The Lies we Steal Epilogue

Alistair

I could sense when she had left.
It wasn’t the dip of the bed that awakened me or the creak of her feet scattering across our hardwood floor. Even the whine of the door didn’t wake me from my night’s rest.
I could feel it inside my chest.
The way my heart sped up, not knowing where its other half had wandered off to. Not knowing if she was safe. If she was okay. There was a tugging inside my soul.
Those demons that haunted me for years, the ones who still pooled inside my stomach, had begun to scream. Screeching for me to go search for where the one who’d helped them find peace had wondered.
Even the evil inside me had fallen for the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.
I didn’t even think something like that was possible.
You hear about how people change. They let go of the anger, they heal from the past, and their darkness leaves. In its place is a life full of light, rainbows, and love.
That was not my life.
That was never going to be my life.
I had someone who knew how to meet me in the shadows. A woman who understood that my corruption was not something to be changed or healed, but instead another piece of me that she had come to love.
We still remained hidden together in the shade. Content, even as the rest of the world played in the sun.
My eyes peered into the darkness as my nose desperately searched for her smell. I could sense the remanence of it on the sheets, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted my nose buried in her honey hair, my skin on her skin.
I rolled off the side of the bed, my feet finding the floor as I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The brightness of the screen letting me know it’s a little past three in the morning. I ignore the texts and the work emails in my notifications, standing up and heading into the living room.
The apartment is freezing. So cold I feel like I’m seconds away from seeing my own breath. I grind my teeth, heating up inside. How is it I pay the same amount as a kidney on the black market for this place and the fucking heat doesn’t even work? The sudden rush of anger warming me for a moment.
Making a mental note to call the building owner tomorrow and tear into his ass about it. My head throbs with irritation.
Chills pepper my naked chest as I walk into the kitchen, realizing that our thermostat has little to do with the icicle nature of our home, and it has everything to do with my wife.
I pause.
Standing in the late hours of the night, peering through the darkness to our floor-to-ceiling windows. The door’s open wide and Briar’s figure is standing on the balcony. Her head tilted back, eyes closed to the sky while snowflakes kiss her fragile skin.
I find myself jealous of precipitation for touching her like that.
This was a hobby of mine. One I’d started when we first met, from that very first second my eyes had found her in that sea of people. I lived to watch her from the darkness. I loved seeing how she moved, how she acted when she felt no one was there.
My body hid away, silently admiring the way she chews her pens when she’s working or how her eyes go blank when she’s lost in thought. A primal urge swept over me, just as a gust of harsh winter wind slipped into our home.
Lurking, hunting, even though I’d already caught my prey, I would never stop chasing her.
How could I when she looked so good with my teeth sunk into her neck, withering in my grasp, caught forever in my silk web that she looked so good struggling in sometimes?
Briar was the little red riding hood who peeled the mask back off the wolf. Saw he was made of flesh. Of bone. Allowed herself to love the man everyone deemed a monster.
My eagerness doesn’t let me stay in the shadows long. I navigate past our island, and towards the open balcony door. The air is frigid as winter hits Seattle full force.
Upon getting closer, I notice my black zip-up jacket around her shoulders, the zipper left partially open exposing the valley of her breast to the night air.
My appetite growing as I fall upon her naked legs.
“Little Thief,” I call, “Are you ever going to stop stealing my things?”
Her eyes open to the night, a smile spreading across her face as she drops her head from the sky to look at me. I reach my hands forward, taking her head into my hands, my thumbs wiping the wet droplets of melted snow.
“Never.” She replies, grinning from ear to ear. My Cheshire cat, who still finds it funny to take my stuff and hide it from me. A game she likes to play. One I don’t mind as much now.
Especially when I know what I get when I win.
“It’s the first snowfall,” She continues, circling her arms around my torso, sinking farther into my arms. My heart steadies as I feel her against me.
I drop my large hands to her hips, curling around her smooth waist, my palms warmed by the heat coming from her body. I rub circles with my thumb into her skin, my mouth dropping to the curve of her neck.
“You’re freezing,” I grunt, peppering her collarbone with my lips.
“I’ve only been out here a minute,” He voice carries a laugh, “I just wanted to touch the first snow. It’s only cute for a moment before it turns into slush.”
Seattle was great for lots of things, the weather was not one of them.
“You need to go back to bed. You have to be at the shop early.” She lets a moan slip as my tongue dips onto her body, her taste sizzles in my mouth.
I grew up hungry.
Hungry for attention.
Hungry for pain.
Hungry for revenge.
Now the only hunger I ever felt was for her.
“Perks of being the boss,” I reply, skating my grip to her ass and heaving her into me. I scoop her up into my arms, her legs wrapping gracefully around my waist. My erection pressing into her warm body. “I can tongue fuck my horny wife for as long as I want and not get fired.”
River Styx was the product of my blood, sweat, and tears. The tattoo shop that I had built from the ground up in the last several years had now become award-winning. People came from all over to get tattooed by me and the three other artists who worked for me.
But it wasn’t the accolades or the money it received, it was being able to give people permanent art that no one could take away from them every single day of my life. And it never would have been possible if not for my little thief.
“You’ll be tired all day,” She whispers.
“Mmmm,” I groan as I lay her on the couch, the black material sinking in with the weight of both of us. My cock pressing into the space between her legs, even though her body is cold, the warmth of her soul wraps around me. “I think I can handle it.”
My outer lining of darkness that I wear like a coat, sheds completely, ceasing to exist when I’m bathing in her light.
Heavy fingertips skate below, finding her pussy bare beneath the soft cotton shorts she had worn to bed. My teeth grind at how hot she is, how slick she feels beneath my touch and I’m already imagining all the ways I could ruin her.
I use my mouth to remind her of just how hard my heart beats inside my chest for her. Dipping my tongue onto her skin as I work my way down her body, showing appreciation to all her pieces, even the ones she doesn’t like. Using my other hand, I push the jacket up her body, until it’s over her shoulders and shielding her eyes.
“I can’t move my arms like this.” She whispers, a whine at the back of her throat.
“That’s the point, baby.” I mutter against the hollow of her neck, “I wanna watch you struggle.”
I tighten the jacket over her eyes, using the slack to tie a small knot so it’s almost impossible for her to move her arms. Leaning back on my knees, peering down at her, hands straight up in the air, hard nipples exposed and her pussy leaking through her shorts as I pull them down her legs
I’m feral.
Pulling my sweatpants down just enough to expose my stiff cock, my palm burning as I jerk myself to her image. Thinking about how she feels inside, how her soft little whimpers build right before she comes. I’m throbbing as my thumb swipes across my tip.
“Alistair…” She whines, “I can hear you.”
“Yeah?” I edge her on, watching her body lift of the couch, the mixture of cold air and sexual tension has her aching for some form of friction. She’s being needy. My favorite way to see her. “What can you hear, Little Thief.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, taking it inside her mouth, “I can hear you touching yourself.”
I squeeze my base tighter, watching as my pre-come drips onto her stomach. I decided to give her a little something, reaching my hand forward and pinching her nipple, causing her to gasp at the shock.
“You want my cock inside you, don’t you, baby?”
I lift the weight of her breast in my palm, kneading the soft flesh of her skin, chasing her moans as she pushes her chest into my touch.
“Yes, please, Alistair.” She begs me.
Time has made it so much more fun to torment my girl. I’ve gotten creative, we’ve gotten adventurous and she trusts me to do just about anything I’d like. Knowing I’d never push her further than she could handle.
Anything and everything, it’s all to watch her break apart.
That’s all I want, for her to break for me.
Letting her self-restraint float away, becoming completely susceptible to me.
Shattering, just so I can piece her back together.
My hand on her tit slides up her expanding chest, laying at the base of her collarbone as I coil my fingers around her throat. Power surges through me at the immediate rush of control I get. The way she puffs, preparing herself for what is to come.
Guiding myself to her center, feeling her heat immediately as I dip just the tip of my cock inside of her tight walls. She feels like velvet wrapping around me, trying to pull me farther in, but I fight the urge.
Compressing my grip on her neck while rocking just an inch of myself into her, stimulating her just enough to drive her up the wall. Her body rocks towards me, hands gripping at the material of the couch above her head as she battles the pleasure and pain.
My lower abdomen flexes as I shove myself fully inside her. My shaft was completely enveloped with her slickness. My cock pulsing as I feel the way she squeezes around me, accommodating my size perfectly.
Made for me.
Designed just for me.
I watch her, as she tries to moan from the sudden movement, but my hand only tightens removing all sounds she tries to make. Only choked, suppressed whimpers fall from her sweet mouth.
Inclining my body down, fluttering my mouth above her open one. My thrusts are violent, every rock of my hips sends an echo of skin slapping skin in our home. Her eyes roll back into her skull, the veins in the column of her neck flexing against my grip. Taking a deep breath, before I rest my lips directly above Briar’s, propelling her to the edge of pleasure before I loosen my grip.
I release my exhale into her throat, letting my air fill her lungs as she gags for oxygen.
“Alistair,” She gags in a state of bliss, her cheeks molten red.
This feeling is intoxicating.
How we inhale each other's life, the only things in the world that keep us both moving forward.
“You breathe because I allow you to breathe. You hear that, baby?” I grunt, continuing to force myself into her. I can feel the way her legs shake around me, knowing her climax is close.
I slip my hand beneath her neck, plunging deeper when I see the beautiful purple designs I’ve left on her delicate throat, raising her up to me just a bit, so I can lock my lips with her own. Our tongues swirling around one another as she melts into my hold.
“Babe, I’m gonna come.” She coos into my mouth, pressing her forehead into mine. I keep my pace the same, letting her fall apart around me. The way her face screws up as she reaches her high, so focused on watching her that I don’t realize how quickly my own release sneaks up on me.
I pump my come into her, filling her up with everything I have. Groaning in pleasure I’d never known before Briar. My head drops to her shoulder, my breathing ragged. Knowing I could lay here, between her thighs buried inside of her for the rest of my life, and have no complaints.
With gentle movements, I brush her throat with my fingertips, massaging the tender skin.
We lay together for several minutes, calming our racing hearts before either of us speaks.
“I need to tell you something, but you can’t freak out.” She turns her head so that she is looking at me.
My guard immediately raises.
“Is that guy at work still hitting on you?”
She giggles, rolling her eyes, “He is my boss and he does not hit on me.”
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” I press my nose into her collarbone, thinking about her douche of a fucking boss that watched her ass the entire time she walked away from her building the one time I picked her up.
I’m hyperaware of everyone who looks at what belongs to me.
“So what do you need to tell me?”
I hear her heartbeat pick up. Beating faster and faster as the second's tick by.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
“Little Thief?”
“I’m pregnant.”

Briar 

Five months later

Step One: Do not attempt to carry groceries up the stairs when the elevator is broken when you are five months pregnant.
Step Two: Under no circumstances will I be telling my ill-tempered baby daddy about breaking rule number one or he will refuse to let me leave the house.
I was sweating an ungodly amount when I push the door to our apartment open. The air outside was bitter, but underneath my turtleneck sweater I was burning up. The extra weight my body had gained in the past few months had made walking to the bedroom an Olympic sport.
Music recoiled off the walls as I made my way to the kitchen, laying the brown bags on the island and stripping out of my long winter coat. Taking a moment to place my palms on the marble island and stretch my body.
I spent most of my time at a desk, typing away. I enjoyed my job, I spent all day working with numbers as a lead data analyst for a spinal research lab and I’d always been comfortable around numbers. But the faster the months pass by, the more everything aches.
Pressing my hands into my lower back, massaging the strained muscles there for a moment. This pregnancy had been hard for me. The first trimester was spent cuddling a toilet with the worst morning sickness in the history of forever. I could barely keep down crackers and ginger ale.
Alistair stayed by my side the entire time, even sleeping on the bathroom floor next to me several nights. I couldn’t have loved him more if I tried.
It killed him to watch me go through the pain and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. In turn, killing me because of how much it hurt him.
This wasn’t something he could punch his way out of and the lack of control was stressing him out.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about his reaction to us being pregnant. We hadn’t been trying, considering I was on birth control and it wasn’t a conversation we had breached. I’d always assumed kids weren’t in the picture because of how he grew up.
Not because I didn’t think he was capable, but because I knew he thought he’d end up like his parents, which was far from the case.
Over the years I’d spent being with him, I’d learned how he moved, how he acted, how to read him. There wasn’t much I missed when it came to Alistair Caldwell. My greatest fear when I told him I was pregnant was that he would shut me out because of his fear.
When he’s afraid, which is rare, he goes into survival mode. Trying to figure out the best plan of attack, using his rage to hassle the problem away. But this time, he couldn’t do that. He would have to face this internally instead of externally.
I closed my eyes remembering the look on his face when he realized what I said. The way those obsidian crystals sparkled and how his hands fell to my stomach, cradling the life we had created together.
For the longest time, he believed he could never love anything. How could he? When he was raised in a world filled with nothing but anger and hatred.
But there was love in him.
His love was a quiet emotion, one without words. But it was a part of the oxygen I breathed, it moved around me every second of the day and even a moment without it would cause me to choke.
Those dark eyes, the ones filled with so much anger and pain, were a part of my soul. My protector, my defender. We’d been through the unimaginable, seen the worst of humanity, and made it out safely on the other side.
I had seen him at his worst, the lowest. I’d watched him murder people with his bare hands and yet, I loved those blood-soaked fingers. I cleaned those cuts from fights, I shielded him when I needed to. A ride or die connection that would stay with us for lifetimes, in ways I’d never be able to explain out loud.
It’s raw and when challenged it will withstand any test of will. It will roar when required, it will rip apart anyone who would try to come between it.
It’s our comfort. Our home.
I saw it every single day.
In the way he loved me, and how he loved our unborn children. Even if he didn’t always say it with words, it was always proved in his actions.
The music changes, playing Alice in Chains, one of the only bands I can understand their lyrics. It echoed from the spare bedroom that we were turning into the nursery.
Weeks after I’d told him, he told me I was not allowed inside that room until he said it was okay. The anticipation has been killing me, the not knowing. He knew my curiosity had always been my downfall, well I guess in our case, it had been our connection.
Still, I was dying to know what he was up to.
Was he building a crib? Wrapping it in bubble wrap?
I blame my pregnancy brain for why I started to slowly creep up to the door, the hunter becoming the hunted after so many years.
The closer I got the louder the music played.
My fingers cautiously grabbed at the doorknob, twisting just enough for me to push it open. The crack released an intense smell of chemicals, and I raised my sleeve to my nose. Confused, I tested my luck, opening it a little farther.
What I saw nearly killed me.
How did he expect to hide this from me?
Alistair’s tall frame faces the wall, his naked torso on display. The dark skull tattoo that moves with his body, shifts as he reaches upward stroking the wall with a paintbrush. My hand on my nose falls to my mouth, holding in a gasp of surprise.
All his spare time had been spent inside this room, so much, that I’d started to get jealous.
My heart squeezed inside my chest and little butterflies fluttered in my growing stomach.
He’d hand-painted murals on each of the walls for our babies. Tall, towering pines with dark green leaves, snow-capped mountains, birds in the sky. It was one of the most stunning pieces of art I’d ever seen in my life.
Every detail, every swirl, all of it done by their father’s hand.
“Little fucking Thief.”
My husband partially growls my name from across the room and I realize I am now busted.
“When are you ever going to learn to mind your business and stop letting that curiosity get you in trouble?”
My hand hides my grin, but the upward motion of my lips causes warm tears to fall down my cheeks.
“Alistair, this is—” I step inside the room, looking around at all of its beauty, “This is breathtaking.”
“It’s not done yet. I didn’t want you to see it until it was done.” He drops his paintbrush, walking over to me.
I wrap my arms around my husband’s neck, pulling him as close as I can before my belly stops him. Even though I can see he’s aggravated, he drops his rough palms onto my stomach, kneading into the skin.
One or both of our twins kicks at him, making me laugh.
“It seems they like it as well.”
“How are you guys doing today?” He asks, staring down at my stomach as if he’s talking to the little ones inside me.
“We are okay. My back is a little tense, I want Thai food again, and I feel fat, but we are great.”
His eyebrows furrow with tension. Hands going to my lower back, where he knows exactly where to press to relieve some of the pain. I could die and go to heaven when he does that.
“You’re calling work tomorrow and telling them you’re taking maternity leave, Briar.”
I raise my hands to his eyebrows, smoothing out the stiffness from them, “Stop frowning at me. It’ll give you wrinkles.”
“You give me fucking wrinkles because you never listen.” Pressing his lips into my forehead, the warmth from his lips making my skin heat. “And you’re not fat. You’re intoxicating. You’ve been home three minutes and I’m already hard looking at you. Swelled and filled with our babies. Don’t insult your body like that.”
Everything about how he is now, is so soft, even when it’s rough.
The way he caresses my stomach at night, drawing little designs on it near bedtime. God, and he loves to have me on my hands and knees, heavy hands cupping my swollen tummy as he thrusts into me.
For a man who never wanted children, he loves watching me carry them.
“You may enjoy it, but my body feels like a whale.”
Holding me closer, he sighs, “Your body is creating human beings. Our human beings. You’re a fucking goddess, B. Always have been, always will be. So shut it with the insults, or I’ll fuck them out of you, got it?”
My spine rattles, toes curling, thinking about all the things he could do to me. These hormones made me horny all the time and Alistair is always happy to oblige.
“Thank you,” I whisper, inhaling that dark magic scent that I’m still crazy about. It’s the only thing that grounds me. Makes me feel safe. Secure, even if the world is falling apart around us.
We were the only things that made sense in this world.
And soon there would be two more added to that.
“For what?”
“This room. Our life. Our babies. Your love. You told me, whatever you had to give was mine, and God, Alistair, look at how much you’ve given me.” I mutter, my eyes burning with tears.
His hands come to cup my face, gently tipping my chin up so my eyes meet his gaze, thumbs rubbing the liquid away from my cheeks.
“I should be the one thanking you, Little T.”
“For giving you wrinkles?” I joke.
“For showing me what love looks like. What it feels like. What it’s capable of. You took a man surrounded by demons and shadows. Broken and angry. You took me and made me into someone who wants to be a husband. A father. I’m in your debt, forever, Briar Caldwell.”
Our story isn’t conventional.
Our love wasn’t easy and to some, it’s immoral.
Some still look at him and see the monster. They see the gray acts of violence he has committed and deems him a sinner with no redemption.
They don’t see the boy who clawed his way through life. The man who would die for the ones he loves.
How even on his worst days, he is better than most.
My god of wrath.
My Hollow Boy.
Our love isn’t conventional.
But it’s ours.
And we will fight for it, forever.