by Vi Carter
The only similarity they have is that I never told them to stop. I said nothing. Fear and uncertainty had me frozen back then. But that isn’t the case with what just happened now. It isn’t fear or uncertainty that had me just closing my eyes and wanting his touch.
Old hands fill my vision and I hate it as my skin crawls. I never told him to stop. In my reasoning at the time, I had thought that maybe if I didn’t say it out loud or to anyone, it wouldn’t be real. Maybe if I closed my eyes, each touch would be erased after it happened.
Each time, he took so much from me. It wasn’t about my flesh; it was trust; it was my voice; it was my inability to trust anyone ever again. I had always waited for that blow of betrayal from a friend, or the control of a boyfriend. That’s all I could understand. It made sense in my messed up mind. Maybe that’s why I was attracted to this guy, he hadn’t smiled at me and pretended that he wasn’t a monster behind his painted mask. No, he just never wore a mask. He didn’t pretend. He was a monster.
Before, there was that one time, that one time that just became the final time. It was too much silence, too much of being stuck inside my own head and I broke free. I broke free by running.
You can’t outrun yourself. I push away that voice that tries to laugh at me.
That’s what had led me to live on the streets. Having nothing was so much better than having something for someone to take. He took, and kept taking, and I knew it would never stop. I still blame myself. If I had just said no that first time, or second or third or fifth, maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t have continued.
I yank my arms back from the bedpost only to cause a burn across my wrist. I want to scream again. I wish I wasn’t allowed to speak; speaking to him was making this worse. It was making it more personal, and the fact I wanted to talk to him, made me realize just how pitiful I am.
I wanted to ask him his name. I wanted to know if he had parents, siblings or friends. I wanted to know how many women he had taken and tied to his bed post. I wanted to know what he intended to do with me.
Don’t be stupid, Scarlett.
I knew exactly what he would do with me. He would kill me when all this ended; whatever this was exactly, I wasn’t sure. Everything ended and for me it always seemed to end with a fucking bang.
I cry into my tied wrists. “Daddy.” His name tumbles from my mouth and it gives me permission to break. I break, and it’s like all the memories tumble onto the floor. Each one as painful as the last.
A small version of me is sitting on the back door steps having a cup of tea with him. He seemed so large, and when he looked down at me and smiled, I knew nothing or no one could hurt me, because I had him.
Just how fucking stupid was I?
His laughter haunts me now, as he looks at me with some ice cream on his nose. I’m laughing at him as I eat my own, thinking how silly he is. He never cleaned it off, it just melted from his face. I laugh through my tears as I remember our bath time dance. Shuffling our bums at the full-length mirror that hung on the back door of his wardrobe.
His gray face, that wasn’t him. I swore to everyone that they had made a mistake. That man in the wooden box, wasn’t my father. My father was a giant, with large hands and a crooked smile. Not the small and old man who lay in the coffin with sunken cheeks. I refused their sympathy. If I did, then he wouldn’t be dead. I smiled at them because I knew something they didn’t; I knew he would never leave me. He wouldn’t. Nope. Not him. I was his princess. I was his everything.
It’s too much and I scream into my wrists. I want my necklace, it has kept me safe. It kept all this pain in. I didn’t want to exist in this place without him.
I cry until there is nothing left in me to give to this horrible world. I lay my head on my wrists and close my eyes and start to sing. It was a part of me that took me to my happy place. I sang on the streets when I needed money. Recently, with all the rain, there weren’t many people around. But, when the sun was out, I often made enough to stay in a cheap hotel.
I sing myself nearly asleep. A noise has me freezing. I open my eyes expecting to see him, but I’m still alone. I listen carefully but I don’t hear anything else.
I need to get out of here. I need to get away from him before he kills me. I work the knots on the tie with my teeth. It takes a while and my face is sweaty but I manage to get free. My wrists are red and raw from all the pulling and I rub them as I remove the ties. I don’t feel as afraid as I was before. I creep to the bedroom door. The smell of him is all around me, but I know it’s coming from his clothes. I try not to think that it’s his clothes that are on my body. Opening the door I peek out into the hallway. It’s empty as I race down it. I stop at the gym and close my eyes as I try to open the door. It’s locked. I glance back up towards the kitchen area. I can hear him shuffling around up there. My feet move quickly across the floor. I enter a room I haven’t been in before. It’s a small seating area that has a bookcase to the left of the couch and a TV to the right. I’m glancing around the space for something, anything that can help me learn something about him. But there isn’t a picture or ornament. Nothing. Even the dark leather couch is empty of cushions. I move to the bookcase and pick up the first book. I’d laugh, but I need to be quiet. It’s not even real. I open the storage unit, it’s empty inside. Fake books. Christ.
I spend the next few more moments searching the small room but there is nothing. Leaving, I keep close to the wall. I don’t hear him in the kitchen anymore. My heart starts to race and I duck into the bathroom. Closing the door carefully, I check the tank and remove the razor.
I need to get the small razors out of the plastic without cutting myself. I place it on the floor to stand on it but I remember I have no shoes on.
“Do you need any help?” I spin and clutch my chest to stop my heart from leaping from me.
He walks over to me, his gaze jumping from my wrists, to my eyes and back down to the razor on the floor that he picks up. “What were you thinking of doing? Cutting my throat while I slept?”
Maybe.
I don’t answer him but look away from his dark eyes. I hate how attracted I am to him. I hate that he has even more control over me than he realizes. But he actually had realized it when my body had responded to his so easily. My face burns again as I think of that. His large hand cups my chin and I hate the softness of his hand. He holds up the razor blade in his other hand. “Were you going to hurt yourself?”
His brows draw down and I can’t answer him.
Maybe.
“This is the part where you answer me.” His fingers tighten on my chin and a part of me leans into the pain. I can understand it. I can’t understand the kindness. It’s a trap, my mind screams.
“Yes.”
His grin is quick. “Yes, to what?” He releases my face and I choose not to answer.
“It doesn’t matter. Now I have it.” He doesn’t say anything about me being out of my binds. Maybe he didn’t tie them tightly so I could escape. I want to scream at him and tell him he’s a sick fuck. His combat boots stop at the threshold, he doesn’t look at me as he speaks.
“You know the chances of you dying from cutting your wrists, are minimal. You will bleed if you hit nerves, the pain will be excruciating, but most likely it won’t kill you.” He glares at me over his shoulder. “You’ll just make a fucking mess. So don’t you dare do it.”
He’s gone out the door and I have no idea where to go from here. I’m not quiet as I leave the bathroom and move down the hallway. I check the bedroom I had been tied in. Beside that is another bathroom that’s bare of everything, even a toilet roll. The gym is after that, which is locked. I don’t stop at the small sitting room. I’m surprised the gun room is wide open. He had all these guns, so that meant somewhere he had the bullets. The hope inside me starts to grow and flourish. I wasn’t giving up. I wasn’t lying down—even if it killed me. And it most likely would.
CHAPTER NINE
DEAN
Her red puffy eyes
keep diverting to me. I’ve allowed her up to the sitting area. Some old sitcom plays out in front of me.
“Are you hungry?” I ask when the silence drags out between us. For the first time I’m aware that someone else is in my space, sitting on my couch. Wearing my clothes. Breathing in the same air as me.
“Yes.” Her answer is shy and it carries a note that implies she always is.
“Had you really no one?” I can’t understand how anyone in this world could move through it with no one. Especially someone like her.
“What?”
“Ending up on the streets, was there really no one else?” I ask.
Her face heats and she buries her chin into her knees. I let it lie as I make her some pasta. I glance at her and she’s watching me again. I hide a smile. I want to ask her to sing. I had never heard anything so beautiful yet haunting before. Her voice didn’t belong in a place like this. She didn’t belong in a place like this.
She doesn’t answer me and I try to focus on what I’m doing. Her silence is frustrating. Each time I take a peek at her, she’s watching or glancing around the room. It makes me look at the large space. It’s bare and impersonal. I’ve removed the lamp that she had used to try to kill me. I also had removed all the knives. There wasn’t much more she could use against me. Yet, that’s what it looked liked as her gaze scours the area. It’s like she’s searching for her next weapon. Once again, I think I should just drop her back on the street. She could never bring anyone here, she was out cold when I brought her to my home. I always keep hidden, I would just have to be extra careful for a while. It would stop whoever was blackmailing me and the blackmailer knew Gage was my brother. The more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I become. They had sent a message, but were able to hide their number. The average person on the street wouldn’t know how to do that. It was someone technical. Someone prepared.
I stir the pasta before turning it down. The boiling water looks like a weapon and I hesitate on leaving the room, but decide I’ll just be more careful coming back in.
“I’ll be a minute—don’t leave the couch.”
Kate bobs her head and I can see the lie in her eyes. Irritation rips through me. Her lids flutter closed and I leave before I change my mind and drag her with me. Before stepping into the gun room, I glance back out into the hall. She’s quiet. For now.
Closing the door, I get out my phone. When it’s powered up, I hate how no messages or missed calls ping. I dial Gage’s number.
“Have you heard anything?” I ask the moment he answers. My hand curls and uncurls, wanting to grip something. I have too much tension bouncing around in my body and no way to release it. I think of the Boyne Club. I just might try to go there later.
The Boyne Club normally would ease me, but for the first time the thought of it doesn’t. It does the opposite.
“I told you, I’d ring you.” Gage’s words are clipped and that pisses me off further.
“How did they know you were my brother? How did they get your number?”
“I have a tech guy trying to hack the number, but so far it isn’t easy. I don’t think it’s about the money.” Gage sounds like he’s stopped walking. “I think it’s about you.” His voice has lowered.
“Why ask for fifty grand?”
“To lure you out. Think about your profession. You’ve never messed up before.”
I clench my fist again. He is right. Taking Kate is the biggest fuck up in history. It is just a shame that someone was there to witness it. Unless, she was sent up to that roof on purpose. With her wide-eyed innocence, was she sent to trap me with her looks?
“Did you find out anything about the girl?” Gage asks and I hate how useless I feel right now.
“No. She’s homeless. She has no one.” I speak, but I’m unsure about the words I say.
“Are you sure?” Gage must hear my uncertainty.
“Yeah.” I bite out quickly. “Let me know if you hear anything.”
I’m ready to hang up when he says my name. “Dean. Be careful.”
I want to laugh and say, ‘Of what? A small female,’ but I’m starting to think she’s far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined.
“You too.” I hang up and turn off the phone before stashing it back in its hiding place. My eyes are drawn to the wall of guns. Some weapons are in the wrong place. She was at my guns, again.
I return to an empty sitting room. The smell of burning pasta has me turning off the stove and pushing the pot to the side. My gaze returns to the couch that I told her not to leave. Yet she had defied me, again. My cock hardens with thoughts of punishing her. I keep my steps quiet as I open the first door and peek into the bathroom. It’s empty. A noise comes from the small sitting room. I open the door and she’s opening and closing all the books that are just for show.
“Looking for something to read?”
The book slips from her hand and drops to the floor. She glances at me over her shoulder before scooping it up. “Yeah.”
The lie slips so easily from her lips. She had been in here already. Once again I had noticed the books were moved. When you lived alone for as long as I did, any subtle change was noticeable.
“They aren’t real.” I speak as she slides the book back onto the shelf. She hasn’t turned around but I see the rise and fall of her shoulders. She’s nervous.
She finally turns around and her face has grown pale. “I was just bored.” She shrugs.
“I told you not to leave the couch.” I turn on my heel and walk back to the kitchen. She’s moving behind me, her bare feet pad loudly on the wooden floor. She quickly returns to the couch, but it doesn’t matter. She defied me so easily.
She’s dragged her knees up to her chest again, like I’ve frightened her, not like she was caught snooping. A part of me wants to lock her up so I can think straight. I scrape the pasta out of the pot and try to separate the burnt ones before pouring a white sauce all over them.
“What did you do before you were homeless?”
I can see her pulse flicker in her neck and I wonder what’s making her so nervous. I leave the cooking and return to the couch so I can watch her every reaction.
“I worked at a checkout.” She holds her chin a little higher.
“You didn’t go to college?” I sit down and she watches me carefully.
“No.”
Irritation claws at my skin, was she lying to me? Color enters her cheeks and she shifts on the couch. Her hands tighten further around her drawn-up knees.
“Did you make friends at the checkout?”
“I suppose.” She stutters.
“You mean you’re not sure if you made friends or not?”
“Yes. I made a friend.”
“Name?”
She drops her hands and her feet touch the floor. “Will you kill her?”
“Did she do something wrong that would warrant me killing her?”
The color drains from Kate’s face. “Of course not. Does anyone deserve to die?”
Did the man I shot deserve to die? I had no idea. He was a job. He pissed off rich people. What he did, I had no clue; I didn’t care.
“Some people do,” I finally say.
“Do I deserve to die?” Pain blurs her ocean eyes and I clench my fists. Was she fucking with my head?
“You’re a thief. So yes.”
She flinches and I don’t want to talk to her anymore. I’ve heard enough of her lies. I scoop the cold pasta into a bowl and put it on the table.
“Eat your food,” I say. She doesn’t move and I glare at her. I’m in no fucking mood. I can’t stop the thought that she is here on purpose.
“I’m not hungry.” She tries to make herself look small and innocent on my couch.
I move toward her and she screams and scurries back trying to get away from me, but I tighten my hold around her and drag her to the table. I can feel her tremble as I force her into the chair.
“Eat your fucking food.” I push the bow
l in front of her and she picks up some pasta with her hand before stuffing it into her mouth.
Fuck sake.
I walk away and get her a fork. She looks up at me when I slam it down beside her. Her chest rises and falls fast, as she stares up at me with fear in her eyes.
Good.
I take my hand off the fork and shove it towards her. She picks it up and starts eating. I’m aware of how much her hand trembles.
I walk away from her before I either hurt her or play out the thoughts that are racing through my head; I want her under me. I want to sink my cock into her. Her disobedience makes me want her more. She is dangerous.
I should have killed her straight away.
I need to kill her.
CHAPTER TEN
SCARLETT
The pasta lodges in my throat and I start coughing. He’s glaring at me like I’m spreading a disease throughout his home. I try to cough quieter but the pasta has really lodged in my throat. His hand comes down heavy on my back and I try to get away from his touch. My vision blurs as I continue to cough, I miscalculate my steps as I get out of the chair and land on the ground. I don’t have a moment before I’m dragged to my feet. He continues to hammer on my back. This time I don’t pull away because I’m actually choking. A new fear clutches my chest. I could die like this. Could my life end over a piece of cold pasta?
“Get it up!” His roar is a command that the food doesn’t listen to.
If I survive this, my back will be bruised. His hand comes down heavily and the pasta finally dislodges itself. The air is thin at first as I try to drag it in, his hands are still on me. I hate how aware I am of him. His smell is recognizable to me and I hate that as well. I’m breathing a bit easier when he lets me go and I miss the warmth of his hands on my back. A crash has me tensing. His back is to me, pasta is splattered on the tiles behind the sink, the bowl that holds my pasta is smashed.
