I love this song so, so much. It's on repeat whenever I'm in a .

Here you have it.

You wanted to talk more and express himself?

Here you go. Yours truly.

"I replayed what I wanted to tell you over and over... but... I guess I just have to start from the beginning and see where we go from there."

With one last tag on my bottom lip, he rested his forehead on mine, taking in a deep breath.

"Are you ready for this, Angel?" he asked, his eyes finding mine.

Time stopped. Everything was dead silent, but the storm in his eyes.

"You ready to hear about the fucking guardian?"

At my nod, his eyes shone brighter; he was ready.

"My dad was my hero," a soft smile appeared on his face, reminiscing the past. "To my whole family, actually. My mom was always telling us stories about him, saving her from an awful situation she found herself in. She couldn't help but fall in love with him. He was a true fighter, a champion, even before we were born.

"The gym belonged to his father, my grandpa, and like a tradition, I was swallowed into that world without even realizing. Since I was a kid, I was training with my father and Eli and before long with James. As long as I can remember, I was always in the middle of that ring, training, becoming stronger, faster... and boy, was my first game something to remember."

I couldn't help but bite my lip at his breathless chuckle, his eyes looking far away.

"At the age of twelve I got a broken nose and my first split brow."

The scar on his left brow had a story of its own.

"God, I can't imagine how scared your mom must have been."

"Oh, she wanted to whip that kid's ass and my dad's for letting me participate," a fond smile appeared on my face at his playful chuckle.

"That was also my first win. The adrenaline after winning, the loud cheers around me as I stood proud with my dad by my side... I never got tired of that feeling. But it'd be a lie to say, I wasn't more addicted to the adrenaline of the game. The thrill before and during... there's nothing like that, really."

"I never thought adrenaline as an addiction."

"Trust me, there's nothing quite like that," he said with a sigh.

"James was always there too. It was like an instant connection between two siblings," he said thoughtfully; I knew that connection more than well. "Of course, as I got closer to him, so was his father to my own. Cyrus Jim Inkles."

His face darkened, as did the memories.

"I don't know when it happened, but the two became business partners. To this day Cyrus has shares, making the gym a company. His percentage isn't that great, so he never had any power with the decision-making, but boy was my father a trusting man. The only one against this deal was my mom. It was like she knew something the rest of us didn't."

Looking at the ground, Brandon busied himself with a couple of pebbles under his shoe. I couldn't begin to imagine where the story was heading.

"By the time my mom and dad started arguing, James and I were closer than ever. I knew he had my back, and I had his, no matter what. He's older than me, almost two years, but there was more understanding between us than I ever had with my sisters. Or he had with Jaxon.

"It was easy. Playing video games or our electric cars, training together, learning new fighting techniques... Hell, even studying felt bearable when it was the two of us."

Another sigh left his lips, before his eyes found mine for the first time in a while.

"He was like the older brother I never had, but actually needed."

I wanted to clutch my hand over my heart, but instead clenched my fists close to my lap, my nails close to breaking the skin.

"The gym was a haven. A place to explore and let our imagination run wild. At the age of fourteen, fifteen, we couldn't stop our curiosity, always sticking our noses where they didn't belong. And without even knowing we discovered things, found files with numbers, shares and money-transfers that made us both curious. I was good at math and James was a natural at economics. It didn't take us long to piece some of the pieces together."

With a deep inhale, Brandon took a couple of steps towards me, minimizing the space between us, as he stood in front of me.

"To this day I can't be sure what was going on, but it wasn't just illegal bets with a couple of corrupted politicians and spoiled elites. It was more. It entailed a series of illegal activities, money laundering, gun, and human trafficking... anything rotten you could ever imagine."

He closed his eyes shut, taking a couple of deep breaths, when his next words were spoken.

"I never felt the same towards that place again. I couldn't face my friends, pops... couldn't face my dad... because how could he? He was supposed to be my hero.

"But that distrust was my first mistake." He opened his eyes then, finding mine; I couldn't help the shiver traveling down my spine.

"I must have been around fifteen when we pieced everything together; when I broke down for the first time. Everyone was together, the two families were at the Inkles' house for the usual barbecue, when I exploded. James joined me midway through. We wanted answers, we were trying to make sense of everything. I couldn't imagine my father, my dad, creating a front for such things. It must have been a mistake.

"Not only was our quest fruitless, but just a couple of weeks after the incident the gym burned to the ground and with it all the proof about what was going on behind closed doors."

In that moment I was reminded about the people talking at Brandon's game. A stranger called it a tragedy, but now I knew it was a purposeful action to send a message.

"My father was still inside that night. If it wasn't for Eli, he wouldn't have managed to get out."

I felt my brows furrow, my teeth piercing the skin of my lip as I tried to stop myself from blurting out another question and faltering Brandon's train of thought.

But he knew me better than I thought.

"I can basically see the wheels turning in your head," he said, pinching my lip to release it from my teeth's clutches.

"Spit it out, already."

I quickly shook my head, refusing to break the promise I made to let him say whatever was on his mind.

"Come on, baby," he cupped my cheek, making my skin under his warm palm burn. "You don't wanna keep me waiting, now, do you?"

Dio mio...

"Was your friend's father... the one who tried to hurt your dad?" My voice came out hoarse, just above a whisper.

I couldn't believe the words I was saying. Accusing your best friend's parent had to hurt more than I could ever imagine.

His hands fell to his side, as he turned away from me again. "I... I actually don't know that," came his own quiet voice.

"Wait, what?"

"I always thought that was the case, but it was all speculation. I never proved that Cyrus was behind that. After the incident I tried talking to my dad about it, needing to clear the air. He said, 'as long as they directed the strings, he couldn't prove his innocence'.

"That was the first time I heard that from him. They, they, they. A team, a family of most power, riches and means to control everyone. Now I know what the hell he was talking about, but back then, at the age of fifteen, that angered me more."

"But isn't that what you are doing now? With whoever they are and these bets?" I asked after a few moments of silence, as I couldn't ignore the suffocating thoughts trying to constrict my windpipe.

"You're right," his eyes found mine, serious and void of playfulness. "But I'm trying a different method than my dad, this time."

"I don't understand..."

"I didn't know at the time, but my father was close to uncovering the biggest conspiracy of his time. The Chicagoan syndicate, Portland's progeny taking root all the way to Illinois. He was reckless, stupid, even, but just like the reason the gym was first created, he wanted to make something of his existence. And ridding his city of scum was one of them.

"If it weren't for me and my stupid teenage-ass, he would have succeeded," another pause as that familiar pain, guilt, overtook his beautiful features. "Or at least he wouldn't have been killed."

I couldn't begin to imagine his pain, his voice breaking at the end as he looked me in the eye. I could read those eyes by now. He was still torturing himself, drowning in guilt for so long.

"That's why I'm back in there, fighting my way up, in hopes of trapping them in their own game. The only difference is, this time I have people by my side, doing their best to find the clues they need. I just have to stay alive long enough."

I wanted to trust his words. I wanted to trust that this time, history wouldn't repeat itself. But I was afraid, and he knew it.

He had more to tell, but his last words rang in my ears and before he continued, I ran towards him, desperate to feel his warmth on my cold body.

His lips found mine, searching for the flames that always consumed both of us. With shortened breaths, nips and bites left on swollen lips, I kissed him with equal fervor, until we were both breathless. He pulled back to give us both some well-needed oxygen, resting his forehead on my own.

The message was clear: He wasn't alone now.

Eyes connected to mine, he brought our intertwined hands to his lips, kissing the palm of my hand, before he pulled both of us towards the bench once more. This time he sat on the cold wooden bench with me on his lap.

"We lost him soon after," his voice was small, pained, as he continued the story. "A fucking car accident, of all fucking things. I never believed the report, though. And that's when it really got ugly."

The stone-cold mask was back on its place, the anger palpable, but it didn't scare me away; not anymore.

"You thought I was restless tonight?" he asked, a chilling chuckle leaving his lips. "I was fucking deadly back then. At the age of sixteen I was a fucking monster.

"I craved the pain, the adrenaline. I fed off my opponents' cries. But soon after that wasn't nearly enough. In legal ring-fights I was only allowed to fight people my own size... but it wasn't enough. And so, I turned to the streets, looking for rougher, stronger opponents, years older than me, who weren't afraid to throw a good punch.

"To think I returned to the very place where it all began..." Another chuckle, but this one was less murderous, more pained.

"I never stopped looking, though. I never stopped searching for clues, proof that my dad was killed to keep his mouth shut. And that's when my dear best friend came into the picture."

His right leg bounced restlessly a couple of times, making my hands clutch the fabric of his hoodie over his shoulder to steady me. He was breathing deeply, his eyes avoiding mine for a few moments as he inhaled clean air and exhaled the betrayal.

"There was nothing anyone could do to stop me. Anger was my fuel, but deep down I craved the numbness. I didn't take the time to mourn my dad, so physical pain was what I endured. I was reckless, got myself in more than one dangerous situation. But James was there to save my ass. Until I started searching again. His way of slowing down the beast was with substances; all the kinds you can imagine."

I winced at the realization, and he noticed, pulling me closer.

"He didn't force anything on me. I willingly took everything he provided, without the intent of stopping. And that's how I ended in juvie for almost two years."

"You... you became addicted." Instead of an answer, I received an exasperated sigh. "You overdosed." I stated, piecing another piece to the puzzle:

He was never afraid of needles. He feared the feeling of craving that high.

The look in his eyes confirmed my suspicions.

"Jaxon knew about it?"

"He was the one who found me." Another sigh left his lips, his eyes saddened now at the pain he knew he caused the people around him. "Along with my sisters."

"Dio mio!" I sighed, hugging him close to me. "Brandon... it wasn't your fault."

He chuckled, not believing the words I said. How could he?

He was blaming himself for the past ten years. Everything he accomplished, everything he did, would always reflect on what happened ten years ago.

Brandon and Jaxon weren't that close, but still... Discovering a friend, at the age of sixteen, pupils constricted, barely breathing with the weakest palpable pulse, surely was traumatic for everyone involved. But for a sixteen-year-old... it changes you.

Once more everything clicked into place. Why Jax avoided the topic of Brandon's family. Why he refused to answer my questions about his connection to the King family.

Why he almost lost his shit at the puncture wounds on the diabetic teenager a few weeks back.

He had seen it all before, and his brain thought it was reliving the same trauma all over again.

A big sigh left my lips; one of great intensity, but also relief. His life, his world was dangerous, but knowing everything felt good, better. Being in the dark was torture, but now I could fight alongside him.

"Take me home," I said, mastering all my power not to surrender to him right here, right now.

He let me in, but now I wanted to get closer; as close as he would let me.

A sigh left his lips, and when I turned to look at him, I knew he misunderstood my words.

"Of course," a sense of déjà vu overwhelmed me at the tone of his voice; he was pushing me away. "I'll take you home as fast as-"

"What? No, that's not what I–"

"Then what did you–"

"Idiot!"

I couldn't take it anymore.

I smashed my lips on his, hoping that would get the message across.

"Remember what you said to me that night at the club?" My words fell against surprised lips.

"What?"

Seeing him so out of breath, just like I felt, was so satisfying. I couldn't stop myself, even if I wanted to.

"You said that nothing matters when we're together. That, no past could ever ruin this," I pointed between us, his flaming gaze trained on me, awaiting my next words.

"I know you've been through a lot. But at least this, this... I won't let you take this away from yourself. Because when I'm with you, I feel the strongest. And whatever life throws at us, I'll be there by your side. I'll fight for you if that's what it takes to win."

His astonished expression morphed into something of amazement, contentment, before that devilish smirk appeared once more.

"And trust me, I love winning."

A smirk of my own morphed my lips, before he took them in his, silencing my chuckles.

His fingers traced my jaw before they found leverage at my nape. The other hand was on my waist, pressing fingers on my skin with the promise of fervent bruises, as he pulled me closer.

"You're amazing," he breathed against my lips, before taking them once more.

"Take me home!" I said once more, and this time we both knew there was no more fighting this.

It felt like a command, one he followed with ardent movements.

There was no more wasting time. And it was only a battle between willpower and time itself, before clothes became insufferable and started falling off our bodies.

It was a miracle we lasted that long, but the minute he parked outside his house, that's exactly what happened. Between feverish kisses and moans of longing, our clothing created a trail starting from his front door, all the way to his bedroom.

There were no more secrets.

No more lies and empty promises.

Just two bodies entwining in a feverish dance of passion.

The only viable promise was the soft caress of lips on skin, the sweet scent of pleasure, the salty taste of sweat and tears.

We were two different people at the beginning.

But after everything was set and done, there was only one.

One true home.

I love this chapter so much. I poured so much of my heart and soul... I hope you enjoyed it!

I can't wait for you to read the part... it's gonna be a one*Wink wink*

Friday 25th of February