by Ella Miles
“Trust me, I’d rather not be stuck between Enzo and Zeke—the Sasquatch. Now I’ll have to deal with your sweaty odor, hair ties, and hair that escapes your stupid man bun.”
Langston snickers at my zing.
Enzo smiles.
Zeke looks ready to kill.
And I’ve never welcomed that look from Zeke more.
If no one is going to save me, the least they could do is kill me.
“What class you got first period, Liesel?” Enzo asks.
“Calculus.”
Langston starts rolling in laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, thinking I have something stuck in my ponytail. I hardly bothered to get dressed for school today. The boys should notice that I’m not wearing my usual skintight dress, heels, curls, and makeup. Instead, I’m wearing ripped jeans, flats, a plain black v-neck, and my hair in a ponytail. I look like most girls around me, except, I’m not most girls.
I’m Liesel Dunn—glamorous, spirited, take no prisoners with my curvy hips and sassy words. I rule this school with my good looks even though I have exactly five dresses—one for each day of the week that I scrapped to save enough money to buy. No one cares that you don’t have money when you walk with confidence like I do.
“There is no way you are going to pass calculus; you can barely do basic addition.”
I flip him off, which makes the immature asshole laugh even more.
I have no hope that Langston or Zeke will notice, but Enzo should.
Unfortunately, he hasn’t noticed me hiding out all summer.
He hasn’t noticed that I haven’t swum in the pool since that day. Or that I haven’t worn anything except bags for clothes to cover my body.
I haven’t hung out with Enzo or the guys for weeks.
I haven’t asked for a second kiss.
I haven’t asked for more.
Instead, I’m hiding and trying to move on.
“Nah, Liesel is smarter than you two idiots,” Enzo says, defending me to his friends.
I smile—it’s fake, but when Enzo smiles back at me, it turns genuine. Butterflies swarm in my belly as the familiar aches of being around Enzo return. After everything that happened, I still want him. His father didn’t take those feelings away.
He took more.
“Enzo! Walk me to class?” Bridget says, pushing her way into the group and grabbing Enzo’s hand.
My smile vanishes, gone from my face in one swipe.
Langston and Zeke give each other mischievous smirks.
Enzo throws his arm around her shoulder and walks her to class with Langston and Zeke strutting behind them.
They ignore me.
They forget about me.
They don’t see my pain.
I’m nobody to them.
I never make it to class.
Instead, I walk out of the building.
I walk to the beach.
And then I sit on the sand watching the world go by. I watch the sun rise high in the sky. I watch it fall below the edge of the water.
I’m alone. I have no one.
I pick up my glass water bottle and slam it on the ground, wishing I had something stronger than water.
Soon, I won’t need anything.
The glass breaks into several pieces.
I pick up one of the pieces under the darkness of night. The piece has a sharp edge—it will do.
Looking up at the sky with tears in my eyes, I slice through my wrist until it’s deep enough to hit a vein.
The second I do, a calmness passes through me.
I’ve taken back control. My life is mine again. This is where it ends.
Pain creeps through my veins slowly, but I feel it. I feel all of it.
It makes me cry—not from the pain, but from the existing. From feeling something when I haven’t felt anything in weeks.
I can still feel.
One last time.
My head starts spinning. I feel weak and tired, so tired.
I fall back onto the sand.
Finally, I managed to kill someone—me.
I look up at Langston sitting on the sand, listening to my story.
That was the last time I remember crying.
The last time tears fell down my face.
I hold out my wrist where the scar remains but is now covered with a tattoo of the word ‘beautifully.’
“I killed myself that day.”
Langston shakes his head. “No, you survived.”
“No, the girl I was before that day flowed out from my veins. I killed her. I used to be kind, sweet, forgiving. After that, I became cynical, angry, bitchy. I became evil.”
Langston narrows his eyes, not sure what I’m going to say next or why I’m telling this story.
“How did you survive?” Langston asks with a heavy breath.
I stare at him, unblinking.
We both know the truth, but I won’t give him any credit.
“The devil saved me. He thought he was doing me a favor. He didn’t know he was only saving a monster.”
He looks away from me back out at the ocean. “Then, you got the tattoo so you wouldn’t have to walk around with the reminder every day.”
I look back at my wrist. “No, I got the tattoo to remind myself that I died beautifully, and that the beauty within me is now gone. All that remains is the wicked.”
“At least that’s the truth,” he mutters under his breath.
Our eyes meet again, cutting through each other.
We both know who found me that night.
I still don’t know why Langston saved me. I don’t know how he found me. I don’t know what happened. I just woke up in his arms.
“You won’t kill me, Langston. I’ll kill myself before you ever get the chance.”
20
Langston
The truth is going to kill me.
I realize that after listening to Liesel’s second story. I didn’t think she’d get this deep with her stories this quickly, but she dove in head first. She flirted so closely with telling the complete truth, but twisted one tiny detail to make the story dig in like a knife to my heart.
It wasn’t so much a lie as an omission.
She didn’t include me in her story.
I noticed her when she showed up at school. I had been waiting for weeks to get to see her in one of her slinky school dresses.
My mouth almost fell open when I saw her in jeans. She still looked hotter than sin, and her muscled legs looked fantastic in her skinny jeans, but I knew something was wrong.
I thought she was pissed at Enzo.
I thought they were together.
I thought he had moved on and dumped her for Bridgett like I knew he would.
Then Liesel disappeared.
She didn’t show up in any of our classes.
She didn’t come to her locker.
She didn’t sit with us at lunch.
She was gone.
I had to find her, clearly something terrible had happened.
I ran back to the club where I worked for Enzo’s father. I pulled up all the security cameras I could find. But I didn’t find her at the house, the club, or any of the properties Enzo’s family owns.
She wasn’t at the guest house or the house she grew up in either.
She was gone.
There was only one place she could have gone—the ocean.
It took me all day to find her.
When I did, she was passed out. Blood spilled from her wrist onto the sand.
I had killed before but never saved.
Until then.
That night I saved her.
“I regret it,” I say.
“What?”
“I. Regret. It.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, and we both know what I’m talking about without saying it—I regret saving her. I wouldn’t be in this mess if I had just let her die. If I hadn’t searched for her that day. If I hadn’t found her.
“Me too,” she snaps back.
I nod.
She lets out a deep breath as she pulls her knees to her chest.
“I lied,” Liesel says.
I let a beat go by before I answer her.
“I know.”
Just like I know that she didn’t want to die that day. She wanted the pain to end. She didn’t want to be alone.
Liesel opens her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it.
“Come on—bedtime,” I say.
I snatch her glass and put it back in the bag along with mine. Then, I pick up the towel we were sitting on and pack it in the bag before I start walking toward the house.
Liesel keeps step with me, walking by my side instead of behind me, almost like we shared a connection, instead of more lies.
I drop the bag off in the kitchen, and then head up the stairs.
Liesel follows silently, but I can feel the apprehension flowing off her.
We reach the top floor before I stop.
“Last chance, my bed or locked up?”
“Locked up,” she says fiercely.
It pisses me off.
I may not be able to handle her near me during the day, but at night, I want her with me. Her words feed the monster inside me.
An idea forms to persuade her.
“Follow me,” I say.
Liesel does. She chooses her moments, and it seems she’s going to fight me with her lies, not her fists.
I lead her into my bedroom.
She stops abruptly in the doorway. “I said I wouldn’t sleep in your bed.”
“I’m not asking you to sleep in my bed.” I walk over to the closet door and open it.
“This is the only room in the house that doesn’t have a window or door for you to climb out of.”
She smirks. “Why did you let me roam around the beach when you knew I escaped?”
“Because I don’t care how you spend your days. I just care about your nights.”
She tugs on her robe, closing it tighter around her waist.
She hasn’t asked for clothes.
And if I know her, her stubborn ass won’t.
She can pull it as tightly around her as possible, but it can’t hide her body from me. The robe is too big for her, which somehow makes it easier to see the swell of her breasts and the muscles of her legs. The rest of her, though, is left up to my imagination, at least for tonight.
“Don’t test my patience, Liesel. Get in the closet or get in my bed.”
I won’t chase her if she runs; I won’t have to. She wants to act strong and tough, as if I don’t affect her. Her body tells the real story though—the storm brewing in her eyes, the way she’s biting her plump lip, the way she’s twisting her body away.
Her eyes run down my body, and she notices that my cock is straining in my pants for her.
Before I can say anything, she runs into the closet like that’s going to save her.
I move to close the door.
“You lost a week of time for lying.”
“What about my punishment?”
My jaw ticks. “Goodnight, Liesel.”
Then I close the door, locking her in my dark closet.
I pull out my phone and text Joel.
Liesel is in my closet. Do your worst.
I grab my tennis shoes by my bedroom door and slip them on. I pull my shirt off and head out into the night for a run.
This time, I won’t be here to save her.
21
Liesel
Langston won’t forget about my punishment.
The door closes shut with a hard thud, followed by a clink of the lock.
I grip the handle, feeling Langston still standing on the other side of the door. I press my other hand to the door, and I feel his hot desire.
Why didn’t he rape me?
Why didn’t he kiss me? Touch me? Force himself on me?
I know he’ll punish me. He won’t forget.
I made sure the lies I’ve told stung. I may not be able to escape, I may not be able to fight back physically, but I can inflict pain with my words.
I hear footsteps and then nothing.
He’s gone.
It’s still early. Maybe he headed back downstairs for another drink before bed? I wish I had drunk more, then maybe I’d be able to sleep in this dark closet.
He put me in a fucking closet—the bastard.
I feel around the walls, hoping for a big pile of clothes to sleep on. All I feel is drywall.
He removed all the fucking clothes!
My back hits the wall in the farthest corner of the dark closet before I slump down to the floor.
I can’t see an inch in front of me in the darkness.
Langston left me alone in a pitch-black, box of a room. Maybe my punishment is sleeping in the darkness with my nightmares? He doesn’t know that it’s not the darkness or the nightmares that I’m afraid of.
The pain I feel comes from somewhere else—something Langston will never understand.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping the pain and torment won’t come for me tonight. There are only two ways to keep the pain out: sleep and sex.
Sleep isn’t going to happen for hours. I’m used to living on very little sleep. And there is no way I’ll be able to fall asleep on this cold, hard floor.
I can do something about the other option.
The one good thing about being locked in a dark closet is that there are no cameras in here.
When I fucked Waylon all night, I did it as much for the cameras, for Langston, as I did it for me. I put on a show for Langston, showed him what he can never have.
Tonight is all about me. I need this. I need the distraction. Langston doesn’t get to watch me pleasure myself.
I grab the strap of the robe, untie it, and let the robe fall open.
Instinctively, I look up into the corner to double-check there isn’t a camera. If there is one, I can’t see it. And if Langston is watching, an uneasy feeling will take hold of me.
None does.
There is no camera.
I purse my lips as I let out a breath, trying to relax. This is my happy place—fucking.
I can’t fuck Waylon, but I can fuck myself.
I close my eyes, tuning out the world.
It helps that the room is silent. I can’t hear Langston.
So why do I keep thinking about him?
He’s holding me captive and has threatened to kill me—that’s why.
Stop thinking about Langston!
I open my eyes, staring out at the darkness.
Focus.
I bring my knees toward me, placing my feet flat on the floor and letting my legs fall apart, wide and open.
My hands take their time exploring my own body. It’s been a long time since I’ve needed to get myself off. Waylon keeps me more than satisfied.
And before that, it was Jason, Andrew, Carter…
The men in my life have been endless.
My hands start sensually exploring with a light touch down my neck. My skin is soft and hot beneath my fingers. My breasts feel large in my hands. Down I trail my hand over the softness of my stomach, purposefully avoiding any scars that remind me of my old life, before I feel between my legs.
I’m dry, not wet.
I haven’t done nearly enough to turn myself on yet.
My hand rises back up, and I suck slowly on my fingers, providing moisture to turn myself on.
I use one hand to spread my pussy lips and the other to find my clit. I rub my saliva over my clit, warming myself up. I move slowly; I have all night after all. There is no pressure to come quickly.
It’s been so long since I’ve touched myself like this that I’ve forgotten what I like—slow, light pressure or fast, hard pressure. Do I like a circular motion or the flick of my fingers over my sensitive bud?
Soon, I find my rhythm. I’m breathy, warm, and my heartbeat is pounding.
That’s when I slip a finger inside.
> I’m wet—but barely.
“Jesus Christ.”
I think of Waylon—of his tanned skin, his thick rippling muscles, his perfectly plump cock.
I pump two fingers in and out, concentrating on Waylon.
I get minimally wetter.
Dammit.
I remove my fingers in frustration.
I know what will turn me on—a stubborn asshole who locked me in a closet but not before giving me a panty-melting, hungry glare. One that tore through my robe and told me he knows exactly what to do with my body.
With Waylon, I had to teach him how to turn me on. I have a feeling Langston would just know. There would be no need for instructions. He’d sense what I needed; understand me more than I do myself.
I won’t let my mind think about Langston.
I can make myself come without a man’s help.
My fingers return to my pussy as I focus on my breathing. I pump in and out of myself while my thumb circles my swollen clit.
A low moan hums through my belly, bringing me closer to the beautiful explosion my body is capable of making.
Footsteps creep outside the floor, startling me.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath.
I was so close to coming.
Who am I kidding? I wasn’t anywhere close.
I remove my fingers and fumble with the robe, tying it around my waist.
I’m sure it’s just Langston returning to go to sleep, but the heaviness of the footsteps concern me. Langston can move silently if he wants. All of Enzo’s men can. Enzo taught them how to move like ninjas before they turned ten.
The fact that I can hear the creak of each step tells me he wants me to hear him.
Maybe he saw what I was doing and thought he’d interrupt? Make me sexually frustrated all night? Maybe that’s my punishment?
The footsteps stop.
I hold my breath, listening carefully for Langston in the bathroom or climbing into bed.
Will it be easier or harder to touch myself knowing he’s so near?
I guess I’m about to find out.
Clank.
I hear scratching at the door. The sound of the lock turns, followed by the door. A sliver of moonlight creeps in behind him, illuminating his outline, but hiding his face.
