Rampant (Condemned Book 2)

by Gemma James

  “What the hell is that?”

  “That's where you kept Alex after we kidnapped her.”

  “We what?”

  “Dude, she ruined your career and your reputation. One little lie from a De Luca and your life went up in smoke. Losing your dad was the final hit. I don't blame you for wanting revenge.”

  He continued speaking, but I couldn't hear the words through the blaring noise in my ears, the throbbing pain at my temples. My attention cut to the cage again. Had I built it? It was sturdy, the sort of prison that wouldn’t be easy to escape from, and I didn’t miss the hook in the ceiling or the cuffs dangling from it. What the fuck had I done? Who had I become?

  A feeling I couldn’t pin down fell upon my chest, making it difficult to breathe, and the fantasies I’d ignored since early adolescence surfaced. Those cuffs, the ability to lock away another human being…a sexy, vulnerable woman…I squeezed my free hand into a fist as my dick hardened. Fuck me and my deviant thoughts.

  Just fantasies.

  They didn’t mean anything, and they sure as fuck didn’t mean I’d lost my damn mind by acting on them. I stumbled back, gripped my head, and told myself to breathe. “I wouldn't have done this.” My voice sounded far away, as if filtering through the hollow of a tunnel. Someone else's voice. Someone else's life.

  Someone else did this.

  “I'm sorry, man. This was what I was afraid of. I shouldn't have brought you down here.”

  With morbid curiosity, my eyes veered to the cage again, and one glaring detail finally punched me in the face. A locked up prison cell, but no prisoner cowering inside. If I’d kidnapped her…then where the fuck was she?

  The fall from euphoria was like hurtling through the air without a parachute. Hitting bottom hurt worse than anything. I remembered everything. How deliriously I’d wanted him, how strong our connection was during those hours when only an infinite amount of pleasure existed. Sorrow, grief, guilt…none of it had burdened me.

  I didn’t have to open my eyes to know the warm body against mine, clutching me possessively, was Zach’s and not Rafe’s. His hangover stench attacked my sense of smell. With a deep groan, I leaned over the side of the bed and vomited every last memory onto the hardwood, purged it all from my system. But my system refused to stop spiraling into the depths of horror.

  I’d sucked his cock. Willingly, wantonly. Like the whore he always accused me of being. Somehow, in the confusion of my fucked up mind, I’d thought he was Rafe. How was that even possible?

  “What did you give me?” I asked, my voice raspy from deep sleep. After we’d fucked half the night away and the restless energy in my veins subsided, I’d conked out like the dead.

  “Just a little ecstasy.”

  I shook my head, untangling from his hold. “I’ve tried E before. That was…something else.”

  “That was the purest shit you’ll ever come across.” He rolled me until we lay face to face. “Plus I gave it to you anally. I knew it would open you up.” He slid a hand down my hip, around my upper leg, and burrowed between my clenched thighs.

  I shrank from his touch, and his eyes darkened. His hand inched higher while he tangled his other in my hair, yanking until my eyes watered.

  “Let me go.”

  His hairy leg slid between mine, giving him enough room to shove his fingers in me. “You’re gonna get wet for me, Lex.”

  I closed my eyes, clicked my teeth together, and tried to tune out his heavy breathing, but I couldn’t ignore his touch. He spread me wide, thrust deep, pulled out, brushed my clit, and repeated the process over and over at an unyielding pace. A subtle pressure built in my core, increasing with the slide of his fingers. I drew blood from my lip to keep from rocking my hips.

  Oh God. Why? Where had my armor of apathy gone?

  He leaned forward, his lips expelling rapid breaths into my ear, and whispered, “Welcome back.” Withdrawing his hand from my pussy, he forced his fingers into my mouth. “Taste that. That’s want. That’s need.”

  I chomped down hard. As he jerked away, trying to save himself from another vicious bite, I scrambled in the opposite direction and crashed to the floor. “I hate you!”

  “Last night, you said you loved me.”

  “You drugged me!”

  “No, I freed your mind and worked past all the shit you carry around with you. You think it’s wrong for us to be together?” He propped himself up on his elbows and glared down at me from the edge of the mattress. “Last night, you didn’t feel that way.” He reached out and ran his thumb across my trembling lips. “And you weren’t thinking of him, were you?”

  Rafe. It was Rafe. I wouldn’t have done that with Zach. Only Rafe. I blinked rapidly and pushed away, ass sliding across the floor in desperation. My spine hit a wall. The corner beckoned me, offering the illusion of safety, of escape. I huddled there, arms snaking around my knees as memories from the night before hit me with full force.

  For a few hours, Rafe had been alive. In my arms, in my hands, in my mouth. Alive. Warm. Mine. I pulled in a breath, tried to force it deep into my lungs, and panicked when I couldn’t. Tears blurred my vision, grief choked my throat, and the glaring truth flooded my senses. It had all been a drug-induced illusion my psyche had used to trick me. A pitiful sound escaped, part sniffle, part sob.

  Zach climbed to his feet, the tangled sheets and bedding coming with him to hang over the side, taunting me with the evidence of our wild night of sex, one in which I’d been a full participant. The observation almost made me retch again, but I swallowed the sour taste of disgust burning my throat.

  “Get up,” he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. Once I stood on jittery legs, he herded me into the bathroom and switched on the shower. I clenched my hands into fists, eyes firmly shut as water flowed over me. The sobs wouldn’t subside. They drummed out in soft shudders I couldn’t control. If I didn’t open my eyes, if I blocked out his touch, maybe I wouldn’t totally lose it.

  No, I was losing it. Pain was not a new entity, but this type of crushing anguish—the kind that made it nearly impossible to breathe, to think, too see beyond the next second, minute, hour—would make the strongest person crumble. And I wasn’t strong. Not in this moment. My thoughts jumbled, zipping through my mind so fast I couldn’t grasp any of them.

  Save for one. Rafe was dead. Last night I’d lived a dream, so vivid I could still feel him against me. But I’d never feel him again. Never hear his voice, his laughter. Never breathe in the musk of his skin, feel the sweat of his brow at my breasts. Never again lose my breath to the vise of his hands around my throat. I’d give anything to get that back, even if giving up control terrified me.

  Zach ran a blade up my leg, startling me. “Dry it up, Lex. You’re pissing me off.”

  “I-I c-can’t.” A hiccup echoed in the stall, followed by another.

  He took his time shaving my legs, and I let him. And he let me cry it out. Every atom of my body was fightless. Worthless. Eventually, he finished grooming me and tugged on my hand, urging me from the shower with a gentleness that penetrated the crazy state of my head. A towel landed around my shoulders, pulled tight in front, and he wrapped another around his waist before threading our fingers together. A hint of tenderness softened his expression as he led me into the bedroom.

  “I know it feels like the end of the world,” he said, leaving me standing at the side of the bed, “but it isn’t. Things will get better. You’ll adjust.” He strolled to the dresser and withdrew clothing from the paper bags he’d brought in last night. “Get dressed.” He tossed a sundress at me.

  I held up the garment by a spaghetti strap, not only taking note of the short hem, but how oddly similar it was to a dress I’d owned as a teenager. That particular dress had disappeared after some random guy had complimented my legs while wearing it. “It’s too short.”

  “That’s the point. Put it on.” His mouth curved into a wicked line. “No panties. You won’t need them.”

/>   Something about his demanding tone, along with the fact he was choosing my clothes for me, made my back straighten. “You wear it,” I said, throwing it at him, “since you like it so much.” The towel didn’t cover enough, so I grabbed the sheet from where it cascaded down the side of the mattress and tucked it around my body.

  He crossed the room and stood before me, but I kept my gaze trained on my bare feet, refusing to raise my eyes to his. Anger radiated off him in palpable waves, and in my periphery, I saw his hands clench before unfurling. He yanked the sheet and pulled, rolling me with it until I fell onto the bed with my back facing him. The dress landed by my head. “Get dressed before I beat your ass.”

  “I’m not your fucking puppet, Zach.”

  Feet stomped across the room, and I heard a drawer open and slam shut. The ominous sound cringed through me like fingernails on a chalkboard. I curled into a protective ball, preparing for the strike of whatever he’d removed from the dresser. A belt? I stiffened as his strong hands pulled me toward him, rear end first. He inserted a finger in my ass, and I cried out, squirming to dislodge it, panicked at the thought of repeating last night. His body pressed me into the mattress as his finger flamed in my rectum.

  “Hold still. Soon, you’ll fly for me.” He swept my hair back, and his mouth opened over the sensitive skin underneath my ear, hot tongue searing flesh. “You always taste so good.”

  Oh God…no…

  The soaring feeling from the night before trickled in, and my body felt weightless.

  Oh shit…yes…

  “Grmmddd…” Fuuuuck…

  What was I trying to say?

  “I’ll take care of you,” his deep voice said, each word pronounced in slow motion. “I can make you happy, Lex.” He withdrew his finger, and I heard the unmistakable sound of him spitting before he dipped it in again, making my insides clench in a blissful ache. “No one loves you like I do. I just wish it didn’t take this to lower your guard.”

  Somewhere in my hazy brain, I knew I should feel shame at the moan that poured from me—long and continuous as his finger fucked my asshole. His palm kneaded my butt cheeks, and his other hand spread my legs, fingers reaching for my clit.

  I fisted the messy bedding and groaned, my teeth clamping down on the twisted sheets. My hips bucked and tension coiled low in my belly as I impaled myself on his fingers. Again. Again. Shit…harder.

  So close. Ooooh…good God. I didn’t want this. It was wrong. So horribly detestable. A deep burn ignited in my chest, threatening to turn to me to ash. Rafe’s face pulled at the edges of my mind, compelling me to follow, to free-fall into the memory of him.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and allowed the fantasy to take over. Rafe’s hands, his skin on mine, his breath in my ear. His fingers pulling at my hair. “More,” I groaned. “I need to come.”

  He pulled away, and I cried out in protest, begging him not to stop. Every part of my body tensed, readying for release, needing it, and the longer he delayed, the more the ache intensified.

  “Put the dress on.” He tickled my back with what felt like silk before dropping the garment on the mattress. “Then I’ll make you come.” His steps retreated, gently padding away. The creak of a door sounded. I crawled to my hands and knees, turned my head, but he was gone. How could he leave me like this? I needed him, but needing him hurt too much.

  My heart pounded at an alarming rate, and the burn still simmered in my chest, a moment away from incinerating. I doused the dark thoughts and clutched the dress, slid from bed, and my body poured like fluid onto the floor. With a sigh, I lifted the silky material and pushed my head through, wondering why I’d put up such a fight. Pure sin encased my flushed body, and I rubbed the silk between thumb and forefinger, over and over again, entranced by the texture, certain I could never stop touching it. Slowly, tension ebbed from my bones, my limbs, my hands. The fire in my chest was but an ember.

  The door opened, and I blinked, the silk forgotten. I gazed at him in the doorway, and his crooked smile hit me in the chest. It was so open and free. So fucking sexy. In that moment, he resembled someone else, someone who struck a cord of comfort in me. I peered through the warped glass and tried to figure out the puzzle of the man standing on the other side.

  “Come here,” he demanded, holding out a hand. I moved with effortless grace, my feet gliding across the floor, and slid my palm into his. He lifted a cup to my lips, and the water that poured down my throat extinguished the fire.

  “Your feelings for me are real.” His fingers wiped my brow. “What I gave you doesn’t make you feel things that aren’t there. It frees your mind.” He pulled me against him. “It’s making you mine again.”

  Ever since Jax showed me the horrors hidden in my cellar, I’d spent every waking moment digging into the past my brain refused to remember. I’d spent hours on the Internet reading about the rape trial, watching it unfold from the seat of a spectator, though I was the main star. I’d watched the police haul me from a training session, hands cuffed at my back. What I found most disturbing about that piece of footage was the guilty look on my own damn face.

  As if reading about the trial wasn’t torturous enough, I dug into Jax’s background too, which I found nothing on. I wasn’t sure he’d understand my need to know more about him, so I didn’t tell him I was looking into his life, but I couldn’t swallow the idea of a stranger living on my father’s island.

  What bothered me most, however, was Alex’s disappearance. The media had yet to report on her miraculous return from the dead. Going by the news reports of her “death,” authorities had found her car in the Columbia River two and a half weeks ago. Jax said we’d pushed her Volvo in after taking her from Portland. He also said I’d decided to let her go hours before I got shot.

  So where the fuck was she?

  I could think of only two possibilities. Either she was terrified by what I’d done and had gone into hiding…or something unimaginable had happened to her. While I agonized over her whereabouts, my partner in crime was too busy working or disappearing to care about what had happened. Jax’s only concern was staying out of jail. As long as Alex didn’t surface, we were safe from being charged for kidnapping. He also suspected she’d had something to do with the shooting, which didn’t make him her biggest fan.

  My amnesia ensured I didn’t remember shit, and it was frustrating as hell.

  There was only one person in this new reality I trusted. Certainly not the stranger at my side, or my own brother. No matter what Adam said about reconciled differences or how he thought I should come back and work at Mason Vineyards—familiar routines and all of that—I couldn’t talk to him.

  But fuck, I needed to get out of my own head or I was going to go crazy.

  I took a deep breath and climbed the steep staircase that led to the front door of Nikki Malone’s house. It had taken some needling of old friends, but I eventually got her address out of a girl who’d had a crush on me in high school. Nikki’s place was up the mountain, nestled between clusters of Douglas firs. The Columbia River peeked through the branches, and I wondered if she had a view of the island from the porch wrapping around her home. The place was huge, built more recently if the modern angles and vinyl siding accented with stone was any indication. She’d done well for herself.

  I hesitated, feet planted on the welcome mat, my fist poised to knock. She was engaged to the enemy. Jax would probably rip me a new one for trusting her, but I’d known her too many years not to. I rapped on the door and waited. A white BMW sat in the driveway, and I assumed it belonged to her. She had to be home.

  I lifted my hand again, knuckles nearing the wood, and halted at the unmistakable thud of steps.

  She pulled the door open, and her eyes widened, her mouth gaping. Same golden hair, same seductive brown eyes, but something fundamental had changed in them. Like most things these days, I couldn’t put my finger on it. Nikki was not the same Nikki I’d known before my mind decided to check out on me.

>   “Rafe,” she said with a smile that lacked the warmth I remembered. She ran a thumb along the edge of the door.

  “I should’ve let you visit me at the hospital,” I said, figuring her less-than-enthusiastic welcome stemmed from my turning her away. “I’m an ass.”

  “It’s okay. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose so much of your memory. Confusing?”

  “Something like that.” I gestured toward the door she held close to her body. “Can I come in? I really need to talk to someone, and you’re the only one I trust.”

  “What about Jax?”

  I tilted my head. “How much do you know about him?”

  She shrugged. “We talked at the hospital. But he goes on about you like you’re his brother or something. Guess you guys are close.”

  “Were close, maybe. I don’t remember him at all.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, and something oddly familiar slid down my spine. Like I was the one who should have been watching my back…hiding something from her? I shook the idea from my mind. It happened often—a seemingly inconsequential phrase, gesture, or object, such as the table in my own damn kitchen. There was history on that slab of wood, and I wasn’t talking about the many years I’d spent there with my dad and brother. Something about it bothered me, yet excited me all the same.

  “I could use some air,” she said. “Want to walk?”

  Why did this seem so familiar? I nodded, shaking off the weird feeling.

  As she slipped into a pair of sandals, I saw into her home. Open, airy, with vaulted ceilings, a stone fireplace, and wide windows that overlooked the river. The sun cast a beam of light into her great room. She stepped outside and pulled the door shut, then wrapped her arms around me.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her lips brushed my cheek as she backed away. “Do you remember anything at all about that night?”

  “Afraid not.”

  We reached the stairs at the same time. I indicated for her to go first, but she halted, lifting a hand toward my face. “Wait, you’ve got a little…” She brushed her thumb on my cheek. “Wouldn’t want people talking about how you were wearing my lipstick.”