding Jason and Brittany; they’d all learned that he wasn’t chatty after his visits with Mama. If he was relaxed and calm on his way out, it was one thing. If he was hurrying toward the door, head down and hands in his pockets, his gait fast and determined, no one stopped him.

The blast of summer wind was suffocating and seemed to make the home’s sterile, medicinal air burn even deeper into his mouth and nose. He told himself that was why his eyes stung, too. Just like he always did.

And just like he always did when Mama didn’t recognize him, he got into his car and drove from the home to the beach. Never the same beach—couldn’t be too careful—but one of those places the tourists never went and the locals barely knew about. There were lots of those in Cape Swan. Little fishing spots and places for teenagers to have midnight bonfires and knock each other up. This time of year, it was hard to find one where he could be alone, but he finally found an empty parking lot next to a deserted piece of sand.

He didn’t get out of the car. Never did. He just needed a place where nobody would bother him. Every time he left Mama’s room at the home, he came to a place just like this, killed the engine, and stayed in the car.

He didn’t like people seeing him cry.

*              *              *

Some nights, Sergei could work after visiting Mama. Others, he could barely move. Tonight was one of the hard nights. Before his shift, he’d sat in his car for a good twenty minutes, staring at the dashboard and wondering if he even had the energy to turn the key. Somehow, he made it to the club. And he made it through one dance. And now he just wanted to…

Sleep? Die? Drink himself senseless?

The answer came as he struggled through his second dance of the night. Every time another customer came in, he caught himself hoping it was one man in particular. And whenever the new arrival wasn’t Dom, Sergei felt even lower. Even more lethargic.

He struggled through his dance, and his tips reflected it. The winning bidder for a lap dance barely broke fifty bucks, and probably left feeling like he didn’t get his money’s worth. Fuck. Sergei’s head was not in the game tonight.

Leaning against his locker in the back, he tapped his fingers on the edge of his cell phone. On the screen was Dom’s number—under a fake name, of course.

Text him? Forget it?

If they met up, it was for one thing and one thing only, and Sergei couldn’t decide if that would be a good thing tonight. Just thinking about the mechanics of sex exhausted him. He’d barely been able to move his limbs enough to shower, drive down here, and change into these skintight leather shorts. Anything more than that—especially something as taxing as sex—made him want to curl into a ball and never move again

But getting into bed with someone was appealing, too. He craved that close contact with another human being while shutting out the rest of the world—the death, the crime, the shell of the woman traumatized out of her own mind.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. Even if it took all the energy he had and then some, he needed to feel human again, and he could think of no other place to recharge himself than in bed with the only man who’d touched him like a human being in years. It was a long shot, thinking Dom would be available or willing, but he sent the message anyway.

Can I see you tonight?

As soon as it was sent, he started gnawing his lip. This arrangement had been about Dom, not Sergei. Dom could say what he wanted about this thing being two-sided, but they both knew it was about
him
getting his sexuality out of his system before he had to pen it up forever and be a good straight man. There was nothing in their unwritten agreement about Sergei’s needs.

His heart sank lower. No matter how emphatic he’d been on that first night that he was not a prostitute, suddenly he was all too aware that that was exactly what he was now. He was servicing another man. Giving him what he needed with no right to expect anything in return. He might as well bite the bullet and start charging Dom, since this was just—

His phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen. The message was simple as they often were:
When/where?

Sergei’s lips parted. Disbelieving he’d even gotten a response, he sent back,
I can get a room. Send you a msg w/address. ASAP?

And to his surprise, the response came quickly:

Ready when you are
.

*              *              *

When the motel room door opened, Sergei’s jaw dropped.

He really came?

Of course he had no reason to believe Dom would lie to him, but Sergei trusted no one, took no one at their word—and he’d learned long ago not to depend on anyone else. When he needed someone the most, that was when promises came up empty.

But Dom… he was here. Just like he said he’d be.

As he stepped into the room, their eyes met. Sergei’s heart sped up. Dom closed the door, and the click hit Sergei’s nerves like gunfire.

He jumped, pulling in a sharp breath.

“You all right?” Dom came closer. “You seem kind of…” He slid his arms around Sergei. “I don’t know. Tense?”

“I’m fine. I’m just…” Sergei ran his fingers through Dom’s hair. “You’re here.”

Dom cocked his head. “Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

Actually…

“I didn’t… I mean… I guess I thought—”

Dom cut him off with a soft, insistent kiss. “I’m here. I meant it when I said this thing wasn’t just about me.”

They separated enough to meet each other’s gazes.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Dom asked.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry.” He cursed the weakness in his voice. “I just don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

“You won’t be.” Dom kissed him softly. “I’m here.”

Sergei finally managed to smile. “Yeah. You are.” He brushed his lips across Dom’s. “We’re both still dressed, though.”

Dom laughed. “We should do something about that.”

“Agreed.”

It didn’t take them long—with what seemed like a few quick motions, their clothes were at their feet. The next thing Sergei knew, Dom was pulling him down onto the bed, his skin hot and bare. When Dom rolled him onto his back, Sergei didn’t resist. He let himself be laid gently on the sheets, and shivered as Dom lay over the top of him. Any reservations he might’ve had about being under a larger man were gone. There was nothing threatening about Dom, and even if there had been, Sergei didn’t have it in him to put up his guard tonight.

Dom kissed the side of his neck, and his hips moved slowly, fluidly, almost lazily against Sergei. They weren’t groping or winding each other up—just touching. Kissing. Sergei was in no rush, and he hoped to God Dom wasn’t either. Orgasms would happen when they happened. Maybe. He wasn’t even sure he could come tonight, but he didn’t care. This was the part he desperately needed—strong arms around him, hot skin against his, someone’s breath cooling and warming the side of his neck.

He’d never been so grateful for another man’s company. He’d needed someone to distract him tonight, but he hadn’t even imagined…this. That Dom could not only make him feel alive, but make him feel like it was worth staying that way. That despite everything, he was still worthy of a kind hand and a passionate kiss. He didn’t try to make Sergei justify why he needed this tonight or make him earn it. He just gave it as if there was no reason not to.

Sergei could barely keep it up tonight, but he didn’t want to stop this. Dom obviously didn’t have the same problem—his prominent erection pressed into Sergei’s hip, grinding against him every time they moved.

“Want… you on top,” Sergei panted.

Dom shivered. “Let me get a condom.”

Sergei nodded. He very nearly told Dom to forget the condom and just fuck him, but he still had enough rational thought left to keep that to himself. They barely knew each other. They were both dangerous men. Sex was already pushing the bounds of sanity—unprotected was going a little far.

Dom put on the condom, and Sergei turned onto his hands and knees. He had to struggle to keep his breathing steady as Dom put some lube on him. As Dom slid a finger inside him, Sergei swore; he wanted Dom to hurry up and fuck him, because this position meant they were barely touching. Only the one finger—now two fingers—penetrating him, and a hand on his hip to keep him steady. Otherwise, Sergei’s skin practically burned with the absence of Dom’s against it.

Finally, though, Dom slid his fingers free, and Sergei held his breath as Dom guided himself in. As Dom pressed into him, Sergei’s vision blurred. Hell, his mind blurred. He hadn’t been fucked in too long, and now that the head of Dom’s cock was inside him, he wanted every inch. All of it at once.