The Ruthless

by Jaci J.

  “Hard,” I counter, needing more when he slides into me.

  He’s big—huge. My body stretches, almost to the point of pain, but it’s a good pain. Sweet pain. Like a toothache you just want to bite down on.

  I don’t know why it’s like this with King, why when he’s inside of me everything feels right, but the second he pulls out, shit falls apart. I want him so bad but hate him so much.

  Looking at me, licking his bottom lip, he says, “We do this shit my way, baby.”

  I don’t argue because I’m desperate. I want him to move, want him to work my body good. Touch me. Use me.

  “Slow,” I agree, eyes rolling when he goes deep, pushing me even farther into the tile.

  I cling to him, legs wrapped around his waist as his cock slides into me, so thick and hard. Over and over. Slowly. Torturously. Deliciously.

  In hard, out slowly. King is the master of a slow death.

  He fucks me hard and slow, taking his time, savoring me, enjoying my body.

  Burying himself deep inside, he grinds down, and I swear I feel it in my toes.

  Lifting his head, King looks at me, his eyes dark. “Every time,” he grunts, his voice almost mad. “You fuck with my head, Princess. Here to keep you alive and that’s it, but here we are, again. Been ten years and we’re still doin’ this shit,” he growls, lifting me higher and pulling me down onto his cock, holding me tighter. “Still fuckin’ crazy about you after all these years.”

  My heart fucking explodes in my chest. That’s the most King has ever said about us and the shit we do when he swings through town.

  It’s always a fast fuck. A messy fuck. A hard fuck. This time it’s different.

  This goes way past sex with King. So far fucking beyond it, it scares me. I’m terrified.

  “Don’t stop.” I beg when he hammers into me.

  My head’s foggy, high on his body and his words.

  I do something I’ve never done in the years we’ve slept together, something I’ve always wanted to do. I kiss him. Wrapping one hand around the back of his neck, I pull his mouth to mine. He comes easily.

  His kiss is brutal. Savage. Hard and hungry. And I give in, my body needing his.

  “I won’t stop,” he growls.

  My mind is gone, lost and wandering dangerously close to the edge of not coming back. I can’t risk falling in love with King. He’s unlovable in the most profound way. His heart’s walled off with bricks and steel, wanting nothing from anyone, and he’s okay with it. He doesn’t want more from me and I can’t want more from him.

  “Good girl,” he groans, licking my bottom lip. “Squeeze me, just like that,” he urges as my orgasm builds.

  All we have is sex. Good sex. Great sex. Mind-blowing, life-changing sex. There’s nothing more with King and I have to remember that.

  Standing at the kitchen island in nothing but an oversized tee, I eat cold pizza and drink wine out of the bottle, staring out the window at the roses all over the road and sidewalk, lost in thought.

  A shiver races up my back just thinking of someone being in my house, my safe space. I wonder how he got in here and when. I wonder if he left after I did or if he left before I got here. I wonder why he’s doing this. What I did or what I said to make him pick me.

  “Stop,” King growls, walking up behind me and wrapping a strong arm around my stomach, his chin on my shoulder. “Get out of your head or I’ll get you out if it.”

  Letting me go, he turns me around, my back to the island, caged in by his body. Jesus, he’s too much. Shirtless and tattooed. Hard and built. The man’s just too damn much.

  Laughing softly, I take a drink of the cool white wine that’s sadly almost gone. “If that’s a threat, then it’s a pretty weak one.”

  “Nothin’ weak about me, baby,” he teases, flexing one tattooed arm. I’ve seen King be mean. I’ve seen him be angry, cold, and deadly, but I’ve never seen funny or anything close to it. The man’s usually steel.

  Squeezing his bicep, I shrug. “Eh. I’ve seen better.”

  “You’ve seen better?” There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “What? I’m just sayin’, I’ve seen bigger.” I’m lying. King is cut, ripped, and lined with hard edges made from hard work and brute force. The man’s a fucking machine in so many ways.

  Grabbing my hips, he lifts me up and plops me onto the counter, my ass meeting cold granite, and shoves his way between my thighs, a smirk on his lips. He’s so goddamn sexy. Grabbing my jaw, he tips my head back and looks down at me. “Go ahead and tell me how weak I am again.” The hand on my thigh rubs small circles on my skin, intoxicating me.

  “I mean, you could probably lift a tire or somethin’,” I say softly, fighting a smile.

  I’ve never seen this side of King—soft and silly. I fall in love with it instantly.

  “What kind of tire?” he asks, kissing my lips. His rough beard rubs on my skin, making me shiver. His tongue tastes my mouth, making me melt.

  “Bicycle?” I whisper, cracking a smile against his mouth.

  King does something I’ve never seen him do—he smiles, and it’s stunning. But it doesn’t last long.

  His phone rings, ruining it.

  Pulling away from me, King grabs his phone, answering it. “Yeah?” His voice is short, annoyed. He nods a couple times, listening, before he says, “I’ll be there.”

  My heart sinks. He’s leaving, leaving me.

  Too good to be. Too good to last.

  Stuffing his phone in his pocket, he looks at me, with what I’m sure is a frown on my face.

  “Time to go,” he tells me. No emotion. Everything from moments ago is gone.

  Nodding, I cross my arms, suddenly cold and lonely. “Okay.” I knew it wouldn’t last.

  “Okay,” he agrees, staring. Waiting. “You gonna go put some fuckin’ clothes on, or do you want me to dress you?”

  “What?” Now I’m confused. This man gives me whiplash.

  “We’ve gotta go.” I nod along, still a little confused.

  “Where am I going?”

  He sighs. “Jesus, Sam. I’m not leavin’ you alone again, and I have to go to Buck’s place. You either get dressed or I dress you. Your choice.”

  “Okay,” I mumble slowly, sliding off the island and onto my feet. Walking toward the stairs, I don’t bother asking anymore questions. I just roll with it, knowing I don’t have much choice.

  Passing King, he grabs my arm and pulls me into him, shocking me for the millionth time tonight. He kisses me. A rough, chaste kiss. It’s quick, but it’s good. “Wear somethin’ warm,” he says against my lips before smacking my ass and sending me on my way.

  It’s been weirdest night of my life, and it looks like it’s not over yet.

  Samantha hesitates, not letting me go right away when we pull into the driveway. Her arms are wrapped around my stomach, her hands under my sweatshirt, resting on my stomach. She holds on tight like she might fall off. She’s been like this the whole fucking ride, quiet and careful.

  I don’t fuckin’ like it.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask her, looking over my shoulder at her. She can be mean and she can be sassy. She can be wild. But I don’t like this shit, like this Samantha.

  Lifting a shoulder, she fights a frown. “Nothin’.” I don’t buy that shit for a second.

  “I know you’re lyin’ to me, baby.” I tilt her head back to look into her eyes. Sam doesn’t lie. The woman will tell you she doesn’t like you to your face. She lets her feelings be known, always, and right now, I know she’s hiding her feelings from me.

  “You’re leavin’, aren’t you?” she whispers, her voice thick. That surprises me. She’s worried I’m leaving? Most of the time, it seems like she’s happy to see me go. Done.

  “You don’t want me to leave?” That shit does something to me, something I’m not even going to touch.

  She doesn’t answer me right away while she wrestles with her words. The woman’s all over the
place. Hating me one minute, and not wanting me go the next. I don’t understand her, but I figure I don’t have to. She’ll tell me what I need to know.

  “No.”

  I can take the princess mean and I can take her bitchy and hateful, but I can’t have her scared or worried. “I’m not leavin’. Not yet.”

  She doesn’t ask me if I’m sure or if I’m lying. She just accepts my words for what they are. I’ll always leave, but I always tell her before I do it.

  “Okay.”

  Throwing a leg over my bike, I hop off and help her off, taking her hand. She takes it and follows me inside.

  Inside Buck’s, the house is empty. No one around.

  “Stay in here until I come back, yeah?” I put her on the couch in the living room, flipping on the TV before I hand her the remote.

  Shivering, she nods. “Where are the blankets?” I ask her, knowing she’s cold or nervous, or both.

  “By the bathroom, in the hall closet.”

  I grab her a blanket and unfold it, covering her up. I don’t overthink the shit I do when I’m around her. I just do what I do, knowing goddamn well there’s no other woman on the planet I’d do this shit for. I may not treat her the way she should be treated, but I treat her better than any person in my life.

  “Thank you.”

  I don’t answer her, I just tell her, “Stay here, baby. I’ll be back.”

  She smiles softly and nods. “Okay.”

  “Where’d you find him?” I ask Buck, standing outside the door of the small shed out back of his place. Right on the edge of the tree line, tucked back out of view, far enough away no one can hear anything or see shit.

  “Waited at the end of the road for about an hour. Didn’t take him long to come back.”

  Smart man. “Thanks, brother.”

  “You’d do the same if it was Lennon.” No fucking doubt about it.

  “He say anything?”

  It’s started to rain, the wind picking up, the trees swaying out back of Buck’s place. The motherfucker lives on the side of a mountain, miles away from anything. The asshole in the shed has little chance of making it out of here alive.

  Buck shakes his head. “Nah. Left the question askin’ to you, man.”

  I chuckle around the anger. “You’re a true friend.”

  Pulling open the door, I step in. One single light bulb hangs from the ceiling of the shack. Concrete slab floor and four walls made from scrap wood, the shed is a shithole, but it serves a very important purpose.

  Tied to a metal folding chair, sits some fat Mexican fucker in a suit. Sweating and breathing hard, he jerks his head and looks at me when I shut the door behind me. Bloodshot eyes stare at me, confused and scared.

  Rock stands in the corner, smirking.

  “Who are you?” he asks me, watching as I walk up to the small work bench next to him, tools of the trade laid out and lined up. Plyers, a hammer, duct tape, small hand saw, all kinds of good shit. None of this shit I’ll use. I prefer my hands.

  “Could ask you the same fucking thing,” I counter coolly, walking around him. “We’re not gonna play games tonight because I’ve got shit to do later, so I’m gonna assume you’re gonna tell me what I want to know so I don’t have to kill you, yeah?”

  He’s shaking. “This about the fucking girl?” he wheezes, out of breath. The fat fuck hasn’t even done anything and he’s already winded. Christ.

  “You tell me?” I lean back against the door, arms folded, waiting.

  “Fuck you,” he grunts, jerking against the rope like it’ll just come loose.

  “Like I told you, I’m a busy man. You can tell me or I can make you tell me. Either way.”

  “Not telling you shit about the bitch.”

  Calm and cool is my business, but not when it comes to Samantha. I can feel my blood pressure creeping higher and my vision starting to fade to red. I’d rather just kill the fucker and be done with it, but I need to know more.

  Biting back a growl, I tell him, “Last chance.”

  I already know he’s not going to tell me shit, so I do what I gotta do.

  Knocking out a couple teeth with my fist does the job. Could be bone. Could be teeth. Could be cartilage. But something breaks when I put my fist through his fucking mouth. The motherfucker’s head snaps back, blood instantly dripping from his mouth and nose, staining his white shirt.

  He makes a noise that sounds something like a dying animal when he starts to choke on blood and teeth.

  “Tell me who the fuck you are and why you’re fuckin’ with my girl?” My girl? Fuck, I’ve lost my mind.

  He doesn’t answer me, so I hit him again, harder this time. Something else in his face breaks. It’s a sweet sound.

  “Fuck you,” he pants, and I lose it.

  I hit him again and again.

  And when that doesn’t work, I grab a piece of rope from the floor and wrap the fucker around his neck. I watch his face go from blood red to pale pink in a second, then starts to fade to a purple, his hands clawing at his neck, desperate for air. Fuck, it’s satisfying. So fucking satisfying.

  He starts to gurgle, the last bit of air squeezing out of him, and Rock stops me. “Might wanna let him live. Figure out who he is and what he’s doing stalkin’ Sammy, right?” Well isn’t he just the motherfucking voice of reason.

  I let up, let a little oxygen into his lungs. He’s gasping and choking. I’d rather watch the life drain out of him, but Rocky isn’t wrong.

  “I’ll start removin’ your motherfuckin’ digits,” I growl, inches from his face. “Remove limbs. Gut you like a fucking fish and let you bleed out all over this goddamn floor. Tell me what I want to know.”

  Rocky chuckles when the guy whines, “My boss wants her!” as I bend a finger back, snapping the knuckle.

  “Told ya,” Rocky gloats, slapping my back. “Fingers always do it.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Get Samantha in here,” I tell Rock. She needs to see his face. I don’t believe this guy for a fucking second. I want confirmation.

  Rocky looks hesitant. “You sure?”

  “I’ll get her.” I’m not playing around. I want her in here.

  Sitting on the old leather couch in the corner, watching reruns of Cops, I stare at the screen, lost in thought.

  I don’t know why we’re here, and if I’m being honest, I don’t care. I’m drained. I’m tired and worn out mentally. I need a long nap and a faraway vacation.

  Everything in my life is starting to wear on me and it’s my fault because I let it—Tags, a stalker, and now King. King being the worst of them all. The man is all-consuming.

  From the coffee table in front of me, my phone rings, vibrating across the wood.

  Unknown flashes across my screen.

  My heart sinks and my hands tremble.

  I don’t want to answer it. I shouldn’t answer it.

  “Hello?” I answer, nervous, my voice giving me away.

  There’s nothing. No answer. No noise. “Hello?” I repeat, my voice firmer, making me sound braver than I am when inside, I’m soft. I’m Jell-O.

  “You’re pretty when you’re scared,” a deep voice says into the silence after a beat.

  My heart tumbles, taking a nosedive.

  I don’t know what to say, too sick to answer. “Don’t be scared, Samantha,” he continues, and my heart sinks further just hearing him say my name.

  I want to ask who he is and why he’s calling me. I want to scream at him, tell him to leave me the fuck alone, but I’m too scared to even open my damn mouth. I feel like a weak idiot.

  I’ve seen a lot in my life. Done a lot. Lived through a lot. I’m tough. My backbone’s made of steel, but the icy, unfamiliar voice turns my stomach and sends goose bumps up my spine. It’s one thing to stare down danger, but to be blind to it, not see it? It’s terrifying.

  He chuckles, his voice like ice water in my veins. “I’ll see you soon, pretty girl.” The phone goes dead, beeping to an en
d, just as King walks through the back door.

  Wide-eyed, I stare at him, the phone limp in my hand. I see him, but not actually see him.

  I’ve never heard his voice. He’s called but he’s hung up. I’ve found a few roses on my car and a note. I’ve had the feeling of being watched, and then the realization that he’s found my house but I’ve never heard him? It makes it real. Realer than ever before.

  “Princess?” he says softly, walking toward me. The fog clears, finally seeing him, and I want to cry just seeing his face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, walking up to me and cupping my jaw in his hand, bringing my eyes up to his.

  His touch is so comforting.

  Holding up the phone, I whisper, “He called.” Just saying it makes me feel sick.

  King looks at me, looks me in the eyes, and then looks at the phone. “He called?” he repeats, his voice dark, dangerous, registering my words. “What’d he say?”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  “He what?” King shouts, mad—so mad.

  “I don’t want to repeat it. Please don’t make me,” I plead, my voice clogged with emotion. I hate this. Hate that some sick asshole has made me weak. I don’t cry. I don’t shake and shiver. This is not me. I’m a tough chick.

  I don’t know how King knows, but he does. He knows I need something from him and gives it to me. Bringing his lips to mine, King kisses the corner of my mouth, softly. “I got you,” he tells me, wrapping an arm around back. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Anger snakes around my fear, squeezing it, squeezing my chest. I’m scared and I’m mad. So mad. “You have to kill him,” I tell King. I’m not pleading, it’s a demand. He has to. I won’t accept anything less.

  “Slowly,” he promises against my lips. “Painfully.”

  “I want to watch.” My words surprise even myself.

  King pulls back and smirks. “No one fucks with you and lives.” I believe him, trusting him down to my core.

  Taking my hand, he walks me outside and into the rain. Across Buck’s large yard and toward the woods.