Unorthodox (Sick Love Book 1)

by K. V. Rose

  He smiles, but instead of fear, I feel rage. “Are you going to fight me, is that it?” he asks. We circle one another, and I’m forced backward with each step he takes forward. His eyes go to my throat. “That didn’t work out so well for you last night, Addison.”

  Shame washes over me, and I want to tear my own skin off, just as I did all night as I stared at the fucking ceiling, hating myself. Just as I did with my father. But I force those thoughts from my mind. Instead, I focus on the monster in front of me. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me again,” I remind him. “But of course you will, because you have no fucking integrity.”

  His smile widens, his hands still relaxed by his side as I keep mine up to defend myself. “Are you trying to insult me?” Suddenly, he lunges toward me, closing the space between us as his hand knocks mine out of the way and his fingers circle around my throat. “You’re going to have to try a little harder.”

  So, I fucking do.

  I go for his face at the same time I knee him as hard as I can between his legs.

  His grip on my throat loosens as I scratch my nails over his eyes.

  I jerk out of his hands and I turn and run, knowing I won’t get far. But my eyes are on the ground, looking for a rock. A fucking stick. Anything so when he gets to me again, I have something to smash against his fucking face.

  I find exactly what I’m looking for, just a few feet away. A jagged rock, the size of my hand. Small enough to wield, but big enough to hurt.

  I run faster, snatch it up from the dirt and spin around.

  Max isn’t running, but he’s close, walking slowly toward me with that stupid smile on his face. His eyes go to the rock in my hand and his smile widens.

  Fuck him.

  When he’s a few feet from me, he stops. I clench the rock in my hand, fingers curled tightly around it.

  “Put that down, Addison.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Max.”

  He rolls his eyes, still smirking. “We both know you’re coming back with me.”

  Some of the anger gives way to fear. My mouth goes dry and I lick my lips, trying to focus on what I have to lose if he gets me back to that house. Everything. I have everything to lose.

  “Let me go,” I tell him, refusing to make it a plea. Not anymore. He can break every bone in my face if he wants, but I’m done begging. “Let me go, and…kill my father. Take his fucking money. Get what he owes you and leave me out of it. I won’t go back to him, I won’t go to Danik. I’ll disappear. I’ll get far, far away from here.”

  I might be stupid to believe it, but he actually looks as if he’s considering my words. As if he might do just that.

  His smirk is gone. That sick gleam in his eyes is dull, and he just stares, as if he’s thinking over my words.

  “You’ll disappear?” he asks me, his tone unreadable.

  I nod, flexing my fingers over the warm rock in my hand.

  “And where will you go?” He steps closer.

  I back up. “I don’t know,” I tell him truthfully. “But I won’t come back here.”

  “Do you even know where we are?”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat, take another step back as he comes closer. “I don’t need to know that to run as far away as I can from this place. I’ll go to the west coast. I’ll—”

  “With what money, Addison?” He steps closer, and this time, I don’t move. “With what car? What job? What friends? How will you get so damn far, without a fucking thing?” He’s so close, he could reach out and touch me, but he doesn’t. His hands stay by his side.

  “You’re planning to sell my body. Why couldn’t I do the same, on my own terms?” I force a smile, even though I feel like doing anything but. “Come on, Max. You’re not the only one with business sense.”

  His jaw clenches, and he reaches for me again.

  This time, I’m ready for it.

  I bring the rock up and start to slam it down against his face, but he blocks me with his forearm. I lift it again, back on the offensive, but he grabs my wrist, yanks the rock from my hand and tosses it away from us.

  Grabbing my other wrist, he yanks me toward him, his grip bruising. “Are you done?”

  I lift my knee, but he pulls me closer, hooking his foot around my leg, keeping me too close to his body to inflict any real damage.

  Still, I squirm in his grip, trying to pull away.

  His hold tightens. “Make this easy for me, okay?”

  I freeze, my limbs locking up as I meet his gaze.

  “I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  A shiver slides down my spine despite the heat. There’s something dark about those words, and yet I can’t believe he’s saying them right now. It’s enough to keep me rooted to the spot with confusion, my mind spinning.

  “I just killed my best guard. By the time we get back to the edge of the woods, his body will be gone.” He doesn’t loosen his grip, but something in his eyes softens as he glances beyond me, at the sky. “I know you don’t believe this,” he looks back down at me, “but I’m not happy about what I did.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. It’s like my brain is trying to catch up to his words, and I know what they mean, on a basic level, but I have no idea why he’s saying what he’s saying.

  And he’s right.

  I don’t believe him.

  “Then why did you do it?” I ask him, my voice loud, my anger returning in the wake of his softness.

  His eyes narrow. “He would’ve let you escape the next chance he got.”

  That’s not true. I think of Dante staring at the wall in the soundproof room. There was remorse written all over his face. “Why?” I demand Max. “Why would he have done that? It was a single moment of weakness and—”

  His grip tightens as he jerks me closer. “I cannot afford a single moment of weakness, Addison. Not from him. Not from anyone. I don’t tolerate weakness.”

  “Everyone is weak at some point in their lives, Max.” I grit my teeth, my wrists still circled by his hands, my body so close to his I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “You seem to have tolerated it well enough with me.”

  His brow furrows, but he doesn’t speak, as if waiting for me to continue.

  “When I let you into my bed. When I called for you. After Ben. Thinking you were…” I swallow down the lump in my throat, but I don’t look away from him. “Thinking you would help me. And then you…you killed him, and you touched me. And that entire week…I let you. And last night…” I can’t say it, the shame rendering me mute.

  And he still says nothing. He doesn’t at all seem affected by me, by what happened between us. I’m not even sure if he’s breathing, the way he stands motionless, staring.

  For a brief moment, like a tiny spark, his silence only fuels my anger. “It seems you do tolerate weakness. Just so long as it suits you.” Then the spark dies, and after I say the words, exhaustion washes over me. Exhaustion and shame, from the truth I spoke. From what I let him do, thinking he was the “good” guy. From all the ways I let my father’s guards manipulate me too. From the ways I tried to manipulate them, thinking I was a smart girl with a fucking plan. Like I could actually get out of the life I’d been born into. Like I could trick someone into loving me. Thinking of the way I let Danik leave me to go fucking surfing. I should have gone with him. I should have begged him to stay, to take me seriously.

  But no one has ever listened to me, and I’ve never made them. I’ve never raised my voice loud enough to really be heard.

  And the times with my father? In the end, I let him. Let him hurt me. Let him have me. Let him leave me when he was done.

  I thought it would save me.

  With Max, I thought the same.

  It didn’t. Instead of being a strong, defiant prisoner, I simply became a weak, willing coward after the first time I ran.

  Not anymore.

  What’s the point, if the outcome will be the same? Whether I’m sold or s
ent back to my father, my life was never my own.

  But I can make my voice heard. I can put up a fight. I can make myself not worth their fucking time.

  “You’re not.”

  Max’s words jar me back to the present. To the hot sun, the blue sky. The hell between us. The demons we each have, wrestling here with each other. With ourselves.

  I shake my head, confused for a moment as I take in his stoic expression.

  “Weak,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “You’re not weak.”

  I almost laugh, but instead I say nothing.

  “You’re young, and you’re reckless, and you’re scared. You’re caught up in a war that has nothing to do with you, and you’ve tried to get out.” His grip loosens around my wrists, but I don’t move. “You are…” He trails off, and I wait for the insult, holding my breath. But he just says, “You’re a lot like me, when I was your age. Except you’re...better.”

  He lets go of my wrists, takes a step back. Running a hand along his jaw, he looks down. “I can’t leave you out here. I can’t let you go.” His eyes meet mine again as he drops his hand. “I know you don’t understand it. I know you’re confused. But there are things at play here that are way over my head too.”

  “Why?” I ask him, taking my chance. “Why can’t you let me go? If I disappear, you get your money from my father, and—”

  “Addison.”

  I want to keep going. I want to try to reason my way out of this, but I know that if he’s made up his mind, talking in circles isn’t going to change it.

  “I’m not letting you go.”

  I want to stomp my foot. I want to rip out my hair. I want to scream. Instead, I just ask again, “Why?”

  He glances up at the sky, and his eyes almost look white, the sun reflecting off of his irises. But when he meets my gaze again, I see the steel and blue, and I’m amazed at how beautiful such a horrible person can be. “I don’t want to. And I won’t, until I have to.” He steps toward me again, reaching for my wrist.

  I let him take it.

  “You’re mine now, Addison.” Some of the predatory gleam is back in his eyes, and I know he doesn’t mean those words in an endearing way. “Despite what you so willingly gave him, you’re fucking mine.”

  I flash him a fake smile. “Yes, Max, and maybe I’ll always be yours for what you’ve done to me. But I will never be only yours. I wasn’t born for that, was I?” I pull my arm from his hand, and he lets it go, his gaze hardening. “Soon enough, someone else will be beating me. Someone else will be raping me. And maybe in a moment of weakness,” my smile widens, “it’ll keep you up at night.” My eyes roam over the dark circles beneath his. “Something already is, isn’t it?” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “You need to learn to get yourself together, Max. Your cracks are starting to show.”

  “Where’s Dante?” Evora’s words are like glass shattering in the quiet room.

  She’s the first person to have asked. I haven’t seen Mamie since last night, when I told her to clean up Addison’s room. She didn’t give me another lecture, and she doesn’t know what I saw Dante do.

  Mamie still has a heart.

  I won’t break it until Dante’s continued absence forces me to.

  I tear my gaze away from the dying sun filtering through my window.

  Next weekend is Luca’s fucking party. Usually, Dante would accompany me. Since he’s dead, I’ll have to take another one of my men. The prospect of finding a new personal guard is an unwelcome one.

  I already miss Dante’s constant presence and quiet manner.

  I don’t think about that. Instead, I focus on what lies ahead. I feel a sense of unease about bringing Addison to the party, not solely because she ran today, again. And not because of what we did last night. That memory makes my heart pick up speed, thinking of her tight pussy clenched around me, of taking her ass, switching between them, and her…not fighting me. She might have hated herself afterward, but during the moment, she loved it as much as I did.

  My dick swells in my pants just thinking about it again.

  But it’s not that that makes me uneasy. It’s because, as I should’ve expected, both parties on the end of Addison London’s sale want to see her, in the flesh.

  This is not how human trafficking usually works. Typically, there are auctions, or the buyer takes his pick from a lineup. But Addison’s father has a personal interest in getting her back—to save face. He never will, but for now, I’ll appease him lest he try to do something stupid like take her back from me.

  And her buyer—still caught up in his own work—is very, very insistent that she be seen in public, apparently mistrustful of my photos.

  Just as I am of his. But he’s provided video evidence, and I don’t allow cameras into my home.

  His evidence I can barely stomach watching, and that could be faked, except for the fact that despite the years that have passed since he was taken from me, Ollie still doesn’t speak.

  He doesn’t speak, and he still makes those little noises I had to train him to hold back when he hid under my floorboard.

  And there’s that scar, on the side of his head, where his brown hair doesn’t quite grow right. That scar that reminds me of another time I was too late to save him.

  My chest tightens.

  I shove those memories away, force myself to think of the upcoming party.

  Neither man will be there in person. But they have men too. Men that apparently know my business dealings, having gotten an invitation to Luca’s party.

  It’s not surprising, their connections, but it pisses me off. Still, what I’ll receive for her is enough to convince me to appease their requests.

  “Where’s Dante?” Evora asks again, something like impatience in her tone.

  I glance at her, see her brown eyes on mine, her brow furrowed. Her hair is down, and she’s in a white dress that I want to rip off of her and choke her with. After a day like today, I need another release. And soon, I’ll get it.

  For one second, I think about Dante fucking Addison for what was likely her first time.

  Just one errant thought, and I want to fucking kill him all over again.

  I force the thought aside.

  “He’s dead.” I walk past Evora, into the bathroom adjoining my room. I don’t want to be around her when she takes in the news. Instead, I glance at my reflection as I unbutton my shirt. The circles under my eyes are deepening. I think about grabbing a sleeping pill from the medicine cabinet, which is built into the wall, behind the mirror.

  But without Dante guarding me, I don’t trust anyone enough to sleep that deeply.

  “Dead?” Evora repeats, her heels clacking against the wooden floors of my bedroom as she comes to stand in the doorway. She crosses her arms over her chest, staring at me. “Are you kidding?”

  As if I ever tell jokes. “No.” I shrug off my shirt, turn my back to Evora and head to my walk-in closet, through the bathroom. Dropping the shirt into the laundry basket, I undo my belt, set my gun and phone on the dresser in the middle of the closet, and pull off my pants.

  “Max.” Evora comes into the bathroom, her voice soft. “What happened?”

  That is the last thing I want to talk about. Evora comes when I call her. Otherwise, she stays inside the compound her father pays for. I’ll send her right back to it if she presses this shit.

  “He’s dead,” I repeat, putting the rest of my clothes in the laundry basket, turning to face her when I’m completely undressed. “We aren’t discussing it.”

  Her eyes roam over my body, and she drops her arms, stepping closer to the closet.

  But just as she gets to the doorway, my phone starts to ring. I glance at it, seeing a long string of numbers I don’t recognize.

  I answer the call on the third ring, without saying a word as I hold my phone to my ear.

  Evora looks concerned, her brows pinched together as she watches me from a distance.

  “Max Bennett.”

>   At that voice, I straighten, reach for my gun, my fingers curling around the grip.

  Evora takes a step back from the doorway of the closet.

  “What?” I grind out.

  A laugh on the other end of the line. My finger goes to the trigger.

  “Not a friendly fucker, are you?”

  I walk to the closet door and close it, locking it with Evora on the other side as I press my temple against the black wood. “What do you want?”

  Another laugh.

  I close my eyes. Imagine Ollie on the other end of this line. Maybe this is it.

  Does Oliver know I’m coming? Does he know his brother is going to get him back?

  Does he know I’ve never once forgotten about him?

  “Plans have changed. Christopher London and his son seem to be gathering the necessary funds to get his daughter back.”

  Gritting my teeth, I say nothing, waiting for whatever the fuck he really wants. I have no idea how he knows what Christopher is doing, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of asking. No matter how much money they stack up, it won’t be enough to sway me.

  If I have to kill all of the fucking Londons to get Ollie, I’ll do it.

  “I know you know what’s at stake here, Max. But there’s something you should know.”

  I bite my tongue.

  “Danik London, it seems, has become an informant for the DEA.” The man blows out a breath on the other end of the line and I feel my entire body tense, waiting. “I can’t leave yet, and I need you to tread carefully.”

  “I always fucking tread carefully,” I manage to say.

  The man laughs. I’m sick of his laugh already. “Danik has wanted out of this life for a very, very long time. He’s dying to escape, and he’d sell his soul to cut ties. This grants him immunity, his father’s arrest, and he gets his sister back. He has a lot to lose if you don’t meet up with him.”

  I don’t reiterate the fact that I’d never meet up with him, save for to kill him. “Christopher doesn’t know?”