We were both breathing hard as I pulled her with me toward the kitchen.
“Do you have anything to drink in this place?”
“What?” she asked, shocked and confused.
“Liquor, booze, anything besides these crappy bottles of wine?”
I was referring to the small wine fridge built into the cabinets.
“I don’t understand what you’re doing,” she said as she continued to struggle against my hold.
“I’m looking for something to drink,” I said absently, rummaging through her cupboards.
I needed something, anything, to keep me focused on anything but how soft her skin felt underneath my fingers. They flexed against her bare stomach and she gasped, trying to wiggle free.
“Don’t do that!” she ground out between her teeth.
“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to run away, I wouldn’t.”
“What did you expect me to do? Let you…” She trailed off and I could almost hear her swallowing.
“Let me what, princess?” I bit out. It made me angry that she thought I would force myself on her, and at the same time my brain called me an idiot for thinking she had any other choice after what I was doing to her.
“Let me what, princess?”
“Stop calling me that! You don’t know anything about me.”
“Maybe I don’t, but I know enough—Ah-ha!”
I found a small bottle of tequila hidden shamefully away from first glance. I set it on the counter with a thud and pulled down the shot glass that had accompanied the bottle.
“Wouldn’t have taken you for a tequila girl.”
“I repeat, you don’t know anything about me,” she bit out as I threw back the shot.
“Want one?” I dangled the empty shot glass in front of her face, touching the rim to her lips, but she turned away from my offer. I shrugged. “Suit yourself, princess.” I poured myself another and drank it much slower this time.
“How do you know my father? What did he take from you? I’m sure whatever it is, he’d have no problem giving it back. If you could just let me go, I could call him and—”
“What he took from me he can never give back!” I bellowed. Her back tensed against me, making me feel momentarily guilty. Manhandling women wasn’t something I was usually okay with. “Let’s go.”
18
Sin
I dragged her roughly with me into the living room.
“Who are you? I don’t understand what I have to do with your affairs with my father. What do you want with me?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, princess, but for right now, you can call me Sin.”
She didn’t respond right away. “Can I have my towel back?”
I didn’t need to be reminded that she was pressed up against me in nothing more than lace panties.
“Sorry, princess, I’m not falling for that shit again.”
“It’s not a trick!”
“Whatever.”
I spun her around and she lost her balance, stumbling into me. I didn’t want to enjoy the way her curves molded against mine or the way my heart skipped when I felt her breath against my neck, but I couldn’t help it.
Pushing her away from me, I quickly pulled off my over shirt that I’d put on in my car and used my sleeve to tie her hands in front of her, then pushed her onto the couch.
“You don’t have to treat me like a ragdoll. I can stand and sit and move all by myself.”
“Only I don’t trust you to do anything by yourself, princess.”
“How do you know my father? And don’t change the subject this time. What did he take? Why are you doing this? Maybe if I understood, I could help you.”
“Oh, you will help me. There is no doubt about that.”
She’d sat forward during her spiel, and I couldn’t keep my eyes away from her breasts, her sweet, perky nipples standing on edge against the chill in the room.
I wasn’t going to be able to stick with the makeshift plan I’d made within the last twenty minutes if I had to continue to stare at her naked body.
I walked away from her and down the hall to her bedroom. I yanked the discarded towel off the floor and walked back into the living room.
She made a tiny sound of surprise as I threw the towel over her body.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I don’t want to look at you naked anymore.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I have you blindfolded and bound. What gave you your first clue, princess?”
“Emily!” she screamed at me. “My name is Emily!”
Fuck! I didn’t want her to have a name. It was bad enough I knew she had deep-blue eyes and soft skin. It was even worse that earlier in the night, her kiss had breathed life into me for a brief few seconds.
I didn’t want her to be a real person to me. She couldn’t be a real person to me.
“I don’t give a damn what your name is!” I hardened my voice. “I don’t give a fuck about you.”
I lied. I wasn’t sure why I’d said that. The only thing I could think of was the fact that her body and the way she wiggled against the couch was fucking turning me on. I was there for revenge. My daughter’s life was worth more than a piece of ass. All that mattered was my revenge.
“Fine. Then why don’t you tell me what you do give a fuck about? There’s a reason you’re doing this, right? A plan of some sort? I mean, you’re not throwing your life away for nothing, right?”
Walking toward her, I leaned over her until I could smell the light mist of perfume she’d sprayed on herself probably as she’d gotten ready for her night out. She didn’t back down from my towering presence even though I knew she could feel my closeness.
“There’s a reason for everything, princess. Now be quiet before I gag that”—my gaze dropped to her lips. Her tongue moved across her bottom lip nervously—“annoying mouth of yours.”
She sat back, turning away from me, pretending to stare at the wall in silence. I welcomed the quiet, but it gave me time to wander around inside my head and that didn’t prove to be a good thing as I sat down in front of her. I couldn’t bring myself to say or even think her name.
I dropped my head and rubbed the back of my neck. I never expected to be sitting here with her like this when I walked into her apartment. I didn’t know what I expected, but I couldn’t turn back now. I’d carry this out and I’d make the doctor pay for taking the life of my daughter, even if that meant destroying the life of his.
I couldn’t kill her. I wouldn’t. No matter how angry I was at the bastard who took my daughter, I wouldn’t become like him. I wouldn’t take an innocent life. But there were other ways of taking her from him and I would use them all.
Stealing a quick peek at her, I saw her sitting there leaning her head against the back of the couch. I wondered what she was thinking and then realized I probably didn’t really want to know. She probably thought I was a monster, and I really couldn’t blame her.
I felt like a monster, but if she knew what her father had done, I’m sure she’d understand. She seemed like a reasonable girl. The lives he played with as if he had any right to choose who got to live and who died, it was wrong. Maybe she’d see why I was doing this and who the real monster was.
“Fucking stop!” I yelled to myself.
Emily gasped and jerked her head up. “I’m not doing anything!” she yelled back.
Her voice cracked and I could hear the fear in its tremble.
Fuck it. I was a monster and it didn’t matter what she thought. I was there for Chelsea. I was doing this for her—for my baby girl, who I was never going to see again. I’d never hear her laugh, see her smile, or even hear her call my name. That fucking doctor was going to pay and because of that, regardless of how sweet her body was, Princess Emily would, too.
19
Emily
I didn’t know how much longer I could handle the silence. I didn’t like not knowing what he was doing. I wanted to g
o into therapist mode, but I was too frazzled by the unknown. He seemed to be waging his own war and that gave me hope that I could change his mind.
One minute he handled me softly and seemed to care about my comfort, and then he’d switch and be rough and his anger was apparent. I knew nothing about him except those things, which meant I had a lot of work to do if I was going to make it out of my apartment alive.
In the distance, the clock in my hallway ticked, taunting me. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was late. Exhaustion and adrenaline pressed against my back, and I felt like I was a human game of tug of war.
I figured out what was around my eyes and cursed myself for leaving my stockings on the bed for him to grab. Sweat from my forehead and cheeks soaked them, making them droop, allowing me to peek over the top a little. It wasn’t enough to see my assailant, but it was enough to see that the lamp in the corner of my living room was on.
I brought my hands up and pretended to scratch my nose so I could tug on the stockings a bit. Whatever it was he’d tied my hands with was rough and smelled like wet grass and men’s body wash.
Giving the stockings a tiny tug, I was able to see the pictures hanging on the wall across from me. I set my hands in my lap and let the stockings rest at that level. I waited for him to say something or adjust them again, but he didn’t.
After waiting a few minutes, I pretended to scratch my nose again, and again, I gave the stockings a good tug. The room came into view and so did he. He wasn’t looking at me. He stared at the wall beside me and roughly ran his hands through his hair. Leaning his head back, his eyes pinched closed tightly and his expression turned to anguish.
My next breath stuck in my throat and I bit back the whimper of familiarly as I stared at him confusion. It was the same guy I’d kissed earlier in the night.
My eyes were glued to him. Just a few hours before, I’d thrown myself into his arms and kissed him like I’d never kissed another man. The kiss was amazing—mind-blowing.
One night of freedom. The one freaking time I’d let my hair down and did something fun and spontaneous, I had to pick the one guy holding a grudge against my father?
I shook my head to stop the thoughts from rolling in and continued to look at him.
He was so handsome it was sad, since he was obviously a sick man. No normal person would do what he was doing to me, but then when I looked at his face, I could see there was something more I wasn’t understanding. He didn’t look dangerous; he looked just as sad as he did the first time I’d seen him.
I had male patients—plenty of them who came in quite often—so I’d seen men cry before, but this man wasn’t crying. He was in pain. He wanted to cry. I could tell by the look on his face, and even though I was sure crying would bring him some relief, he never shed a tear.
Dark circles ringed his pain-filled brown eyes before they disappeared behind his palms as he ran his hands down his face in aggravation.
He stood and went to the wall in front of him. Placing his palms against plaster, it looked as if he were pressing all of his anger and anguish into the wall. The picture of the beach beside him shook the more he pressed.
His tight, white shirt clung to his back muscles and they flinched the more he pressed. Worn, faded blue jeans rested on his hips, a black belt holding them up but still allowing me to see the top of his hunter-green boxer briefs.
Replacing his palms with his forehead, he ran his thick fingers through his dark hair, making it stand on end. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I felt sorry for him. Whoever he was, he was dealing with something serious, and part of me wanted to help him.
What could I say? Helping people was my job.
I didn’t know if I should stay silent and enjoy being able to see again or if I should say something. Maybe now that I’d seen him and knew who he was, he’d leave the blindfold off, but then again, maybe he’d kill me so I could never turn in him. I took a chance.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly as if I were dealing with a rabid dog.
He swung around with wide brown eyes and looked down at me.
“Shit!” he yelled as he hurried toward me to cover my eyes.
The stockings pulled at the back of my neck as he started to put them back over my eyes. And again I panicked.
“Please,” I said with a strained voice. “Don’t cover my eyes again. I feel like I can’t breathe when I can’t see. I swear I won’t even look at you. Just don’t.”
I looked up at him and tried to make him understand. A strange emotion passed across his eyes before he let go of the stockings.
“It’s not like it matters anyway. You’ve already seen my face. You know who I am.”
“I don’t know who you are. I know nothing about you,” I said convincingly.
He let out an annoyed sigh and again ran his fingers roughly through his hair.
“What the fuck am I going to do with you?”
“Let me go,” I said softly.
It was worth a shot.
“That’s not going to happen,” he snapped. “Keep looking at me and I’ll blindfold you again. Keep talking and I’ll gag you, too, got it?”
I nodded and looked away.
I couldn’t help myself. Therapist or not, I let a tear fall. I was going to die. I was positive of that. I’d never see my dad again. He’d go crazy without me. And Ethan, what would he do once I was gone? Probably move on quickly and find an equally boring woman to share his life with.
“Shit. Don’t do that,” he said in anger.
I wasn’t supposed to talk or look at him, so I kept my head turned and didn’t respond. Instead, another tear fell, and as badly as I wanted them to stop, they wouldn’t.
“Seriously, fucking stop. You’re wasting your time,” he said menacingly.
There was a hint of desperation in his eyes when I finally looked up at him. He ran his hands through his hair again before coming at me.
“Fuck this shit,” he said as he pulled me to my feet.
My legs and feet tingled from sitting too long.
“What are you doing?”
He pulled me across the room and turned a kitchen chair around so it was facing the wall. I gasped as his grip tightened on my arm and the air quickly left my lungs as he roughly sat me in the chair.
My fingers tingled when he untied them and a tiny bit of happiness seeped in when I thought maybe he was keeping me untied, but instead, he pulled my arms behind the chair and retied them.
My shoulders were pushed back, making it look as if I were poking out my chest. I felt so exposed and it was uncomfortable. The confident girl from earlier in the night was gone and in her place was little ol’ me, and I couldn’t stand being naked anymore.
He disappeared and returned with the towel. Looking into my eyes, he covered my breasts and stomach, and I appreciated him doing that for me. But then he spoke and the tiny bit of confidence that I’d tucked away shattered.
“I can’t look at you naked. It’s making me sick,” he growled.
Embarrassment filled me and my cheeks burned. I’d kissed him earlier, and I thought he’d kissed me back, but apparently he thought I was disgusting. All the flirting I’d done with the bartender, and any other man who’d flirt back, earlier in the night came back to me.
Were they all thinking the same thing? Did I make a total fool out of myself?
I trained my eyes on the wall in front of me and cried quietly to myself until my eyes felt heavy. I fell asleep sitting naked in the chair with a towel covering my front and tears drying on my cheeks.
20
Sin
Fuck! I was being a dick, but looking at her naked did make me sick—sick with desire and something else that made my cock so hard I thought it would explode. Lust—it was definitely lust, but there was no room in my situation for such a thing, and no matter what I had to do, I’d make sure to squash those thoughts.
I thought sticking her in a chair facing away from me would help, but all it did was make
her back arch more and her breasts lift as if they were teasing me. They stood at attention, her dusty pink nipples hardened from the cool air around us, as if they were waiting for my mouth to devour them.
I was going crazy. My mind was a mess. Three things were happening all at once. One, I wanted revenge. It was the most important of the three, and no matter what else happened, I was determined to get it.
Two, she knew who I was. I couldn’t kill her. I didn’t have it in me to take her life the way Chelsea’s had been taken from her. I’d do what needed to be done, and then I’d disappear—become a new man somewhere far away from everything I’d ever known.
That sounded good sometimes, but then there were times when I’d think about Constance and leaving her alone. Also, I’d never be able to visit Chelsea’s grave. I hadn’t been back since they covered her in dirt, mostly because I was afraid I’d do something irrational like dig her up just to hold her again.
I didn’t like the idea of being so far away from her, even if it seemed like a good idea when I was holding women against their will while trying to destroy a man any way I could.
The third thing was I was so fucking attracted to Emily that it hurt… literally. My dick got rock hard every time I looked at her pink skin and soft breasts. I felt like a thirteen-year-old looking through my dad’s old seventies porn magazines. I’d even considered leaving her while I went to the bathroom and relieved myself.
But as much as seeing her naked hurt, seeing her cry was worse. No matter how badly I wanted the old me gone completely, the man I used to be before all this happened still peeked his head out every now and again.
I hated that fucker. Why wouldn’t he just die? Why couldn’t I be the monster I wanted so badly to be without feeling like shit afterward?
I spent an hour wearing her living room carpet thin as I walked the room. I had a lot to think about, and I was running out of alcohol. I barely noticed that Emily hadn’t spoken another word.
Quickly, I went over to her. Her head was down; the only thing holding her in the chair was her tied arms. Her forearms were turning purple, not because I’d tied her too tight, but because she’d fallen asleep leaning up and pulling against the ties so tightly.
The Wrath of Sin Page 7
