by J. L. Beck
Markus’s furious breath fans against my ear, and my nipples form into hard peaks. Tears slip from my eyes while my body is caught in limbo between right and wrong, pleasure and pain.
“So fucking wet and ready for me.” His words drag me from my mind. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed my eyes until now. When I open them, I see the man watching us.
Reality hits me like a bucket of ice water—shame, guilt, and deep-rooted fear rush back.
“No… I don’t want you,” I lie, shaking my head as if that would make me more convincing. I’m so ashamed of myself. So disappointed in how weak I am.
I want him. I want him badly, despite all the things he’s done, but not like this. Not with this other man watching us. No, Markus is so thirsty for an answer, he’s willing to hurt anyone. I don’t want his violence. I want his pleasure.
I don’t even know how I do it, but I gather up every ounce of willpower in my body. Having had enough and wanting to be done with the sick twisted games, I twist. Taking him by surprise, I’m able to break from his hold and rush toward the couch.
That’s my mistake. Giving my back to the predator. He’s on me in a flash, his hand in my hair, pulling me backward. My scalp burns at the contact, and I collide with his firm chest, the air expelling from my lungs with the contact.
“Liar,” he grits out and nips at my ear hard enough to draw blood.
The world shifts as he shoves me forward and face-first into the couch. The sweatpants I’m wearing are ripped down my legs violently. I struggle to breathe and turn my face to the side, my cheek resting against the cold leather.
“I’ll fuck the truth out of you then.”
Opening my mouth, I go to tell him again that I’m not lying, that I really don’t know who this man is, but my voice vanishes when I feel the hard head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
“Tell me the truth…” He growls in warning, giving me one last chance, but I have nothing to confess. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to get a word out. My tongue refuses to work, and my entire body trembles uncontrollably. Nothing I say will convince him otherwise.
He’s going to use me, take from me, hurt me.
An eternity ticks by, and I gasp as he slams into me with the intensity of a bullet train. My lips part, and a gasp escapes. He’s huge, bigger than I’ve ever had, and he forces his way inside me without mercy. It’s like I’m being ripped in two. All I can feel is the leather beneath my cheek, and his hard body pressing into mine.
My core tightens around him without care to my brain’s thoughts. One of his mammoth hands moves to my hip.
With bruising force, his nails skin into my skin, holding me in place like I’m wounded prey that he’s going to devour. His other hand snakes to the front of my body, slipping between my quivering thighs. Devilish fingers find the tight bundle of nerves hidden between my folds.
The rough pads of his fingers press against my clit, and I can’t stop myself from moaning out loud. It’s like my body is betraying me, and I want to fight back, tell him I don’t know this man, that I have no idea where he came from, but I can’t…
Sinking more of his body weight on me, he molds our bodies together as if we’re two pieces of clay becoming one. Fear, anger, and pleasure blend into one when he fucks me, the slap of our skin echoing all around us.
His fingers maintain the same tempo as his hips, and everything fades away. The man in the room, the cell that’s waiting for me downstairs, and all the other worries I carry. All gone. I’m left drenched, flooded with arousal.
Even though I know this is fucked up, that I mentally shouldn’t want this, especially not with this beaten and bloody man in the room, I can’t stop him, and nor do I want to.
“Mine. You’re fucking mine, and no matter who comes for you, that will never change. You can lie to me, you can try to run, but I will hunt you down and drag you back here. You will never be free of me. Never.”
The words he speaks don’t even reach my brain. I can’t comprehend them at the moment. All I know is that I can’t let him stop. I can’t. I need what he’s going to give me, the pleasure and pain. I’m an addict for his pain, for his anger.
“Lie to me,” he grunts, bringing his mouth to my ear. “Lie to me again and see what happens.”
Hot breath fans over my ear and throat, my muscles quake, and my nipples harden from the friction of my shirt against the leather with each thrust.
Releasing his hold on my hip, he grabs a fistful of my blonde hair and tugs my head backward. The skin of my scalp screams, the pain searing through each strand as his grip tightens. “Look at me. Look at me and tell me you don’t know him,” he roars.
Like an obedient slave, I look up. “I-I… don’t…”
The worst part of all is that even with the pain, I still know I’m going to come… hard, harder than I’ve ever come before.
My lungs deflate in my chest, and my eyes flutter closed. A tsunami of an orgasm overtakes me, pulling me into the deep abyss. Like a rag doll, I sag against the cushion and let him use my body to the fullest, and he does. He fucks me with punishing need, at a pace that’s frightening, that has me clawing at the couch and mewling like a cat in heat.
His own movements become jerky, and he releases his hold on my hair and grips me by the hips with both hands. Holding me in place, he pumps into me a few more times, each thrust driving a blade of anger into my chest.
A second later, he releases inside my tight channel with a roar that shakes the walls. It’s violent, and all I can do is let it happen.
He collapses on top of me, his weight pushing my body into the couch.
“Tell me who he is?” he pants, pressing his lips to the back of my head.
“I… I don’t know. I swear. I’ve never met him before. I’m not lying to you.” I’m completely out of breath, but somehow, I get the words out this time.
As fast as he entered me, he’s pulling out, plunging me into icy waters at the loss of his body heat. Hate burns in my chest and tears sting my eyes.
Why did I let this happen? I could easily tell myself that I didn’t have a choice, but I chose to enjoy it. I chose to let him make me come. Shame consumes me, replacing all other emotions. There is something wrong with me. I just let him fuck me in front of some random man who he beat up.
He fucked me, used me because he assumed I was lying. I feel raw, and that feeling only grows as his release slips out of me, dripping onto the floor and down my thighs. It’s a reminder of what I let him do. I should’ve fought him, should’ve begged him to stop, but I orgasmed. I fed right into his darkness, feasting on it as if I was starved.
I’m going to be sick.
I’m about to push off the couch when I hear footsteps behind me. Turning, I peer over my shoulder and find Markus holding a gun in his hand. The shiny metal catches in the light. My eyes bulge out of my head, wondering where the hell the weapon came from and what he’s going to do, but before I can jump to stop or protest, he pulls the trigger.
The noise is deafening, and my ears ring and remain that way even after the man slumps back in the chair, a bullet hole through his head.
The air turns to ice in my lungs, and my whole-body freezes. I stop breathing, stop blinking, stop moving. All I can do is stare at the man on the chair.
What just happened? This has to be a dream. A nightmare, actually.
That’s all I can think about. It’s not real. It’s a movie, some kind of special effect. The man is going to sit up any minute now, wiping the fake blood away. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, and still, nothing happens. My lungs burn, and I realize I’m still holding my breath.
I try to suck in a bit of air, but I feel like there are nails in my airways. My throat constricts, making it hard for me to breathe or swallow. I blink, trying to wake myself up, trying to leave this horrible nightmare behind, but the man is still there, sitting in the chair with a hole in his head.
This isn’t a dream, Fallon. This is reality, y
our new reality.
Everything around me moves in slow motion.
Markus turns to me, lowering the barrel of the gun to the floor. There isn’t an ounce of remorse in his gaze. It’s almost as if he doesn’t care that he just killed someone. Like it’s normal for him. It hits me then.
He killed someone.
Shot them dead, right in front of me.
“Now you know what will happen if you ever try to escape me. If you ever think you can lie to me and get away with it. Next time, I won’t fuck you… I’ll just kill you.”
Shock ripples through me with the effect of a lightning strike. I know it because I feel nothing of the world around me. It’s like I’m disconnected. Someone has pulled the plug on my body. The ringing in my ears continues, and all I can see is the man slumped over, his brain matter splattered against the wall.
I can’t unsee the evil in Markus, and that is as terrifying as the dead man before my eyes.
8
Markus
I’ve completely fucking lost it. Lost my mind—lost touch with reality. I’ve gone off the deep end, and there is no way to bring me back. Fallon is in my blood, beneath my fucking skin, and I can’t shake her. I can’t claw her out.
The thought of her lying to me, of her knowing that fucking bastard, consumed me. I had to claim her right then and there, had to show her who was in control. Looking at her shocked expression now, a sliver of guilt forms.
I want to focus on the now, the part of my life I can control and change. I don’t feel guilt for killing that fucker, nor do I feel bad for saying what I said to her. I need her to be afraid. I need her to know who is running the show. This was inevitable and had to happen. Nonetheless, the guilt is still there, sticking to my bones.
I shouldn’t have taken her so roughly. I should have controlled myself better. But all I saw was red. Fury consumed me to the point of no return. Then, I shot him like I was out hunting a deer. Like I’ve done so many times before, but today was different. Today she was here, watching me, seeing the darkest parts of me.
I don’t regret killing him, but I wish I hadn’t done it in front of her.
I knew that Fallon was innocent. Death had never touched her until now.
Staring at her, I find her blue eyes glazed over, fear hovering just beneath the surface. This is going to break her, crack her wide open. To this day, I’ve never forgotten the first death I witnessed, and neither will she. This day will forever be ingrained in her mind.
“Fallon,” I call, my voice rougher than intended.
She doesn’t blink, doesn’t even acknowledge me.
Fuck. As badly as I feel the need to clean her up and feed her, I’ve got to get rid of this body. I’ve also gotta clean the kitchen wall, but I can’t do either of those things unless I put her back in the cell downstairs.
Even with my threat, I can’t trust that she won’t try to run the first chance she gets. Any rational person would run after witnessing what she did.
Knowing that she will not respond to my words, I walk over to her and pull her pants back up. Her body is stiff and unmoving, but the moment I slide my arms beneath her to pick her up, she recoils like my touch physically burns her skin.
Anger replaces the guilt I felt moments ago and floods my veins. It’s an oxymoron, really. I want her to be scared, want to keep her in line with fear, but I also want her to want me. Want my touch. It’s a contradiction. Two things that will never go together, yet it’s exactly what I want.
I try cradling her against my chest, but she’s struggling against me, trying her best to get away, to put a few inches of distance between us. She has no idea I’ll never allow such a thing. The only way she will ever be able to escape me is through death.
Switching my hold on her, I throw her slender body over my shoulder and grab a blanket that’s hanging off the back of the couch.
I half expected her to pound against my back, to scream for me to let her go, but I get none of those things. Her silence is so much louder, and I’d almost rather have her raging than quiet. All she does is struggle in my grasp, wiggling like a worm to break free.
By the time we get to the cell, she has calmed down a bit. Her body is draped over mine limply, and she doesn’t fight when I slide her down my front and place her on her feet. She wobbles, her knees knocking together. Grasping her forearm, I try to steady her, but she tugs her arm from my hand.
Clenching my jaw, I ignore her behavior. She’s in shock and needs a moment to gather her thoughts. I’ll give her that, but I won’t tolerate her not allowing me to touch after today. She belongs to me, and she needs to realize that.
Using the blanket, I drape it over her shoulders. She grabs the corners and tugs the blanket tighter around herself while stepping away from me. She doesn’t stop until her back is pressed up into the corner of the room. Her gaze is trained on me with every move she makes, almost like she is scared to take her eyes off me.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say, softly.
She doesn’t respond, doesn’t nod, or even blink. It’s like she is frozen in shock, stuck in her mind, where the fear I created is holding her prisoner.
Even though everything inside of me tells me to stay, I turn and walk to the door.
She doesn’t stop me or beg me to return to her side. She says nothing, and that annoys me more than it should. The heavy metal door falls shut behind me when I step out into the hall, and a distinct ache forms in my chest. I rub at the spot, wanting it to disappear. Admitting fault isn’t something I do often. I don’t fuck up. I’m good at what I do. It’s why Julian made me his second in command.
This time, though, I know I’ve fucked up. Took things too far. I let my emotions rule my actions, and that’s a mistake I’m going to pay for.
Regardless, I can’t change what’s already done. I can’t turn back time and bring him back to life. I can’t make Fallon look at me the way she did before.
I remind myself of how our story started. This would never end with a ring and a happily ever after. I knew it the moment I saw her. I didn’t pay for a partner. I paid for a woman that will do as I say. A woman I can do with whatever I want.
It seems I’ve gotten more than I bargained for.
Ignoring the ache in my chest the best I can, I make quick work of untying and dragging the dead body outside. Using some gas from the shed out back, I set the corpse on fire. The smell of burning flesh tickles my nostrils. I don’t even flinch. Death and mayhem no longer bother me. The only thing that does was the look in Fallon’s eyes when I did it.
While his remains are burning, I go back inside and clean the kitchen.
I mop and bleach every surface from the top to the bottom until everything is sparkling clean. Just like new. I take the dead guy’s possessions and the cleaning supplies outside and throw them into the fire. I don’t really need to cover my steps. No one will think to come out here, and if they do, I’ll get rid of them the same way I got rid of this bastard.
Stripping out of my clothes, I add those into the flames. For a moment, I just stand there, hypnotized by the dancing of the flames and the heat kissing my naked skin.
I think about what the guy told me, how he was here to take photos of Fallon. She claims no one is looking for her, and I believe her, but it sounds a lot like someone is. The thought of her having an ex-boyfriend, someone looking for her, makes my blood pressure spike.
Yes, I know there were others before me, hence her not being a virgin, but there will never be another. There is me and me only, and I hope that I have made that clear tonight.
I don’t know what the future holds or what I’m going to do with her, but I will never allow her to be with someone else. I’ll kill the unlucky bastard and fuck her in a puddle of his blood. Not that she’ll ever get the chance.
She is mine, my property, and only I get to touch her.
When the flames start to die down, I make my way back inside. I pass the couch where I fucked Fallon earlier, and all the
blood rushes back into my cock. I’m a sick fuck. I can’t believe I’m getting hard just thinking about it while Fallon is downstairs, probably scared to death.
There is seriously something wrong with me.
I scrub myself clean in the shower before getting dressed and finding a new outfit for Fallon to wear. I leave her clothing on the bed and walk downstairs.
Unlocking the door, I push it open slowly. Fallon is still in the same corner where I left her. The blanket wrapped around her tightly like she is keeping it over her body as a protective shield. Her seafoam blue eyes are open and trained on some random spot on the concrete.
Keeping my movements slow, I step into the cell. She doesn’t look up, not even when I step right into her line of sight. Dropping to one knee directly in front of her, I force her to acknowledge my presence, but instead of looking at me, she turns her head and closes her eyes.
That guilt I felt earlier pulses with life. I’m such a fucking prick for buying her and subjecting her to this madness. For losing fucking control. Julian would laugh his fucking face off right now if he were here to witness my fall.
I want to be both the gentle breeze and the sinister storm for her, but how can I be both?
“Are you ready to come upstairs, take a shower, and maybe eat something?”
One beat passes, and then another. Slowly, she nods her head but makes no move to get up. I’m not used to asking questions. I’m the one giving the orders and following through with the punishments if the jobs don’t get done. So, dealing with her is taking every shred of patience I have, but I know I can’t act like I normally would.
Heaving out a sigh of frustration, I ask, “Are you going to walk, or do you want me to carry you?”
“I’ll walk,” she whispers, as if the thought of me touching her scares her enough to snap out of her shocked state.
She pushes off the floor and to her feet. I rise to my feet with her, motioning to the door and for her to walk in front of me. I see her throat move as she swallows hard. She doesn’t like the idea of turning her back on me again. Smart girl.
