Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 42- Callie

Victory tastes sweet, like a homemade gooey lemon bar. It's just a shame that Dario's admission that he knows everything about me leaves a bad licorice aftertaste. I brush it off, remembering his whispered words. He may say my secrets are safe with him, but they're not even safe with me. A fool's promise surely, but who is the bigger one? Is it the girl who wants to believe in fairy tales or the man who wants to slay all of her dragons?

Rave tips his beer toward me with reluctant respect. Too little too late, but I'll take it. I'd take anything at this point to stop feeling like I have to keep my guard up when he's around.

"So who's the lucky winner Callie Cat? Two nights in a row cuddled up with yours truly. You know you want it," Dario teases with an exaggerated wiggle of his brows. I think they're doing the worm actually, or poorly attempting it at least.

I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him close enough that the cloying scent of cinnamon and cloves fills me with him without a second thought of the men around us. "I don't think either one of us would survive two nights wrapped around each other. You'd fall in love with me," I tease back. I don't think he's the one whose heart would be in danger. Mine is tap dancing above a volcano with these men.

His nose nuzzles my cheek, tickling it. "I'll take the fall Callie Baby. See you tonight," he punctuates his words with a chaste kiss before sauntering off to his room with his beer and a wave to the guys as I stare after him dumbstruck. What happened to the flirty nerd I thought I knew? That man was a whole Casanova.

My brain is still frozen from shock when God clears his throat before taking a pull of his beer. "Question still remains Calista. Who's the winner? Although if you need some time to consider, no harm done. Just let us know before lights out," he says easily as though the answer means nothing to him. As though I can't see the way he bites the corner of his lip so subtly no one would notice unless they were staring directly at his mouth. Which of course I'd never do.

I don't know why Rave remains at the table. I thought he'd be as far away from me as he could be once the game was over. I've grown used to hearing him play his guitar after dinner. There's something comforting about it, a little bit of routine in the chaos. I almost miss it, so similar to the sounds of home, minus Rachel's harsh, honest laughter.

God captures my attention and I am helpless under his spell. It's how I know he'll never be the one I choose to share a bed with tomorrow. This man would devour me alive and have me thanking him for the pleasure before I begged for more. At least I know what beast I'm choosing with Jaxson.

"I am a bit curious on whether or not Pretty Boy actually sleeps in a coffin or not," I admit.

Blinking and I'd have missed it, I catch a flicker of disappointment from God before he carefully wipes it away.

"I'll make sure the cobwebs are freshly made before you join me tomorrow," Pretty Boy assures me before he gathers some of the empty bottles around the table, heading for the kitchen to clean up.

God looks between Rave and I, exasperation clearly written in to the lines in his forehead and the tightness in his mouth. "I'm sick of this being an issue. Can you stop being an asshat for more than five minutes," he asks his friend. I try to muffle my glee at Rave finally getting called out for his attitude towards me, but in vain. "And you," God says, rounding his attention towards me. I already feel suitably chastised under that fierce stare and sit up taller in my seat. "For the love of all that is holy, stop antagonizing him. Dealing with the two of y'all is like herding cats. Fuck," he wipes a hand down his face and I share a look with Rave.

I don't know that we'll ever truly get along, but on this we seem to agree. Neither of us can stand being the source of additional stress of God's shoulders. Guess we've reached a reluctant truce.

"Alright," Rave says quietly.

"Do you want me to make you another drink?" I offer, feeling a bit useless in the moment.

God's smile could melt polar ice caps, they're that warm and genuine. "I'm good. Thanks, though Baby Girl."

Well that's a new development. Usually he calls me Calista, my name. So proper and formal, it makes me sit up straight and listen like the good girl I'm so eager to hear him call me. A discovery about myself that I've got to shelve to dissect at a much later date. Something about being kidnapped in a bunker doesn't exactly scream perfect time to dive into daddy issues.

"You're drooling Princess," Rave whispers conspiratorially in my ear. Giving this new truce an honest try, I don't slug him like my subconscious is demanding. Instead I lick my lip and give him my best attempt at a genuine smile and thank him for the heads up. "Nice poker face, couldn't get a good read on you all night when it came to your cards. Only time you wavered was when I went in on you personally."

"A lifetime of practice and a few years of disuse," I offer. Muscle and mental memory are hard things to forget even if the walls around my heart are crumbling faster than a diet at a buffet.

"That sounds like a story," God says. Coming from anyone else, it would be a demand, but he makes it sound like an invitation. If it was just the two of us, I might even be tempted to share it, at least partly. But despite the ceasefire, I'm not willing to load Rave up with lethal rounds. The story God is pleading with his eyes for me to tell would break me if my truth was wielded against me. Rave has a bad habit of stabbing me right where my walls are cracking most.

"It is," I agree calmly despite my heart pounding frantically against my rib cage. "Best told once and after several more drinks for me," I try to let him off easily.

"You don't have to force yourself to be agreeable Calista. I get it, my story isn't pretty either. I'm sure you've gathered that much. Saying no isn't a death sentence."

Watching God swallow down his anger, not at me, but my timidity is setting off all of my alarms. The darn things aren't sure what color the flags he's waving are and I'm too focused on appearing calm and shrinking from the inevitable blow to realize he would never raise a hand against me. If my trauma allowed me a clear head, I would be able to see what I already know. These men are nothing like Colt despite some of their rough edges.

"Sorry, I'm just gonna cool off," he sighs before taking off for his room. His departure leaves Rave and I sitting around the poker table awkwardly with only the intermittent sounds of Jaxson taking care of dishes in the kitchen. I'd like to think he's staying close to keep an eye on me, but I'm probably just deluding myself.

Rave stands too, towering over me though for once I don't think he's doing it to intimidate me. "So, are we good?"

"I'll lay down my sword if you will."

He rubs the back of his neck, straining the fibers of his shirt as they strain over his biceps. "Yeah, I think I can do that Princess."

He takes off as well with a quick two finger salute and I'm left staring at the ashes of a victory that doesn't taste nearly as sweet as it did before.

The only thing that makes it better as I clean up the cards and fold up the chairs is the drifting sounds of an acoustic rendition of Caught Up in You drifting from Rave's room.