“Use me, baby,” he groans, leaning back onto the table. “Hurt me.” I blush, grinding my wetness against the pronounced ridge tucked beneath the denim. “Bring me your best.”
I fret over the obstacles of my emotions. I have feelings for these men as they fight for my next breath, even when all I want is for my lungs to cease functioning. I bite my lip and unbutton his jeans. He eases the fabric down, and I slide on without a care in the world.
I want Zig inside of me.
I need his dick to cauterize my wounds.
His fingers lace with mine as we find a rhythmic pace. We’re screwing on the regal dining table, beneath a crystal chandelier, in the middle of the woods when I embrace the fact that nothing here is real. I drop my fears, the ones keeping my feelings at bay and ride his cock with enthusiasm. My hair tumbles around my breasts as his hands grip my hips.
“I want you to have my baby, Ellison.”
Chill bumps run over my skin as I crash my lips to his. “Yes, Zig! Yes! We could be so happy.”
“We will be,” he promises. “We can have our demented happily ever after.”
“With good shoes, lots of food, and sharp objects,” I moan out with my eyes closed and completely forgetting about everything. There is just he and I and this blissful moment of ecstasy where we profess our undying respect and hope for an eternal…
“What the fuck are you doing?” Twig roars as I panic like a deer in the headlights. His eyes convey a deep hurt as he scouts over the area and spots Sisyphus lying on the ground. Immediately, Twig dive bombs on top of the menace and his fists attack with the ferocity of iron gloves.
“Oh, shit!” I mutter, lifting off of Zig and standing on the table. “He’s fucking pissed!”
“We’re not just mad,” Zig replies by my side. “We’re fucked up beyond measure.”
“You son of a bitch!” Twig fires off, destroying my worst nightmare before my very eyes. “I know what the hell you did! You had no fucking right! No fucking right!”
I have never witnessed an act of violence like the performance Twig gives. He is a monster—in a different form than Sisyphus—but still, a monster. My eyes widen at every throw of his knuckles, and when he lifts Sisyphus from the ground and tosses him into the nearby curio—all the glass shatters to the ground as they fall backward.
Twig doesn’t need a blade.
He is a fully equipped killing machine.
My mouth drops open, slightly drooling at the corners, as I know any chance of having him went flying out the window with thoughts of Zig’s bun in my oven. “Fuck! He’s going to kill him!”
“Well, they aren’t having tea.”
I glance at Zig, munching on his second cupcake. With his jeans hoisted up around his hips but still undone. He is nonchalant about the crime unraveling before us. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“What would you like me to do?” He smiles. “It’s not my department. You’ll have to take a number if you want to speak with Twig because he’s currently occupied.”
His rapid-fire swings intensify as Sisyphus’ face takes the shape of ground meat.
“Stop him!” I cry. “He can’t do this!”
“Why?” Twig bellows, breathing heavily. “Give me one good reason this fucker should stay alive!”
I walk to the edge and glance over my shoulder at Zig. This is the deciding point where I must choose whose side I am on. If I stay on the table, then the monsters inside of me get to stay alive. And if I jump, then I vow to fight for change with Twig—assuming he will forgive my brief indiscretions with his fellow brother in The Merrymen.
All I can think is how I need Sig here, working it out before me with complicated statistics, and babbling theories about who is better for my brain. But the truth is this is a matter of the heart and how I feel.
Logic doesn’t get a vote because madness infects those in love.
Taking a breath, I leap from the table and rush to my lover’s side to cheer on the massacre of a monster as Zig fades into the blackness of the trees. Sweat drips from his forehead and glistens along his sinewy forearms. My eyes gaze to his chiseled guns, hardened with built-up outrage, as he inflicts his temper onto the dying man pinned beneath him.
“Yes or no?” he screams, unsteadily huffing out every ragged breath, as I contemplate the final cut. “Answer me now, Ellison!”
Tears stream over my cheeks as Twig is nothing more than a vicious soldier prepared to engage in skillful combat, securing my position. On my call, he will act and destroy—obsessively and compulsively—until I issue an alternate command.
His busted knuckles lift Sisyphus at the shoulders, and he repetitively smashes his head into the ground. The shards of glass splinter and slice through his skin as I am sure his death will be a welcome reprieve from the unending torture Twig brings.
With one final shove, Sisyphus Mott takes his last gasp of air. I witness his death and turn away as Twig stands up from the rubble. “If you want Zig, go get him, because we are fucking done.” His hate-filled blue eyes puncture my soul as he heaves and slightly shakes his head. “I thought we had something, you and I. But I guess I was just another dick.”
His loaded words shred over my skin and sheer away any remaining barrier I have. He knows how to hurt me and have me. And I hate it, but there is something between Twig and I that I cannot define. A strange balance hangs in this love.
“You need to stop thinking and start doing. Do what makes you happy.”
The memory of Sig’s words hit home as I collapse to my knees, and I cry over the loss of the monster I knew and the real monster standing in ripped jeans and a dirty shirt before me. I grieve over the loss of innocence and revere the holy warrior who avenged my name.
He rips off the shirt and uses it to wipe the gore from his skin as I stare at the undulation of his chest and abs. He’s a mess of misbehavior with a diabolical grin. “You’re so beautiful.”
His vacant stare scares me because I don’t know if I can get out of this one. I may lose him. I may have cooked my goose. And it may be all a loss. The only thing I may walk away from this with is my sanity, and that will have to be enough.
Spitting on the ground, he hisses, “Fuck you, Ellison.”
And he walks away.
8
Take Flight
On my knees, I sluice the muddy clay between my fingers. Tears fall from my eyes as I watch his silhouette fade in the distance. I look over to Sisyphus Mott’s dead body and the skies open with a torrential storm.
“I can’t stop fighting…” I whisper rising. “I can’t stop.”
Filth clings to my body as I unbuckle the boots and kick them away. Thunder vibrates beneath my feet as lightning jets through the mulberry and magenta clouds. I need to present myself naked.
Empowered by each step, I sprint into the woods where Twig disappeared. The rain washes over, baptizing my mind, and cleansing my flesh. The dirt and grime dissipate, and the water irrigates the lacerations on my back.
With my bare skin on display, I am aware of the consequences at the witching hour. His monster will hunt—because in me—he finds clarity. His feelings for me brought out his savage. And he departed for that same reason.
Leaves sink beneath my toes as I spin and let my brown hair fly free. I wildly dance in the wind, taunting the storm, to come and get me.
He is watching.
Waiting.
I am his prey.
And he is mine.
I bend over, allowing the droplets to careen over my buttocks, trickling into the crevices where he seeks solace, finding sanctuary. I whip my hair back as I stand and arch out my bosom in full bloom. My nipples peak with the promise—I won’t reject his advances.
His hands pull me closer, covering my mouth, and with barely a hushed whisper, he mutters, “… What are you doing out here, little girl?”
Grinning against his palm, I flick my tongue out, and he releases his grip. “Trying to get your attention.�
� I rub my ass against the hardness in his jeans. “Which I clearly did.”
“You cannot be here, Ellison.”
“Because I have no clothes?”
Shaking his head, he fights to maintain his composure. “No, because you cannot be wandering through the wilderness unaccompanied.”
Feeling spunky, I sass, “I have you to accompany me.”
“I am not accompanying you anywhere.”
“But I need to talk to you.”
His arm slumps from around my shoulders as he disengages me. “I don’t want to talk to you, though. Don’t you understand the kind of man I am?”
Yes, yes, I do.
And that is why I chased you.
While slightly disheartened by his words, I refuse to give up. I want a chance to prove what we can be. I don’t know how long I’ll be in The Darkland, but I damn sure know who I want to spend my time with. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
As the rain subsides, he paces away, and I catch a glimpse of his sad expression in the midnight moon. “I’m not the kind of guy you need. That much I know.”
Standing my ground, I march to stand in front of him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you were…”
“Say it,” I demand, staring up at his eyes. He’s taller than me by a good way, and in his shadow, I suddenly feel so small. “Say it!”
“You were fucking Zig.”
“I fucked Zig as soon as I arrived!” I argue, knowing my excuses will land like a lead balloon.
He glances away and takes a breath. “It’s different. That was before I had you. Before I carried you through the underground…before I cradled you in my arms…before I made love to you. You threw it into reverse and backtracked.”
A sense of shame and embarrassment fills my heart as the tears spill from my eyes. “I’ll leave you alone then. Sorry to bother you.”
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I solemnly plod away. I have no idea where I will go or what I will do. “Ellison, wait…”
I turn back to him. “What? We’re done.”
“We’re not done.”
My agitation with the entire situation escalates as I chastise, “You didn’t claim it. You didn’t tell me how you felt. I can’t read your mind. How was I to know?” I animatedly toss my hands, and my hair swings as I know full well how to put up a fight. “How was I to know that I was special? Maybe you stick your dick in every girl that goes down the gutter slide and drops in your lap!” I’m fired up with hostility as I demand more. More from myself. More from others around me. It is liberating.
And thoroughly enlightening when I flip my hair and turn to leave.
I take the same path back to the peculiar dining room set alone in the woods. The candles in the chandelier cast a hazy hue over the area as I note the upright curio and the table formally set, displaying the same sugary delights from before. Not even a wrinkle exists in the table cloth. I note the placards lined up in front of each chair.
And the body of Sisyphus Mott—it’s gone, too.
“Shit!” I panic, frightened by my own decisions. “I should have stayed with Twig.”
On the table, I spot the plates with silver lids and wonder what is going on. I methodically pace around the table, trying to find my name, but it isn’t there. Instead, I find Mathison scrolled in gorgeous handwriting.
Curious as to what is being served, I lift the lid and spot the serrated scimitar. I run my finger over the edge, cutting my finger and bringing it to my lips to taste the blood. “I should go. The message is clear. Killing myself is the only option.”
Biting my lip, I pick up the blade and glide the flat side along my wrists. I cannot let them have the last word. I set down the knife and run at the curio. I shove as hard as I can until it topples over and crashes to the ground.
Breathing hard, I eye the table with disgust as I fling the plates into the air and smash the cups with a spike. I pitch the splendid sweets into the damp grass.
Breaking the dishes one by one, I howl like a primal animal, finding my voice in the violence and trusting paradise awaits at the end of my journey. I grip the handle of the blade and yank the table cloth from the highly polished wood before climbing into the overstuffed crushed velvet-covered chair. I step over to the table and kick the chairs over one by one. “No one is welcome at my party! I’m dying alone tonight!”
Laying in the middle of the table, I stare at the flickering candles above my head. The canopy of trees shelters my irreverent mind from hitching a ride on the passing clouds. I lay the scimitar between my breasts, with the tip upon my heart, and wish for a different life.
A petulant thought but a necessary one. If one singular event had been obstructed, blocked, or closed for construction, then I wouldn’t be about to end the game.
But I was never a lucky bitch.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Twig yells, jumping like a beast onto the table and taking the blade from me. He throws it to a tree, twirling my demise into the darkness. Shaking his head, he grumbles, “I swear, you are more trouble than I’ve seen in a long time.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That means I can only fight so much to keep you alive.”
Sitting up, I mutter, “What does it matter?”
“It matters because I care about you, foolish girl!”
“I’m not a girl!”
“Then stop acting like an untrained, spoiled brat.”
Stunned by the harshness of his vernacular, I blink as he strides to the end of the table and unzips his pants. I hate how turned on I am, how much I want him, and how I’m falling into needing him. “What are you doing?”
“Marking my spot.”
“Then you’re aiming the wrong way,” I rebuke with a know-it-all grin as he offers a crooked smirk.
“I’ll mark you when I am damn well ready, girl.”
“Stop acting like I’m so much younger than you.”
“Half my age,” he points out, raising a brow. “And negatively prepared to deal with me.”
Sitting cross-legged, I scoff, “Because you’re an asshole.”
“No, because you’re determined in your self-deterioration, like someone else I know.”
“I’m insulted.”
“Do I fucking care?” he quips as I watch his moves with curiosity, fascinated by his behavior, and enticed by his swag. He doesn’t bother to zip his jeans as he saunters closer. Gripping the base of his shaft, he urges, “Suck my dick, babygirl.”
I steadily move onto my knees. “I was going to leave.”
“That’s not happening.”
“If I do this, then what?”
“A better question is, what happens if you don’t do this,” he warns with a darkened tone.
My insides flutter with the uprising warmth, and I challenge, “You won’t hurt me, and you do care.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I lick my lips and ease them over the mushroom head. “Don’t you fucking tease me, bitch.”
I gently replace his hand at the base as he takes a fistful of hair and demands my subservience. Twig isn’t fucking around, but I fully understand, he isn’t Sisyphus, and his intentions are true, no matter how deep his bite sinks. My mouth melts around his cock, sucking and licking until he’s fully erect and bumping the back of my throat. My tongue lashes over his balls.
“God fuck...” He closes his eyes and slowly rolls into my mouth, trying not to come. His lips part and twitch as the extreme pleasure secures my spot in his world. He peers down and growls, “You want to fuck?”
With my eyes open wide, I nod.
“Get on your belly. And do not complain.” His hand gently caresses my cheek. “And fucking trust me, Ellison.”
I stare, playing my innocent blue eyes like a well-tuned instrument. “Yes, Sir.”
The burden of his responsibility wears in his expression as he strokes his beard. “What the hell am I doing with you?”
&
nbsp; On all fours, I toss my hair over my shoulder and answer, “Finding your way out of the labyrinth.”
“It’s more than that,” he grouses, struggling with the simplistic. “You are so…”
“Young? Hot? Stupid?” I query, pushing all his buttons. “Tell me, Twig.”
“All of them!” He pauses—too long—and I know he is considering walking away because he is right. I do a lot of stupid things; it doesn’t mean I’m stupid, and I doubt he believes that. But, I am…trouble. And he is well past knowing who he is. He doesn’t need me to define him. I am purely a selfish indulgence, a whim, with a caveat of use cautiously. “If I steer you wrong…”
“You won’t!”
“But you need more than I can give,” he argues. “I’m not your first choice.”
“You were my only choice,” I confess my truth, hoping it sticks inside of the chambers of his heart. I want to cling to those walls and take up residence with this man. “I didn’t think I was good enough. You’re endangering yourself by being with me…”
“That’s my choice,” he interjects. “I take the blame, I keep the guilt, and I hold the motherfucking leash.”
“… To?”
“You.” He steps closer and rubs the flesh of my ass. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck you up, El.”
“I’m already fucked up.”
“I want you so damned much. And I can’t keep acting like you’re just another girl because you’re not. You’re special. And that fucking scares the shit out of me.” Running the tip of his dick along my seam, he nudges against my opening and sinks deep inside. “Fuck, girl,” he groans in relief. “All you need is a rosary, plaid skirt, and loafers...”
“If you’re going to fantasize about me, don’t forget the white blouse billowing open and teasing with lace covered cleavage.”
“Fuck you.” His hands pin mine above my head as he works my body to a malleable putty in his hands.
“Yes,” I sexily encourage. “Fuck me! Like you’re from the backwoods.”
He stops and laughs. “What the fuck?”
“I figured swamp implied backwoods.”
Madness Page 10
