Rush (Men of Rapture #1)

  RUSH

  Men of Rapture

  Book One

  Faye Byrd

  Edited by Christine V.

  Cover Image from ©katalinks - Can Stock Photo Inc.

  Beta Read by Vanessa Moore, Ceara Therrien, and Cheryl Edmonds

  Copyright 2019 ©Faye Byrd

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.

  All trademark references mentioned in this book, including movies, movie characters or television shows, are the property of the respective copyright holders and trademark owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE Soaring

  CHAPTER TWO Spying

  CHAPTER THREE Spiraling

  CHAPTER FOUR Stitching

  CHAPTER FIVE Sparring

  CHAPTER SIX Spark

  CHAPTER SEVEN Sleeping

  CHAPTER EIGHT Slurring

  CHAPTER NINE Springing Back

  CHAPTER TEN Searching

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Sated

  CHAPTER TWELVE Shaky

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Spilling

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN Sublime

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN Surrender

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN Separate

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Surprise!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Soaring

  RUSH

  “Goddamn it,” I growl, my eyes rolling upward as my cock slips down her throat. “That’s it, baby. Suck it … Harder!” My fist tightens in her hair, taking control of the pace as I thrust my hips with precision. Her hum of approval sends a tingle up my spine, and I slam my cock as far as she can take.

  “Fuck!” I soar over the cliff, spiraling into a fathomless pit of ecstasy as my cum spurts down her throat.

  She releases me with a suction-filled plop and moves to kiss up my stomach, but I yank her away and tuck myself back into my jeans. “You know the rules.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She wipes her mouth like a good little whore and turns to prance away. I don’t even care to watch. It only took five fucking seconds to get her lips around my cock, and that’s all I can be bothered to offer her afterward.

  Just enough time to send her the fuck way.

  The euphoria is gone almost as quick as the girl, leaving me to my usual loathsome existence, my constant search for something to make me feel alive. My fist slams against the bricks, frustrated, tired of the emptiness that’s already gnawing inside.

  I slip a Marlboro between my lips before removing the hood of my sweatshirt. The first draw tastes like death mixed with a hint of Zippo fluid, but it’s oddly satisfying to know each tug brings me closer to the inevitable—that one day I’ll no longer carry the heavy burden that crushes my soul. The responsibility weighs like a slab of concrete.

  It’s inescapable.

  As I inhale the life-taking smoke, my eyes scan the desolate alley, always on alert, constantly craving my next fix in whatever form it may come. A fight, a fuck, a line, a blowjob, it doesn’t matter—anything to make me feel something other than the constant darkness that threatens to swallow me whole.

  The back door to Rapture opens, and the bartender, Niko, peeks around the edge. “Yo, man, Sticks is in here asking about you.”

  I nod, taking one last deep pull from my smoke and thumbing it to the filthy concrete. Time for my game face. I slip on my hood and turn to him with a cocky smirk. “Somebody’s always looking to ruin my pussy high.”

  “Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “That shit’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

  “Not today.” I clap his shoulder as I pass him and head to the small booth in the corner where Sticks is waiting. “’Sup, man,” I say as I slide into the faux leather seat across from him. “You got me covered?”

  His eyes shift around the room like a paranoid freak before he slides his closed hand across the table. In one smooth move, I take the small plastic baggie and slip him a bill. “Same time tomorrow?” he asks as I stand, my eyes already seeking the next willing participant.

  I nod once, tapping the table before I saunter toward a red-headed beauty at the bar. Her eyes glimmer with mischief as she watches me, and my smirk lingers as I pass her, continuing to the bathroom at the other end of the hallway.

  It’s always easy, almost too fucking easy, but that never deters me. As soon as the game begins, the blood starts coursing through my veins, reminding me why I bother at all. The coke alone isn’t enough—it barely gives me a buzz anymore—but couple it with a long, drawn out game that ends with a nice blow-job, and I’m set.

  For a few blissful minutes, anyway.

  The smell of piss and beer assaults my senses as soon as I enter the small grungy room, but it doesn’t make me retreat. Instead, I simply work faster. I whip out my cock and take a piss before swiping along the edge of the porcelain sink with the sleeve of my hoodie. In no time at all, two lines are laid before me, and another bill is joining the party.

  Two strong sniffs and the powder hits the back of my throat. The numbness settles in, adding another layer to the thrill of anticipation that’s already zinging through me. I follow it up with a couple swipes of my wet fingers, making sure my nose is clean, and toss the dollar into the toilet before giving it a flush.

  I’m not surprised to find the red-head leaned against the wall as I open the bathroom door. This is my game, after all. She’s twirling a strand of her curly hair and smiling coyly. “Everything go okay in there?”

  I prop against the opposing wall, shrugging casually. “As well as can be expected.”

  “I could’ve helped. All you had to do was ask.” She passes her hungry gaze from my eyes to my Docs and back.

  Forward. I like it, but not just yet. There’re still a lot of hours left in the day, and I want the surge to last as long as possible. The previous one sputtered out way too soon. Pushing away from the wall, I take two steps and close the distance between us, coming just short of pressing my chest against hers. Caging her in with my arms, I let my eyes speak of the all the dirty shit I’m capable of.

  “Are you sure a woman like you can handle a job like that?” I rasp, running my tongue along her exposed collar bone. “I’m a lot of work, baby.” She fists my shirt and tries to capture my lips, but I resist, grabbing her arms and pinning them to the wall. “That’s not part of the deal.”

  Her eyes cloud with confusion, and I hold our stare so she understands where I draw the line. She’s quick, though, getting my message and snapping right back into seductive mode. “Maybe I can put them somewhere else, then,” she whispers, trailing her fingers down the front of my hoodie and toying with the button of my jeans.

  “Maybe.” I smirk as I step back and reach into the front pocket of my jeans, withdrawing the small baggie and slipping it between her tits “Why don’t you have your own private party first. I’ll be around.”

  I give her a burning once-over before turning and strutting up the hallway. The feel of her eyes boring into my back sends a desperately needed thrill pulsing through me. Life sizzles in my veins and thunders inside my chest. Its heavy drum beat drowns out my silent, self-imposed torture.

  I feel alive.

  “Rush! Over here,” a familiar voice calls, and it brings a genuine smile to my face.

  Ace Carmichael owns a custom body shop a couple blocks over. I met him when I first started hanging in the neighborhood. He saved my sorry ass after a particularly nasty figh
t, and we slowly formed a friendship afterward. I trust him to snatch me back in line if I stray too far off the deep end.

  I give him a nod and shoot my thumb toward the bar. “Drinks are on me.”

  As I approach, I notice two ladies at the far end huddled together, sipping martinis. I chuckle under my breath as I move toward them. They make this shit so fucking easy. I saunter up and lean across the bar behind one of them, acting oblivious to their presence. It doesn’t take long for the giggling and whispering to begin.

  After giving Niko my order, a pitcher for the table and whatever the hell the red-head wants when she returns from her private party, I pass my gaze over the women, who’re doing a terrible job of not staring. Beyond them, Ace is already shaking his head, but I shrug and don my most innocent smile.

  “Ladies,” I say, twisting to prop my elbows on the bar behind me. “Can I get you another drink?”

  The young blonde giggles incessantly, and I bite back an eye-roll. The things a man has to endure to get pussy these days. “That’d be great, handsome.”

  She’s too young, too innocent, probably not even from around here. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” I’m wasting my time here. I turn back toward the bar and catch Niko’s eye. “Two more drinks over here, please.”

  “Will do,” Niko replies, sliding a pitcher and two glasses my way. “The red-head isn’t back yet, but I’ll be sure to take care of her.”

  “Sounds good,” I offer, grabbing the tray and pausing as I face the women. “Enjoy your drinks, ladies.”

  The blonde puts on a pretty pout, and for a single second, I imagine those plump lips wrapped around my cock, but I shake it away in favor of the sure bet who’s less likely to be damaged by the encounter. The misguided attempt dims my buzz, allowing the emptiness to creep in, but I pretend it doesn’t exist as I slip onto a stool next to Ace.

  “What’s up, man?” I say, grabbing the pitcher to fill our glasses. “Where the fuck you been?”

  “Here and there,” he replies with a shrug. “I see nothing’s changed while I’ve been away.” His eyes flit to the two women, who keep glancing this way as they talk among themselves. “Which one’s the target tonight?”

  “Neither.” I kill off my glass in one long gulp. “They’re not my type.”

  His eyes widen in fake surprise. “You have a type?”

  “Fuck you.” I chuckle, flipping him the middle finger. I’m glad he’s here; it feels good to shoot the shit. It keeps the emptiness at bay. “Now, that one,” I say, leaning forward and tipping my chin toward the red-head, who just reappeared from the bathroom. “She has potential.”

  “She’s smokin’,” he agrees before turning back to me. “But aren’t you tired of all these hook-ups? Don’t ya ever want something more?”

  I’m thrust into the past as an acute wave of nostalgia settles over me, robbing me of the ability to breathe. Something more was an option for me once, but it’s gone, no longer among my capabilities. I’m more fucked up than anyone should have to deal with. Poor choices on top of bad actions equal a disaster in the making, and it seems it’s the only way I know to live.

  I internally choke on the memories as I deliver a cocky smirk. “Sounds boring.”

  He rolls his eyes, downing half his beer. “One day, fucker. You’ll see.”

  I laugh it off, but the memory grows into a large black hole, doing everything in its power to suck me in completely. I fight my way through it by talking shit and keeping a smile on my face, faking every interaction, and it makes me feel like shit.

  With my earlier high wasted, I spend the next two hours with Ace, drowning in alcohol while simultaneously flirting with the red-head from across the room. It doesn’t help. The funk still lingers, but I’m good at pretending.

  I always pretend.

  Ace stands and tosses some cash on the table. “I gotta run, man. Want me to get you a cab?”

  “Nah,” I answer, picking up his money and shoving it into his hand as I stand and clap him on the shoulder. “I got this, and I’ll be sure to sober up before I head out.”

  “You sure?” His eyes are skeptical, but at my insistence, he finally leaves.

  As soon as he’s out the door, I retake my seat and lift my hand, motioning for another pitcher. The red-head delivers it, and I fucking smile. I desperately need to ramp up this game before I’m swallowed whole.

  “Look what we have here,” I say, giving her a predatory once-over. “I was worried you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

  “Not a chance.” She runs her fingers down between her tits and pulls out the depleted baggie from earlier. “We have unfinished business.”

  A spark of hope ignites. Maybe this night is salvageable. “Looks like a party for two is in order,” I say, scooting my stool closer and laying my hand on her thigh. “Why don’t we start with this pitcher of beer?”

  Her breath stutters as my fingers trail beneath the hem of her skirt. “I’d rather start with other things.”

  “We’ll get there,” I soothe, placing an open-mouthed kiss on her shoulder as my palm glides higher. “There’s no use wasting a perfectly good pitcher.”

  My fingers ghost the apex of her thighs, and my blood rushes. Life thrums through my veins, replacing the emptiness with something else. Lust. Want. Need. A burning to see this through, to drown in something, anything that isn’t real.

  Real is guilt.

  It’s an unending cycle of blame and remorse. It’s a painful past that followed a broken path. It’s mistakes and weakness and missteps. It’s a fucked up journey I wish I could erase from existence, but I can’t. It’s always there, lingering in the periphery, forcing me to commit the most depraved acts just to feel normal for a brief period.

  “If you want …” Her words are cut short by a hum, and she fists the table as I caress her already soaking pussy. “Don’t stop,” she cries, tossing her head back.

  I’ve barely even begun.

  With the meticulousness of a pianist playing their ivory keys, I guide her to the brink of ecstasy before pulling my fingers away and licking them clean. When she looks at me as if I just cheated her out of a hundred bucks, I chuckle and pour us both a helping of beer.

  “To completion,” I say, holding my glass in the air.

  “To time,” she replies, tapping hers against it. “May it move quickly.”

  It does. We share three more pitchers before ending up in the nasty cramped bathroom to finish off the baggie of coke. Lines mix with sweat and saliva as they’re laid across bare skin; hands and mouths roam as long as they never cross my self-imposed line. It doesn’t shift, not even during the most depraved of acts. It’s an intimacy I’m no longer capable of engaging in.

  The party ends with her perched on the edge of the sink, skirt up and thong slid to the side as she rides my cock. The sounds she makes are practiced to perfection, but that’s what I fucking deserve. Yet they somehow still add to the high by drowning out the silence that plagues me. I rock my hips, picking up speed, and pinch her nipples at the same time.

  “That’s it, baby,” I croon, pivoting my hips violently. “You like it rough, don’t ya?”

  Her moans grow louder, and she anchors her hands around my neck, tensing. “P-please.”

  She’s on the precipice now, desperate for me to send her flying high. Her body’s no longer cooperating, stiff and unyielding, as she lingers just on the edge. I lean forward and suck her neck before latching on with my teeth, too hard to be a nip but just hard enough to send her careening into her orgasm.

  Her verbalizations have grown to ridiculous levels, and now I just want it over. Instead of savoring her pleasure, I seek my own reprieve, slamming my cock in and out so fast and hard she can barely catch her breath. My balls tighten, and the tension releases, sending ripples of pleasure all over my body.

  “Shit.” I grunt and pull away, peeling the condom from my cock and tossing it into the toilet. “Thanks for the good time, Red.”


  I barely give her a glance as I straighten my jeans and flip my hood onto my head. The drive home is hazy, and by the time I get there, I wonder if any of it even happened at all. But I know it did.

  It’s the only way I’m able sleep at night.

  My body bone-tired and my mind spent from a day of deviance.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Spying

  ALYSSA

  “How long has he been refusing to eat?” I check the seven-week-old Labrador puppy’s gums, noting their pale coloring.

  “Just since yesterday afternoon,” Mrs. Martin says, nervously wringing her hands. “Did I wait too long? He’s going to be okay, isn’t he? It’s just, I’ve been telling the kids no for years, and now that I’ve let them have a pet, I can’t let something happen to him.”

  I pause and look up at the distress in her voice, grabbing her fidgety hands. “Calm down, Mrs. Martin. You’ve brought him to the right place.” I smile and release her, donning a clean set of gloves. “I’m going to start by performing a test for parasites. It’s a common diagnosis, and it fits his symptoms.”

  “Thank you.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “I just want him to be okay.”

  I spend the next few minutes getting a stool sample while Mrs. Martin looks on, peppering me with questions along the way. I explain what I’m doing as I go, and when I’m done, I excuse myself to go test the sample in my small laboratory. I add the solution and allow it to sit while I give a regular visitor her next round of shots.

  Only fifteen minutes later, I have the results and return with good news. It could’ve easily been worse. “Mrs. Martin,” I say as I breeze into the room with his medicine and a smile, “the test confirmed he does indeed have a parasitic infection, but he’s not dehydrated or lethargic, so I believe we’ve caught it in time.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she says, beaming.

  I demonstrate how to measure the medication and give him his first dose before making sure she has all the needed supplies. A simple de-wormer might work, but I’m inclined to offer something stronger with him already showing signs of deterioration from the infestation.