My heart hammers. My brain is blank. I’m leaning against the counter in my booth in Damage Control, staring at a text message that arrived on my cell an hour ago. It’s from Matt, Emma’s husband.

‘No change.’

Just two words, but they hit me like bullets. I feel paralyzed. This last therapy was supposed to be great. It has saved people. But not Emma, not my sister.

The doctors will save her. This is Emma, the one who stuck with me through foster care, who took care of me when things got rough, who found me when she turned eighteen and took me in, in her tiny apartment with her noisy roomies. It was home for the very first time.

They have to save her. They will save her. They’ll try another treatment. That’s what Matt told me the other day. He’s holding out hope.

I should be doing the same. I should find my hope before I visit them this weekend, because we’ll have to talk about all this, all that my mind refuses to even consider.

“Zen-man.” It’s Ocean, one of the other two tattoo artists of Damage. His light blue hair is sticking up in spikes. “Your customer called to cancel. He’ll make another appointment for next week.”

I blink at him, his words echoing in my ears. “What?”

“Zane.” Tyler appears at the opening of my booth, glaring at me. “Get out.”

“What the fuck’s wrong?” I glance around my booth, trying to detect a fire, a leak, anything that might call for such a demand.

“Your customer cancelled. You look like hell warmed over. Go out. It’s summer. Go do something fun.”

“Fun,” I repeat, my dark mood spreading like an oil spill. “Screw you, Tyler, and leave me the fuck alone.”

He grunts, exchanges a quick look with Ocean—what the hell?—and leans against the wall of the booth, making it creak. He gazes at me impassively.

Shit. I rub a hand over my face. Why can’t I be civil to my friends anymore? I should at least try. “Look, I’m sorry, fucker. Didn’t mean to yell in your face. I just… got work to do. Designs to finish.”

Tyler nods, his eyes never leaving me. “I called Ash. He’s passing by to get you.”

“Get me. What do you mean?”

“I mean, he is driving by to get you and take you to the park, where I’ll join you later with Erin. It’s a party. They have beers and sandwiches and music, and I hope they throw you into the lake to lighten you up a bit.”

I suppress a shiver at the thought of being thrown into the lake. Tyler has no idea. He’s acting like he’s my older brother lately, and it’s funny, only he is older than me, and maybe… maybe it’s not bad, having an older brother. Just…

Wait a minute. “Did you say party?”

“Uh-huh.” Tyler is watching me with a gleam in his eye.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.” My hands clench into fists so tight my nails are biting into my palms. “Tell him I can’t go.”

“Forgot to say…” Again that quick look exchange between him and Ocean, and then Tyler winks at me. “That girl you like will be there. She seems to pop up everywhere these days, doesn’t she? It’s almost as if she likes your ugly face or something.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Ocean says cheerfully and walks away from my booth.

“What girl?” I ask, my thoughts full of Dakota, her tight little body, her large eyes, those soft lips. I lick mine.

Tyler winks. “That one.”

“If you’re done playing games...”

“I mean Koko.” He pushes off the wall.

She’ll be there? “Her name’s Dakota, dammit.”

“As I said,” he says and tsks, “that one. Now get ready. Asher will be here in two minutes.”

* * *

It isn’t until I’m sitting in Asher’s—well, Audrey’s—car, and we’re driving away that I realize how screwed up I am. Just a mention of Dakota’s name is enough to make me drop everything and follow like a puppy.

Dammit, this ain’t right. I need to exercise some self-control.

“How’s it going?” Ash shoots me a sideways look as he shifts gears in the old Mazda. Audrey got it as a present from her mom last month. “Man, you look like something a sick bird chucked up.”

“Nice seeing you, too, fucker,” I say, and I glare at him for good measure, but I mean what I said.

Ash and Tyler. The two members of my adopted family who are doing fine. The two I wasn’t sure would survive the years of abuse and come out sane. But they did. And now they are the strongest. They make me proud.

They often also make me want to punch their faces in, but I guess that’s what brothers are like.

I wish I could see every single person around me survive and live happily. Too much to ask, huh? Must be. People around me have been falling like flies all my damn life, and it doesn’t matter what I do, how hard I try.

All useless.

“Hope you brought your swim trunks,” Asher says as he turns into Olin Park.

“You must be fucking kidding me.”

“Wanna swing by your place to grab them? Come on, man, what if Dakota is in the water and needs you to rescue her?”

I shake my head. “Dakota doesn’t like swimming.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I just do.” She said it once, and I filed it under my Dakota file. Now, how ridiculous is that, having a mental file for her?

For instance, I know she likes strawberry ice cream, that she hates classical music, that she loves collecting big watches, and gardening and oriental cuisine, and… and I like the fact she doesn’t like water. Water makes me uneasy, too.

“Come on, Z-man. Have some fun. Everyone will be in the water. You can swim. I’ve seen you.”

“So what? Doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I do lots of stuff I don’t like.”

“What are you talking about? It’s summer. The water’s refreshing.”

“As if you’re going to swim.”

“Damn right I am.”

Shit, he is serious. A few months ago he’d think twice about showing his scarred back to random strangers. Life with Audrey is good for him. He’s never been so relaxed before.

Doesn’t mean I have to be, though. Doesn’t mean I can.

The heat and humidity drown me as I walk through the park in my jeans, boots and T-shirt. Ash is dressed in shorts and sandals, the bastard.

We cross toward the lake. People sit on blankets, eating and talking and laughing, and kids run about, chasing each other. So much fucking joy.

What the hell am I doing here? I’m just about to tell Ash to forget it, turn around and leave, when I hear my name.

It’s Tessa. Of course. College students are on vacation. I can’t even imagine what it must be like, studying and dreaming of your future. All I’ve ever had is the now, the present, and that’s on the good days. The days when the past isn’t sucking me down.

“Zane.” She’s breathless and flushed, her blond hair caught in two pigtails, like a five-year-old. It makes me grin. “You came.”

“Looks like it.”

“Good job, Ash.” She is jumping up and down. Maybe five-year-old was an exaggeration. More like a three-year-old. “How did you get him to leave work for once?”

“Ty did it. I just picked him up.” Ash shrugs and looks around. “Where’s Audrey?”

“This way.” Tessa flicks her pigtails with her hands and skips toward the lake.

She fucking skips. Jesus.

Ash claps me on the back and bares his teeth at me. “Ready, man?”

Of course not. This is a royally bad idea. This is kindergarten, and I’m not in the mood for hide-and-seek, or whatever else is going on here.

Ash drags me along before I can sort out my thoughts. There’s a blanket on the grass with baskets and Tupperware, but everyone is in the water, as Asher predicted. I can see Audrey and Erin, splashing in the lake, and talking with a brunette I don’t know.

They look happy. They look like they’re having fun.

Time to hightail it out of here.

I turn, but then I see Dakota at the water’s edge, and I just stop and gape. Can’t help it. Fucking hell.

She’s wearing a yellow bikini top and hot shorts that leave her slender legs bare. Her dark hair with its pink streaks is caught up in a wild ponytail, and she’s eating a red popsicle.

Correction: she’s licking a red popsicle, and her expression… Eyes closed, mouth wrapped around the ice… Giving it a goddamn blow job, and she looks like she’s having an orgasm, right there, in front of me. She hasn’t seen me yet, and it makes it all that much hotter.

This chick’s killing me. There’s nothing I want more in the world right now than to throw her to the grass and enter her, fill her up and thrust into her until she screams my name. And then… taste those lips, so full and pouty, tasting the sweetness of the ice cream on her tongue.

Oh shit, this ain’t good. Not good at all. I need to go before I lose my last shred of control.

A heavy arm swings around my shoulders, holding me in place and drenching me in cold water. “See something you like, Zen-man?” Dylan drawls.

I keep my gaze forward. It’s a much nicer view, anyway. “None of your business, fucker.”

At the sound of our voices, Dakota turns, her eyes round. The popsicle almost falls from her hand, and I step forward to rescue it. Can’t have that.

If possible, her eyes go even rounder as I offer it back. “Zane?” She glances down at the popsicle and takes it. Her hand shakes slightly. “I thought you were working.”

“Tyler kicked me out.”

She smiles, and God, I need to taste her lips. I mean, I’m not just hard. It fucking hurts, that’s how hard I am. And she’s looking at me like she doesn’t have a clue, the yellow bikini hugging her small, round breasts and the shorts riding low, exposing her flat, golden belly and smooth legs.

“Gonna grab a drink,” Dylan says, his voice distant in my ears. “I’ll bring you one.”

Who gives a fuck? I take a step toward Dakota, and her mouth opens. No words come out.

“Your popsicle is melting,” I whisper, and she jerks.

“True,” she whispers back and smiles. It makes her blue eyes narrow.

“Can I get you another one?”

She points at a cooler in the shade of a tree, and I’m there and back before she even lowers her hand. Look, I can move at the speed of light. Call me Super Zane. Hey, it’s an important mission. Have to see Dakota lick her popsicle. I feel as if my life depends on it.

“Here,” I say. “It’s on me.”

“Is it?” This time she watches me as she peels off the wrapper and wraps her mouth around the long red cone.

Oh, baby. Holy shit. She’s distracting all right, taking my mind off all the shit lurking in the corners of my head. This is just what I need. Perfect diversion.

But something in my chest clenches, and sweat breaks on my face. What’s this? It’s as if she’s scaring me, and that’s bullshit. She’s just a pretty chick. Maybe it’s because she’s different from what I’m used to, her curves slight and smooth. I usually go for bigger tits, bigger asses.

So what? A pussy’s a pussy.

I hear voices behind me, but I’m transfixed by Dakota’s strawberry lips around the ice, her tongue licking the underside. Fucking it with her mouth.

Her eyes travel over my body, stopping at my crotch. She gives her popsicle a long, lazy lick, and my dick twitches. My throat has gone dry. I’m in serious danger of shooting my load.

“Excuse me,” a voice says by my ear, and the next moment hands go under my armpits, and someone grabs my legs, swinging me up into the air.

Wha…? “Ash? What the fuck?” I struggle and twist, but Ash just grins at me, walking backward, holding my legs.

“I think he needs to cool down,” Dylan pipes up from behind my back, and just as the words sink in, Ash wades into water, and I’m dropped into the lake.

Impact. Cold. Water in my eyes, my mouth, my nose.

A dark space in my mind expands, sucking me in. Terror grips me. I can’t move. A scream builds in my throat, but I can’t let it out. It chokes me.

So I do what I always do, even if I know it’s in vain: I fight. I struggle. I kick and punch and hit right and left.

And it’s just never enough.

* * *

So much for distractions and a fun afternoon. Shit.

Ash parks right in front of my building and turns to look at me. “Z-man. You okay?”

I’m wrapped in the picnic blanket, still in my soaked clothes and shoes. I sure as hell am not okay. And yet... just how sick is it that having seen Dakota lick her popsicle makes it all worth it?

“I’m fine,” I say, and even I wince at how dead my voice sounds. I open the car door. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Zane.”

The use of my full name from Ash stops me. He rarely uses it. I see his hand hovering by my elbow, but he isn’t touching me.

Of course he isn’t. If there’s one guy who knows me—who knows more about me than any other—it’s Ash. He’s been through his own hell. Back in high school, we hung out together talking when something bad happened to either of us. There were times I knew I wouldn’t have pulled through if not for him.

And then, when his dad went apeshit on him and almost killed him, when he joined an illegal fight club to escape home and was fucking stabbed and almost died in the cold, I refused to see the signs. Failed him. Found him at the last possible moment.

He says I saved him. I know better.

“Zane. Hey.” Ash is staring at me. “What happened back there? Man, I’ve seen you swim a thousand times. Why did you freak out like that?”

He has a darkening bruise on his jaw. I clocked him a good one, apparently, as I struggled with my flashback—memories that take over real time without warning. Guilt gnaws at my stomach lining. Which is why I stop and think about his question, instead of sending him to hell and climbing out of his car.

Because he’s right. He’s never seen me panic in the water before. Hasn’t happened in a while.

“I guess…I wasn’t expecting it.” My Mohawk is wet and dripping in my eyes. I wipe a hand over my face. “Caught me by surprise, is all.”

Ash is giving me the look, the one he reserves for me when he thinks I’m being a total idiot. “That’s bullshit, man. You don’t scare that easily.”

Or that bad. And that’s the problem. Ash knows me well—but he’s rarely seen me at my worst. Today qualifies as my worst.

“Not having a good day,” I mutter, being as honest as I can and prepare to exit the damn car and end this conversation. It’s dangerous. Leading way too deep.

“Zane…Who tried to drown you?”

The quiet question hits me like a punch to the stomach, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Memories crowd my head until I think my skull will explode.

“Hey.” This time Ash’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I jerk away.

“Don’t, goddammit.” I open the door and haul my sorry ass outside. “Just don’t.”

I pull the soggy blanket off as I stride to my building and unlock the door. Fuck, fuck. I run up the stairs, and when I try to open my apartment door, my hand shakes. I shove the key into the lock, and finally stumble inside.

What a fucked-up day. I grab the bottle of whiskey from the shelf and sink into the sofa, not ready to take off my wet clothes and shower just yet. I just sit there, the bottle in my lap.

What the hell happened? I normally stay on top of this shit, don’t let it dictate my life. I guess it’s the mess with my sister. It fucked me up more than I realized, and then came the shock of the cold water.

Fucking trigger. I got a few of those. Like touching my back. Holding me down. Plunging me into cold water.

‘Who tried to drown you?’

Shit. I scrub my hand over my face, trying to push away the memory. It’s not very clear. It must be quite old, and I don’t like poking at it in case it becomes clearer. I have a few like that, that mess with my head. I don’t have a therapist, but I know one thing about triggers: you should avoid them.

Hell, all of us in the Brotherhood have triggers. Show Tyler a knife, and he’ll break out in cold sweat. Touch Asher without warning, and you’ll find a fist in your face. Dylan has a thing about smells I never quite understood, and Rafe… Well, let’s just say he probably has more triggers than me. That guy is seriously screwed up.

Like I’m not. Heh. I uncap the bottle and take a swig. The whiskey burns as it goes down, warming me up. I lean back and look around my living room. My drawings on the walls, my beaten-up second-hand furniture. My apartment.

Too quiet. Too empty.

Christ, Zane. I take a long gulp of alcohol and close my eyes. What I should do is change and go out, hit the bars and find a willing chick to fuck and blank out my mind.

So that’s the plan, but I don’t wanna move just yet. My lids grow heavy, and I’m caught in a twilight zone between waking and sleeping. I think I see more people in the room. They’re watching me, waiting to catch me off-guard. Their eyes glitter like mirrors.

Water is splashing. A bathtub, full to the brim. They’ll catch me and throw me into the water. They’ve done it before, many times. They’ll crouch around the tub, keeping me under as I thrash and scream.

They laugh, and it’s a singsong sound that chills me. I need to get up and leave. Why can’t I get up? And why won’t they stop?

I blink, and the paralysis leaves me. I sit up on the couch and manage to catch the bottle right before it crashes to the floor.

Not laughter. It’s the doorbell. Just the fucking doorbell.

I’m on my feet, weaving slightly, already half-way to the door, before I remember I’m not expecting anyone. Maybe Ash decided I’m acting too weird and came back to check on me? That’s not like Ash. He lets me have my space.

Ignore. Don’t open.

I hesitate. Glance around the empty apartment again. The faces and voices from my dream haven’t completely faded yet. A shiver wracks me.

This ain’t good.

Reaching the door, I glance through the peephole and make out a slight figure, dark hair with pink streaks. Dakota?

I frown. What is she doing here?

The question is moot. She’s here. As I open the door, and the faces and voices from the dream finally fade, something inside me unclenches.

This girl is big trouble…

* * *

Dakota steps into my apartment, her black leather bag swinging from her shoulder. She’s dressed in a yellow summer dress—the girl likes yellow, and the information goes straight into my Dakota file—and her dark hair is caught at the back, shiny strands framing her face and making those blue eyes look huge.

“Hey,” she says, and her low, musical voice does strange things to me. I get this sudden urge to grab her and crush her to my chest.

I take a step back, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“You left suddenly from the park,” she says, and I wait for the usual blather—how are you, Zane? Are you all right? Have you gone completely round the bend yet, or are you still thinking about it?

But she doesn’t say any of those things. She just smiles, turns and closes the door.

Oh shit.

“Have you eaten?” She sidesteps me and glances into the dimness of the room. The light is fading. How long was I asleep?

I shake my head and suck on the barbell in my tongue. Why is she making me so nervous? It’s as if she can see inside my head, and I can’t have that. Not now.

“Well, I brought some sandwiches. You know, from the picnic you missed.” She winks, bites into her soft bottom lip, and my body starts to catch up, my dick stirring in my pants.

She is staring at me, probably expecting a reply of some sort, so I nod. Words have fled my head, which is still kinda foggy. I see her eyes go to the whiskey bottle on the table, and I brace for an outburst, or more questions, or even pity. Judgment.

But again she surprises me. “Kitchen that way?” She points and heads toward it without my input.

As if she’s at home.

I stand for a long moment like an idiot, watching her go, staring at her cute ass and pretty legs, until she disappears into the kitchen, and then I stand some more, listening to the clatter of dishes and silverware. It’s a soothing sound.

Then she’s back, carrying two plates with sandwiches. She places them on the coffee table and bends to switch on the lamp next to the sofa. The yellow light paints the curves of her body, makes the hollow between her breasts darker.

I lick my lips, caught in a fucking trance. Christ, I need a drink. Or a cigarette. Or both.

She walks to me and takes my hand, tugging me toward the sofa. “It’s chicken salad sandwiches. Erin said you like them.”

What’s happening? I let myself be pushed into the sofa and receive the plate. She’s gone for a minute, then returns with tall glasses of juice.

I feel as if I’ve stepped into an alternate universe. I can’t remember anyone ever taking care of me like that. Emma brought me to her home when I was practically an adult, and I took care of myself. Erin cooked for me sometimes, but this…

I put the plate back down. “What do you want?”

“A tattoo?” She smiles and shrugs.

“Fuck.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

“Here.” She scoots closer to me, offering me something.

A pen.

“Are you serious?” My head is pounding, my dick is hard, my thoughts are a mess—and she wants me to draw on her?

Her smile is fainter now. Red colors her cheeks, and her eyes glitter.

I reach for the pen without another thought. Why is it so important to her that I ink her? I don’t get her. She has no need of dragons on her pretty, smooth skin—no scars to hide, no bad memories to fight. What’s on her mind?

She turns, offering me the golden expanse of her slender back. Her tattoo is nestled between her shoulder blades. I don’t know the artist, but the design…

“A butterfly of death,” I whisper. It has a skull on its body, and the sight disturbs me more than it should. I mean, damn, I’ve inked my fair share of skulls and zombies on skin. Dark lines entwine around it, like a crown of thorns. And now I see it—a faint, long scar, thin like a surgical cut.

“Actually, it’s a Death’s Head Hawkmoth.” She glances at me over her shoulder, her blue eyes sparkling, her smile widening. “Acherontia lachesis.”

I frown as I put the pen against her skin and start drawing. I have no picture in my mind, so I just let my hand guide me. “Why?”

She doesn’t immediately answer. She hunches over a little, and I put my hand on her arm to straighten her. She’s warm and smells of sun and grass. I suck in a deep breath.

“Do you know they squeak when you pester them?” she says.

“What?” What is she talking about?

“Death’s Head Hawkmoths.”

Laughter rises in my throat. “And that’s why you got one tattooed on your back? Because it can squeak?”

“Well, it likes honey, too.”

I can’t help it. I laugh out loud. “So you like honey, too.” Another fact to file away.

My drawing is spreading over her ribs, curls and lines. I still don’t know what it is. As I draw, tension is leaving my body. How did she know this could help more than drinking myself stupid?

She shivers under my hands, and maybe it’s our discussion, but now I think I smell honey. My mouth waters. I bend closer and press my mouth to the top of her tattoo, on her spine.

The air leaves her lungs in a low moan, and the pen drops from my fingers. I wrap my arms around her, haul her back until she’s on my lap. She squirms, her sweet ass pressed against my hard-on, and I almost lose it. I reach up and place my hands over her breasts. Her nipples are tight, poking into my palms.

“Zane…” She whispers my name, and her hands cover mine. Together we cup her breasts and knead them. Her head rolls back, her eyes closing. Her body arches.

I hiss, my cock aching inside my still wet pants, and I bite lightly on her exposed neck. I need to mark her, leave hickeys all over her body.

Jesus.

She settles fully on me, and her hands fall away. I reach down, lifting her dress, and her legs part. I place my hand between them, over the fine lace of her panties. Swallowing hard, I slide a finger underneath.

Dammit. My whole body tightens. I feel as if I’ve never touched a woman before.

She’s smooth down there, and I wonder if she shaves. I part her folds, and she’s wet and hot. She makes a mewling noise when I rub my finger back and forth.

“Christ, Zane,” she whispers when I find her swollen clit and press down. Her hips lift, and she turns her face so that our lips almost touch.

I turn my face away and push my finger inside her. It’s so damn tight I can’t stand it. I fuck her like that slowly, and my dick throbs in time to my heartbeat. I push a second finger inside her.

She’s panting hard, making those sexy little noises that tell me she’s getting close, and I rub her clit with my thumb. I know how to make a chick feel good, how to get her off. Problem is, normally I’m not holding them close, feeling their every move, hearing their every breath. Normally I don’t feel like I’ll come just from touching them.

This time is different.

I close my eyes, count backward from ten, trying to come back from the brink. She pulses around my fingers, and I grit my teeth, feeling an answering pulse in my dick.

Her small hand rests over mine, between her legs, and her breath catches on a sob as she comes, writhing in my lap.

I bite into her shoulder to stifle a groan and keep stroking her, feeling the waves of pleasure rolling through her, making her shake. God, it’s never been so hot before, seeing a girl come. My cock weeps and twitches.

“Oh, God…” Her arms fall to her sides, limp, as she struggles to catch her breath.

I’m panting just as hard. As I pull my fingers out of her, she whimpers, and fuck, my cock doesn’t need any more encouragement. My balls draw tight, and I blow air through my nose, fighting for control.

Her head is resting on my shoulder. She turns to look at me, her eyes wide. It makes me want to smile as I pull back.

That’s when I finally see what I’ve drawn on her back. It’s a humming bird.

I drew a bird on her last time, too. Wings, I realize. That’s what I want to put on her. Wings, so she can fly. Not the scaled, dark wings of a dragon, but great, feathered wings, the kind that can take you high, close to the light.

Where I can’t follow.