by Hamel, B. B.
I kill a couple hours like that, drinking a couple whiskeys. I check the time and decide I should probably head home before I’m too drunk to drive, but before I can get up and slip out the back, the front door opens, and a group of men come inside.
I recognize Mitch and Dean right away. They don’t look happy as they scan the room. A couple other guys come up behind them, guys I know from the mill, young guys that are pissed off at the life they live and are ready to blame anyone but themselves.
I glance at Mae and she shoots me a look. I hurry toward the back door, pushing it open and spilling out into the alley.
I hate running, but I’m outnumbered. There are too many of them and I’ve had too much whiskey to try and fight them off. I hurry around the side, but come up short when I spot another guy, standing outside, smoking a cigarette.
There’s a moment, a short lull in the world, where I can choose to do something else. I can turn around, do something, do anything. I could run, drop, hide.
Instead, I freeze. And he looks over at me.
“Hey!” he shouts. “That’s him! That’s fucking him! He’s out here.” The guy bangs on the door.
“Shit,” I say, and I run.
But not fast enough. The door slams open and the gang of guys pour out. They shout and chase after me, and I know I’m not getting inside that car before they catch up.
But I try anyway. I slam into the car, grabbing at the handle. I wrench the door open, and for a second, I think I might make it.
Until someone bangs into me from behind, shoving my face against the steel. I grunt as pain flares through my cheek.
“Fucking bitch,” someone yells. I feel a fist slam into my side.
I spin around, arms up, protecting myself from the fists I know are coming. I feel myself get pummeled, but I push back, kicking out. I slam one fist into the nearest face, cracking into it with a satisfying thud.
I learned to fight at a young age. I had to learn, or else my father would just keep hitting me. He’d laugh and tell me to get up, to get back up, and finally one day, I did. I got up and he taught me to hold my fists up, to swing with my hips, to use their momentum against them.
To use their pain against them.
I fight like a cornered tiger. I lash out, punching, kicking, until someone slams me back against the car again. I catch sight of Dean as he takes a pocket knife out, flicking it open.
“What the fuck, man?” Mitch says. The guys part as Dean steps toward me.
“Fucking rich piece of shit,” Dean says, his voice a little nasally.
I grin at him. “What? I couldn’t understand that. You sound like you got a dick in your mouth.”
His eyes flash red. I shouldn’t have said that.
He lashes out at me with the knife. I feel it cut into my arm.
“Fuck, Dean!”
Dean lashes out again. I feel the knife sink into my shoulder. I grunt from the pain as the guys pull Dean away from me.
“You’re going to fucking kill him!”
I dive into my car. I slam the door shut, lock it, start the engine, and speed away.
It happened so fast, probably less than a minute. Pain lances up my arm. One second, I’m fine, and the next, I’m getting cornered in the parking lot.
I pull the knife out as I drive. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s not a long blade, two inches at most, and he didn’t get it in all the way. I press my hand against the wound, cursing the whole time from the pain.
I park in the back and hobble out of my car. I kick open the door and shout into the empty, huge house.
“Fox!” I yell. “Fox, where the fuck are you?”
I stumble into the kitchen. I grab a towel and use it to hold against the wound.
Fox appears a moment later, wearing a pajama top, and sweatpants. He frowns slightly, unsurprised to see me holding a bloody towel in one hand and a bloody knife in the other.
“Yes, Master Case?”
“I got stabbed. Get the med kit.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turns and leaves. I curse, gingerly touching the wound.
“Oh, look at you.”
I glance over to see Jessa standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed against her chest, her eyes alight with excitement.
“Go away,” I say, too tired to fight her.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, fascination clear in her expression.
“Jessa,” I warn.
She drifts closer. “It looks like it hurts. How deep? Can I see the knife?”
I look at the knife in my hand. I flip it closed and shove it in my pocket. “Go upstairs.”
“Let me see the wound,” she says, hovering over me. Her hands come up and I shrug her off.
“Jessa,” I say sternly. “Fuck off.”
She looks at me, anger flashing. “You’re such a prick, Case.”
Fox comes back a moment later with the medical kit. He takes the towel away and helps me take my shirt off before looking over the wound.
“You’ll need stitches,” he says, opening the case.
“Fine,” I grunt.
“Oh, can I watch?” Jessa is practically writhing with excitement.
“Go. Away.”
She pouts again. “Fine. But you’ll regret it.”
I glare at her, not really taking in the words. “Don’t make me tell you again, Jessamine.”
She glares right back at me, but she leaves the room.
I know I’ll regret that. Some part of me knows it. But as I watch Fox prepare the needle and medical thread, I forget all about Jessamine.
“No Novocain,” he says softly. “This is going to hurt.”
“I know.”
His eyes meet mine. I’ve known Fox my whole life. He’s been working at Hammett’s End for a long, long time. In some ways, it feels like he’s been here forever.
“Do it,” I say, and he does.
7
Eden
I’m sound asleep when my phone starts ringing.
Not once, not twice, but three times before I finally answer, groggy with sleep. “Hello?” I mumble.
“Is this Eden?”
The voice is familiar, and it takes me a second to place it. “Jessamine?” I ask.
“Case is hurt,” she says. “He needs you to come here.”
I look at the time. It’s after midnight. “Right now?”
“He got stabbed,” she says, and she sounds oddly excited.
“Okay,” I say, sitting up. “Stabbed? Wait, what?”
“Come over,” she says quickly. “He needs you.”
She hangs up the phone.
I stare at it.
“What the hell?” I say softly, but I slip out of bed, almost like I’m being pulled along.
Stabbed? Hurt? He needs me?
If he’s hurt, he should be at the hospital. There’s no reason he’d need me, unless he needs someone to take care of him.
I frown to myself. My mind flashes back to that moment in the car, his mouth against my pussy, the orgasm ripping me to pieces.
I dress quickly, brush my teeth, and I’m out the door in ten minutes. It takes me another ten to get to Hammett’s End, and it’s nearly one by the time I hesitantly knock on the front door.
There’s no answer at first. I stand there and wrap my arms around myself, feeling a chill in the night. I look around at the house, and it’s surprisingly creepy, especially at night. I want to turn around and leave, but Jessamine’s words still ring in my ears.
He needs my help.
I knock again. Finally, I hear the door unlock and swing open.
I expect to see Fox, but instead, Case looks out at me, vaguely surprised.
“Eden,” he says.
“Jessamine called me. She said you were hurt?”
He sighs and smiles. “Come in.”
I hesitate but follow him inside. He’s wearing a loose zip-up sweatshirt and jogging pants. I don’t think I’ve seen him wearing comfortable lounge cl
othing before, but he somehow makes it look formal.
He leads me into his study. There’s a fire roaring.
“Drink?” he asks.
“Sure. Uh, are you okay? What happened?”
He walks over to a sideboard and pours two glasses. He hands me one and I sip it. Whiskey burns my tongue.
“I had another run-in with Dean and his friends.” He sighs as he walks over to the fire.
“Oh, shit. What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says, shrugging, but winces. “Shit.”
“You’re hurt.” I step up next to him.
“Really, I’m fine. Dean stabbed me with a little pocket knife.” He pulls it from his pocket, and I stare at the blood drying on the handle. “But it’s not very big. Fox stitched me up.”
“Fox… Case, holy shit, you need a doctor.”
“Really. It’s not deep. Fox knows what he’s doing.”
I gape. “Fox is a butler. He’s not a doctor.”
Case looks back at me. “Fox has a lot of experience stitching people up.”
I gape at him, my head reeling.
This is way too much. Way, way too much.
“Anyway, I’m fine,” he says before I can completely lose it and panic. “Honestly.”
“So why did Jessamine call me then?”
He sighs. “To piss me off, I think.”
“To piss you off,” I echo. “What kind of fucked-up stuff is happening here?”
I can feel my calm slipping. He smiles sadly at me. “I’m sorry you got pulled into it, Eden. If you want out, now’s the time. If you leave now, I won’t hold it against you.”
I open my mouth and shut it, staring into his handsome, sad face. There’s a bit of pain in his expression, and for some reason, I can’t move.
I just remember his hands on my body. His tongue between my legs. You’re mine now, aren’t you?
“Tell me what happened,” I say softly.
He sighs and reluctantly tells me the story. I listen to him as calmly as I can, up until he gets to the part where Dean tries to kill him.
“You have to go to the police,” I say, anger flashing through me.
“I can’t do that,” he says.
“Case, come on. He tried to murder you.”
He nods sadly, looking over at the fire. “I know he did. But I can’t blame him.”
“How are you acting so calm about this?”
He shrugs slightly but winces from the pain in his shoulder. “I understand where he’s coming from,” he says. “I don’t really blame him for doing what he did.”
“He tried to kill you,” I repeat, stepping closer to him. “He stabbed you!”
“I know,” he says. He sounds extremely tired. “But I broke his nose first.”
“Because he was assaulting me.”
“I know I’m not wrong in this situation,” he says to me suddenly, and I can see a little fire in his expression now. “You don’t have to try to convince me of that.”
“So why not call the police? He’s dangerous, Case.”
“Maybe,” he says softly. “Or maybe he’s just frustrated that the world is moving on and leaving him behind. Maybe he needs to blame me for that.”
“Maybe he’s just an asshole that tried to murder you.”
Case laughs. “Yeah, okay. Maybe it’s all true.”
I glare at him, feeling my anger slowly fade away. It’s replaced by something else, something I didn’t expect.
Grudging admiration.
I think anyone else would be calling the police right now. Anyone else would be livid, cursing Dean’s name, talking about getting revenge, any other macho thing imaginable. Instead, Case just looks sad.
He feels bad for Dean. He feels guilty for what happened with Dean’s father. He feels like all of this is somehow his fault, and even though that fucking psycho tried to murder him, Case can’t seem to let himself off the hook.
It would be tragic if it weren’t so dumb.
“So, what now?” I ask him. “You’re just going to let him get away with it?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”
“I think that’s a bad idea.”
“I know.” He arches an eyebrow at me, a little smile creeping across his face. “You’re cute when you’re pissed, you know that.”
I give him a withering look. “Cut it out, asshole.”
He turns to me, his smile turning into a big smirk. “Also, I can’t help but notice that you came running out here in the middle of the night,” he says.
“Your sister said you needed me.”
“So what? Did she explain why?”
I hesitate. “No, not really.”
“Okay then. So, you’re willing to run out here based on something my crazy sister said, all because it has to do with me. Is that right?”
I stare at him. “Maybe I’m just a good friend.”
He barks a little laugh at that. “Friend? Is that what you call it?”
“Employee?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Not when my tongue’s been between your legs, sweet Eden.”
He turns to me and I suddenly feel hot. I think it’s because of the fireplace, but no, that’s not it.
It’s him, of course. It’s always him. He’s the reason for the blush in my cheeks, the excitement shooting down between my legs, the desire welling up through me like a deep sea geyser.
“Oh, shut up. I don’t come running out for any guy that’s gone down on me.”
He laughs. “Only the recent ones.”
I glare at him. “You don’t know what I’ve been up to.”
“I know more than you think, little Eden.” His eyes are playful but there’s a strange hint of something more in there. “I think we should call it a night now.”
I bite my lip. “Okay, sure. I’ll go home.”
“Stay here,” he says.
I arch an eyebrow. “Sleep here?”
“We have a hundred guest rooms and it’s late. Stay here for the night. I’ll get you something to wear.”
“I don’t know,” I say, but curiosity is getting the better of me. I’d love a chance to spend the night in this house, even if it is creepy as hell.
“I insist,” he presses, to my delight. “You have to stay here tonight. I’ll have Fox make up a bed.” He walks to the door and calls for Fox, his voice echoing up through the halls.
Fox appears moments later, almost as if he had been lurking just outside.
“Yes, sir?” he asks.
“Fox, make up a room for Eden. She’ll be staying the night.”
His eyes flicker to me. Something like anger is there, but it quickly passes as he looks back at Case.
“Yes, sir.”
“And find her some clothes. Take them from Jessamine if you have to.”
Fox hesitates. He looks unsure of himself suddenly, which surprises me.
“It’s okay,” Case says softly.
“Yes, sir.” Fox nods and leaves quickly.
“Honestly, if it’s too much trouble, I’ll just drive home.”
He waves that off. “Come on. Finish your drink. By the time you’re finished, Fox will be back, and we’ll go to bed.”
I nod and put the glass to my lips, almost as if compelled by magic. His eyes lock on mine and there’s a smile on his mouth, lingering and deceitful and beautiful and harsh. I want to kiss him, but I hold myself back. I don’t know why he wants me to sleep here tonight.
But I’m not turning back now.
* * *
Fox leads me to an empty guest room on the second floor. It’s toward the back of the house, past a few other suitable rooms. I know they’re decent since I cleaned them earlier today.
“You’ll stay here tonight,” he says, gesturing inside.
There’s a queen bed, a nightstand, and a single dresser. It’s the most barren guest room in the whole house.
Part of me thinks he’s giving me the worst room as
a punishment.
“Thank you,” I say to him.
He nods. “Good night.”
Without another word, he leaves.
I step into the room. It’s small and I’m immediately uncomfortable, but I’m not going anywhere. I mean, I’ve come this far.
There’s a change of clothes on the bed. There’s a pair of sweats, a sweatshirt, a clean t-shirt, and even a toothbrush and toothpaste, both still in their plastic. I smile to myself.
Fox really does think of everything.
I grab the clothes, toothbrush, and toothpaste, and head into the bathroom across the hall. I get myself ready as quickly as I can and head back into my room, sliding into the bed, crawling under the covers.
I’m more tired than I expected, but as soon as I close my eyes, I can’t sleep. I keep seeing Case smiling back at me, his eyes devouring mine, filled with passion and pain and anger. I want to crawl past those eyes, get to know the man behind them, understand the fire that keeps him raging on all the time.
I roll over, tossing and turning. I don’t know how long I’m in bed, dreaming about Case, half awake, half asleep, wishing I were dreaming about his hands on my body.
But after a while, something wakes me up.
It’s a sound. At first, I’m not sure if it’s the house or a dream or what. I was in the half-awake space, slipping into sleep, so it’s hard to say what’s real and what isn’t. I stay still, listening, my whole body suddenly tense and alert.
I hear it again. This time, I’m sure it’s real.
I lift my head. The door is slightly cracked open and a jolt of panic hits me when I realize someone is looking in at me.
I sit up and stare back. I catch a shadow move behind the door, slipping away.
My pulse starts racing. I jump out of bed, not bothering to put on my shoes. I run to the door barefoot and throw it open.
The hall is dark and empty.
I hurry toward the steps. I’m breathing fast, eyes wide, barely adjusted to the dark. I hear a creak up ahead.
“Hello?” I say, just as I come to a turn in the hall.
And run directly into a body.
He grunts and stumbles backward. It takes me a second to realize that I’m staring at Case.
“What are you doing?” I say to him. “Why were you watching me?”
