by Selina Marie
Now the fucker is making me question myself. Did I misjudge what happened or what might have happened? Could it have come off during my struggle with Robert in the bath before? Maybe I dropped it or maybe it fell off somewhere. I guess those are all viable possibilities, but right now I’m pissed at him and need to blame someone. I need an outlet.
Me: I am not confused and if you don’t give it back you’re the one who will need to see a doctor.
Unknown: Threatening me? I can’t decide if you’re brave or stupid. Let’s pretend it’s the former and test that theory. In return I’ll let you search my place. I’m feeling charitable.
My knuckles are white as I grip my phone, the plastic case cracking under the pressure. My fury is a ball of fire in my stomach, and him implying I’m an idiot and a charity case makes me want to claw his pretty little eyes out.
I know I should say “fuck him” and not give in to his pathetic taunting, but I’m sure he has my sister’s locket, and that is the most precious and only thing I have left of her. There is no way I’m letting this prick steal it from me. What is the point anyway? Judging from the stench of wealth around him why would he want to steal some random girls’ necklace?
I don’t know if he’s bluffing, but I call it anyway.
Me: Your address?
Unknown: Tonight at 8. I’ll find you.
My body tingles reading the words, I’ll find you, over and over again. It’s obvious he knows where to find me but the thought of being near him again makes my skin prickle, like little needles are dancing on the surface, my tummy tight with uncertainty.
CHAPTER SIX
Emilia
It’s already six-fifty in the evening by the time I wake up after falling asleep again, and my stomach is growling at me when I realize I haven’t eaten all day.
I haven’t heard anything from my stepfather at all either since I have been back, thank God. It is a relief, and I can temporarily breathe, but it also puts me on edge with every sound and movement I hear within the house. The creaking pipes make my body tense up in apprehension of him coming back.
Creeping out of my bedroom and down the stairs to the small kitchen, my body sways a little, dizzy from the lack of food and water. I hold onto the walls and the countertops for support as I search for something to eat. I find a quarter of a loaf of bread looking like it’s a moment away from growing fur on it, and some jam in the fridge, basic but effective. It’s not as if I have any other options unless I plan on passing out very soon.
I can smell the bread as it turns from soft and white to golden brown—the scent making my stomach growl even louder. After setting my meal down on the table, I literally inhale the food so fast it might as well have been a breath of air.
My stomach now extremely satisfied, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and gulp it down almost as fast as the food.
Now that my body has been fueled and my stomach is full, the fluttering of something most people would refer to as butterflies—obviously not me—dances around in my belly and makes me feel nauseous. I settle on the feeling being revulsion and that is why I am feeling sick; the anticipation of seeing this arrogant man again makes me sweat.
I busy myself washing the dishes and doing some reading for class to pass the time, until there is a knock on my door. My pulse speeds up a little and I hate myself for having a reaction like this. I mean it might not even be him, but if it was Robert or any of the guys he hangs out with they wouldn’t have knocked, they’d have slammed the door open. The wall is already dented with holes from them doing just that, among other things.
I glance over at the clock hanging loosely on the kitchen wall, the paint already cracked and peeling around it, 7:55. He is early, not by much and instantly my unsettled stomach feels like it is about to eject my dinner all over the floor. I will my food to stay in my body and take a deep breath, again reminding myself that this is my body’s way of expressing disgust.
Pulling myself together, because this is ridiculous, I walk all three steps to the door and yank it open with force, and as much I hate myself for admitting it – I kind of lose my breath.
Why does he have to be so goddamn good looking! Literally this man looks like he strutted out of GQ, albeit cockily, and now he’s at my door, my tiny, grotty and tainted house. If I said it doesn’t make me feel a wave of embarrassment, then I’d be lying. He doesn’t belong here, and it is strikingly obvious to see, even from the freaking Mars Rover.
Dark blue, fitted jeans hug his long and muscular legs, tight but not so tight that they’re sucking the life out of him, which I wouldn’t mind doing. Oh my God, stop. My head and my hormones seem to be on two separate wavelengths when it comes to this guy, and my hormones aren’t getting the memo.
My eyes rake up over his torso and I feel my pulse throbbing under my skin. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that hugs him tight, and perfectly clings to his broad shoulders and muscles underneath. I lick my lips, instantly regretting it when my eyes meet his. One dark eyebrow is raised and is followed by a cocky smirk across his face as if he just caught me not so subtly ogling him. Fucks sake, Emilia.
It is as if all of my sense and logic drifted out the door and into the evening air when I stood in front of him.
All that stands in its place now is a bunch of female hormones and a pair of eyes that are still spending way too much time appreciating his body. I clear my throat to try to distract him and myself from the fact I am very openly eye-fucking him.
Fuck it, I’m only human. My eyes are drawn back to his neck when he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat looking strong and delicious. I don’t know why but the sight of his neck makes me remember the absence of my necklace around mine, and the hormonal haze of lust dissipates, reminding me why he is here.
I spin back around, snatch his shirt from the back of the chair and hurl it at him. His hand snaps up swiping it mid-air before it hits him in the face, and his quick reflexes make me internally sulk like a nine-year-old girl who didn’t get what she wanted. Goddamn it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lukas
What the fuck am I doing here?
The entire drive over here I watched as it went from riches to rags in fifteen minutes. Grotleyton is a shit-hole and that’s putting it lightly. Part of me sits snug that karma seems to be playing its cards right when it placed Alexis and Emilia here. They deserve this life, scum attracts scum. But then I remember how I found Emilia a little under twenty-four hours ago, and I feel a twinge of guilt for having those thoughts.
No. They deserve this shitty life, I refuse to feel guilty for that vapid little bitch. She might be feisty, and my dick might like it (my dick definitely likes it) but the Blake sisters are poison in a man’s veins.
The way she looked at me when she swung the door open rather dramatically, irritated and intrigued the fuck out of me. She thought I didn’t see her little stunt coming a mile off. I noticed my shirt on the back of the chair in her small, decrepit kitchen area right before my eyes landed on her tits. I saw the shift in her expression after she was blatantly eye-fucking me and thought I wouldn’t notice. It’s something she should learn now and learn fast—I notice everything, everything about her, the slight curves of her body that I would have no problem squeezing in the palms of my hands and exploring with my tongue. I might despise her, but my cock doesn’t know the difference between mild interest and hate. I say mild interest because the word love doesn’t have a place in my vocabulary.
The shift in her expression happened in a split second but I saw it. She was staring at my throat like she wanted to suck it into her mouth between those lush lips, her eyes brimming with desire. Then the switch flipped, and her eyes were full of clarity. Emilia lifts her head tilting her chin up slightly, with a look of defiance. She’s made up her mind about something.
My smirk is still plastered on my face as I take a few steps back, my chin raised, looking down at her. Hoping she takes the hint that it’s time to move he
r ass so I can get the fuck out of this town. For a moment she looks as if she will stand her ground and stay rooted to the brown stained lino of her kitchen floor, but changes her mind after a few seconds, taking swift steps out the door, closing and locking it.
As much as I don’t want to, I can’t help but watch her as she strides past me and over to my car, her fruity perfume hitting my senses as she moves.
“I take it this is yours?” she asks, and I nod in reply.
“Of course it is.” Emilia shakes her head and laughs as she speaks, and has her moment of prejudice. I am not quite catching on to what she means but I couldn’t give a fuck.
I press the button on my key, unlocking the car with a beep, and round the front of my Hummer over to the driver’s side, getting in. Emilia is still walking over, taking her sweet time, and I seriously contemplate taking off without her. I’ve got what I came here for, right? Yes, I got my shirt back that I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about. I could pay the Queen of England to hand stitch me a shirt and still have enough in the bank for ten more lifetimes. That wasn’t the real reason I came back though.
After Emilia left my place this morning, I knew what I had to do and I fucking hated the idea of it, but here I am. Waiting like some pussy-whipped prick for a girl I can’t stand to hurry her ass up and get in the truck.
When Emilia finally climbs up into the passenger seat—and I say “climb” because that’s exactly what she did, the girl is fucking tiny—I could swear my hair is starting to gray. I had been a second away from slamming my palm on the horn when she sat down, her body stiff as she strapped herself in.
I watch her in my peripheral, as I pull out and head back to Penderal Bay.
She is blatantly uncomfortable and that makes two of us. Her back is ramrod straight and she fidgets with her fingers, which I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing. There’s a sense of self-preservation all around her, and I get it, especially after what I saw last night. Her defiance and attitude are a defense mechanism, and I can see through it for what it is. She is only dependent on herself, especially now that her precious sister is no longer around. And a microscopic part of me, deep, deep down in the pit of my body respects her for it, for the strength she has coming back. It is stupid, yes, but it took courage.
My eyes skim down and see a small cut on her wrist and my mind instantly flashes back to last night when I found her.
I don’t ever go to Grotleyton if I can help it, but some asshole is spreading word around that The Empire—which is exactly what it sounds like, my family empire, named by my father—has some business in dealing a dangerous synthetic drug to minors. Normally that wouldn’t mean anything to me, but word is spreading, and I’m responsible for keeping our reputation clean to the outside world. It’s everything but clean, but I still need to eradicate the problem and will deal with them personally.
It just so happens that the person I am looking for is none other than Robert Redman—Emilia’s stepfather—and the man responsible for bad mouthing my business. But before I can handle him, a scream pierces into the night that has my gut wrenching. Something takes over and I'm out of my truck, following the sound, the soft voice of my mother’s words, “Fight for the good… never give up on the innocent,” plays out of nowhere inside my head. My body moves so fast I don’t remember how I get there. But before I know it, I am standing in the doorway of a bathroom, the wood scattered all over the floor, glass everywhere and a man yells down at the water in the bathtub. Everything after happens in slow motion. My eyes follow his glare down to a body violently thrashing around while his hand grips her neck, the other moving up her thigh. Fuck. That.
Time speeds up and the beast is unleashed. I drag him backwards by the reeking stained T-shirt, swing my fist into his jaw sending him straight down, out cold. The guy is unconscious on the floor and the girl in my arms in the next second, as I storm down the hallway looking for something to wrap her naked body in, and somewhere I can check she is still fucking breathing.
I don’t know how long she’s been underwater for but after kicking a door open, I find a room that looks like it could be hers, with discreet feminine touches around the room. I take in her body, it's limp and painted with open cuts and scrapes, and red with blood. They don’t go deep from what I can see from first glance, but I don’t want to look too closely out of respect for her. She is vulnerable being unconscious and naked. I won’t lay a hand on a woman, but if someone were to walk in right now, it wouldn’t look good.
I'm not worried about her stepdad waking up. He will be out for a while and even if he does wake, I can kill that motherfucker with my pinkie finger. I don’t give a shit about him even if he is the reason I am here to begin with. I am more focused on the wet, damaged and beautiful girl in my arms.
I lower her down onto the bed, pull off my T-shirt, fit it over her head and gently move her arms through the sleeves. She needs to stay warm and the heat from my clothes and from my body will keep her body as warm as it can be, which is what I tell myself as I lift her back up from the bed and into my body. I hold her close to me and feel strangely peaceful amidst all the chaos.
I scan her drawers and nightstand for her phone. I know I am taking her with me but when she does eventually wake up, I don’t want her to freak out and think I am some creep that has kidnapped her. Well, that is a little bit true but at least if she knows I brought her phone she won’t be afraid, and she’ll know I won’t hurt her. I pull back her duvet, open drawers—all while holding her in my arms in search of her phone. I don’t have any luck and have to move quickly to avoid the cops potentially showing up. They can’t touch me, but I don’t want any more shit to deal with.
I carry her to my truck, parked just around the corner. I move fast, not wanting to be seen by anyone passing by, though I doubt anyone would bat a lash. Crime is a constant in this town, so much so that everyone pretends not to see it when it is right in front of their eyes.
My eyes steal glances at her every few seconds as I make my way to the car. She looks so innocent and helpless in that moment, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. The thoughts running through my head of what might have happened if I had not been here, if I didn’t hear her or had decided to go against the instinct that possessed my entire being and had me moving without thinking, as if it was a reflex. It isn’t worth thinking about, but my chest is pulled tight with the thought.
I lay her down gently, along the seats in the back of my truck and pull a blanket from the rear, covering her. I miss the heat of her beautiful body on mine, but I am not so self-absorbed that I will put my feelings before hers right now. I need to move fast and keep my focus.
I slam the door closed, launching into my seat, turn the ignition and glance in the rear mirror just to make sure the coast is still clear and fortunately, it is. My foot heavy on the accelerator, I race down the street heading back to the only place I can take her, want to take her.
During the short drive toward Penderal Bay, I glance back at her watching the rise and fall of her chest and thank fuck her breathing is steady. The stones and pebbles crunch underneath the tires that cover my driveway as I slow the car to a stop, being hyperaware of how hard I hit the brakes, not wanting to send her flying off the seat. Jumping out, I make a quick job of hugging her body to mine, shielding her from the chill still lingering in the air. Barrelling through the foyer and upstairs into my bedroom I lay her down onto my bed, before wrapping her body up in my duvet trying to get her trembling body to warm.
When I am half satisfied that the shaking has calmed down enough, I grab the first aid kit from my bathroom—which is always close by for easy access; I need it a lot. I peel back the covers from her body little by little and inspect her cuts once again and clean the blood away, dabbing them delicately, before applying antiseptic cream, noting that fortunately she won’t need any stitches.
I pack all the first aid shit away and dispose of the bloody gauze in the trash and go back to her. I sit in
my chair across the room from her and wait. Then I get impatient and want to see her, really look at her. I can tell she is beautiful but before I even register what I'm doing the curiosity and tightening in my stomach makes my legs move to my bedside so I can see her. Like she pulls me closer, which is fucking weird.
Her face is a delicate oval shape, feminine and so fucking beautiful, her cheekbones pronounced and draw the curve of her face outwards slightly in such a pretty way I want to touch them. Her eyebrows are neat and has a little arch that can easily form a look of mischief if she wants them to. I wonder if she likes a little mischief… maybe I can show her some. I pull at my lip thinking of all the trouble we can get in to and it doesn’t take long for my mind to hit the gutter and my dick to swell in my jeans. If someone could read my perverted ass mind right now…
The skin on her face is youthful and porcelain, similar to mine. Though she has a light dusting of freckles over her nose and a few on her cheeks. I want to count them all and kiss them one by one. Her nose is like a pixie’s, small with a little point at the end that turns up the tiniest bit. My eyes are bathing in her beauty as they study every surface on her face. Her lips are one part I don’t linger on for too long—they are pink, full and begging to be sucked into my mouth and bitten. I move on from them quickly, half afraid I'll act on my impulse to taste them. Long dark lashes rest on her cheeks as she sleeps, and that is the other part of her face I desperately want to drown in. If the rest of her looks this good, then I’ll be gone when she opens her fucking eyes. My mind races with images of how they might look… Are they dark brown and chocolatey, like her hair, maybe hazel, or green, emerald green or moss green? Or maybe gray, or blue, like mirrors of my own.
I read once that the odds of having blue eyes and dark hair is pretty unusual because of the contrast between the melanin in them. Blue eyes aren’t actually blue, they appear that way, they reflect what we see, similar to the ocean.
