by KV Rose
“Mark,” the guy says, his fingers curling around a half-full beer. He’s taken as many shots as I have but he’s not swaying on his stool like I am. “Where did you come from, Ella?”
I wait for him to say something about me falling from heaven and I think I’ll fall right the fuck off this stool if he does, drunk or not. That’s too cringey. But he just waits.
He just waits for me to answer his nice, normal question, with a nice, normal smile on his face. Nothing to make me want to gauge my own eyes out. To cut my heart out of my chest and give it to him while I beg him to love me.
He wouldn’t hit me. Probably not even if I asked him to. Probably not even if I begged him.
“West Virginia,” I answer him, and his eyes light up.
“Which part? My parents are from West Virginia, we go back a lot.”
I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, feeling the warmth in my face and my blood from all of that tequila. Too fucking much. But I force myself to focus on Mark’s deep brown eyes. “Beckley. What about you?”
He takes a sip of beer and shakes his head once. “You’re not going to believe this, but Glen Morgan.” He laughs softly to himself, taking another drink.
“Wow.” And I actually am surprised. What are the chances we’d both have roots to little towns right off the Turnpike?
“Looks like tonight was fate.” His eyes dart behind me, to his friend who is talking animatedly to someone else, then come back to me. “What’re you doing for the rest of the night, Ella?”
I stifle a yawn, rub my eyes and glance down at Mark’s lap. He’s more muscular than Maverick, taller than me, but not quite as tall as him. He’s got no tattoos that I can see, and he has short brown hair, thick and coarse. His arms and face and neck are tanned, and I imagine it’s from working outdoors. I imagine he doesn’t have any wounds on his back but he’s probably got lots of nicks and cuts and callouses from his work.
I don’t even know if Maverick actually does work.
“It’s morning,” I point out, propping my head up on my fist, elbow on the bar. “I’m tired.” I don’t know why I’m saying that, why I’m suggesting maybe I want him to take me to a place with a bed. I know if I do that, if I end up in bed with him, he’s going to expect me to fuck him and I’m going to do it.
If only to get Maverick out of my head. That girl calling him ‘Daddy’. He’s never asked me to call him that. I don’t even know if he actually liked it, but I don’t care. I’ll probably hear that single word ring out in my head for the rest of my life.
I’ll probably never talk to him again and I’ll still hear it, and I’ll still hear him telling her he wants to fuck her in the ass and I’ll see her turn over and him roll his eyes at my silent ‘No’.
Mark clears his throat, leans back to take me in. “You’re really drunk, Ella.”
I nod my head. There’s no point denying it.
He sighs, looking suddenly regretful. “Do you want me to take you home?”
“No.” It comes out faster than I mean it to, and I’m not even entirely sure I mean it. I should go home. I need to go home. But what’s at home? Maybe my mother. Maybe her lover. Maybe nothing.
Being with my mother has never felt like home.
Being with Maverick did since the first morning I woke up in his bed.
Mark arches a brow. “I can take you to my house,” he offers, blowing out a breath. “But I don’t know if—”
“It’s okay,” I assure him, despite my head screaming at me to stop. I reach out and clasp my hand over his, knowing I’m crossing a line and much too quickly, but I don’t care.
And when Mark’s brown eyes gleam at my touch and he threads his fingers through mine, I know he’ll be gentle. Kind. He won’t hurt me. Like Connor, he has some sort of respect for women. For me.
For himself.
He smiles at me, and I keep my hand in his as he nods toward the bartender for the bill. I don’t bother offering to pay; I don’t have money.
I drop his hand as he pulls out his wallet, and let him know I’m headed to the bathroom. He frowns as he thumbs out his card.
“You sure you can make it in there?” he teases me, but there’s real concern, too. I glance around the bar. It’s not nearly as crowded as it was the other night the fight broke out, but there’s quite a few people. Mainly men.
Still, my head might be buzzing and my brain might be moving a little too slowly, but I can get to the bathroom by myself. I’ve been drunk before.
I nod, slide down off the barstool.
The bar spins and for some ungodly reason, 929 by Halsey is playing in here and I can make out the words among all the guys shooting the shit and shots in here at an ungodly hour.
Ungodly.
I snort to myself at the word. That’s what Maverick is. It’s what he’s always been. Ungodly. I would’ve given him anything he wanted. Any offering, any tithe. I would’ve given him my entire heart if he could’ve just given me something, too. Given me a piece of him buried beneath all that darkness. Given me something to hold onto.
I swallow hard, keeping the tears at bay. There’ll be time for that later, when I fall apart in my own bed. When I have to face my own life after a movie-like month of borrowing someone else’s.
I head down the long hall toward the restroom, and I’m glad it’s empty. I put my hand on the wall to steady myself, giggling as I almost trip over my own two feet.
Mark is nice. Tonight will be nice. He’s probably not kinky and the sex probably won’t be great, but I won’t think of him, and that’s all that really matters.
It takes me a second to puzzle out which restroom I’m supposed to use and another second to get pissed I have to pick one because who fucking cares? But eventually I make out the girl in the triangle dress (because who doesn’t love a good triangle dress?) and I splay my hand against the wood to push it open.
But someone grabs my arm, whipping me around. My arms shoot out to his chest to catch myself as everything seems to spin around me.
I tilt my head up to meet his baby blue gaze and he has one hand pressed against my low back, the other clutching my hand.
My stomach sinks.
“No,” I say softly, shaking my head. “No, no, no. You’re not here.”
He doesn’t smile at me. “I am, pretty girl.”
“Go away,” I mumble, smacking half-heartedly against his chest. “I have a date.”
He cocks his head, frowning and making the tattoo on his face pull down a little with the motion. “I heard.”
I stiffen in his arms. “You know Mark?” I can’t help the hushed awe that eclipses my words. He really is god.
“Mark, is it?”
I nod, my brain fuzzy. My words slurred. “Yes. Mark. Brown eyes. He paid for my drinks.”
“You’re too young to drink, baby.”
I want to rest my head against his chest. I want him to carry me to his car. To take me home. To tell me this has all been one awful dream.
But that girl. That girl. What he did… “You messed up,” I inform him.
He nods once. “I did.”
I angle my head to see him better, letting all of my body weight fall against him, his hand tightening around my back to keep me upright. “Mark is nice.”
“Ella, that’s enough about—”
“Mark is a good guy. He’ll be nice to me. He won’t hit me, you know, Maverick?”
Something flashes in his baby blue eyes but I don’t know what and I don’t know if I’m just seeing things because everything is blurry at the edges as he holds me up, close to his chest.
“He won’t hurt me and he won’t—”
He spins us around, shoving me against the wall, one hand on my throat so tight I suddenly can’t breathe. “That’s not what you want, Ella,” he informs me. “No one will fuck you like I can. Not fucking Mark. Not Connor. Not that asshole Shane. No one. Do you understand?”
I try to move my head but his fingers around my throat k
eep me from moving at all. I wonder if I’m going to pass out. I wonder if I want to.
“And besides that, you want me to hurt you. Right now, you want to hurt me, too. You hate me, but even still, Ella, even still…” He presses himself harder against me, my head knocking back against the wall. “You want to heal me, don’t you, pretty girl?” His grip tightens, and there’s going to be a bruise and I’m going to faint. “Hate me. Hurt me. Heal me,” he says again. “Well, come on, baby. Play God with me.”
I try to draw breath, but I can’t. My fingers move to his hand, trying to pry him off. I’m sick of playing with gods, and even as I scratch at his hand, try to get him to let go, I don’t think I’ll really care. If he wants to steal my breath, let him have it. Gods always win, in the end.
Even if we get down on our knees and bow our heads and say our prayers, they take our lives anyway, and he’s already got my heart. What’s my lifeless body to add to the offering?
He leans down close, his breath against my ear. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
I stop scratching at his hand.
“I’m sorry I did what I did. That girl didn’t mean anything to me. No one really means shit to me Ella, did you know that? I didn’t think I could ever fall so far and so fast for someone, and yet here you are. You were right, about not wanting to let anyone in. Not wanting to give my secrets away.”
Stars pop in front of my eyes and I stop struggling. Stop trying to push away from the wall. I let him squeeze me as hard as he wants, as long as I can hold onto these words. These whispered confessions.
“But I’m going to give them to you, Ella, because you deserve them. And you’re not going home with Mark, and you’re not running back to Connor, and if I ever see fucking Shane in my life, I’ll kill him with no hesitation.”
His fingers loosen just as black edges form in my vision. “You can’t—” I gasp, drawing in a shaky breath. “You can’t tell me what to—”
He clamps back down, stealing my words. “I own you, Ella. I’ll tell you what to do for the rest of your life, and guess what?”
I can’t speak so I can’t guess. I let my eyes flutter closed, wondering if this is how I’m gonna go. At the hands of a beautiful, broken devil.
“You’ll tell me, too.” He brings his lips to my mouth and kisses me without letting me breathe. “You’ll tell me,” he says again against my mouth, “and if I ever fuck up again, you can sink that knife straight through my heart, but you’re not going anywhere because after I tell you all my secrets,” his mouth covers mine again and I feel myself sliding against the wall, my fingers numb, the oxygen leaving my brain, “you forfeit the ability to leave me, Ella. If you tried, I’d kill you first.”
He loosens his hold considerably, and I take the opportunity. I take it, because if I don’t, I’ll do just what he said. I’ll go back with him and he’ll spill his secrets and bleed his heart and I won’t leave. I’ll forgive him for one thing too many.
So I dig my fingers into where I think I cut him, and it seems my aim is true.
He lets go of me, cursing under his breath, and I run. I’m stumbling and I might fall, but I’m running as far away from that dangerous boy as I can possibly get.
And I run right into Mark’s arms.
“Woah, Ella,” he says with a little laugh. “There you are. I was coming to check on you.” He wraps his arms around me and I hold him tight.
“Take me back,” I say quietly. “Take me to your house.”
“Ella.” Maverick’s voice at my back.
Mark’s arms tighten around me. “Do you know this guy?” he asks, his words low.
I shake my head in Mark’s shirt. “No. Take me back.”
“Ella,” Maverick growls. “That’s my girlfriend,” he tells Mark, whose arms tense around me.
“No,” I blubber against Mark. “He’s not. I don’t know him anymore. Take me away—“
“If you take her out of this bar, I’m going to kill you.”
Mark squeezes me hard. “What was that?” he growls. “I’m not leaving her with you, you piece of trash.”
I tense, thinking of my trailer. Of my mother. Of Shane. My sins.
Maverick laughs. “See, Ella?” he whispers. “That’s what your new friend Mark thinks of you. Piece of trash.”
No. No. No.
“Get me out of here!” I scream at Mark, pounding my fists on his shirt.
“Shh,” Mark says consolingly. “I’m going to get you out of here, and then we’re going to call the police.”
No we’re fucking not. But I don’t say that. I don’t say that, and instead, I let Mark wrap his arm around my shoulder and spin me around. I don’t look back as we walk out, Mark’s friend joining us as Mark snaps his fingers.
I don’t look back, and Maverick doesn’t stop us, but I hear him, almost as if he’s whispering the words just for me.
“If you leave, Ella, don’t you dare come back.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
A week later and I’m on his doorstep where Connor dropped me off hours ago. He finally pulls up, slamming on his brakes in the driveway. For a split second I wonder if it’s because he saw me, or because he’s just generally an asshole.
But when he puts the car in Park and doesn’t even bother shutting the door as he slowly walks up to me, I realize he definitely sees me.
And I realize maybe this was a mistake.
Maybe all the ignored phone calls, me hiding in my room when he’s come to the house, texts I deleted without reading…maybe I should’ve never come back.
I stand to my feet, taking a step back onto his enormous porch, reaching for the column at my back to steady myself.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He’s got his keys in his fisted hands and I see something flecked across the back of them and up his wrists, just below his black shirt.
Something red.
“W-what’s that?” I make myself ask, Sid’s words coming back to me.
Be careful with Maverick. He’s always got blood on his hands. Get out while you still can.
He doesn’t look away from me. “Maybe it’s the remnants of that fuck you took home last week, Ella.” He spits on the ground. “How was Mark, by the way? He fuck you good?”
“You wouldn’t—”
He closes the space between us and grabs my arm, yanking me forward. “You have no idea what I would or wouldn’t do, kid. So don’t fucking try me.”
For a moment, I’m with Mom again. For a moment, she’s screaming at me that I ruined her life. That my persistent hunger is costing her too much money. That I’m ungrateful. Lazy. And after Shane, a slut. That I stole her one chance at happiness. For a moment, I am a kid and I deserve this.
For one moment.
But then I hear Maverick saying, I want to fuck you in the ass, and the moment passes.
I’m none of those things my mother called me. And I’m definitely not a fucking kid.
I yank my hand out of his grip with enough violence that he actually lets go and I see a flash of surprise on his face.
“Whatever I did or didn’t do with Mark, you deserved worse. You deserved for me to do it in fucking front of you.” I step forward, getting in his face but keeping my hands by my sides. I’m afraid I’ll actually hurt him if I don’t and I’m not sure just how brutal this might get. “You deserved to never hear from me again. You deserved to wonder if I ended up happy with someone else. With someone who might know how to say something nice and mean it. Who might know how to open up to me! To fucking talk to me—“
“Because you are the queen of communication, right, baby?”
“—to tell me what you do when I’m not here. What your weird ass friends do. Where you work. Why you hole yourself up in that office and why you’re alway angry—“
“Do you want me, Ella?”
What?
“Do you want me?”
The rest of my tirade falls from my mouth and I’m almost embarrassed. Almost embarrassed I
said so much to someone who has given me so little of himself. Someone who has fucked me over in one of the worst ways.
I take a step back and cross my arms. “What?” It’s all I can think to say.
“Do you want me?” he asks for the third time. “Do you want me, or do you just want someone?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what—“
“Do you just want anyone who will have you? Pull you out of where you’ve been? Take you away from your mom? Feed you? Fuck you?” He steps closer and I step back. “Love you?”
No. No, that’s not it at all. He has no idea what he’s—
“It’s okay if you do, baby,” he whispers, and there’s no malice in his words. No anger. He doesn’t touch me but he steps even closer, his blue eyes locked on mine.
I want to look away. I want to tell him he’s crazy. I want to tell him this is about him and what he did to me and not about—
“It’s okay to want to be loved, Ella.” He reaches out a hand and brushes a lock of hair from my face. I remember he has blood on his skin but I can’t move. I can’t speak, even as he cups my chin. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing wrong with that.”
I think of how he said that about the kinds of sex we have. The kinds of things I wanted from him. I feel suddenly hot, warm all over.
“No,” I manage to say. That’s not it. I’m not desperate. I know what love is. I’m not starving. I’m not...
He leans down, brushes his lips against mine. “It’s okay, baby,” he assures me, and my heart swells and I think it might crack. I think he might break it and I think...
I think...
“I want it, too. But I’ve been with women. I’ve chased the high. I still do. I was still looking. Until you.”
A tear spills down my cheek and he brushes it away with his thumb.
“Until you came along and wrecked my whole world under a stupidly beautiful moon. I was so angry and you were so willing and...” He swallows, averting his eyes but not letting go of me. “And I was terrified.”
