by Lake, Keri
Shaking my head, I remember I still have to walk through the stupid trailer park. “Across the street.”
“I’ll walk you home. Think you need a doc for that cut.”
“I’m not going to no doctor. It’s just a cut.” I scramble for my fallen books that’d been knocked out of my hands during the attack. “So, I told you my name. What’s yours?”
“Jase.” He smells like metal and rain, as he stuffs his dirty hands into his pockets and walks beside me. “You don’t look like a Lucy.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, you don’t look like a Jase either, Jerk.”
“I been called worse.” His smile grates on my nerves and I want to storm off. “Lucy is too old fashioned for a young girl.”
“Well, what would you call me, then, if you’re such an expert on names?”
He studies me for a moment, those green eyes swirling with thoughts I wish I could see. “I’ll call you Luce.”
I frown. “Loochay? What does that mean?”
“It means light.”
I blinked from the memory, staring at Jase, who looked trapped inside a memory of his own, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond me. “You didn’t call me by my name. You called me—”
“Mia Luce,” he finished. “My light.” His eye twitched, and his thumb rubbed the edge of my neck as he appeared deep in thought.
“I remember you, Jase. You were—”
“Shut up.” He released me, kicking backward a step. “I’m not whatever fucked up image you’ve got in your head right now. Whatever hero shit you’ve made out of me doesn’t exist.”
“I saw a bit of that boy yesterday. With the dog. You wanted to save him, too.”
“Enough!”
“That tattoo isn’t who you are.”
He sneered. “Oh, yeah? And how would you know what I like these days?” His tongue slid across his teeth, before his lip curved into a wicked grin. “My idea of kinky is as fucked up as I am.”
“Try me,” I deadpanned, clenching my teeth. “You want to tie me up? Fuck me 'til I stop breathing? Slap me? Cut me?”
He flinched.
“I’m not afraid of you, Jase. The tattoos. The club. The scars. The knife? You don’t scare me. I’ve seen some shit over the last few years, and I’m sure as hell not the sweet innocent light you remember. Those white lilacs have withered and blackened, and are as much a part of the dirt as the weeds.”
His fingers squeezed my throat, cutting off my words. “Shut up. Don’t say that. Don’t ever fucking say that. You’re still good.” Squinting his eyes, he looked away as if he’d lost his head a moment.
You’re still good. At the memory of those words, the words he’d said as he’d cleaned my wound that day, and washed those boys from my skin, I frowned at the same time that tears sprung to my eyes. “And you’re still delusional.”
“Am I?” His lips brushed the sensitive spot behind my ear, as his whisper penetrated my body on a shiver. “What if I told you I’m just as bad as those kids in the woods? That I’d tear into your body on the dirty fucking floor and defile you. Would you beg me? Have you become so different from that little girl that you’d welcome it?”
His body slammed against mine, and I squirmed to break free of his grasp, my knee sliding up between us to kick at him, but he flattened against me.
“So protective of yourself, aren’t you Lucy? Always ready to add a little fight with your fuck. I’ll bet you love it. I’ll bet every man who tries to fuck you gets a taste of that feisty little animal inside of you that guards your morals.” Sliding his hands up my arms, he pinned them to the wall and exhaled a breath, the heat falling against my throat as he curled his fingers into mine. His hips rocked into me, undulating with such perfect rhythm, my defenses flipped off. “What I wouldn’t give to nail you against this wall and smile when your morals come crumbling down.”
Everything he’d said was bad, but he made it sound so damn good. The slow and controlled movements of his hips beating against mine promised absolute pleasure. It didn’t take a genius to see that the man liked control, and mine was disintegrating with every roll of his hips.
I choked back a whimper and tightened my jaw. “That’s what you want from me? Do it. What have you been waiting for all this time?”
As he stiffened against me, his eyes shifted like a feral animal that’d been backed into a corner and challenged, and still holding me captive against the wall, he slid his teeth along my jaw, until his lips slammed against mine in a brutal kiss.
Instinct begged me to fight him off. Slap him. Push him. Hurt him.
Instead, I melted. I fell into his kiss, savoring those perfect lips against mine. I relished his flavor, a hint of sweet liquor, with each lash of his tongue, while the indomitable steel of his muscles caged me against him. For a moment, I was in a dream, one where he wasn’t my kidnapper and the burden of wrong and right didn’t exist.
A moan vibrated in his mouth, tickling mine, and his hand gripped the back of my head, pulling me closer, as if trying to pull me inside of him. Suffocating me with his kiss. The fury of his lips had my senses flicking off, one by one, until the only one I had left was the taste of him on my tongue.
As his fingers curled around mine, I slid down the wall a little, losing strength in my knees, and he pulled away, leaving me a panting hot mess.
“I want you. Fuck, I want you. Right here. Against this wall.” He squinted his eyes as though in pain, while lust and tension waged a battle across his face. “Get on the bed.”
He released my arms, and I dropped to the floor, crawling across the carpet to the bed as he commanded.
He stood over me, massive, intimidating and powerful. “Lie back. Arms up.”
Hot and cold. His mood switched faster than light flicking to darkness. He could take that power and shove it straight up his ass. I wasn’t his toy that he could treat tender one minute and cruel the next.
The spark of rebellion that’d kept me guarded, as he’d so intuitively pointed out, rose up from its depths inside of me. “No.”
“No?” From the holster beside me, he slid the hunting knife he seemed to always carry around with him, and as he twisted it in front of me, threatening me, I did as he asked, lying back on the bed. “We’ll see how scared you are, Lucy. And you’ll come to know exactly what I like these days.”
“Go ahead. Do it. Do what you want. I know who you are, Jase.” I tipped my chin in defiance. “I know you won’t hurt me.”
Did I, though?
The zip of his knife tore away my clothes, until I lay exposed, beneath the weight of his stare, where he stood beside the bed. A sharp breath blasted from his mouth as his gaze swallowed up my defenses with a wolfish sweep of my body. He licked his lips, a predatory glint lit his eyes, and his finger circled my nipple, soft, almost not touching it at all.
Gripping the sheets, I tuned my mind into the tattoo, the anger, desperate to ignore the way his fingers had my nipples hardening and my body primed for his punishing touch.
His neck bobbed with a harsh swallow. “Arms up.”
Against everything inside of me, I did as he ordered and raised my arms. “That tattoo. Does it make you feel powerful? Like a man?”
“Yeah. It does.” He removed his belt and strung it through the bars of the headboard and around both wrists, tethering me to the bed, before buckling the loops tight. “It’s going to be the last thing you see when I tear into you.”
“You’re not the boy I remember.”
“Guess that makes us both delusional, doesn’t it, princess?” From the nightstand, he nabbed the bottle of whiskey and pounded back a shot, eyes on me the whole time, then wiped his mouth with the back of his arm.
I hated that the sensation of being bound by him had me wet, more wet than I’d ever been with any other man. It was denial. No other reason could explain why I’d allow a rapist to tie me up. Why I’d follow any of his commands. I’d always had a kinky streak, had even fantasized the kidnapper scene a few time
s, but being with a real kidnapper went a little outside of innocent role play.
Somewhere inside of me, I didn’t believe him, though. That probably made me delusional.
The only way to know for sure, to see how far he’d take it, was to play along. “Go ahead, then. Cut me, if that’s what you plan to do.”
His face morphed into a mask of seriousness. Brows drawn, eyes narrowed, he studied me, probably for any sign of bluffing.
I kept my eyes locked on his.
Five seconds seemed like an eternity, as he shifted his jaw, spinning the knife in front of both of us. “This is what you want?”
Leaning forward, he held himself inches from my face, the scent of liquor filling my head with thoughts of being fucked by him. Raw. Primal. As intense as his stare on me right then. His tongue slid across his full lips at the same time the cold steel tip drifted down my throat, nothing more than a faint scratch of what was to come, until it reached between my breasts.
Oddly enough, I wasn’t scared. His bark was intimidating enough, but I wanted his bite.
A few seconds later, a snap was followed by the cool sensation of air hitting my pussy. His gaze fell from mine, and he lifted the blade, from which my panties hung by a tear in the lace.
I bit my lip, as he buried his face in them, breathing deeply, before tossing them aside. A feral mask of hunger stared back at me when he glanced back, his eyes hooded with lust, and left me squirming on the bed. Not to get away from him, but for those big fingers to part my thighs and make me scream his name.
“You see, Lucy? You fuck with my head, you get fucked in return. Nobody plays this game better than me.”
His slow deliberate moves had me on a razor’s edge of anticipation. Would he fuck me? Cut me? The innocent boy I’d met in the woods was long gone, and in his place was nothing but a broken shell of a man. Destroyed by the world.
How messed up was I for being turned on by him?
He was dark, threatening, and sexually magnetic, all rolled into one three-dimensional package of fuck me.
He unfastened his jeans, pushing his pants down just far enough for me to see the enormous bulge in his briefs. “You want to know what torture is, Lucy?” He leaned forward and kissed my inner thigh, inciting a twitch of my muscles. Deep masculine sounds of satisfaction rumbled from his chest, as he inhaled, dragging his nose across my bared sex, while his fingers dug into my hip. His hot hands seared my skin where he touched me, burning my muscles and stoking the heat in my belly. “Wondering how you’d taste on my tongue if it was buried in your wet pussy.”
Lifting his gaze back to mine, he moved to the end of the bed and pushed my knees up, spreading me open to him. Exposed.
My feet slid into the indents in the mattress, where his fists planted either side of my ankles. Stiff hairs of his stubble brushed the sensitive skin between my thighs, and I arched back on reflex, letting out a soft moan.
I stared down my body at the beautiful sight of his head positioned right where I needed him. Just one touch. God forgive me for lusting after a raping bastard, but I needed one touch and I’d stop. My body, the traitorous bitch, burned to have him lick me, finger me, touch me, anything.
“I’m an addict, though,” he kept on with his tormenting words. “One taste of you wouldn’t be enough. I’d want to fuck you all night. Every night.” He parted me with his fingers, and his hot breath danced across my bared clit, teasing me.
“Fuck me, Jase!” The words rushed out of me, and I shrank into myself the moment they left my lips.
“Christ, you’re perfection.” He lowered his head, and it was then I noticed his bicep, glistening with sweat, the bands of tattoos across his arm pumping, pumping, pumping away as he jacked himself off.
Bastard!
I ground my ass into the bed as he kept me exposed and craving a single touch. “I hate you! I fucking hate you.”
His tongue swept the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and a zap of ecstasy hit my core, while he pleasured himself with my torment. “Say it again.”
“Fuck you!”
His laughter raked my nerves, and I let out a whimper of frustration. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect tits just begging to be touched. Thighs spread for me, wishing I’d tongue that beautiful pussy. Beg me, and I might.”
I writhed against the bed, the desperation of needing to be touched leaving an aching throb between my thighs. The slow agonizing roll of want pulsed through me, almost painful, as every cell in my body nagged me to go ahead and beg. “Go to hell.”
A pinch of pain hit my thigh, as he bit down, groaning with his own release. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” He pushed up and jets of warm cum hit my belly, before he collapsed over me, catching himself on the bed. His hooded eyes and clenched teeth, lips curved into the edge of a smile, told me he’d enjoyed himself at my expense.
We remained still, as he breathed deep and rested his head against my breast. Sliding back down my body, he returned to my thighs, and his tongue painted my clit in a single long lick that punched my libido and had my hips bucking as I cried out.
Sliding his shirt over his head revealed the deep grooves of his chiseled abs, followed by his muscled chest, covered in tattoos. With his T-shirt, he wiped my stomach clean before lifting the bedsheet and covering only my lower half, leaving my breasts left fully exposed and on display for him. “I want you just like this when I come back. Maybe then, I’ll fuck you, like you asked.”
“Rot. In. Hell.”
His roguish grin set my thighs twitching, but the murderous desire to pummel his face had me wishing my hands weren’t bound.
The exaggerated sweep of his tongue across his lips tugged at my core, as he licked the taste of me from himself. “By the way, your wet pussy tastes like perfection.”
He zipped up his pants and strode out of the room, locking me inside. Alone. Wet. In need of a release my bound hands couldn't fulfill.
The ache of disappointment would probably last most of the night, but at that point, I knew the truth.
I’d called his bluff.
24
Jase
Hotel Savarine, or Hotel Winston, as some knew it, sat on the corner of Jefferson and Lenox Street, about six miles out from downtown. Little traffic meant it was a perfect spot for underground parties, and Dax was notorious for hunting down some crazy gigs.
I parked on the side street and and yanked my hoodie up over my head to conceal my face, as I crossed Jefferson to the back of the building, where one of the boarded up windows had been pried open to let partygoers in. Dim lanterns and white Christmas lights had been strung across the main floor of the otherwise dark hotel. Rolls of carpet and cables had been pushed aside to the walls, along with the larger chunks of debris. I stepped over rotted wood and cardboard, making my way to what was something of a courtyard, smack in the center of the building where all four walls of apartments faced one another.
Lucia. Fuck me. What were the odds? What kind of sick and cruel joke was it that the girl from my past, whose gray eyes had haunted me for years, the girl who’d changed everything in my world, would be the one strapped to my bed?
For a kid who had nothing, had grown up with nothing but dirty fucking rags and scars across my skin, she was something straight out of a dream. Like finding a spring of fresh, unpolluted water in the middle of the slums.
She’d mind-fucked a hole right through my skull, threatening to dredge up something I’d buried a long time ago. Hope. A small glimmer of what I might’ve wanted, what I might’ve busted my ass to have—something clean and pure. Like Lucy.
Kids with shady pasts and drugged-up parents, who lived in trailer parks and stole shit to get by, didn’t get the girls who lived in the houses across the street, though. They got the easy ones. The tripped-out ones who didn’t give a damn whose cock banged them, as long as enough green slid across their palm by the end of it to pay for the next hit.
Numb, mindless fucking that did nothing more than blow off a little steam.
No skull mining for feelings that didn’t exist and pasts that couldn’t be changed.
I didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted to finish what I’d started without the touchy-feely shit clogging my brain, without putting reason or regret to my actions.
I hated that she saw beneath the mask, beneath the bones and flesh, and yanked at my soul like a beam of sunlight fighting its way through murky waters of a swamp.
That warmth called to me, as she lay sprawled out on my bed—a fucking prayer trapped in a mind full of debauchery. I’d have taken her and snuffed out that light quicker than a used-up candlewick, pulling her into the cold and empty truth of what I’d become over the years. A thief. A murderer. A selfish prick with a single motive of survival.
I needed to get numb again. Her touch had penetrated deeper than anything ever had; it sent a message to my defenses, and the fucking traitors had closed down, making me vulnerable for attack. I had to drown it out. Fill it up with liquor and a nameless face who’d swallow my rage and let those images of a beautiful girl and her gray eyes sink back into the sludge of memories.
Music echoed from inside the courtyard, the bass thumping away, and as expected, the place was packed. High as shit, women dressed in skimpy skirts and tight tops, stood grinding on men equally cranked out of their minds.
Keeping my head low, I weaved between bodies, dodging the stray hands that drifted across my chest and grabbed my ass, as I made my way toward Dax and Rhys in the corner.
Beside Rhys sat another guy, who’d came with us on the explorations every so often, a friend of Dax’s from the boxing gym, named Xavier Marchand. Everyone called him Pretty Boy. His half-black-half-white mixed background gave him a light skin-tone and, coupled with his pale blue eyes, lean body and six-foot height, made him a magnet for women. That, and he worked as a DJ for one of the clubs downtown, likely one of the reasons Dax hung out with the kid. Had he gone to New York or LA, Xavier could’ve probably snagged a modeling contract in a heartbeat, but like the rest of us, he preferred the other side of the camera, and performing stupid stunts that would, no doubt, eventually get us killed.
