Affliction (Do or Die Book 2), page 1
Affliction
Ivy Bennet
Copyright © 2024 by Ivy Bennet
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Ivy Bennet
Editing: Indie Proofreading
Formatting: Indie Proofreading
Author’s Note:
Affliction is a standalone FFM romance. It contains content and situations that could be triggering for some readers.
This book is explicit and contains explicit sexual content.
It is intended to be for readers 18+.
For a full list of triggers, please visit the author’s website: ivybennet.com
Contents
Smut-ents
Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
About the Author
Smut-ents
Want to get right to the good part? Or skip it for whatever reason? I gotchu.
Chapter 6
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 16
Chapter 18
Chapter 20
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Bonus Epilogue
Playlist
Take Me to Church - Hozier
SELF-SABOTAGE - Waterparks
Bulls in the Bronx - Pierce The Veil
Dive In - Pierce The Veil
Forever and Always - Bullet For My Valentine
I Wanna - The All-American Rejects
Whore - In This Moment
She Likes a Boy - Nxdia
Kool-Aid - Bring Me The Horizon
The Summoning - Sleep Token
Heaven Shall Burn - Imminence
The Surface - Beartooth
Chapter 1
Viv
Like every Friday night, Samsara is at capacity, a line of people on the waitlist for a table. My brother Max and I are tending the bar, as the other bartender, Bridgette, requested the weekend off. We make a good team; him making cocktails while I pour beer and wine.
Samsara, the restaurant and bar we opened together almost three years ago in the heart of Downtown San Diego, is busy almost every night now. With exposed brick walls, more tables outside than in, and a long, worn wooden bar with every liquor you could think of, it’s the newest trendy place to be.
Usually, at this time, I would be buried in spreadsheets in my tiny office, so when Max told me he needed my help behind the bar tonight, I jumped at the chance. Sitting in my windowless box just doesn’t bring me joy some days. And with the recent departure of our head chef, who was recruited by a distinguished restaurant in New York City, I’ve been extra busy with all of his duties outside of cooking.
“You know, you probably shouldn’t wear six-inch platforms when you bartend, Viv,” Max chimes in with his astute observation. “Aren’t you dying?”
“You know, you probably should keep your comments about my wardrobe to yourself,” I snark back, roaming my eyes over his dark, ripped skinny jeans, tight gray t-shirt that shows every ridge of his muscles beneath, and the bright white Nikes on his feet. My clothes are black, as usual. My leather platform boots are knee high with buckles up the sides, and black fishnet tights run up my legs to the black torn t-shirt dress I wear under my favorite leather jacket.
“At least I don’t look like I’ll be sucking someone’s blood tonight,” he quips right back, knowing full well that I hate when he compares my style to a vampire. Is there a cape trailing behind me that I don’t know about?
A brief lull in drink orders gives us a minute to talk as we polish glasses and wipe down the bar, so I take the opportunity to remind him about events coming up over the next few months. “Remember that we have chef interviews on Monday. I lined up four, so hopefully we find someone because I’m so tired of getting up early just for vegetables.” I roll my eyes, referencing my early morning trips to the Farmer’s Market every weekend, making him chuckle.
“Can’t Albert deliver? He has for the last couple of weeks.”
“For a huge fee. And his wife went into labor this morning, so he texted me that I’d have to pick up the order tomorrow from Damien,” I tell him. “Oh, and did you remember to put Abby and Kolson’s wedding in your calendar? Jasper will never forgive you if you make him miss that party,” I joke. All his boyfriend has been able to talk about for the past month is how much fun the wedding is going to be, but at least once a week, Max asks me when it is. If it doesn’t have to do with the bar, the gym, or Jasper, Max will forget it.
“Yes. And he’s had it in his calendar since the invitation came, so no chance we’re missing it. He’ll drag me out of bed if he has to.” He shakes his head, but he’s so in love with his huge biker, it’s sick. “And, speaking of, you’re still helping me move in a couple weeks, right?”
“I’ll be there. Abby said Kolson can come, too, so we should have plenty of help,” I tell him. “Is Jasper still working a lot?”
“Ugh, yes. He’s being sent out-of-town like three days a week. I feel like I hardly get to see him. And when he is home, he’s out doing the MC’s bidding, so I’m always worrying,” Max says with a sigh.
“Are you happy?” I ask.
“Of course, I am. You know I love him more than anything.”
I grab my chest over my heart, feigning hurt. “More than me?”
When he only scoffs, I drop my hand and look at him seriously before continuing, “Live in the happy times of your relationship, Max. You can’t do anything about his job, and you two are meant to be. And when it’s meant to be, it will be.”
My sage advice is met with an eye roll. “So, when will you be settling down?” he asks with a sarcastic grin.
I scoff. “Never.”
He just keeps the grin plastered on his face as he repeats my words back to me. “When it’s meant to be, it will be.”
We work side-by-side for a couple hours, and when the kitchen closes, our sous chef, Matt, comes up to help Max so I can go home.
I say my goodbyes and grab my purse from my office, locking the door before heading out the back door to my car. I’ll have to get up extra early tomorrow to pick up our produce order before the kitchen crew starts prepping for brunch.
As I drive to the small one-bedroom bungalow I rent a few blocks from the beach, I can’t help but dwell on Max’s question.
So, when will you be settling down?
I told him never, and the truth is, I don’t think I ever will. My life is my own; I’m free to do as I please outside of obligations at the restaurant, and as a practitioner of witchcraft who ‘wears too much black’, as a man once told me as he was pulling on his pants, it’s proven difficult to find anyone who makes me comfortable enough to just… be. It isn’t hard to find bed partners, as every person on the planet seems to have a goth fantasy. I may not consider myself gothic, but I’ll play into it if it gets me what I need.
I’ve helped many people feel secure in their relationships, or lack thereof, through my powers. My best friend, Abby, was unsure about Kolson in the beginning, but from the first time I hugged him—yeah, I’m a hugger—I knew that they were meant to be.
She didn’t believe me, but look where she is now. Getting ready to walk down the aisle toward her true life partner. And, although Max scoffs at my abilities, I know he took my words to heart when I told him that Jasper was the one for him.
I’m just not convinced that I’ll ever find that for myself.
The scent of sage, rosemary, and bay leaves greets me as I open the door to my home. Walking through the living room into my bedroom straight ahead, I drop my purse on my dresser and hang my jacket in the small closet behind the bedroom door. Stepping into the bathroom to the right, I run hot water for a bath, needing a bit of self-care after being on my feet all evening. I drop in a small muslin sachet of herbal bath salts, the scent of rosemary and lavender wafting into the room instantly.
While the small tub fills, I move through the other bathroom door into the galley kitchen to pour myself a well-deserved glass of red wine, then gather my tarot cards from the dining table at the other end. Completing the square that is the floor plan of my bungalow, I move back through the living room to get undressed in the bedroom and wrap my long, blonde dreadlocks into a scarf for my soak.
Within minutes, I’m sinking into the water, setting my wineglass and cards
Cracking an eye open, I reach for my wine, taking a sip as my gaze lands on the deck set in front of me. A single card tonight, I think. My brain isn’t awake enough for a full spread, but they’re calling to me, nonetheless. They have something to tell me.
I sit up, setting my glass back on the caddy and shuffle the cards, focusing my mind on the long day ahead of me. The few hours of sleep I’ll get won’t be enough, but running a restaurant was never going to be an undemanding job. Having a place to call my own has been worth every busy day and sleepless night.
Setting the cards down once more, I cut the deck, then flip the top card—Two of Cups. With thoughts of love on my mind, my first thought is of a new, perfect partner coming into my life, but instantly dismiss that as what the card is trying to tell me with a laugh.
Maybe a new business partnership. With the chef interviews in a few days, I can only hope that’s the true intention. Maybe a new business partnership that will include love.
Laughing at myself again, I pull the plug and down the rest of my wine.
Guess I’ll have to keep an eye out for this new amazing union that is coming my way.
Chapter 2
Grace
Wallet, keys, phone…
I run through my mental checklist before rushing out of the house, grabbing a reusable grocery bag on the way out of the house, closing and locking the door as quietly as possible so I don’t wake up Kane. Turning to walk toward the car, I’m jerked back, my yellow sundress caught in the door. I yank on it, the flowy cotton pulling free, allowing me the freedom to move to my blue two-door sedan.
I crank the engine, hoping the harsh sound doesn’t wake my husband, and pull out of the driveway. Our house is just outside of Downtown, allowing us access to amazing restaurants and shopping, while giving us the comfort of a safe neighborhood. The light-green two-story disappears from my rearview mirror as I drive toward Downtown, heading to the Farmer’s Market to grab some fresh produce to surprise Kane with his favorite breakfast—omelets chock full of veggies and bacon.
He’s been in a foul mood ever since he lost his dream job, the high-end restaurant where he was the sous chef going under after only two years. He had worked so hard, helping to build the restaurant up under the tutelage of the owner, a renowned chef from France. But it turned out that he wasn’t so great with his finances. For over two weeks, he’s been moping around the house, sleeping in and eating cereal twice a day.
Hopefully, the surprise breakfast will bolster his spirits in preparation for his interview on Monday. The cute boutique restaurant is an up-and-coming star in San Diego, receiving accolade after accolade from local magazines and critics. It’s also right down the street from the law firm I work at as a receptionist, so we’ll be able to see each other more often during the day, our schedules being opposite of one another.
His interview should end right as I go on my lunch break, and surprising him with lunch will be the perfect reprieve from the stuck up bitches I deal with day in and day out. When I started there after graduating from the private Christian college I attended, I had hoped to make some new friends, maybe meet some people outside of the church circle, but every single person I work with has a chip on their shoulder, thinking they’re better than everyone else.
Kane and I made the difficult decision to stop going to church with my parents years ago, much to their chagrin. My mother, especially, as she had homeschooled me and made sure I was sheltered throughout my adolescence. Until I met Kane at the bowling alley, during a youth group outing, of course, I didn’t even know life could be any different. He opened my eyes to more worldly ideas, giving me the confidence to become the person I am today.
Rounding the corner toward the closed-off street where the Farmer’s Market is set up, I pull into a spot along the curb only a block away. A lucky find on a busy Saturday morning. I hop out of the car, excited to roam the market and see what’s on offer this morning from the local vendors.
The scent of coffee fills the air as I stroll past a tent selling fresh brew and pastries. I almost stop, but I’ve already had a cup this morning, and that’s more than enough. The next vendor has a beautiful display filled with crystals, jewelry, and other shining knick knacks. I stop, a gorgeous, delicate gold necklace with a small orange stone hanging from the chain, pulling me in. Grazing my fingertips over the stone, I smile, knowing it was meant for me.
The shop owner smiles as she moves toward me, asking if I’d like to try it on. I agree with a nod and snap it into place. She hands me a mirror to admire the necklace around my neck.
“That is a sunstone,” she tells me. “It holds the energy of the sun. Sunstones are special because they help to alleviate doubts and bring prosperity and radiant energy into the life of the wearer—maybe even a new love.” Her smile is sly as she looks at me.
I laugh. “I’m married, so no new loves for me.”
She just shrugs as she tells me the price and I happily hand her some cash for my new necklace.
Moving along, I keep a careful eye out for the best produce. Being married to a chef has made me especially choosy about the food I buy. Stopping at a few different stands, I find a fault with almost every vegetable I see.
My thoughts wander back to the charm around my neck as I walk, the words of the jewelry vendor running through my head. I met Kane at eighteen, and until then, I had only been attracted to other girls. But, being raised by religious parents, I had been taught that it was a sin to be a lesbian. Women and men were meant to be together, to make children, to continue the work of God.
I never told anyone about my impure thoughts. I knew my mother would never approve, and she might even send me off to “get better”. But about six months before Kane proposed, I turned twenty-one and got drunk for the first time. That night, I told him everything, all of my deepest, darkest secrets, and he just shrugged, telling me it wasn’t a big deal and that my feelings were valid. He had known a lot of people who were bi-sexual, and if it was something I wanted to explore in the future, he would be open to giving me the space to do that. As long as we always communicated and were always truthful.
Now, four years later, I haven’t been attracted to anyone except Kane in that way, and maybe I never would be again, and that’s okay, too. I know in my soul that he is my perfect match, and I love him with my entire heart. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t sometimes think about how different life would be if I had been allowed to explore my sexuality before I met him. Taken the time to discover my true feelings about women.
Finally, I find the perfect produce vendor. The vegetables are perfect, exactly what I’m looking for. I select a variety of veggies for the omelets and grab some beautiful ripe strawberries, as well, deciding to make waffles, too, because why not? Taking my spoils to the makeshift register area, the man behind the table takes a step toward me, but a small, black SUV pulls up behind the stand at that moment and he holds up a finger with a smile, asking me to wait a moment. I nod, since I’m not in a hurry.
He walks over to the SUV as a woman steps out. Her long blonde dreads catch my eye first. They are gorgeous, but don’t hold a candle to her gorgeous gray eyes that meet mine for a moment before she turns to speak to the produce vendor. As they talk like old friends, I take in her clothes. My bright yellow dress is the exact opposite of her all black attire. The platform boots on her feet make her eye-to-eye with the man she’s speaking to, who is easily six feet, while she is likely closer to five-foot-six without them, the rest of her clad in black. A low-cut black dress showing off her intricate tattoos over simple leggings.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Her smile lights up her features as she laughs with the merchant, his hand sweeping over the stack of boxes near the back of the stall. A couple of minutes later, she begins loading the boxes into the back of her vehicle, and I shake myself, attempting to give my attention to the shopkeeper, who comes over to ring up my purchase.
