by K. A Knight
I stop at the door, hearing noises behind it, and press my ear to the wood, my hand on the silver handle ready to swing it open, when something stops me. The noise finally clicking. Is he moaning?
I cover my mouth, stilling as I listen hard. It comes again, a moan. The rustle of clothing...is he...touching himself? My mind freezes on that image, seeing his shirt open like it was when he came to the guest room, his abs on full display. Those fucking perfect hands wrapped around his cock…is he imagining it’s me?
My pussy pulses in need, my panties wet from his proximity. I thought I had a heart attack when I saw him earlier. Keanu in a suit is killer, but when that jacket came off and the buttons were undone...there was something so wild, so right and perfect about it. He stopped being untouchable and instead looked like a wet dream come true.
I had glimpsed some ink high up on his shoulder, but he raced away before I got a good look. His chest was hairless, his eight pack clearly visible, and a bar through his right nipple, gleaming in the light. My naughty mind instantly went to me sucking on it, licking it just to see if I could get a reaction out of him and break this…this bloody cold exterior and the way he holds himself. To see him explode, lose that control and just be himself.
I can’t help it, it’s hot as hell hearing the grunts he’s making as he touches himself. I part my thighs, drop my hand from my mouth, and trace it between them, pushing past the barriers of my wet panties until I touch my pussy.
Running my fingers down my lips, I feel how wet I am. Imagining the door opening, him finding me, and slamming me back into the wall only has me wetter. My eyes close, seeing his hand replacing mine, his deft, long, clever fingers slipping inside me instead of my own, his thumb rubbing my aching clit.
He moans again, his breathing turning ragged and I speed up, adding another finger, seeing him drop to his knees before me in my mind, unbothered now about his perfect suit as he parts my thighs, his tongue tracing my pussy and dipping inside me as he still fucks me with his fingers.
Biting on my lip, I stifle the moan that wants to escape, not wanting him to hear me and stop to investigate, not when I’m so close to coming.
“Nadia,” he whispers, and I can’t tell if it’s real or in my head, but it throws me over the ledge, my pussy clamping on my fingers as I come so hard I almost fall over.
I taste my blood in my mouth from biting my lip to control my scream.
Holy fuck.
I pull my hand away and dash down the corridor, not wanting him to find me like that, and slip back into the guest room on wobbly legs, collapsing back on the bed, panting. My pussy still pulsing from the force of my release.
Groaning, I press my arm over my eyes. Don’t let him get to you, Nadia, men like him don’t want anything but a quick fuck. They don’t care about anyone or anything, and I already know he’s dangerous…
So why can’t my body accept that? Stupid hussy. He has my nipples hard and my pussy wet and waiting, craving him.
Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I strip off my dress, lay it over the wardrobe, and change into his shirt and boxers. They are silky, and I’m betting expensive, but holy hell are they comfortable. I get under the covers and pull them to my chin in the darkened room, feeling vulnerable for no reason other than I’m relying on him, staying in his house.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
It takes me hours to fall asleep, my thoughts spinning around and around on everything I know about Keanu. Running through the caring, soft way he treated me tonight, which was so unlike his usual stony persona.
He’s arctic cold and then suddenly red hot. I don’t know how to take him, and when I finally fall asleep, it’s with his green eyes in my mind and his touch lingering on my chin as he says my name, rolling it between his lips like a caress.
The next morning, I hear him moving around early. I’m usually a late riser, but knowing I’m in this man’s house has me getting up and opening the door self-consciously. I hear him downstairs, so I follow the sound, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen and watching as he makes a fruit smoothie, the blender running. He’s half naked, in nothing but grey joggers, with his wide, muscled chest bare and covered in a sheen. His hair is slicked back...has he been working out? When he stops blending, he pours it into a glass.
“Morning, you want one?” he inquires without even looking up, and my eyebrows rise.
“Er, sure, what is it?” I query, slipping into the room.
To the left is a black and white marble countertop with veins of gold running through it. It curves around, with cupboards both above and below it. A silver sink sits in the middle with a stove, microwave, and a fridge at the very end.
He is leaning on the island in the middle with the same marble top and three silver stools on the side facing me. To the right of the room is a large dining table with four chairs and four lights hanging from above.
The back wall is all glass, with two patio doors leading out to the back, and I spot a pool out there. Holy shit, this house is like those you see on TV. I slip into a stool and turn it to face him, resting my elbows on the counter and watching as he pours another and pushes it over to me.
“Try it,” is all he says, licking a drop from his thumb, making me gulp and pull the glass to my mouth just to do something. I take a sip, grimacing at the taste. What the fuck is that?
He sees and smirks. “It’s good for you and you haven’t been eating, drink up. I’ll make breakfast.”
He turns away, pulling down pans and plates as he goes, his muscles bunching with the movement, and my eyes drop to the low hanging joggers, spotting two dimples above his ass that I want to lick. Holy hell, this man is perfection.
“Oh, I fixed your phone for you as well. I placed it in your bag in the hall,” he informs me without looking.
“You managed to fix it?” I ask, perking up.
“Yes,” he replies, cracking some eggs into a bowl and scrambling. I dart off my stool, padding down the cold floor until I find my bag near the front door. I spot my phone and hold it to my chest, racing back to the kitchen and my stool. The phone illuminates as messages pop up, waiting for me.
Scar: Where are you?
Scar: Are you okay?
Scar: Nadia, I can come and get you, let me know.
Scar: Okay, I got worried, we rang Keanu he is on his way to you.
Scar: Did he get there?
Scar: Did you get home okay?
Scar: Just got Keanu’s text, ring me in the morning, babe.
Shit, I’m a bad friend. I bring up her number and dial, waiting as it rings, feeling horrible that she was so worried while I was drunk off my ass, passed out in a shady nightclub bathroom.
She picks up almost immediately. “Babe, thank God, are you okay? Where are you?” she questions rapid fire, and I laugh.
“Slow down, Scar, I’m fine, thank you. Sorry about scaring you, I dropped my phone and broke it.”
She huffs. “Is it fixed? Where are you?”
I look at Keanu’s back...he didn’t tell her? He ignores me, carrying on cooking.
“Nads!” Scar shouts, interrupting my thoughts.
“Sorry, what?”
He smirks over his shoulder at me before going back to cooking—asshole.
“I asked where you were. I swung by your place, but you weren’t there,” she says, concerned again.
“Erm, yeah, I ended up staying at Keanu’s,” I tell her, and then yank the phone away from my ear when she screams.
“What?”
I can hear her ranting, so I put her down on the counter for a bit and wait until the phone goes silent, and then I pick it up again. “You finished? ‘Cause my head is pounding worse than Max when he gets angry.”
“I’m finished,” she grumbles. “Okay, you fine there? He didn’t hurt you, did he? Or touch you?”
No, but I wish he fucking did. “No, I’m okay.”
“Good, get him to bring you home when he can. I’ll meet you
there, babe. I gotta go, see you soon,” she calls, and then hangs up.
I drop the phone to the counter and watch as Keanu plates two servings of scrambled eggs with tomatoes and brown toast. He slides one to me before standing opposite my stool and begins eating, his eyes on his food as if he’s pretending I’m not here.
“Would you be able to drop me off back at mine?” I inquire, picking at the eggs.
He looks up then, his fork paused as he swallows his bite. “Thought you didn’t want to go home.”
I look away, his eyes too intense, they see too much. “I don’t want to, but I have to face it sometime, and it’s not like I can stay here all day.”
“No, you can’t,” he responds calmly. What a fucking asshole.
I snap then, all my grief, all my pain and anger coming out as I drop my fork and glare at him. “If you hate me so much, why the hell did you bring me here last night?”
“Because I felt sorry for you. You looked pathetic, crying because you couldn’t go inside. I brought you here as a favour to Max and Scarlett so you wouldn’t go back out and kill yourself drinking,” he snaps back, his eyes narrowed and his lips thinning.
“Bull fucking shit, you could have taken me anywhere, hell, even to Scarlett!” I yell, climbing off my stool and rounding the island, poking my finger into his chest when he turns to me. “You didn’t. I don’t think you hate me and that pisses you off. You can’t control me or the way you feel about me, and I bet that fucking stings, Mr. Control Freak. I reckon you don’t just hate me, I think you want me. I heard you last night, moaning my name as you palmed your cock. I bet it kills you that you can’t stop wanting me.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice and his head. Those green eyes lasered into me. “Yes, I think you’re attractive and my body has needs, but want you? No, love, I don’t want you. You’re a mess, a pathetic little mess.”
Each word is like a slap to the face. I stumble back, almost deflating from my victory, and he steps closer still, pressing his body to the front of mine. I hate the fact that I react to his proximity. He’s like a fucking iceberg, deadly, sharp, and so cold it hurts. “Get dressed, I’ll take you home.”
Then, he walks away. Stopping at the door without looking back, he adds, “And Nadia? Next time, I won’t come and get you, favour to Max or not.”
I hear him retreating and I dash the tears away that have fallen. He’s right, I am a mess, but I’m a beautiful fucking mess. It’s my mess of a life and I wouldn’t have it any other way. At least I’m not a cold, unfeeling bastard whose house is like a prison, unable to let anyone close for fear of feeling anything. He wants to fight and ignore whatever is between us, fine, he wants me gone and to pretend I don’t exist.
Fine.
This is the last time he’ll see me.
Chapter Eight
Keanu
I remind myself it’s for the best, that if she got too close she would only walk away anyway. No one could care for me or love me, I’m a monster, after all. Those words hurt coming from my mouth, watching them impact her like a shot. Each one a blow that sent her stumbling backwards, her eyes filling with tears. I had to leave, to walk away before I fell to my knees and apologised like a moron.
I barely know this woman...or do I?
That’s what she thinks. Actually, I know more about her than she probably does. It’s for those reasons I push her away, that I make it hurt badly enough to ensure she won’t be drawn to me anymore. No, it’s better that she hates me. Even if it hurts me to see.
I get dressed quickly, putting on the jacket she wore last night so I can keep her with me all day, even when she distances herself. By the time I’m back downstairs, she’s waiting in her dress and heels, refusing to look at me. I almost fall backwards from that, pain slicing through my body.
For the best.
I remind myself again and again as I guide her to my car and open the door for her.
To keep her safe.
To keep her alive and away from the life of darkness, secrets, and bloodshed I weave.
For her.
She shuts the door, staring straight ahead, her eyes guarded. I hate that I put that expression there. I slide into my seat and fire up my jag, pulling out of the garage and heading back into the city.
She doesn’t speak the whole way there, and when we reach her house she gets out before I can open her door and starts to walk away, but stops in the middle of the path. “Thank you for coming and getting me last night. I hope you find something or someone worth releasing that control for one day,” she calls, and then she’s gone, the door slamming behind her in her haste to escape my company.
If only she knew…I already had.
Her.
I let her in, past my guards, and into my house. I allowed her to see me at my weakest, to be there while I slept. It might not seem like a big deal to most people, but to me it is. No one even knows my last name or where my house is...but she does. She has the power to bring me down.
Ruin my spider’s web.
She just doesn’t know it. I stand there like a fool before I button up my jacket, her scent wafting to me as I inhale, and then I turn and walk away, each step harder than the last as I slip back into my car and drive away, knowing it will be the last time she sees me.
It won’t be the last time I see her though. I tell myself it’s to protect my secrets, our secrets, but in reality, it’s because I need to. I need to see her, to know how she is, to be a part of her life in any way possible.
My phone rings and I answer it using the wheel. “Spider,” I greet. I never use my real name at work, too much is attached to a name. You can learn everything about someone just from that little slip of information.
“I’m looking over your report from what you learned from a...Pinky,” Donald deadpans, and I hear him shuffling papers in the background. I don’t bother answering, just wait for him to carry on. “He was being paid to bribe the dock workers, anonymous texts from burner phones, always on different days with the money being dropped at random places?” he summarises.
“Correct,” I reply, overtaking an SUV going too slow.
“So we are no further along.” He sighs, the only sound of displeasure I’ll hear.
“Not exactly true. We know they are careful, very careful, and they knew of him, how to get to him. We know they are going to need a new money man and a dock worker.”
“We keep watch then,” he instructs, sounding mildly happier.
“We keep watch. I already have traces on all his bank accounts, and the system will flag any unusual deposits or activity. Until then, I’m going to work another angle.”
“What angle?” he inquires, sounding intrigued.
“I’m going to try and get noticed by them, get into their circle, track the kidnappings if I can and kill their people until they have no choice but to recruit, then I’ll work up their ranks until I get to the top.”
He goes silent for a moment. “That’s risky and a lot more fieldwork than you usually like.”
I say nothing again and he sighs.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, we need to stop them,” is all I say. My reasons are my own...namely Nadia and the idea that they could get her. They pick at random...what if she’s their random next time? No, I need to make this city as safe for her as I can.
“Then do it, there will be no backup on this one though, you are on your own,” he warns, and I hang up the call when he has nothing else to say.
“Aren’t I always?” I mutter.
Chapter Nine
Nadia
“Scar?” I call, once I get inside. I refuse to cry or I won’t stop. I stand in the hallway waiting, the place almost cold. Unhooking my heels, I dangle them over one finger, hesitating.
The hall is the same pale, duck egg blue that my gammie painted it when we first moved in, with photographs proudly hanging along both walls as well as framed drawings and paintings from when I was a child. My eyes catch on t
hem, seeing my own smiling face reflected back at me as well as hers. To the right of the front door are the coat and shoe racks, so I throw my shoes there, watching them fall to the floor, Gammie’s voice instantly coming to mind.
Young lady, that shoe rack is there for a reason. Pick those up. I swear it’s like living with a wild animal.
Pain fractures through me as I drag my eyes away, my fingers sliding along the left wall. At the end is the archway to the living room, open plan kitchen, and dining room, as well as the patio doors to the backyard with a pond and flowers she spent so many hours on. The stairs are to the right, just farther up the hallway, leading to the two bedrooms and shared bathroom. It’s a modest house, but it’s ours. She worked every day for most of her life to afford it, and when I moved in with her, once my parents kicked me out, she endeavored to make it our home.
Trailing my hand down the wall, I pad across the orange and black runner until I reach the archway, my fingers catching on something. Blinking, I look over to see her writing proudly scratched into the wall along with lines, ages, and dates. Gammie charting my growth. Heart pounding, I brush my hands over her writing, tears clawing at my throat.
Every inch of this place is filled with memories, with our lives, and now it’s gone...replaced by the end. I step into the living room, seeing her pill caddy waiting by her brown recliner, the only place she could sit or eat towards the end. The blanket she needed because she was always cold is folded up and waiting. The other one is in the bin after the accident she had. Towards the end, her bowels stopped working properly, and I watched my dignified gammie have to wear diapers and let me clean her once she soiled herself.
I can still feel her, and almost hear her voice shouting at me where I would sit working in the kitchen, asking me for a drink or reminding me to eat. Sliding down the wall, my legs flop out in front of me as I stare at the emptiness.
