“Keep looking.” I end the call without letting him finish his sentence.
“Fuck!”
I push my foot against the pedal harder, my car roaring louder. The feeling calms me in the same way it fires me. The speed soothing, the sound awakening the beast clawing to escape.
* * *
The taste of metal dances along my taste buds, stirring the sleeping barbarian inside of me. The socket of my eye throbs from the force of the fist that landed against it only moments ago. It’ll bruise up, shade my face blue, maybe purple. A picture of defeat, of coming up second best.
A falsehood.
I smirk at the sweat-soaked fucker in front of me. Height mirroring mine, tattoos cover every slender line of his frame. I have an easy sixty pounds of muscle on him; his mistake is his assumption that my size makes me sluggish.
The loud cheer of the derelicts surrounding the makeshift ring thumps lowly, a drum of expectation in their vulture-like eyes.
The snap of my jaw cracks through the space, head whipping to the side in a jar so powerful my head pounds.
Control. A perception.
To the outside world, I look as though I’m powerless. That I’m beaten. I’m yet to have landed a single punch.
The man opposite me smiles with premature victory swarming in his eyes.
Idiot.
See, this fuckwit, he’s lost his control. All because of his inflated ego. He’s underestimated me. I let him land a few right hooks and now his confidence is greater than it should be.
Control. A power of influence. Over another person, a situation, one’s self. It’s all perception.
I control this motherfucker. He walked right into my game. I’m about to dominate this situation. Readying myself to make a split-second decision as to whether he lives or dies.
I’m always in control of me. I gave in to the pain I needed as punishment for failing, again. Now I’ve had enough. I wanna go home.
My opponent lands one last violent jab to my eye socket and I feel the skin split over my eyebrow the moment his knuckles connect. The warm trickle of blood slides down my face like a waterfall.
I grin.
It gives him pause. I watch understanding dawn upon him like a ray of sunshine. It pumps my blood harder through my veins. It makes my dick hard.
Power.
With a simple look, this asshole knows he’s about to be fucked.
No lube, motherfucker.
My knuckles connect with a resounding crack, the sound loud enough to quiet the crowd and echo through the dank space. I don’t let him fall, landing a forceful jab to his ribs before slicing across his face again.
The feel of bones breaking beneath my fist quells the tsunami crashing inside of me. It offers me a sliver of peace with every grunt of pain I inflict. Lost to the mayhem in my mind, my fists hammer over and over again, only pausing to let the power of my kick to take over.
“It’s done, Shay,” a voice bellows in my ears, arms hooked under shoulders to drag me off.
I could take this asshole too, but I don’t, it’d be too easy. Shaking him off, I smile down at my handiwork. The guy’s face is unrecognizable; swollen facial tissue, split skin and pools of fresh and congealed blood covering every visible slice of flesh.
Spitting a mouthful of blood to the ground, I jump from the ring, walking away without another word.
I don’t bother showering; sweat, blood, and grime coating my skin like a filthy moisturizer. I yank my shirt over my head with little finesse, my body groaning in protest. I relish in the pain, taking comfort in my own discomfort.
I collect my cash at the door, pissed off glances aimed my way as I stuff the bills into my pants without counting it. I don’t fight for the money, I’d do it for free, hell, I’d pay for the fucking privilege. But I’m not gonna lie, watching the hate spike in the eyes of these slimy fuckers... it’s an added bonus. Winking at the asshole who handed me my winnings, I smirk, knowing damn well he bet against me.
Dickhead.
“Gonna get yourself killed one day, Shay.”
“Like to see ‘em try.” I sling my duffle over my shoulder, walking through the door and into the cold night air.
“Face needs stitches,” he yells after me.
He’s not wrong. The split on my eyebrow won’t stop bleeding. The warmth of my idiotic need to feel pain scoring along my skin quicker than I can mop it up.
* * *
“Fuck, Roc,” Parker grates as I walk through the door, my shirt balled in my fist to soak up my blood.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Just a little cut. Nothing a bit of tape won’t fix.”
His girl stands a few feet behind him, a grimace on her pretty face. “Doesn’t look fine.”
“Why are you here anyway?”
Parker shrugs, unperturbed by the sting in my tone.
He steps into my space, grabbing at my shirt to pull it from my eyebrow. “Codi’s sister told us to make ourselves scarce for a few hours,” he answers distractedly, worry lining his face. “Apparently we screw too loud.”
I smile, the gesture forcing more blood to spill from the open wound. “It’s true,” I grunt.
“You need a doctor.” Codi ignores us both, the shade on her cheeks highlighting her embarrassment like a neon sign.
My brother’s fiancée used to be as innocent as they come. Who even knew twenty-five-year-old virgins still existed? Especially ones as hot as Codi Rein. Park is doing his best to corrupt her though. Not that she’s protesting. It’s sickening.
“I’m fine.” I push Parker’s hand away, stepping back.
“Parker,” she pushes, ignoring me completely.
“She’s not wrong, Roc.” He steps forward again. “I don’t think tape is going to cut it.”
I sigh. “Doctors and hospitals ask questions. It’s a paper cut, just chill. I’m going to bed.”
They stare at me for a beat.
“I’m calling Ryn.”
“Like fuck you are,” I argue.
Codi nudges Parker.
"Dude,” he combats. “I’m either driving you to the hospital to have someone stitch your face, or Codi’s calling her sister.”
Whipped.
“No and fuck no.” I move away. “Don’t let me hear you fuck. Do it quietly, I’ve got a headache.”
I walk into my bathroom, stripping down to nothing. Stepping into the rain of the shower, my skin breaks out in goosebumps, the water like ice. It soothes my muscles and irritates my skin all at once. It only takes a second longer to warm up, a loud groan falling from my mouth in relief.
Letting the warm water run over my face, I wince at the throb of pain it causes. I watch the water—tinged in an orange the color of rust—swirl down the drain only to be replaced seconds later.
I wash quickly, needing to get off my feet and sit down before I fall. The room spins as I step from the shower, the effects of too many knocks to the head catching up with me. Towel tucked around my waist, I move into my room, pausing at the brunette perched upon my bed.
“Heard you were in need of assistance.”
“Parker,” I growl loudly enough for him to hear me.
“He’s chicken shit. He and Codi hid in his room as soon as they let me in. Seems they think you’re unstable. Don’t know what ever would’ve given them that idea,” she ponders sarcastically.
“I’m fine.”
“I beg to differ, you’re wearing blood like a sash. I’ll stitch your face and then you can go on pretending you’re inhuman and unneeding of medical assistance.”
“Why are you here?” I ask skeptically.
There’s no love lost between me and the oldest Rein sister. In fact, I’d bet my left nut on the fact that she abhors my very existence. Not that I blame her, I’m reading the same fucking page.
She stands as I sit, her fingers poking at the broken skin without prelude. “Codi asked me to come.”
“Here I thought you’d grown a soft spot.”
&n
bsp; She snorts. “Let me be clear, I don’t want to be here. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be. I don’t like you. Frankly, I despise you. Codi called me panicked,” she explains absentmindedly. “I thought she was hurt. I could hardly turn around and go home without stitching your stupid face.”
“You could have,” I argue.
Her eyes, focused on the split in my eyebrow, don’t blink, her fingers working seamlessly to stitch my skin. She doesn’t speak.
I cough out a laugh, shaking my head. I’m in shock. My mind working tirelessly in an attempt to reconcile my current circumstance.
Camryn Rein, helping me.
She scowls when I move, her deep blue eyes settling on me in irritation. “Stay still, Hercules.”
“Calling me a god?” I whisper.
A soft blush heats her neck, skin darkening in awkward patches of embarrassment.
That gentle look of discomfort brings me a whole lot of joy. As pretty as she is, Camryn holds a shield of frigidity that deters her appeal. Shaking that shield tenderizes her, offering me the upper hand in this tug-of-war of animosity we’re playing.
“Maybe the god of stupidity,” she rebuts. “How did this happen anyway? How did the other guy get one up on you? You don’t seem like someone who’d get knocked around.”
I shrug, making her glower once again.
“I’m about to poke you in the eye with this needle. Stop. Moving.”
I roll my eyes. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” I offer.
Stepping back, she smiles at her handiwork. “You don’t know me, which means you have no clue whether I’d understand or not. Don’t generalize me by your misguided opinion of who you think I am.”
I blink in confusion.
“All fixed. Try to keep it dry. I’ll come back in a few days to check on it and remove the stitches. In the meantime, try not to let anyone else beat you up.”
With that, she’s gone, and popping a few Tylenol, I drop to my bed, feet still planted on the floor, welcoming the few hours of unconsciousness I’ll manage.
Chapter Three
Camryn
My skin tingles with the pain of his touch. The soft caress of his fingers along my naked thigh. A touch that in another world, another life, I’d crave. One that I’d arch into, pleasure coursing along my over-sensitive skin.
Not here though. Not this life, and definitely not with him.
Eyes clamped shut, I fight for the control my mind so desperately seeks. I beg my strength to prevail. To show itself when I need it most.
Tears sting my eyes as I pray my body doesn’t shake. That the fear that quickens the already racing beat of my heart doesn’t make itself known. He likes that. My fear. It spurs him on. It excites him.
A calloused palm moves up to my breast-covered in only the tank I fell asleep in. Pinching my nipple, a growl of pleasure vibrates against my neck. Bile rushes up my throat. The power I was seeking flees, as it always does. Abandons me in my time of need. Leaving me nothing but a feeble pawn in the sick and twisted game he likes to play.
Straining through my panic, power having deserted me, I search for the next best thing.
Numbness.
I exhale heavily through my nose, pushing everything invading my subconscious away.
I’m not here.
He’s not here.
I am nothing.
I am no one.
I feel nothing.
I don’t exist.
My body relaxes into nothing as I repeat this silent mantra over and over again. Willing myself to believe, for it to overtake me. To deliver me into nothingness. If for no other reason than to let me survive another day. Because tomorrow, maybe tomorrow, I’ll find the strength to pull away.
He tsks softly against my ear, his quiet chuckle cutting into my search for detachment with a serrated blade of reality.
“Come back to me, Kitty Kat.”
A choked cry involuntarily breaks through my lips, forcing a wide grin to split along his face. I can’t see it, maybe that’s worse, the feel of his smirk dragging along the column of my neck.
“That’s better,” he praises, his hands moving roughly along my body.
Hovering over me, his dark eyes connect with mine. A promise of persecution staring back at me, the menace dancing within the black pools cutting off my ability to breathe. The fear in my eyes excites him. The evidence in that fact hardening against my thigh.
I shudder in revulsion.
The rough touch of his hands yanking at my sleep shorts. My thick stuttered sobs cracking into the shadows, begging him to stop. It infuriates him in the same way it turns him on.
“I own you, Camryn. Me,” he snarls. “So be a good little whore and open your fucking legs. Give me what belongs to me.”
I close my eyes, squeezing them shut as a mechanism to shut him out. But I do as he asks, hating myself more and more with every sickening second that passes.
He’s right. He owns me. I’m an object. Nothing but an empty shell of the person I used to be. I don’t exist in this world. Not without him. I’m his puppet. One he controls. One he manipulates. One he hurts.
I should leave. Run. But in the very depths of my shattered soul I know I’m not just scared, I’m petrified. He’ll kill me. He’s promised me that much.
It wasn’t always this way. I wasn’t the weak human he’s molded me into. Just like he wasn’t always the monster that now haunts me; both day and night. Not outwardly anyway. In hindsight, deep down he was likely always this person. He just managed to hide it well enough to make me fall in love with him. He loved me once. Treated me like a queen. The fall was hard. A slap to the face so forceful it left a bruise. It dropped me to my knees until I realized this is where he always wanted to stand. Over me.
“Open your fucking eyes.”
I hate this part the most. The violation of my body I can handle. I can shut myself off from the physicality of the damage he forces upon me. But the eye contact, the open window to my soul, he knows that fucks with me the most. He knows it breaks me apart. It violates my mind more than his body entering mine ever could. He pushes me to witness my own humiliation. He commands me to concede to his power, knowing that he’ll always have this over me. And I hate it.
I wake on a loud shout, my skin covered in the panic of my nightmare. The fiery, cold touch of sweat that clings to my skin in remembrance.
His eyes waver in front of my face and I shake my head, working to rid him from my life even in the harsh reality of consciousness. My room is dark, the ghosts of my past threatening me from every shadowed corner. Crawling across my bed in haste, my lamp crashes to the ground in my rush to turn it on. Discarding it, I jump from my bed, tripping on my way in search of the light switch. Swallowing against my want to be sick, my eyes race around my room for the demons I know won’t be there.
No. That would be too easy. I could fight then. Call the police. No, my monsters like to stay firmly trapped in my skull. Haunting me in sleep, in consciousness. They attack from all angles. Night or day. I can’t escape them. Not the way I would give my life to.
Convinced I’m alone in the physical space of my room, I focus on my breathing, settling the consistent sobs echoing around me, mocking my weakness. Scratching at my skin, I will the pain to stop. I can still feel his weight on top of me, his body inside mine. I dry retch, the tears that sting my skin like fire, coming on full force.
Rushing to my bathroom, I empty the limited contents of my stomach, heaving heavily with my need to expel him from my body. My body shakes with the incessant cries possessing me. I move to the shower, turning the faucet on as hot as I can manage without causing third-degree burns. I let the scalding water rush over me, burning away his touch. I scrub at my body, scouring away a layer of skin I could’ve sworn he’d touched, it was real enough.
It’s not enough. Not even close.
Wet, naked and my shower still running, I stumble toward the vanity, slipping as I go. I pull at the drawers ro
ughly, in search of the only thing I know will bring me the seconds of reprieve I crave so badly.
The small gray blade shines in the dim light. Touching my thumb pad to the edge, I feel the sharp bite of its power. Dropping onto the toilet, the blade hits my upper thigh before my eyes do, and finally, after being choked with agony, I find my power. I take away the pain he caused by creating my own.
My warm, wet skin splits open with ease. The red pool of my blood falling along my leg, letting me take my first full breath since falling asleep last night.
* * *
Throwing two Tylenol down my throat, I swallow them with the warm bitterness of my coffee. My leg stings as I move around the kitchen, and I work to cover the pain without limping. It’s still dark out and Codi won’t be up for a few more hours, but I don’t need her asking any questions. It’s easier this way.
She knows about the nightmares, but not how I overcome them. She wouldn’t understand and I couldn’t stomach her judgment or pity. All that’s important is that I’ve pushed my nightmare down, at least for today. That knowledge courses relief through my body. The soft, pulsating pain I caused, letting me feel in control.
Adding another sugar to my coffee, I tidy the kitchen, wiping at the counter for likely the fourth time. I like cleanliness. I crave order. It helps with the Rubik’s Cube inside my head.
Satisfied the kitchen is as sterile as I can achieve, I move toward the living area. I’ve made it two steps when a soft moan filters out from the direction of Codi’s room.
Motherfucker.
The rough rumble of Parker’s voice is loud enough that I’m now an unwilling audience to all the things he wants to do to my sister.
I exaggerate a gag. They don’t quit. Ever. Morning, noon, and night. They’re at it. I’m exhausted and I’m not even involved. Not actively anyway. But, Jesus, the things I’ve heard...
Making myself scarce, I move back toward my bedroom cursing the need to reenter the space only minutes ago I was scurrying to escape. Settled onto my bed, I sip my coffee in silence, focusing on the heavy throb of pain gifted by the cut along my thigh.
Reining Devotion: A Chaotic Rein novel Page 2
