Devoured (CHAPTER FOURTEEN)

The creator of the documentary doesn't try to ask me any additional questions, and I'm sure he thinks I'm a massive bitch now. Still, I make it a point to stay away from him. I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, though, as if he's just dying to confirm whether or not something is actually going on between Lucas and me. As if he knows that the reason why I do my best not to meet Lucas's eyes is because my mind goes to places it shouldn't go in public.

Or in private.

The band performs four takes before they nail the song. Then Wyatt disappears, directing a dangerous look at Sinjin and swearing he'll rip the walls down if he doesn't get a break. I take this opportunity to check my personal cell phone. There's a missed call from Seth and one from Gram. Even though I called her earlier, fear slices through my body. Does she know where I am? Has Seth told her what was on the Internet yesterday morning?

Numb, I excuse myself from the control room yet again and call my voicemail as I pace the hallways. Seth's message is short, and surprisingly, sort of sweet. "You can't ignore me forever, Si. I was wrong. I'm a shithead. Let's talk, okay? You and Gram are all I've got so call me back."

I listen to my grandmother's message next – she's just returning my call and wants me to dial her back when my work isn't so crazy. "And I'm so happy you're coming home soon," she says before ending the message. She doesn't say anything about Lucas or the videos or pictures of us that ended up online and I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.

For now.

I start to return Seth's call but then decide against it. When I call Seth, I want to have plenty of time to get some things off my chest, and I don't want to do it in a studio where pieces of my conversation may end up in some documentary about rock bands. I pass by the private room that Lucas and I were in earlier, pausing when I hear the sounds of someone moaning on the other side. I move forward, but a hand closes around my upper arm.

Startled, I jump and spin around to face Sinjin. He holds up his hands, wiggling them around as if to show me he's not armed. Then he grins. "Spying is rude," he tells me. "Though if you want to join Wyatt and the little blonde with the tits, I'm sure he'd let you, red hair or not."

Size Nothing and Wyatt. I don't want to be surprised but I am, especially after the way she eyed Lucas earlier. "I'm good, thanks," I say, starting to walk off. Sinjin plunks his hand on the smooth wall next to my face, stopping me. Feeling my muscles tighten, I shove it away and continue towards the exit. He follows.

"You look really familiar, you know."

"I'm sure you meet a lot of girls doing what you do, even redheads." If my grandmother could hear the coolness in my voice right now, she'd pop me in the mouth for being so rude. I can't help it. There's something about Sinjin that rubs me the wrong way, but then again, it always has.

When I worked the "All Over You" video, I had tried my hardest to stay as far away from him as much as professionally possible, but of course he'd been unavoidable. If Lucas had fallen head over heels in kinky lust with my submissive tendencies it was because of Sinjin. Back then, he had freaked me out and even now I just want to shake him off of me.

I push open the exit doors, breathing in fresh air. Sinjin is right on my heels. "No, I don't think that's what it is at all. Did we fuck? Or did you fuck one of the others before you started up with Lucas? I mean, I know I don't remember you from him because he doesn't hold on to 'em for very long, if you know what I mean?"

"Actually I don't," I say. Now, my voice is hard. "I was under the impression that he's had the same personal assistant for years."

Sinjin's nose wrinkles and he shakes his head in pity. "Is that what he says you are – his personal assistant? Whatever keeps your mouth around his dick, right?"

He's just trying to get a response out of me, but God, he sure is going for a big one. When I say nothing, crossing my arms over my chest, he begins to laugh. Loud, boisterous laughter that makes a woman in the next parking lot glance over at us with her eyebrow lifted.

Turning his body in her direction, he yells out, "What are you looking at, you fat bitch?"

Even from several feet away I hear her gasp before she flushes a bright red, rushes into her car and speed off. What's wrong with this man? He's shaking with laughter, raking his hands through his short, blonde hair, and singing. I back up towards the door to get inside of the studio, banging on it so that the guard can let me in.

Sinjin turns back around to face me, and there are tears streaming down his cheeks. Now, instead of laughing, he's sobbing violently. I move closer to him, finally noticing the beads of perspiration on his upper lip. He shakes his head, backs up.

He's messed up, completely obliterated. I've not been around drug addicts for so long that it's taken me this long to notice it.

"Don't touch me, you slut," he hisses, pulling at clumps of his hair.

"I'm trying to help you, and – "

He lunges toward me, and out of reflex or watching too many movies with Tori, I ram my elbow back into his nose and bring my knee up to strike him in the stomach. He stumbles backward, glaring down at the blood on one of his hands and holding his belly tight with the other. Then he vomits all over himself.

The door behind us buzzes open.

Lucas orders me to go home, to the house on Green Hills, and wait for him while he handles things for Sinjin. I don't argue, despite having a million questions and even more concerns. But I find myself pulling Lucas close to me, our hands clasped and his chin on top of my head. He inhales my scent for what seems like forever before gently nudging me into the Escalade. When our eyes meet, the fear in his is enough to paralyze me.

I'm still shaken the moment after I enter the house and lock the doors and activate the alarm, but I call Seth. After seeing Sinjin fall apart and realizing how much of things similar to that Seth had seen as a kid, I know it's the perfect time to talk to my brother. Plus, Lucas is right. There's so much I need to say to my brother and until I do, I won't ever be able to do anything else.

Seth sounds anguished from the moment he answers. "Sienna, I'm – "

"No, you listen for once," I say. "You can't just take out your frustrations on people you care about without even giving them a chance to explain themselves. And by the way, I don't have to explain myself to you, the same way you don't want to prove yourself to me. You ripped into me without knowing a goddamn thing about what was going on. If you had only asked me, I probably would have just told you what you wanted to know."

"Look, I – "

I cut him off again. "I'm not finished. If you ever talk to me like you did yesterday again, I will kick you in the balls, Seth. You're so pissed at what Mom did to you, the way Jeremy used to talk to you, the people they brought around you, and yet you act just like them." And here I am, the total opposite of Seth. Wincing every time someone so much as breathes at me.

"Seth, I don't want to be the fucked up people they've made us," I whisper.

He inhales and exhales heavily for what seems like minutes, hours, but in reality is only seconds. "Me neither."

"So what do we do?" I ask.

"God, I wish I could tell you. But I'm sorry, Sienna. I shouldn't have ever spoken to you like that. I-I love you."

"Holy shit, are we having a creepy talking card moment?" I ask, and he laughs.

When he finally stops, his tone of voice turns serious. "Can you tell me what you're doing with Wolfe? Please?"

"It's best I don't," I say honestly.

"Well then, let me ask you this: Does it have something to do with the house?"

"Yes."

And no. It started out as having everything to do with the house and now . . . I'm not entirely positive what it is anymore. The only thing I do know is that no matter how happy I pretend I am in five days, I'll be dying inside because I'll have to let this go.

I'll have to let Lucas go.

I'm sure my brother's mind has gone to the worst possible assumptions but after he clears his throat a couple times, he says, "Then I'm sure you've got a good ass reason for what you're doing."

It's the closest thing to an acceptance that I'm probably going to get from my brother, but for now it works. I have a feeling that in order for Seth and me to really get all of our feelings out on the table, we're going to have to do it in front of our mother.

And when that happens, we'll go ahead and take Gram along for the ride too. That way Mom can finally explain to us why she convinced Gram to take out a six-figure loan on her house to bail her out of jail just to turn around and skip town.

It will be a good old family reunion, complete with tears and hatred.

Lucas comes in while I'm answering his fan mail, looking absolutely exhausted. I feel awkward asking him anything about Sinjin, so I don't keep him in the little downstairs office for long. An hour after he arrives, though, he messages me to come upstairs to the main office.

I'm at a genuine loss for words as I linger by the door, my fingers gripping the elaborate crown molding as I wait for him to say something, anything at all.

He stands, coming around to the front of the desk and motions me forward. I go to him but leave a foot of space between ourselves. "Sin's agreed to go back to rehab," he says.

I can still see the wild look in Sinjin's eyes when he came after me. Honestly, I don't think he was sober enough to hit his mark, but it was still terrifying to think about him being high enough to try and hurt me. "I'm so glad. D-do you think . . . he'll be alright?" I whisper.

Leaning his tall body to the desk, Lucas shrugs, frustrated. "He's been before. Every time we gear up for a tour or an album. And it's prescription now, so who the fuck knows."

My chest clenches painfully, and I bring my hands up to my mouth. "God, Lucas. Ugh, I'm so very sorry," I say. And this is why I hate drugs and the people who dole them out like Skittles. They tear families into a million pieces, and Sinjin is like a brother to Lucas. They've been making music together for ten years, since they were eighteen, and were friends long before that.

I don't want this to be the end of their relationship.

"I'm the one who should be sorry, Sienna. For whatever he said to you. For putting you in such a fucked up situation to begin with – Kylie warned me he was back on the pills but I didn't want to listen."

"He's your best friend," I point out. "And he needs a lot of help."

Tentatively, as if he's still unsure of whether or not he should still take my invitation to touch me to heart, he lifts my hands up, pressing them between his. Closing his eyes, he touches my fingers to his lips and kisses them softly. "He is. He's my oldest friend, but I wanted to rip him to fucking shreds when I found out he was out there with you alone."

"Really, he didn't say anything that bothered me," I lie. "And besides, I'm us – "

"If you say that you're used to people treating you like that I swear to God I'll bend you over this desk and keep my promise with the drumsticks."

My breath catches, and he squeezes my hands a little harder, a little more desperately. "I called my brother earlier," I whisper, dragging my hands away from his and sliding them down the front of his body.

"Stop," he warns as he grabs my wrists. His lips are inches away from my lips. I stretch my neck up to touch them but he moves his head a fraction.

"I told him what you told me to say. I told him – "

Groaning, he very gently pushes me away from him and drags his hands up and down his face. "Unbelievable. I come in from, literally, one of the shittiest days of my life and you're being obedient and – "

His cock is hard. I can see its outline straining against his jeans and he's not making a move to hide it. "Do you want me to go away, Sir?" I murmur.

"Come back over here, Sienna," he growls. I obey, moving closer to him until I can practically feel static electricity thrumming from our bodies. "Get down on your knees."

I know where this is going to go. I know that if I do this I'm only a few steps away from uttering those words he's challenged me to say since even before day one began. Nevertheless, I'm at the point where I want to see this through. Where I have to have him, even if I have to come to terms with giving myself over in the process

Where I know that the chemistry between the two of us isn't worth fighting.

Carefully, I slide down to the floor, one knee meeting the hard bamboo wood at a time. I don't miss the way he shudders when I lock my eyes with his, waiting for the rest of his instructions.

He traces his fingertips around the outline of my face, gently stroking my temples, my cheeks, my lips. Tucking his fingers under my chin, he draws my face up until my head is tilted all the way back and my hair sways against my bottom.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, before bending over to claim my lips. He drags my tongue into his mouth, teasing it in a desperate game of cat and mouse – wolf and sheep –  with his own tongue.

I lift my hands to touch his face but he barks out a rough command for me to keep them behind my back. I clasp them together, linking my fingers tightly. He moves his own hands to my breasts, testing their weight before rolling and pinching my nipples between his fingertips.

My breath comes out in sharp, pleading gasps as he alternates between sliding his tongue into my mouth and sucking on my top lip, between squeezing the tips of my nipples and pushing my dress aside to probe the wetness between my legs. He nudges my slit with his knuckles, never moving my panties.

Whimpering, I squeeze my eyes together. I feel like I'll come at the slightest provocation, at the slightest glance from him, and I grind my teeth. To punish me, he takes his hands and mouth away from my body. I convulse anyway, and then open my eyes. His cock springs forward and rubs against my cheek. Despite not having received directions from him, I flick my tongue out, taking his head into my mouth.

He tangles his hands into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling my mouth away from his body. "You're so amazing. So good," he says, stroking my beck. "You're going to learn, Sienna."

I nod my head, ready.

Willing.

Craving.

He teaches me slowly. The way to take my mouth down his length until he moans and rakes his hands through my long hair. The way he likes it when I use my teeth, placing just the tiniest bit of pressure on him. How he goes frantic when I squeeze my lips together, swiveling my tongue around his cock until he climaxes in my mouth.

Afterward, when I move to sit down on my bottom, he shakes his head and says roughly, "Stay exactly as you are."  He sinks down to his own knees, going around my body in careful, animalistic circles as he drags my panties down to my knees with his mouth. I'm shivering, dying for his touch. His hands are warm and gentle and rough as they guide my thighs apart. Then, he parts my wet slit with the hard tip of his tongue.  

And as I remain there, with the flooring hard beneath my weak knees and my fingernails raking my hands behind my back – as I remain there with him making me shudder and threatening to spank me if I so much as move my hands or body – I know that I'm ready to learn everything about his world.

Even at the risk of losing my heart.