Unorthodox (Sick Love Book 1)

by K. V. Rose

  Now, though, his elbows are resting on his thighs, his head in his hands, and he doesn’t look up, even though I know he had to have heard me. The room isn’t huge, and the bathroom is right across from the bed, light spilling into the room.

  Strangely, the way he’s sitting…it looks like a moment of weakness.

  I see the muscles in his shoulders, scars down his arms, over his hands. His fingers are threaded through his dark hair.

  I shift on my feet, leaning against the doorway, scared to come closer without him looking up or noticing me. It’s never good to sneak up on a predator.

  I glance at the closed door to the bedroom, think about Dante in the hall for the first time since he left me in the bathroom.

  I hope I didn’t get him in trouble, but I wonder how much trouble he’d risk for me. So far, it seems like exactly none.

  My eyes find Max again, waiting for his next command, and it’s only then that I realize…he’s snoring.

  It’s a quiet sound, and I have to hold my own breath to hear it, his deep, steady breaths in and out. But he’s asleep.

  He’s sleeping, sitting up.

  My first thought is of escape. I look toward the door again, my heart pounding hard in my chest. But before I think of running, I force myself to count to three.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Dante is outside of that door.

  It’s never been unguarded, even when Max is in here, save for that one moment when I wandered out and found Dante at the front door, letting a man leave the house.

  And while Dante might have come to check on me when I was puking, he works for Max.

  His loyalty lies with him, not a girl who is nothing more than a plaything in this house.

  I look back at Max, his ruffled hair, his taut muscles.

  I listen to him sleep.

  Then I take a step toward him on shaky legs. One more step.

  One more.

  I can smell him, more than I can the pine. He smells like summer. Like the ocean. Like all the things deadly men shouldn’t smell like.

  Another way to lure in his prey.

  One more step, and I’m standing right in front of him. I see the gun on his hip. The sight of it makes me feel sick.

  I quickly avert my gaze, taking in the scars along his shoulders instead.

  I peer around him, at his back. His back just might be the most pleasing part of his body, all hard muscle tapering down to his waist.

  But it’s also the part with the most scars.

  So many, I lose count after twenty. Some are long, some raised. Some are shorter than the ones that will form along my inner arm from counting down the days here.

  He’s covered in them.

  My chest tightens, and I hate myself for it. Hate the empathy I still have, even for a man like this.

  My eyes find his gun again.

  It’s clipped into a holster around his belt, and I don’t know how to remove it, but I know I have to try.

  I don’t know where I’ll go. I’m not sure even where I am, but I can run, and I can find help. In the night…I could escape.

  And if I don’t at least try…

  If I don’t try, then I really am diseased.

  Someone will come for me turns into save yourself, and when I reach out with trembling fingers toward the grip of the gun, I intend to do just that.

  I feel it beneath my fingertips, textured, almost rubbery. My stomach flutters, a jolt of adrenaline spiking through my body. My fingers close around the grip, and just as I take a deep breath, intending to pull up, Max moves.

  He jerks upright, his hand knocking mine off of the gun as he expertly pulls it from the holster and holds it to my temple before I can so much as blink.

  His eyes are deranged.

  I’m not breathing. Bile burns its way up my throat once more as I jerk my head back, trying to get away from the gun, but my feet don’t move, my limbs frozen.

  “M-Max,” I say softly, my hands trembling by my sides, terror coursing through me. “Max, it’s me.”

  His finger is on the trigger. He doesn’t lower the gun.

  My throat tightens as I hold up my hands, forcing myself to take a step back, away from the feel of steel against my forehead.

  “It’s me,” I say again, my voice soft. “Addison.”

  He blinks, and it seems like, for the first time since he opened his eyes, he actually sees me.

  Slowly, he lowers the gun, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “What were you doing?”

  I lower my hands, glance at the bathroom over my shoulder, the light still on. “I brushed my teeth,” I tell him. “Like you told me to.”

  He keeps staring at me, almost as if he’s confused. As if he’s trying to figure out if I’m telling him the truth.

  He needs sleep, but I’m not about to tell him that.

  Finally, after a tense moment, he sighs. “Come here,” he says, jerking his head to the space beside him. My bed is unmade, a mess of grey and white sheets from my tossing and turning.

  He places the weapon on my nightstand, and I breathe a little easier after that.

  “I can just…I can just sleep on the floor if you—”

  “Addison. Come here.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat and take a hesitant step toward him. I inhale deeply, trying to calm my nerves, but the pine cleaner assaults my nose again, making me wince.

  I close my eyes, hating this moment of weakness in front of a man like Max Bennett. But then again, all he’s ever seen is me at my weakest. A prisoner, taken captive, hoarded away as a hostage while my father contemplates how much my life is worth. Now that it’s been a year since my father has touched me, I doubt he finds I’m worth much at all.

  “Addison.”

  I keep my eyes closed, try to breathe through my mouth. “What?”

  “What’s wrong?” His tone is cold, but his question is genuine.

  I open my eyes, take another sip of air through my mouth. In this moment, Max isn’t my worst fear. “You don’t want to know.”

  His eyes narrow. My room is shrouded in darkness, but the light from the bathroom illuminates him, and I can see the scars along his ribs, the hard lines of his abs, his pecs.

  I force myself to look at his face. To not think of the horrors he must’ve suffered, just as I have. I force myself to feel nothing for him, as my mind tries to push back against the pine-drenched nightmares.

  “I hate repeating myself, love.”

  I look at the floor, knowing that if I don’t tell him, I won’t survive in this fucking room, and that has nothing to do with Max. However long it takes for my father to come for me, I won’t be able to stomach the wait if I have to breathe in this fucking floor cleaner one more night. The other option is being drugged again, and I don’t want that. I’d rather live the nightmare than be helpless against it. Living is surviving.

  “The smell of the room,” I tell him, swallowing as I shift my weight from my left foot to my right. “I don’t like it.”

  Silence slices through the room.

  My face flushes, and I’m glad the only light is from the bathroom, but even still, I don’t dare meet his gaze.

  Then comes the follow-up question: “Why?”

  I hug myself tighter. “It smells like pine.”

  “Are you allergic to pine?”

  I look up, see a tiny hint of a smile on his lips, an eyebrow cocked as he waits for my answer.

  “No.”

  He just stares at me, eyes roaming over my face. I’ve noticed that about him, in the few interactions we’ve had. He’s always staring. It’s unnerving. It’s like he does it when he’s thinking carefully of what he wants to say. Instead of using “ums” and “ahs” like most normal human beings, and averting his eyes, he just stares as his brain works. It should be a source of awkwardness for him, not understanding how people maintain eye contact, but I’m sure he feels none of the edginess I do when he loo
ks at me like that.

  “It just…” I drop my arms, then run a hand through my hair, looking anywhere but at him. I don’t want to take Uncle Cade out of his box. I don’t want to talk about any of this, but I know a little about Max, and I know he won’t let this go. If I don’t tell him, he’ll take me back to that room, or maybe the basement, maybe he’ll make me lick this floor clean, or fuck, maybe he’ll blow my head to bits this time. “It just brings back bad memories.”

  More silence.

  I want to scream at him to leave.

  I want to run myself, but I force myself to stay right where I’m at.

  “Come here,” he says again.

  I grit my teeth, wanting to stay right where I am, but some small part of me is relieved he didn’t ask another question. I take a deep breath, then I do as he asked.

  I come to stand in front of him.

  He reaches his arms out, pulls me between his knees, and my hands reflexively go to his bare shoulders.

  I remember how he told me not to touch him in the shower, but it’s too late. I already am.

  Still, he flinches and says, “Drop your hands,” his voice little more than a growl.

  I want to argue, but I recognize this isn’t the place for me to do that.

  I drop my hands by my sides, and he looks up at me, his silver and blue eyes reflecting from the bathroom light. “Good girl.”

  “I’m not a dog, Max.” I think about what he said in the bathroom, and fear and anger both warm my body.

  I know he must be thinking it, too, because he smiles, and it makes me shiver. “Stop fighting me, Addison. You don’t want to do that anymore tonight.”

  I swallow down my retort with his warning, and glance at the door for one second. I think about Dante beyond it.

  This is temporary.

  Someone will come for me.

  Max sees my gaze and grabs my chin in one hand, turning me to face him. “You like him?” he asks me, a challenge in his question.

  There’s only one right answer to that question. “No.”

  His fingers dig into my jaw, and the hand on my lower back shifts lower, just over my hip. “No?”

  My heart is racing, my nerves shot. It takes effort to keep my hands by my sides. “No.”

  “That’s a good answer, love.” He lets go of my face, and his hands come to the waistband of my sweats, resting on my hips.

  I tense, but don’t move.

  “Your father called me today,” he says quietly, eyes roaming over my body.

  I hold my breath, waiting, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach at the mention of my father.

  “He told me some things about you, Addison, and I’m not sure I like them.”

  I try to take a step back, but his grip tightens on my hips as his eyes land on mine. “Don’t,” he warns me, shaking his head.

  “W-what did he say?” The box is bursting again. Cade. Danik. The floor. My father. But he wouldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t dare reveal his own sins against his daughter like that, would he?

  Max’s hands slip beneath the top of my sweats, his calloused fingers on my bare skin. His touch is warm, but I feel suddenly so fucking cold as he massages my hips. “Do you want to know, baby girl, or do you want me to make you forget why you were puking in that bathroom?”

  No.

  I don’t want that.

  I don’t want that.

  Who seeks solace with their demons?

  Who craves a gentle touch from the same hands that hurt them?

  I don’t speak.

  “It’s okay to want it, you know that, don’t you?” Max teases me, sliding his hands further down my hips, my sweats moving with him. If he goes down just another inch, they’ll fall to the floor.

  They’ll fall and Max will make me hate myself all over again.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he continues, trailing his gaze down my body. I’m nearly shivering in his arms, but the sudden cold is slowly getting replaced with liquid heat. He slides his hands further, and the pants fall in a heap at my ankles.

  He takes in my plain, black cotton underwear, then his gaze travels down my legs. “Step out of them for me.”

  I don’t move.

  I can’t give in.

  He pulls me between his thighs, gripping me harder as he yanks me toward him. “I’ll make this good for you if you stop fighting me, Addison.”

  But if I don’t… The threat is there.

  “If you’d like, I can drug you again. Chain you up. But I’d much rather you lose yourself in this tonight.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. Then I step out of my pants, and he kicks them to the side, pulls me closer as he shifts back on the bed a little.

  “If at any point you really want me to stop, Addison, tell me. I can punish you in a different way.” His hands move up to my waist, yanking me toward him, so his mouth is just inches away from my breasts, still covered with my shirt. “Otherwise, be a good fucking girl and enjoy it.”

  I take her shirt off, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find she doesn’t have a bra on. Her tits are exposed, pink nipples pebbled into points. I see the scars from her surgery. Scars I’ve already taken pictures of, even though she doesn’t know it.

  I sent them to her buyer down in Texas to confirm he still wanted her, knowing if he didn’t, I’d find a way to take what he’s offering me.

  But he did. I don’t blame him. Scars build character.

  And just like that slight gap between her two front teeth, her imperfections make her that much more irresistible.

  Her torso, like the rest of her, is long and lean.

  Glancing at the scars under her breasts again, I replay her father’s words in my head, and I wonder if the man is glad to be rid of her. I wonder what he’s done to her.

  She must have caused him a lot of fucking trouble.

  Even right now, she should be screaming. After I made her clean up the mess she made, she should be fighting me. She should be running, and I should have to tie her up to get this close to her.

  But she’s doing none of those things.

  She’s doing this all…wrong.

  Is it fear? I think about her spitting on my shoe. Think about how good it felt to have her grovel at my feet.

  But I meant what I told her. I don’t really want to hurt her. I want her to make the most of her time here and listen to me.

  As far as what she wants? I think she wants someone to want her. I can work with that. I can use her as a distraction from what’s coming. From knowing I’ll have to see the past eighteen years and what they’ve done to the only person aside from my mother that I ever loved.

  Pushing that thought aside, like I have the past week and a half, I return my attention back to Addison.

  Her green eyes are glued to mine, but she doesn’t move.

  Her gaze is full of defiance, her pretty little mouth pressed together in a pout. But I gave her an out. Depending on where we are in this situation, I may or may not listen to her, but I still gave it to her.

  And she hasn’t used it.

  Maybe she’s scared of what I’d do if she didn’t let me do this. Maybe she doesn’t want to be drugged.

  Maybe some part of her likes this, and that’s what I want for her right now. I want her to wake up and hate herself in the morning because of all the ways she doesn’t hate what I’m about to do to her.

  I know that feeling. The sooner she gets used to it, the better time she’ll have in this life.

  Her golden tan is marred only by faint red marks on her face from Ben, and freckles from the sun splashed across her nose. Aside from the scars from her implants, and a few others along her body, her skin is perfect. Toned and smooth and supple.

  She’s on the shorter side, and at just over six feet myself, sometimes she feels like a kid in my arms.

  I suppose, in some ways, she is.

  If only I knew a fucking thing about taking care of a kid.

  “Addison.�
�� When I say her name, she stands taller, flexing her bare toes against the wooden floor. “Sit in my lap.”

  She keeps glaring at me, and I know she hates me. I know she hates being here. But she also thinks giving in to my demands is the lesser of two evils. It’s how I got her to let me into her bed at night. She might’ve been drugged, but she didn’t try to fight me.

  And now that I’ve killed Ben, despite what I did to her in the soundproof room, she thinks I might be looking out for her.

  It’s probably the same reason my mother stayed with my father for so long. My father was never a good man, never pretended to be. But compared to the men he worked with in Pretoria, sometimes he could look like a fucking saint.

  Eventually, though, my mother learned. Learned and left him, taking me and Ollie with her.

  But someone followed us on his orders. Put a bullet in her brain.

  And someone took Ollie.

  Even if I’d have wanted to do better after that, I don’t think I could have. When Ollie went missing, any shred of goodness I might have had was ripped away with him.

  Just like Addison, I was born into this. Just like Addison, I’ve tried to make friends with my shadows.

  Right now, she’s trying to fight it, but she’s looking for someone to guide her, even if it’s to the darkest pits of hell. Here, she’s lost. Looking to be found, and that’s what I’m for.

  But I think she might need a little persuasion, because she hasn’t listened yet.

  “Addison,” I warn her quietly, my eyes finding hers, “we don’t have to do this.” I smile as she trembles in front of me. “We could do something else to make you forget about the bad memories. Pain is a good distraction?”

  I know that well. It’s how I was able to protect my brother, by offering up my own body as punishment, taking his instead. The pain made sure I never resented him. It hurt too much to give me room for anything else. The women I hurt at my father’s command? The pain blinded them, too, keeping them docile. Distracted.

  I actually don’t want to hurt Addison right now. I want to help her. I know she wants that too, but she thinks giving in is a weakness.

  “Be a good girl for me. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  She bites her lip, averts her eyes, and takes a deep breath, her bare chest heaving as she does. She really shouldn’t tempt me like that.