A calmness descended over me. I didn't know where it came from or why it was there but I was suddenly hit with the feeling that everything was going to be okay. I knew why I was here.
As I closed over the bedroom door, I stopped for a second just before the door clicked shut. The sound of my mother's voice in barely more than a whisper came out from the room, a tearful goodbye, a last attempt at reaching out to me to tell me she loved me. But as I opened the door and looked back inside I saw it was nothing at all, just the draught from the window whispering through the curtains.
Chapter Ten
BERGER
"So, detective."
"Call me Franklin, or better still, Frankie."
"Frankie, I like it."
She held my hand beneath the table. All around us, nurses took a quick coffee break while a group of doctors congregated at the top of the room at a table of their own. Interspersed between the staff were pockets of patients and their families. Some were happy to be reunited while some were in tears no doubt just having heard some bad news.
It was a little like a high school cafeteria but with the added drama of adulthood and worse food. I sipped on my mocha and tasted its bitterness. Reaching for a couple more sugar packs, I changed my mind when my hand reached the end of the table and I picked the sugar shaker instead, heaping in as much as I could.
"The stuff'll kill you, you know."
"Doesn't everything?" I asked.
"Except this."
She reached over and touched the wound on my head. It was healing nicely but was still sensitive. After a series of scans, I was shocked but ecstatic to discover I'd not received any brain damage. Still, they insisted on keeping me in for longer than I needed to be so they could keep an eye on things just in case there was some swelling.
"This?" I touched her fingers that were lingering on my temple. "Just a bump on the head."
"You don't have to joke about it. I was here when you arrived. You were in pretty bad shape. We thought there was a chance you wouldn't wake up."
"And then you could whatever you liked to my body, right?" I laughed with a wink.
Taking a sip of my mocha, I felt myself get a slight buzz from the sugar. That was how exciting my life was now. I was getting high off sugar like a kid. I should have been out of this freaking building pounding the streets. I should have had my gun back by my side. I should be chasing down the bad guys.
Bad guys... The thought seemed laughable now. Who even were the badguys? Was there even such a thing? Or was it made up in my childish mind? Maybe we were all a little bad and some bad guys could actually do good.
After what I experienced with Bosworth, I didn't know what anything meant anymore. Before things were clearcut, black and white. There were criminals and there were good people. Now my interpretation of that had become warped.
"Are you okay?"
I felt her hand on my thigh, squeezing me, teasing me, moving up inch by inch.
"I'm fine. Just happy to be here with you."
"I'm happy too," she smiled.
Out of her nurse's uniform, she looked younger, more radiant, more approachable. In pink yoga pants and an oversized blue sweater, she looked as though she should be reclining in a snow covered chalet, fresh off the slopes with a mug of cocoa.
"I really can't say it enough. I've never done anything like that before."
I thought of her back there, ready and eager to take me and how she came hard, tensing up around my cock like she wanted me there forever.
I became hard again and shifted in my seat. She was quick to notice the bulge in my pants and peered down.
"But I'd do it again," she said, licking a dot of cream off her top lip.
I wanted to feel that tongue on my body, wanted to watch it dart across the tip of my penis. Growing even harder, I felt myself swell and press up against the inside of my boxer shorts. It gave a nice taught sensation like I was being caressed even if it was only by the fabric.
"It's not long til I'll be out of here," I said. "I bet you'll move onto that young biker across the ward."
She raised her eyebrows and I cringed. She now knew I was watching her.
"Jealous?" she smiled.
I shook my head.
"Because he's far too young for me. I like a real man."
Her hand slid up and she gripped my cock. It responded to her immediately, twitching and heating up. I craved to have her stroke me and I found myself closing my eyes as I thought about being inside her once again.
Then, as her fingers began to curl around my length, a jingling bell interrupted us and she jumped up. Pulling her phone out her bag, she groaned and held a hand to her head.
"Shit, I'm going to have to get this. It's their dad. I'm supposed to be picking them up tonight."
I didn't need to be told who it was. It was her ex, the cock-blocking bastard.
Before she answered, she leaned in and gave me a quick, hard kiss.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I want to see you again. Outside of here.”
"I'd love that too."
I kissed her one last time before taking her hand and kissing that too. There was a heaviness in my chest as I watched her move away to answer her phone. I didn't want to say goodbye yet. As I turned to leave, adjusting my pants to hide the bulge, she touched my arm. It was the lightest of touches but tender and loving.
I looked over my shoulder and saw her talking into her phone, her voice angry and terse. But her eyes were on me, her fingers still tracing lines down my forearm.
She blew me a silent kiss and I blew one back, my stomach flipping as I walked away.
Chapter Eleven
ETTA
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have assumed things were going right for a change? This house was my prison and it was going to be my coffin too.
I looked into his gloating face and wanted to tear it to pieces with my bare hands, but I was too exhausted. Now, starved, dehydrated and terrified, I couldn't think straight. The world around me felt spaced out and my limbs were weak.
Still, the knife was by my side, a lot more useful that a gun with no bullets.
"Upstairs," he said.
Just one word, one command. Something in my gut told me that if I went back up there I'd never come back down. With every fiber of my being, I was going to fight to leave this place. He was going to have to do a lot more than simply say one word.
"Upstairs, I said! Are you fucking deaf?"
I glowered at him, wishing that he could see just how much hatred I felt for him.
"Get upstairs!"
He lunged forward to grab my arm and I swung the knife. He grabbed my wrists and held me back, the tip only inches from his throat.
"Bitch!"
I pushed with all my strength but I was no match for him. He was overpowering me and laughing in my face as the last ounce of energy drained from my body. I fought harder, imagining the blade severing an artery. I imagined his body falling to the floor as I plucked out the keys and darted for the door. Yet, no matter how much I imagined it, I couldn't fight much longer, and neither could he.
With his teeth gritted tight together and the tendons in his neck pulling themselves taught until thy looked as though they could snap, he struggled against me. We were locked together in a stalemate with our limbs rigid. His eyes were becoming watery, his face turning crimson. There was a streak of white saliva seeping out from his teeth, making its way down over his bottom lip.
His eyes were wild and bloodshot. I didn't recognize them. There were times when I was younger that I'd stare into his eyes for hours. When we made love I'd get lost in them. Now I was looking at a stranger.
With his teeth still clenched, he grunted, his voice coming from some deep and desperate part of his body that was coming to life. I could feel my arms shaking, the muscles ready to collapse at any second. I couldn't fight him anymore and he was starting to realize. There was a triumphant look in
his eyes, as his teeth finally parted in a twisted smirk of victory.
He pushed one last time and my arm buckled, the knife falling to the ground. I dropped to my knees but he was too fast and scooped it up with his bony, nimble fingers.
Pointing it right at me, he came alive. He was in charge again and he knew it.
"Upstairs," he ordered.
I remained still, my back pressed up against the wall. He was going to have to drag me up there himself.
"Get back up there!"
Tears were streaming down my face, salty and hot but I didn't know I was crying until I felt a splash on my arm. I was disconnected from my body, the scene in front of me unfolding as though it was happening to someone else. I felt hollow and empty like my mind was floating away, protecting me from the violence I knew was coming my way.
My eyes flicked up to the top of the stairs. I didn't want to think of what could happen up there. It was dark with the door to the bedroom slightly ajar. There was a glimpse of the edge of the mattress, smell of stale beer and cigarettes and something more feral; fear and human excretions.
He waved the knife in front of my face, the blade catching the light so that I could see the exaggerated reflection of his face.
"Etta..."
My name sounded dirty on his lips. It sounded like it wasn't even my name at all.
"Don't make me hurt you."
My throat felt clamped up but in a moment of anger, I managed to make a sound.
"Fuck you."
Enraged, he clutched the knife tighter, the blade shaking back and forth like a leaf in the wind. He was losing it, the streak of saliva now dripping down from his mouth like he was rabid. He was going to kill me. In the moment I was at least certain of that.
I clenched my eyes shut, not wanting to see it when it happened. Holding my breath, I braced myself and waited for the blade to enter my body. It was coming. I could feel it. Any second now it would penetrate me like a deadly phallus and I'd feel its white heat. Just a few more seconds to live.Just a few more moments to think of Lincoln.
If I had to die I wanted to think of him and nothing else. With my eyes clenched so tight I was seeing stars, I imagined his arms around me and the softness of his lips on mine as he cradled me into the afterlife. Maybe I'd see him again in another life. He spoke of fate and I believed him. We were meant to be together. Maybe this just wasn't our time.
In front of me, I could sense Craig pulling back his arm ready to plunge the knife into me. He was breathing faster with the excitement, the creak of his leather jacket signaling his movements.
I thought of Lincoln's hands entwined in mine and for a second, I was sure I could smell him, feel the touch of him behind me in place of the wall.
I was ready to die.
Then a knock sounded.
It came from the front door, cheery and musical. I opened my eyes and saw the look of anger on Craig's face morph into confusion.
"Hello? Etta? Craig?"
It was my mom's voice, light and happy and pure music to my ears.
"Mom!"
"Etta?"
We could see her press her hand up to the frosted glass as she peered in.
"Oh there you are," she sang as she noticed the shape of our two figures in the hall. "Let me in, won't you. It's freezing out here!"
Craig glanced at me, the maniacal look in his eyes intensifying.
“Well,” he smirked. “Two is always better than one.”
Before I could stop him, he was jangling the keys and unlocking the door. He pulled it back to reveal mom’s tanned face.
“Oh, hello Cr-“
Her face dropped as she saw his twisted expression, then the knife. Looking over his shoulder, she saw me and the tears that were flowing down my cheek.
“What’s happ-?”
“Get inside,” said Craig with the knife pointing at her heart. “Maybe you can teach your daughter to be a little more obedient.”
About The Author
Brooke Kinsley has been in love with words since the day she took her first breath. She loves writing steamy, sexy stories with very strong guys who fall deeply in love with the women they flirt. Coffee and wine inspired her stories and she thinks every person should partake in! Brooke lives in Quebec, Canada with her boyfriend. When she's not crafting stories, she's probably playing with her two cats.
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Jewels and Panties (Book, Nine): The One Page 5
