Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters)

Her face brightens to the hundredth degree. And I skim the scar that pulls her cheek, rising from her jaw to her temple.

She watches as my gaze dances over the old wound. “Am I the beast to your beauty now?” she asks, her eyes glimmering.

I shake my head. “No, sweetheart, we’re both fucking beasts.” I’ll show you in a second.

The ink on her skin forms a dream catcher, with three feathers.

But along the frame is a small design of a wolf, protecting all of her restless and wild fucking dreams from the bad.

I love the tattoo. I love her. I love this

glance down. My nipples are totally hard, and the thin white shirt is see-through. The words printed right below say: Taken.

He shrugs off his leather jacket, his intense gaze still pinned on my boobs, and my chest rises and falls heavier than before.

“Didn’t you hear?” I ask, watching him watch me. “I’m taken.”

“I heard,” Ryke says, scooping me in his arms and wrapping the jacket around my shoulders. His eyes meet mine. “I also heard that he’s the only one who can keep up with you.”

“How you holding up?”

“Ask me again when it fucking sinks in,” he says.

“That you’re going to have a kid?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And I already feel fucking awful for the thing.”

“He may not have addiction problems, Lo,” I say.

“No, it’s not that.” Lo looks up from his napkin and points the pen at Connor. “Our kid is going to have to compete with theirs. It’s already fucked and it’s not even born yet.”

I can’t help it, I smile. Connor tries hard not to, hiding his grin into the rim of his cup.

Daisy’s lips leave mine, and a gorgeous fucking smile overtakes her face. Her light restored. Powered up and fucking charged.

My hothouse flower that I will always keep alive.

“You know what you fucking are?” I ask, edging closer, my hand dropping to her waist.

She shakes her head, and our boots knock together, but we both maintain balance.

I reach out, and I hold her cheek with the scar. “You’re a hothouse flower,” I tell her. “You can’t grow under natural conditions. You need adventure. And security and love in order to stay alive.”

Her shoulders tense and her collarbones jut out from the thin straps of her tank top, barely breathing. She is suffocating. And she’s looking for a way to relieve that pressure. An adrenaline rush is a temporary fix. She needs something more.

“Explode,” I tell her, still cupping her face.

She frowns at me. “What?”

“Let it out,” I say. “Scream.”

She shakes her head like that’s impossible, like what will that help? “I just want…” She blows out a breath from her lips. I can see that pressure bearing down on her, trapping her. She wants to fucking jump so badly. My hand tightens on her waist.

“I can’t fucking hear you,” I growl.

Anger flickers in her eyes. Good.

“Get fucking angry, Daisy. Be something. YELL!”

She opens her mouth but no sound comes out.

I push her harder by saying, “You can’t talk to your sisters because you’re so fucking afraid of causing a scene, but there’s something inside of you that wants to get out.” I point at her heart. “There’s something in there, and if you don’t burst, it’s going to fucking tear you apart.”

She breathes heavily. “Stop.”

“It fucking hurts, doesn’t it?!” I shout at her.

She cringes, and her eyes start to redden.

“Why are you holding back? No one’s fucking here but you and me!” My hand slides to the small of her back. “Stop pretending to be fine when all you really want to do is fucking scream?!”

Her chest collapses. I almost have her there.

“Do it!” I shout, my blood pumping. I’m in her face, not letting her dodge this, not letting her give up on herself. “Finally, for the first time in your fucking life, let go!”

I climb onto the fucking ledge next to her, and she stiffens at my presence, some of the humor exiting her face.

“What?” I snap. “You jump, I jump. That’s how this works, Dais. So you want to break your leg, split open your head, you’re going to do the same to me. Can you fucking handle that?”

Her eyes flicker from the water to me. And her voice turns into a whisper, no more games, no more jokes, she says, “Just let me go.”

My body runs cold. “Do you want to die?” I question. I’ve asked her this once before, after Acapulco. She never answered me, but I knew it anyway. This light inside of her dims if you watch closely enough, and she’s searching and searching for something to ignite her spirit, a power to keep her alive.

I feel in the way. Like a piece of furniture blocking everyone’s path. It’s best just to be gone.

He’s mentioned on numerous occasions that he would never medicate me with sex. “It was a just because fuck?” I ask with a smile.

“No,” he whispers, “it was an I love you fuck.”

I brighten. “No wonder it was my favorite.”

He combs my hair, my breathing beginning to match his steady rhythm. “Do you need me to check the doors?” he asks.

“I’m okay.”

He’s really aware of how easily he can hurt me, and his attention to this only makes me love him more.