Escaping the Blackness (A Cooper Brothers Novel Book 1)

by Norma Jeanne Karlsson

  I feel sick to my stomach as images from my childhood rip through my mind. The thing that makes me sick is that I should hate guns and death now. I should want to be as far away from that as I can get. But instead, I crave it. Bull wove death into the fabric of my being and I can’t let it go without unraveling myself entirely. There’s no escaping the blackness of my past. It looms over me at every corner. And I welcome it, because in the shadows of my past, I know what I am.

  A killer.

  “He was a serial killer,” Cara says, bringing me back to the room.

  “I was the serial killer in that equation,” I snort humorlessly.

  “Jake—”

  I shake my head to stop her. I need to keep going.

  “Bull became more bloodthirsty as the years went on. He was always evil, but the glint of psychosis in his eyes grew as each day passed. Just before I turned eighteen, shit went south. His newest project was in the house and Bull didn’t want me to hide this time. It was a family. A husband and wife with a little boy. He was seven. Bull and the parents talked about God a lot while they were there. I sat in silence for the most part, trying to figure out what the fuck was goin’ on.

  “When Bull pulled me outta bed that night, I knew shit was different. He was practically foaming at the mouth. I sat in the deer blind alone for the first time. Bull waited for the family that night. And when that family walked into the field, I hesitated. I couldn’t do it. There was no fuckin’ way I could kill them. Bull knew it. He’d done it to fuck with my head. When I didn’t shoot, he grabbed the little boy and put his muzzle to his head, staring at me in the distance.

  “I killed the parents, hoping to save the little boy. When the wife’s body dropped, Bull smiled and shot the kid in the head. That dumb fuck gave me three bullets for the family. I had a round left and blew Bull Rivers away with it. The FBI dragged me outta the deer blind twenty minutes later.”

  I’ve made Cara cry twice tonight. She’s not making a sound as tears race down her cheeks, dripping off her jaw. The thing that haunts me the most about my life with Bull is the fact that I waited that long to kill him. I could have taken him out at any point, but I didn’t. I did what he directed without question and murdered people at his behest.

  I went to school like a normal person too. I sat in classes with other kids and kept my mouth shut. I didn’t utter a word to a teacher or counselor. I was just as guilty as Bull. It was my hand those people died by, not Bull’s. How could I turn him in without outing myself?

  I didn’t care. I didn’t care that I was murdering people. I lived in denial, believing there must have been a good reason I was killing them. But when I met that family, I knew. I couldn’t deny my reality any longer. We were killing for fun and nothing else.

  “What happened next?” Cara asks in a shaky voice.

  “I was taken into custody for murder. I was never officially charged, but I was threatened with fifty-three counts of first-degree murder along with a slew of other charges. I was the worst serial killer in United States history. Then Shane showed up. He kept me outta prison and gave me a job. Three months later I met Nick and Kat,” I finish quietly.

  “Why?” she questions, her eyes in a far off daze.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did he do it? Why did he make you kill those people? Where were they from?”

  “He was sick. He got off on the murder and makin’ me do it. He didn’t kill very many people before he had me start takin’ the shots. That was the fun for him. Somethin’ about playin’ God made his pulse race. He mostly found homeless drug addicts and roped them in with promises of spiritual connections and warm meals. The FBI found him when he started takin’ people from conservative religious sects around the south.”

  Cara climbs in my lap, straddling me as she cups my cheeks with her long fingers.

  “I want you to listen to me,” she instructs, her green eyes determined.

  I nod.

  “You’re not a serial killer. You’re not a murdering psychopath. You’re a tortured child who learned how to survive. He would’ve killed you, Jake. I don’t have to know that motherfucker to be certain of that. He would have taken your life if you didn’t obey his commands.”

  “My life’s not more important than fifty-three others’,” I argue.

  “Your life is all you had back then. It’s the only thing you had. You didn’t have love, family, peace, safety or anything else that matters. You had your life and that was it. You had to protect it. If you would’ve let him kill you, where would I be? Where would Riley be?” she asks seriously.

  I don’t want to think about either of those options.

  “If you had a choice back then, would you have killed those people? If you believed you could just walk away and never fear retaliation, would you have stayed to kill those people?”

  “No,” I answer instantly.

  “You didn’t crave the death. You craved the safety of living another day,” she points out just as Shannon did.

  I don’t respond. I still hate myself for what I did back then. I feel like an idiot for not stopping it sooner. I feel weak.

  “Would you blame me if I liked to be beaten during sex because that’s what I was bein’ trained for?” she goads me.

  “Cara,” I warn, not liking the turn this conversation is taking.

  “Would you blame me if I wanted you to choke me until I pass out? Would you blame me if I wanted you to burn me? Would you blame me if I wanted you to gag me? Would you blame me if I wanted you to share me?”

  “It’s different and you know it,” I grind out, lifting her off my lap.

  I stride out of the room and slide my feet into my boots before stomping out the door as I shrug my coat on.

  This midnight excursion doesn’t provide me with any relief. The crisp, frigid air simply matches the void in my chest. All I can see are those boy’s eyes before Bull pulled the trigger. He watched me murder his parents and never shed a tear or made a move. But I looked into his eyes through my scope before Bull squeezed the trigger. He looked defeated. His big blue eyes held no fight and no will to go on.

  His life is the one that haunted my dreams. Him pleading for me to help him. Him begging for me to save him. Then Bull would make me shoot him. Every nightmare I had was the same. It wasn’t until Kat held me in her arms and blanketed me in love that I finally let go. I let that little boy join his parents, hoping he found peace.

  I hope he did, because I haven’t.

  I pushed too hard for too much with Jake. It’s been four days and he still hasn’t said more than a few words to me. He’s pretty much normal with Riley, but Mitch and I aren’t getting more than grunts.

  He’s in pain.

  Fuck, how could he not be?

  The life he lived is worse than what I went through. My only concern was how to make it from one day to the next. Jake’s was how to make it from one day to the next and how many lives that journey would cost him.

  I don’t know how he’s become the amazing man he is today. I don’t know how he was able to be the strong young man I met six years ago. But I know it’s because he’s good down to the core of his being. I know the power fear wields. It’s not something you can hide from or ignore. It works its way beneath the surface of your skin and spreads like cancer, consuming your every thought and movement.

  I used to think about how easily I could have escaped Smith’s when he had me. There were no bomb vests keeping me captive. The locks were normal and easy to open. I slept on the other side of the townhouse we lived in. I could have gotten up at night and ran. I could have, but I never did. I stayed there for fear of what would happen if I left.

  I stayed in that dungeon for days after I’d been abandoned because I was afraid it was a test. I could have been free for days instead of starving to death.

  Fear is a powerful tool and Bull used it against Jake from the time he was born from the sounds of it. He never mentioned finding out about his mother. I assume B
ull killed her. So Jake was alone with a monster, training him with fear. Why would he try to get away or change the situation?

  Jake’s convinced he’s the same monster Bull was. If he turned on Bull back then, he would’ve been admitting he was just the same if not worse. That’s fucked up on so many levels I can’t begin to count them.

  Now Jake’s pulling away from me. He believes I see him as that monster when I only see a savior. The one chance he had to stop Bull in the face of doing what was right, he did it. That’s because Jake would never harm an innocent person of his own free will. That was the first moment in Jake’s life where he felt he had a choice. He made the right one trying to save that boy.

  I just don’t know how to make him see it.

  “Your man is in a serious funk,” Mitch whispers as I sit next to him on the couch.

  “Yeah,” I agree on a sigh.

  Jake’s out securing the perimeter for the third time today. He spends as much time outside as he can now. Riley’s unaware of her father’s struggles, but she can tell he’s not quite right. She keeps coloring him pictures, trying to make him smile. He always smiles at them, but it doesn’t reach his haunted eyes.

  “You got his past out of him, huh?” Mitch asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “As fucked up as I think?”

  “Worse than you can imagine.”

  “Fuck.” He shifts a little so I can look into his smoky eyes. He’s worried now. “This shit with Cash isn’t helping. Roman called this morning while Coop was out. They still don’t have a bead on Cash. The colder the trail gets, the worse this is for us.”

  I nod.

  “Try to talk to him, Cara. He can’t be stuck in his head right now. He’s gotta be on his game until we wrap this shit up,” he urges. “I’m gonna take Riley outside to play when Coop gets back. Take the time alone to get through to him.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” I admit sadly.

  I tried that night when he walked out. I chased after him and basically beat my head against a brick wall trying to get him to listen to me.

  “He loves you, Cara. No matter what. You can get through to him,” he assures me with a pat to my leg.

  He climbs off the couch and heads toward Riley’s room just as the front door opens and Jake returns. I stay on the couch as he moves down the hall before shutting himself in the bathroom. A few minutes later a snowsuit clad Riley comes barreling in the room, excited to build a snowman with the freshly fallen snow.

  When she starts asking me to join, Mitch hurries her outside, shooting me an expectant look.

  I take a few breaths before pushing to my feet and walking to the bathroom. The shower is running as I listen at the door. He showed me his scars. It’s time to show him mine.

  I ease the door open, trying to move silently. Once I’m in the steam-filled room, I pull Jake’s hoodie off, quickly followed by the rest of my clothes. I steel my spine and ready myself emotionally for what I’m about to do.

  I rip the white shower curtain open and Jake spins to face me with his fists at the ready until he sees me. His eyes don’t leave mine and mine don’t leave his. We stand in silence for a long while, silently communicating what this means to us.

  “The first night they had me, I was gagged with a ball,” I explain. “The strap cut into my face.” I point to the no longer visible scar, but it’s still there when I close my eyes.

  “I was whipped most days,” I say, turning my back to him where none of the scars remain to the naked eye but still rip through me on my hard days. “Then the burning and shocks started.” I lift one foot at a time to show him the marred skin of each heel. I paid for that. Trish didn’t know what she was doing and scarred me, which made me less valuable. She starved me for almost two weeks for daring to be human.

  I turn again to face him without meeting his eyes. “My nipples would bleed from the clamps and swell to the point that breathing hurt.”

  “The day I was forced to suck an old guy’s dick, I threw up so violently I passed out,” I breathe out raggedly. “I cracked my head open when I hit the concrete.” I pull my hair to the side where the scar remains just inside my hair line.

  I hold out my wrists, whispering, “The day I stood in the DCA safe house in Virginia with a straight razor to my wrists, I stopped the last scar. I stopped it when I looked in the mirror and saw your hoodie dangling behind me. You were there reminding me I could choose to live my life.

  “None of these scars compare to the ones I carry with me. I have the memories of those years. The smells are the worst. If I smell something from that time, I can’t control my reactions. I know pain and I know fear. I also know the torture of choices being dangled in front of your face. The worst part is looking back and thinking, what if. The problem with what if, is you never know the answer. You can question yourself for the rest of your life about the decisions you made while Bull had you.

  “But he had you. You weren’t free to make choices. You weren’t an adult with the knowledge of the world. You weren’t loved with a family to run to. You weren’t safe unless you did what he told you to.”

  I raise my eyes to meet his and find tears running down his cheeks mixed with the water from the steaming shower.

  “I can carry these scars that you can see and the ones you can’t, because my burden has been lifted by the people who love me. But the real reprieve came when I decided that I could lift the load from my aching soul by forgiving myself. You’re not ready to forgive yourself. So let me carry the burden of your scars until you’re ready. That’s what you did for me six years ago. You carried that load away from me until I could manage it on my own. I’ll do the same for you now,” I finish strongly.

  “I can’t be your burden,” he croaks.

  “You’re not my burden. You’re your own burden. You torture yourself more than Bull ever did. Let me carry you. I’ll help you escape the blackness, just like you helped me.”

  Jake considers me for a long while, then his eyes leave mine and trace every inch of my naked body. Even in the sweltering heat of this tiny room, goosebumps break out over my skin and my breath stutters.

  I allow my eyes to peruse his form at the same time. His hands are in tight fists, cording his already ripped arms. Water is sluicing down his torso, creating stream along his sculpted chest and chiseled abs. I follow the nature-derived arrow of the V-muscle to find a trimmed patch of light brown hair and a very large dick that’s growing by the second.

  He wasn’t hard when I was talking. I didn’t need to look to know that my being naked and talking about being tortured didn’t arouse him. Now that I’m not talking, our bodies are reacting. And what a reaction this is.

  “Cara,” Jake says as though he’s almost in pain.

  My eyes snap to his and I don’t find physical pain in his gaze. I see hurt and heat, want and need, love and trust.

  I step toward him and watch his throat bob. He’s nervous. I’m beyond nervous, but I need to be near him right now.

  I step over the edge of the tub and pull the curtain closed. The shower is blocked by his body, but I can still feel the sting of it peppering me. He’s burning himself, trying to wash away the guilt.

  I reach around his body and adjust the temperature before looking into his big brown eyes.

  “Don’t hurt the man I love,” I state firmly. “If you’re struggling, come to me. But don’t punish yourself anymore. You’ve been hurt enough in life, I can’t watch you cause yourself harm.”

  “Stop talking,” he growls before grabbing my face with force.

  His movement shocks me so I grasp his wrists to keep myself upright.

  “I love you, Cara. I see nothing of your past when I look at you. I only see the best piece of me. I see a way to escape the blackness when I look into your stunning green eyes. You’re my savior, sweetheart,” he whispers the last part and then his mouth is on mine.

  It’s a slow, sensual kiss. He doesn’t urge me on. He brings me in, coaxi
ng and teasing until I’m the one urging him. Our bodies are pressed against each other so tightly there’s nowhere for the water to seep between us. My hands are clutching at his shoulders while his have moved from my face down to my ass. I’m moaning and rubbing against him to relieve even the tiniest amount of pressure building. My nipples ache from the contact with his chest while his dick remains pressed against my stomach, bringing attention to the friction of my movements.

  “Please, Jake,” I moan as his mouth leaves mine in favor of lapping up the water from my throat.

  “Not in the shower,” he groans as I wrap a hand around him.

  I start pumping my hand, ignoring his request. If I let him stop, I’m afraid he’ll pull away again. I need him to connect with me. This is more than sex. This is me trusting him with my body in a way I’ve never trusted another person. I need him to see that I’m giving him my everything because I want his in return.

  I kiss my way along his shoulder and up his neck while I continue to stroke him. His body is rigid and flexed, all of the tension between us seeping from him pores. I pick up the pace and his head falls back as he hisses through his teeth.

  I use my free hand to cup his balls and he shouts, “Fuck!”

  I flick my tongue along his nipples as I massage and slide. I don’t think his dick will fit inside me, but I’m oddly excited to try. I’m wet. I’ve never been wet before. I’ve heard it described, read about it, I’ve even seen images of it on Google. I wanted to know what it was. I wanted to experience what everyone says is so amazing about being aroused by someone. It’s definitely an outstanding feeling.

  I squeeze Jake a little harder and move my hands faster. I know he’s close. His eyes are clenched shut while his jaw is grinding. I look down at what I’m doing just as his body tremors and he sprays my stomach and tits with come. I keep pumping until he shudders and then goes lax.