by K. A Knight
Grinding my teeth, I pretend to lean into his touch, wanting to gag from the thought, and bring my knee up at the same time. He howls when it connects with his junk and I slip around him, grab his arm, and smash him into the counter, twisting his arm up to unbalance and subdue him. “Don’t you ever touch me again!” I yell, pushing him hard for good measure before grabbing my food and backing out of there, not taking my eyes off him.
He spins, stumbling as he goes, and throws a glass at me as I duck out of the kitchen and race upstairs. I throw my door shut and engage the lock before slumping on my bed. I’m going to pay for that later.
Sighing, I sit crossed-legged on my bed and eat the food quickly. Deciding to wait until they pass out to clean up, I force myself to concentrate on studying, knowing I have some papers coming up I need to do well on. A couple of hours later, the music is still blaring, but I can’t hear them fucking or screaming anymore, so I shut my books and rush downstairs. I clean up the broken glass and my plates before heading back to my room.
I grab some night shorts and a tank top, and head into the bathroom. I place the heavy wooden wash basket behind the door—because we have no lock in here—and then pile my stuff on top. I strip and climb into the shower, the water temporarily cold before it heats up. I wash quickly, not wanting either of them to barge in, and swiftly towel off before getting dressed. I clean my teeth, tie my hair up properly, and stuff my clothes into the basket for washing before moving it away from the door.
I open the door a crack, checking the hall before dashing to my room and locking myself inside. Soon, Scar, I remind myself. Just a couple more months and I’ll be out of here.
I will be free.
Chapter Three
Maximus
I absently watch the ready meal spinning in the microwave until it pings and brings me from my thoughts of her. Grabbing Milo’s bowl and the plate from the microwave, I head to the table. I slip his on the floor and mine onto the polished wood surface. He waits for me to sit and start eating before he digs in as well. The only sounds are my knife and fork, and him wolfing down his meal. I look around as I eat, wondering what she would think if she could see inside my house. Would she find it depressing? Bare? It is.
There are no pictures, no personal items, nothing. It’s just the way I bought it from the old neighbour three years ago. It even has some of the same furniture as well. It suited my needs and I wasn’t used to being in one place all the time. I made some upgrades to the security and house, but left most of it the same. With nothing but silence stretching on, I grimace and play with the food on my plate. This is just another reason why I’m not good for her.
She is like chaos, always moving, always smiling. I’m betting she listens to music to fill the silence. Me? I’m the opposite. I’m cold, calculating, and fucking boring as shit. I like my routine, I like my schedule, I like knowing what everyone will do and when. I’m good at judging that, at judging people. It’s a skill that has kept me alive all these years, though not without scars to tell the tales of near misses.
Where she is light, I’m nothing but darkness.
Yet I can’t stay away, even though I know I should. I should leave and never come back, go cold turkey. Isn’t that what addicts do? Because Scarlett is my own personal drug and I can’t stop even if I tried. So, I’ll stay here, watching over her, wishing I could help her, love her, and have her. I might be a bastard, but I’m not that big of one to take her like that. It would only make her hate me, make her want to run away when she saw the real me, and I wouldn’t let her. I would force her to stay, force her to remain by my side, even if it made her hate me forever.
Milo barks, bringing me from my depressing thoughts, and nudges my foot in thanks for his food. I grab my plate and his bowl and head to the sink, washing both and setting them to dry before I grab the towel and dry off my hands. “We have a couple of hours to kill,” I grumble to the dog.
He tilts his head, watching me like he can understand. His name tag shines under the light, the name “Milo” stamped there proudly. The name had been my idea, a nod to my best friend, but I never told her that. Folding the towel and leaving it on the side of the sink, I head into the living room with Milo on my heels as I slump into the leather sofa and stretch out my legs. I flick on the TV and leave it on some action show to fill the silence. It’s not long before Milo jumps on me and curls up to sleep. My eyes flicker to the window next to the TV, the lights of her house still blazing despite the late time. I glance at the clock and settle back to wait.
I wait until I see her light go out, knowing she’s going to sleep, and I stand up. Milo slips to the floor from where he was sprawled on my chest, leaving a big drool patch behind to mark the snuggle fiend’s work. “Time to work,” I tell the dog, stretching the kinks out of my back. I slip on my boots and grab a hoodie, pulling the hood up to conceal my face just in case anyone looks out or walks past, and I zip it up. Coupled with my black jeans and boots, I’ll blend into the dark night, which is perfect for what I need.
I grab my tool kit from the side and head out, slipping silently across the drive and up and over the fence separating us. I head for her car, knowing the quicker I’m out of here, the quicker it will be done. I easily pop the bonnet and look into the engine, locating what I need and sniffing it before taking it with me as I shut it and check around. No one is watching, good.
I linger, looking at her house before shaking my head and chastising myself. I hop over the fence and head quickly inside, placing my palm on the scanner next to the door and locking up. Milo is waiting for me and I offer him a rare grin. “There, done.” He nods like he understands, and I flick off the kitchen light and head upstairs.
My bedroom door stands open and I flick on a lamp as I go. I strip off the hoodie, boots, and shirt before flicking open my jeans and kicking them off. Milo hops up on the bed and circles for a minute before plopping down, and within a minute he’s snoring. Shaking my head, I scratch his ear on my way past to the ensuite, needing to shower and relieve some tension if I’m ever going to sleep tonight.
Something bright catches my eye and I stop, swivelling my head to peer out of my window, the one facing Scarlett’s room. I spot a blonde head dropping to the floor and my eyebrow flies up. What in the world? Her light flickers off not a minute later, so I shake my head and stroll straight into the bathroom.
Opening the glass shower door, I turn it on to warm up as I kick off my boxers and throw them into the laundry basket. My eyes catch on the mirror, on the scars and tattoos lining my body. I look every bit as menacing as I feel, all hard and dark against her soft curves and happiness. Once steam starts to fill the room, I hop into the shower, leaning into the spray to let it run down my body.
I scrub at my hair and close my eyes, letting the warm water wash away the tension in my muscles. Like always, my thoughts go to her—her smile earlier, that fucking dress, the glimpse of skin I got when she bent over. Groaning, I palm my hard cock, with precum already on the tip, as I start to jerk myself off. I replay images from her over the years, each one only making my cock jerk in my hands, and before I know it, I’ve shot my load, coming embarrassingly fast with a groan.
I quickly rinse away the evidence and turn to wash my hair and body, but within no time I’m hard again. Fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous. I wasn’t even this bad when I was a goddamn teenager. Giving up, I step out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and grab another to dry off my hair as I head into my room. Milo is still snoring happily and I roll my eyes as I scrub at my hair until it’s partially dry—well, at least not wet. I don’t bother brushing it, just throwing it back in a bun then dropping the towel. I flick off the light and climb into bed, lying on my back as I stare at the ceiling.
I close my eyes and instantly her smiling face comes to mind. I know it’s going to be another long, hard night.
Chapter Four
Scarlett
There is something so very wrong with me. I watched
him strip, my greedy eyes tracing every inch of muscled, tattooed skin I could see, and then I waited. I had just given up when he strolled back into his bedroom in nothing but a fucking towel. Holy fanny flutters. I watched, like a dirty pervert, as he dropped it and turned off the light, my eyes catching on his perfectly round, muscled arse and his long, thick cock, and like the dirty bitch I was, I climbed into bed with my thoughts replaying every moment until I couldn’t take it.
I slipped my hand down my stomach and into my shorts, catching my fingers on the wetness already covering my pussy, and I fucked my own fingers, calling his name silently as I came so hard I saw stars. Afterwards, I was mortified as I rushed into the bathroom and cleaned up. I wasn’t embarrassed about touching myself—because, hello, women have needs too and if you don’t know what your body likes then how can you expect anyone else to—but about who I’d been thinking of while fucking myself.
If he knew, he would think I was sick. He would look at me in pity—the stupid, young, next door neighbour with a weird crush on him. God, how embarrassing. Is it not bad enough that I crave every scrap of attention I can get from him? Replaying every word, look, or even the one or two times he’s grinned at me? I melt whenever I see him with Milo, the way he gruffly cares for the dog who stole my heart. I remembered the way he found me sobbing in the rain, holding the tiny broken puppy. He took one look at my pathetic self and felt so guilty he adopted the dog. I spent the next year watching him learn how to take care of a dog he clearly didn’t want…and then, one day at a time, he fell in love with the three-legged cutie just like I had the night I’d found him.
Staring at my darkened ceiling, I resist the urge to peek at my window. It’s the reason I don’t shut my curtains anymore. Stupid, I know, but this crush isn’t going away, so I’m shamelessly feeding it with every snippet and glance of him I can get. Not that I have a lot of that left with only three more months before I move out. I’ve been saving up for years, slowly keeping tips and change from both of my jobs—the change I don’t pay the bills, car note, or groceries with, that is. I keep it hidden so my mother or that idiot will never find it. It’s my lifeline…so why do I hate the thought so much?
As much as I can’t wait to move away, I know it means one thing—no more Maximus Hunt.
Why does that thought fill me with dread?
Groaning, I flip over, my legs tangled in my duvet that I must have kicked off at some point during the night. Sun shines right on my face and I slowly blink my eyes open, then swing my gaze to the clock and freeze. No, I can’t be late!
Throwing myself from bed, I fall over my sheets with a yelp. I jump up, having no time to clean up as I grab the first thing I can find and dress quickly. I plait my hair to the side without looking, not caring if it’s sloppy so long as I don’t look like a complete wreck. I snatch my bag I packed last night and my phone from the nightstand. I dash downstairs with no time for breakfast or even coffee. Stopping in the living room, I take in the sight before me with a disgusted twist of my lips.
My mum is naked, passed out on the floor, and her latest boyfriend is snoring on the couch...also naked. Needles and beer cans litter the room and I sigh, knowing I only cleaned it yesterday morning. My phone chimes and I unfreeze, hurrying to the door. I don’t have time to clean it today, not when I’m already so late for class. The door is unlocked and I mutter a quick curse before shutting it behind me and locking up. How fucking hard is it to lock a door? What if someone broke in? But noooo, getting high and drunk, and fucking on our sofa is much easier than making sure your daughter and all your possessions are safe.
Muttering to myself, I rush to my car, click the fob, and throw my bag inside as I slip into the driver’s seat. Pressing the key into the ignition, I turn it and frown when it just clicks. I turn the key and try again, but it does the same thing. Tears fill my eyes and I slam my fists onto the wheel.
“No, come on, you piece of shit.” I had known I needed to buy a new one for a while, but I figured it would last until I at least moved out and paid the first month’s rent. I can’t afford a new car, not now.
Slamming my palms onto the wheel again, I try the ignition once more, but when it does nothing I scream and lean back in my seat. Of course this is happening, because the universe hates me. I blow out a breath and count to ten, reminding myself there are worse things in the world as my dad’s words ring through me.
Count to ten, baby, then it will all go away. After you breathe and calm down, everything is manageable.
I do as he taught me and take a deep breath, counting to ten, and as usual he’s right. Okay, so my car is broken. I can call a garage, catch the bus today, and miss my first class. Shit, I have an exam first thing, I can’t miss that. My smile, which had only just started to grow, dims again.
A knock on my window has me jumping and turning in my seat. My eyes widen and my mouth parts when I spot Max looming there. His hair is half tied back today, leaving some hanging around his face, framing his model worthy features. We once learned about Greek gods, and that’s what he reminds me of, all perfection. Even the scar running down his tanned neck only adds to his beauty. I’ve had such a big crush on him since he first moved in. Back then, he had a closely shorn head and was clean-shaven, but now, he looks like a mountain man. I have to squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache I get from looking at him, he turns me on that much.
Clean-shaven Maximus Hunt was hot, untouchable hot.
Wild, scary, and hairy Max? Fucking untouchable, terrifyingly hot.
I know all the rumours about him, what the others say, hell, I’ve seen the army tat, but he’s something more than army. Some claim he’s a spy, others a killer, but that doesn’t seem to stop me from wanting him, as messed up as it is. There is only a five year age gap between us, but it seems larger sometimes, and I feel like a schoolgirl lusting after her teacher.
He motions for me to roll down my window. His ever-present scowl is in place, while those dark eyes look straight into me like he can see my soul and my darkest, dirtiest thoughts. My cheeks heat when I remember what I did last night while thinking about him, but I quickly open my door with a smile. “Morning, Mr. Hunt.” I sound as cheerful as I can, even as my mind whirls like it does in his presence. For a moment, I had forgotten everything as I just stared into his eyes.
“Car trouble?” he asks, and I blink stupidly before blushing harder. Shit, car, class, exam.
Nodding, I climb from the car and lean against the back door, having to look up to meet his dark eyes. Sometimes, I forget how tall he is until he’s right in front of me. He’s wide, too, not fat, just pure muscle. I have never seen a man built like him, except for in films. He looks like a superhero, but the darkness always clinging to him tells me he’s anything but, even if he is always saving me. The white material of his plain shirt stretches across his massive chest, tugging at the fabric until it’s skin-tight. How does he make a simple t-shirt and jeans look like a runway outfit? It’s not fair. I glance down, grimacing when I realise I’m in my old, tatty, holy jeans and a plain lace crop top. Next to him, I look frumpy.
“Yeah, I don’t know anything about cars though,” I admit, glancing up at him through my lashes.
Unlike most people who look away when you stare, he stares right back, not moving, just scowling. “I know a bit, want me to look?” Despite his hard exterior, his whiskey voice is as sweet as he can make it.
“Would you?” My words come out breathy, my eyes lighting up.
He nods and moves around the car before popping the bonnet and looking inside. I can’t help myself. I sidle up next to him and peer down at the engine, not knowing what I’m searching for at all. “Well?” I prod impatiently.
He huffs, reaches in, and looks at something before slamming the bonnet, making me jump. He winces when he sees it and shrugs. “It’s fucked.”
My mouth drops open. “Fucked? That’s your professional opinion?” I sniffle, blinking back tears again.
Shit
, I was so close, so close to moving out. After every time my mum had set me back, I thought I was finally free, and now this. It means I’ll have to stay at least another six months or more depending on how much a car costs. It all hits me and I stare at the ground, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes as I break down right in front of him. It’s bad enough he’s met my mother, who came on to him, and he hears them screaming at me all the time. Now this? He’s going to think I’m nothing but trouble.
“Hey,” he says softly, and I feel the tip of his finger press into my chin, forcing me to look up. My skin heats from the contact, like electricity is coursing from that mere, simple touch. I blink away my tears and look into his dark eyes, and he sighs and opens his arms. Before I can second-guess what I’m doing, I rush into his embrace, gripping his t-shirt as I bury my face into his chest. I know I’m wetting his shirt with my tears, but he doesn’t seem to care. He wraps his arms around me, lightly at first, before he becomes more confident and holds me to him tightly, his grip almost biting and feeling way too good. I force myself to pull back slightly.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, patting at his damp shirt. “Just one of those days. I swear I’m not usually a crier.”
“It’s fine, Scarlett.” The way he says my name, like he’s treasuring it, swirling it around his mouth, has me shivering in his arms. His dark eyes notice everything and he frowns. “Are you cold?”
I nod instead of explaining that the way he says my name has me imagining what else he could say to me—dirty things. He wraps me up tighter in his arms, his warmth seeping into my body and straight to my core, as the feel of his rock-hard frame brands my skin. I will never forget his touch, and that’s when I realise it’s the first time he’s ever touched me. Never once, not even in passing or accidentally, have we touched.
