Captive Beauty

by Natasha Knight

  I swallow, my back arching. He slides in easily—I’m slick for him—and I like it. I like that he’s too big. That my body has to stretch to accommodate him. That it hurts to take him. I can give myself to this, right? For one month, I can let myself feel what this is. Whatever it is. This pain and the pleasure. If I choose it, doesn’t that give me the power?

  “Mine,” he grunts, as if he’s heard my thoughts.

  He’s moving slowly, taking his time, fucking me deep and with purpose, as if he’ll brand me as his with this fucking.

  “I like feeling your cunt stretch to take me. I like how tight you are. How ready for me. Always.”

  I bite my lip, he’s hit that spot, just the right spot. I close my eyes. I can just feel now. I can just let myself feel this. It would be easy to lose myself in the sensation. I only have to take care I don’t lose myself altogether.

  “Open your eyes, Cilla.”

  He calls me back and I can do nothing buy obey. I want to see him like this, his big body over mine, his thick cock inside me. I can pretend I’m safe here beneath him. And I want to watch him, watch his face when he comes.

  “I smell you before we fuck, you know. In the library too. You want this.”

  “I just want to come. Your dick will do for the next month.”

  He shakes his head, squeezes my wrists, slips his hands over mine, fingers intertwining, and I find myself gripping him back. Holding tight.

  “No. You’re not that simple, Cilla. Something happened to you. Something bad. It damaged you.”

  My chest tightens, my throat closes up and my eyes burn. He sees me and I can’t hide from him, not now. Not when he’s so close. Not when he’s inside me.

  “Just fuck me, Killian Black. Hard. Fuck me hard.”

  “No,” he says, slowing down, moving his hips a little differently, making me feel every inch of him, like he’ll take his time and know every inch of me.

  It’s too hard when he’s looking at me like this. When I’m so vulnerable.

  I don’t want it to be this way.

  I twist away, but he’s got me pinned three ways and I can’t get free. He smiles, like he knows what I’m trying to do. Like he knows what he said is true.

  “You own my body. You have no stake over the rest of me.”

  “But I’m greedy. I want all of it.” He draws my arms over head so they meet at the top of the bed, and lays his weight on me. He’s moving faster inside me, his cock thicker. He’s going to come soon. But I’m on the edge, closer than he is.

  He wraps my hands around the cool steel frame of the bed and I grip tight as his fingers slide down over my arms, the sides of my body, my waist, my skin too sensitive to his touch. He never shifts his gaze as he grips my thighs, fingers digging into tender flesh as he pushes my legs up, forcing them to bend at the knee, opening me so his cock seems to penetrate to my core. Right to my heart.

  I give over to sensation, unable not to, and he’s fucking me hard now, not fast, but deeply, intentionally, like he’s making good on his word. Like he’ll take what he wants. He’ll take all of it, all of me, inside and out, and I’m so fucking close, I can’t resist, can’t make the wave that’s coming stop. I can’t get a fucking grip.

  A sound leaves my throat, my chest, it’s a sigh and a sob and a moan of utter pleasure, of painful release, and I come. I come. And it’s like I’m drowning. I’m out of air and all I can do is come.

  “Cilla,” he groans, and I realize I’ve closed my eyes. He lays his full weight on me and it’s so wet between my legs and he’s throbbing inside me, squeezing my hands again, too hard, too hard so they hurt, and my fingernails cut into my palms.

  I can’t breathe, he’s so heavy. His eyes are closed and his face, oh God his face. I can watch his face like this for hours, days, and not get enough. Never enough. Because with him, it’s like with no one else. Like nothing else.

  And he is greedy. He will take it all. He’ll take everything from me. Inside and out, he will own me. Destroy me. Decimate me. And when he’s finished, there will be nothing left of me.

  12

  Kill

  It’s after ten in the morning when I wake up. I’m alone in the bed, but I knew I would be. Cilla slipped away a few hours ago.

  Last night was the first time I slept next to a woman in a long time. Ever maybe. No one spends the night. Not me, not them. I fuck and I leave. Period. What she said about not sleeping with anyone, she meant that exactly. I’ve had Hugo look into her past. I know how she fucks. I know she’s like a man in that regard. She goes to a bar called The Black Swan. I wouldn’t set foot in it, personally. It’s a shit hole. There, she picks up a guy, fucks him and walks away. She doesn’t take anyone home, rents a hotel room in advance. I’m not even sure she bothers exchanging names.

  When I made that comment about her being damaged, about something having happened to her, she confirmed what I suspected without words. The truth was in her eyes. She looked like someone desperate to escape. To make a run for it.

  So later, when I felt her stir, I let her slide out from under my arm and disappear back into her own room. She can act like she’s safe there. Like I don’t know her secret. Pretend she’s not as fucked up as I am.

  But there’s one thing I still don’t know. Why did she do it? Why did she offer herself in exchange for her brother? She knew what I’d require. What I’d take. She had to know this would be different than what she’s used to.

  I turn my head, close my eyes again. Her scent lingers here, just beneath that of sex. I like watching Cilla come. It’s like she gives everything up when she comes. Gives herself over completely. I want to think that’s me. That she isn’t like that with those other men.

  The thought of them pisses me off and I throw off the covers and get up.

  After a shower, I go downstairs to find the study door still ajar, my keys still in the lock. Helen comes around the corner and smiles.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” I glance up the stairs and Helen seems to read my mind.

  “She hasn’t come downstairs yet.”

  I nod. “I’ll just have coffee in the study.”

  “I’ll bring it right away.”

  On my way in, I notice the mud’s been cleaned up. After Cilla had left the library, I’d sat there with my bottle of whisky for too long. Although I didn’t take a coat with me, I’d had my shoes on when I’d left the house and gone out into the woods. Gone to the barn on the edge of the property.

  I close the study door and sit behind my desk, not bothering to open the curtains. I rub my face and take a deep breath in.

  I hadn’t been back to the barn since they took Ginny away. From the state of things last night, no one had. Maybe a mouse or two, but even the animals knew to stay away. Dust carpeted every surface, disturbed only by the weather blown in from the hole in one of the walls. Back when the house had first been built, it was a greenhouse, but by the time my family had moved in, it had been used more as a storage space. All I saw last night though was the chair she’d stood on as she’d slipped the noose around her neck. Saw her shoe. They hadn’t taken that away when they’d taken everything else. The rope. The knife. A steak knife. She’d used that to try to cut out the baby.

  Fuck.

  I shake my head, clear the memory. The image of her trying to hide the pregnancy, trying to terminate it. The bloody mess on the floor. My baby sister all alone.

  Fuck. I feel like I’m going to choke.

  If she’d come to me, I could have helped her. If she’d come to me, she’d be alive today. God, she was fifteen. Fucking fifteen years old.

  A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. “Come in.”

  It’s Helen and I find I’m disappointed. She sets the pot of coffee down, eyes the vodka and tumbler sitting on the edge of the desk.

  “You can take those back to the library. I’m not to be disturbed for the next hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She walks
out and closes the door behind her. I pick up my cell phone and dial Dominic Benedetti’s private line.

  “Kill,” Dominic sounds like he’s just waking up.

  “Morning, Dominic.” We’re business associates, not friends, exactly, but I do like the guy. He’s a man of his word. “Something happened at the club last night I thought you should know about.”

  “What is it?”

  “A few of Rossi’s men were in there.” I wait, but he doesn’t speak. I can imagine his face though. He’s always been a little hot under the collar, and I know he’s pissed hearing this. “Nothing happened, but they did have a van full of soldiers parked outside.”

  “Antonino among them?”

  “No. He’s an idiot but not that much of an idiot.”

  Dominic chuckles. “Don’t overestimate him.”

  “Listen, my cousin—” Dominic doesn’t like Benji and the feeling is mutual. But still, he’s my cousin. “You know he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.” And I’m already covering for the bag of coke incident.

  “Did that piece of shit bring them into Benedetti territory?”

  I bite the bullet. “Yes. I took care of it and I don’t think he’ll do that again, but—”

  “Fucking—how in hell are you two related?”

  “I ask myself that all the time.”

  “The boy needs to learn a lesson, Kill.”

  “Let me handle it. If he pulls shit like this again, I’ll teach it to him.” And I will. Better to get his ass kicked by me than have his knee caps blown out by Dominic Benedetti.

  “You know I respect you,” he says. I know there’s more so I don’t speak. “But if you don’t teach it, I will.”

  “Understood.” Benji’s safe, for now. “How’s Gia?” I ask, changing the subject. “How many months along is she now?” I know exactly how far Gia Benedetti, Dominic’s wife, is. And I know they struggled to get pregnant for two years so he’s handling her with kid gloves.

  “Five months and two weeks. It’s a boy.”

  I hear the pride in his tone. And even though I know this isn’t his first kid, I pretend like it is. “Congratulations. Pass that on to Gia, will you?”

  “I will. Let me know when you talk to Ben.”

  “Will do.”

  After we hang up, I finish my coffee and get up. It’s early, but I head to the club. I need to bury myself in work today. I need to do it to forget. I leave word with Helen that one of the boys should drive Cilla to the club tonight.

  13

  Cilla

  A knock on my door rouses me from sleep. I sit up and rub my eyes, confused for a moment. Memories of the night before come flooding back. The knock comes again and I know it can’t be Kill. He wouldn’t knock.

  “Cilla?” It’s Helen.

  “Come in.” I glance at the clock. It’s noon.

  She opens the door and looks at me. She’s carrying a tray of coffee and some food that she sets down. “Are you not feeling well?”

  No, not really, but not in the way she thinks. “Just a little stomach ache,” I lie.

  “Do you want me to open the curtains?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just sleep a little while.” I don’t want to run into Kill so I plan on hiding out in here as long as possible.

  “I brought some toast,” she starts.

  “Thank you. Maybe later. Um…is Kill here?” I heard a car earlier and I’m hoping it was him leaving.

  “No, he went to work. He said he’d send a driver to pick you up at nine o’clock this evening to take you into the city. You’ll have dinner at the club.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, dear.”

  “So he’ll be gone all day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Helen, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “How often does he come here? To the house I mean? Does he spend weekends here or…” I trail off because I have a suspicion.

  She looks straight at me. “It’s his first time since his sister’s death.” I’m surprised at her honesty. And I guessed right.

  “What time do I need to be ready to go?” I remember what she said, I’m just thinking.

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “Okay. I’ll just sleep a little longer and I’ll be down later.”

  “All right.” She pauses, sighs before she speaks. “He’s not a bad person. He just comes off…”

  “Like one.”

  She sucks in her lips. “I’ll check in on you later,” she says.

  “No, I’m a light sleeper so probably best not to.”

  She studies me for a minute, then nods, turns and leaves. I wait until I hear her go downstairs before I throw the covers back and get up.

  I have a feeling I know where Kill was last night. There’s only one place he could have gone to. He’d been shaken up. Drunk too, but it wasn’t that. He’d mentioned ghosts. Twice. Said they were angry.

  I go into the closet and get dressed, choosing a pair of jeans, a sweater and flat boots. It’s raining again, I can hear it on the window, so I anticipate mud.

  I know what I’m going to do is wrong, but he didn’t leave me a choice last night. It’s like every time he touches me, he strips me bare. He reads me, sees me in a way I don’t like being seen.

  He knows I’m damaged. But he doesn’t know why, because even if he digs, there’s nothing to be found. No files, no charges, no accusations. Judge Callahan, the man who took Jones and I in, made sure of that. Just like he made sure neither of us would talk by promising my freedom when Jones turned eighteen if he kept his end of the bargain. A devil’s bargain.

  “A different sort of devil than Kill.” I mutter the words aloud but I realize it’s not true. Kill isn’t like the judge. Not even close, even considering everything.

  But that doesn’t matter. I need to have leverage, something I can use to lay Kill bare, like he does me. I need to break him before he breaks me because what he said is true. He is greedy. And he won’t be satisfied with just having my body. If this was ever about sex, that’s changed. It’s about owning me, body and soul. Hell, sex he can get anywhere. All he probably has to do is snap his fingers. What he’s doing to me is something else, and I need to take back some control. To do that, I need to have something to hurt him with. And I know exactly what that something is.

  Finding a raincoat, I slip it on and step out into the hallway. I noticed last night that the sliding glass door Kill came inside through doesn’t use a key to lock it. Not from the inside at least. I creep down the stairs, keeping an eye out for Helen, but the coast is clear and I move quickly through the living room and to the glass doors. They’re not even locked and I slide one open, step out, then close it behind me. A cold, fall wind gives me a chill as I glance around. It’s creepy here, with the leaves of the half bare trees rotting on the damp earth, the furniture covered over, and the torn tarp over the pool constantly, unceasingly whipped by the wind. I hug my arms to myself, rub them for warmth, then sprint as quickly as I can into the woods. If I remember correctly, the barn is at the farthest point and it’s an almost straight shot.

  It’s colder beneath the trees. The sun can’t penetrate this dense forest. The ground is thick with mud and I think of him last night, trudging through this in socks. Was he even thinking? Was it a conscious decision? Or was he too drunk to think clearly? Too shaken up after seeing the place where she hanged herself. Because I know that’s where he went.

  Why had she done it? And how was it linked to the uncle’s murder? I know it has to be. Too coincidental otherwise and if there’s one thing I don’t believe in, it’s coincidence.

  It takes me much longer than I expect to get to the barn because of the ground being so wet, but also because the property is much larger than it seemed on paper. When the greenhouse, which was built on the front of the barn, finally comes into view, it’s much smaller than I expect. And for as well as the house has been maintained, this structure is the oppo
site. It’s dilapidated.

  Much of the glass that makes up the walls and ceiling of the greenhouse has been broken. I imagine it’s due to time and disrepair rather than vandals. The property’s gated. The back third—the original barn—is built of wood. I walk around it, look at the ground for proof that Kill was here last night, but find none. The rain would have washed it all away.

  The door is literally hanging by its hinges and I carefully push it open. If I thought it was cold outside, it’s frigid in here. I’m chilled the moment I step inside and hug my arms around myself, the creepiness of the place making me feel even colder.

  It’s dark too, the only light being the little bit that’s coming in from the cracks between the planks of wood. I take a step in the direction of the greenhouse. Plants that never stopped growing have made this place into a dense jungle with green clinging to every surface, the smell of earth and mold overpowering. I can’t walk in there if I want to, it’s so overgrown.

  But that’s not the part I’m interested in anyway. I want to see the barn.

  Wind whistles through the cracks in glass and wood and I look around for a light source, but remember that Kill was carrying a flashlight last night. I step toward the back, where it’s darker, where the wooden roof has somehow remained mostly intact. Large beams support the structure and from one hangs a wire and from it, the broken remnants of a light bulb.

  I walk deeper in while voices inside my head warn me to stop. To leave.

  Tell me I have no business here.

  Maybe they’re not in my head at all, though, these voices. Maybe these are the ghosts Kill warned me against. The angry ones.

  I walk on though, drawn to the darkness. I wonder which of the beams she used. I try to imagine the young girl walking from the house to this dilapidated old barn—was it dilapidated then? Try to think of her state of mind. Did she carry the rope with her from the main house? Was it night time? Daytime? Did she have second thoughts?