by C. Hallman
“You should have been honest with me.”
“Like that would have changed anything? Actually, maybe you would have done this sooner, knowing I’m clean.”
Guilt flashes through his eyes so briefly I’m not sure it was there in the first place. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s done now.” He keeps his head straight, staring into the dark corner of the room for a minute before he adds more quietly, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”
My first instinct is to tell him to fuck off. An apology is not good enough for something like this, but then I realize that apologizing is probably not something a man like Alaric does often, and somehow that fact makes his apology a little more potent.
That doesn't mean I forgive him. I don’t think I can.
Alaric holds me for another few minutes without saying anything, and I’m almost falling back asleep even though I try not to.
“You need to drink something, or you're going to be dehydrated.”
I roll my eyes at his words. Now he’s worried about my well-being? I want to tell him no, but my mouth is, in fact, parched, and now that he’s mentioned it, I can’t stop thinking about anything else. He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a glass of something.
Only when he brings the cold liquid to my lips and the tart lemon flavor hits my tongue do I know it’s some kind of lemonade he is giving me. Greedily, I gulp the drink down until the glass is almost empty.
I feel a little better now but still weak. I don’t think I could stand on my own right now. Settling back into his hold, I wait until the drug runs through my system.
“So this is your kink,” I state.
“Yes, it is. Gets me hard fucking passed out girls,” he tells me. His brutal honesty shouldn't shock me after what I know he’s capable of, but it still does. He talks about it like it's the most normal thing in the world.
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I don’t know. Why is anyone the way they are? I’ve just always had this fantasy, and when I got older, I started playing it out.”
“So I’m not the first one you’ve done this with?”
“No, you are not.” I don’t know why I care, but I do. Unwanted jealousy crawls up my spine, and I shove it away as much as I can. “Although the others were aware of what I was going to do. You were the first one I didn’t tell before, which somehow added to the appeal. You made me so fucking hard, Monroe. I never came so hard in my life.”
As fucked up as it is, pride blooms in my chest. I shove that into the same dark corner the jealousy ended up in and concentrate on how mad I am at him. “I’m sore… between my legs, I mean. It hurts.”
“I’ll give you some painkillers. I was definitely rougher than I should have been, but I didn't tear or bruise you. I checked. Of course I’m not a doctor, so if you want Dr. Houseman to come back, I can call him.”
“No! I’m fine.” The thought of him coming to give me another exam has my stomach in knots.
“All right then. Are you hungry?” At the mention of food, my stomach rumbles.
“Yes,” I admit. No sense in lying. I need to regain my strength if I want to get away from him.
“I’ll take you out to get something to eat. How does the diner on 6th Street sound?”
“You’ll take me somewhere?” I ask, perking up. Excitement blooms in my chest, but a wall of doubt is standing between me and the outside. I’m not going to believe anything he says this easily.
“Did you think I’m going to keep you locked up in my house?”
“Yes,” I tell him honestly.
“Well, I’m not, but you do have to follow certain rules while we are out.” Of course. “You have to stay at my side the whole time. If you try to run, I’ll chase you. Unless I’m in a bad mood and don’t feel like chasing you, then I’ll just shoot you.”
“Great… why don’t you just keep me drugged so I can’t run.”
“That’s a good idea actually,” he quips, calling my bluff. “Let me get it...” He moves me off his lap, and my heart leaps in my throat.
“No! I’ll listen. I won’t run,” I promise.
A triumphant smile spreads across his lips, and I feel the urge to slap it off his face.
“Do you think you can get up, or do you need some more time? I’ll help you either way.”
“I’ll try.” I probably still need his help, and though I hate relying on him, knowing that he at least will help gives me comfort.
He unswaddles me from the blanket, and I push myself up to sit, which makes me realize I’m still completely naked. My first thought is to cover up, but that would be useless. He’s already seen all of me… been inside me. The blanket falls away, and a shiver runs up my spine.
“I ordered you some new clothes. They were delivered earlier.” He points at a box sitting on top of his dresser, and I swing my legs off the mattress. Eager to get to my clothes, I get up from the bed, but my legs are still too weak and give out as soon as I put my weight on them.
I brace for the pain when I inevitably hit the floor, but it never comes. Instead, a strong arm wraps around me, keeping me in place.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.” His rough baritone in my ear calms down my erratic heartbeat. I hate that he has this effect on me. I hate that I lean into him, seeking comfort from the man who caused me to be this helpless in the first place.
He climbs off the bed while never letting me go. Supporting most of my weight, he walks me to the dresser so I can look into the box. As we move, I notice two things. One, he is wearing boxers. Two, he must have cleaned me up because there is nothing sticky or uncomfortable between my legs. I almost thank him for that, but then I remember how fucking ridiculous that would be. He doesn't deserve a thank you for that small sliver of kindness.
When we get to the box, I half expected to find skimpy dresses and high heels, but to my delight, I found comfortable-looking skinny jeans and soft, loose-fitting sweaters. Even the underwear he got is the same kind I would get, sexy but comfortable.
“How did you know what kind of stuff to get?” I ask while picking out an outfit.
“I went to your place, remember? I checked out your closet while I was there,” he admits unapologetically.
“Right.” That’s not creepy at all. I would probably say that out loud if I wasn’t so thankful for the clothes he got me.
Since I’m still so wobbly on my legs, he makes me sit down on the end of the mattress and helps me get dressed.
“What is it about the girl being passed out that turns you on?” I’m probably going to regret asking, but a part of me needs to know more, needs to make sense of this.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I’m just trying to understand you.”
He finishes putting my underwear and socks on without a word. I step into the pair of jeans, and I’m convinced he’s not going to answer me when he finally does. “I guess a part of it is her being helpless, unable to say anything. I’m in complete control. But then there is that other part, which might be even more appealing… there is no judgment. I can be who I am without pretending, without wondering what you might think of me.”
“Oh…” I’m taken aback by the honesty in his voice. I feel like he just told me a secret he’s never told anyone before. The question is, is that a secret I’m going to cherish, or is it really a nightmare I have to wake up from?
13
Alaric
"Why don't I know anything about you?"
I raise my eyes to meet Monroe's. She's looking especially fucking delectable today in a pink floral dress and cute sandals that expose her pretty feet. The urge to bend her over the table consumes me, but I remind myself I need to behave in public. Still, all I want to do is bury my cock to the hilt inside all of her pretty pink holes. The thought is really fucking distracting, so I return my attention to my untouched plate of food in front of me.
We're sitting in the booth of the diner we've been to before, having dinn
er. She's behaving for once, so I haven't been forced to handcuff her yet. But her question is probing, and I don't like it, so I growl, "Because that's how I like it. You don't need to know more than you already do."
"But I want to know more about you." She hungrily eats her waffles while I devour her with my gaze. Something about the girl is so damn enchanting. "I want to know where you come from and what your family was like. I want to know everything about you, Alaric. What made you the person you are today. Tell me about your family. Please?"
"God, you're fucking stubborn." I pick at my omelet, my appetite waning. "My family... they're long gone by now. I told you already, I don't have a family anymore."
"But what happened to them?" she insists. Surprisingly, her stubbornness doesn't annoy me. It's kind of cute. "Why aren't they around anymore? Did you cut off contact? Did they? And why?"
"They're all dead, Monroe."
"Oh." She bites her bottom lip nervously. "I'm sorry, Alaric. I didn't even think... Did I upset you?"
"No." I shake my head, waving my hand dismissively. "It's in the past. I'm not hurting over it anymore. But I like to keep these things where they belong. Behind me."
"I understand. How... how did they die?" Her inquisitive eyes meet mine. She says she understands, yet her curiosity gets the best of her every time. "Your mom and dad."
"My dad died in prison," I find myself muttering. It's strange talking about this shit. It's been decades, after all, and I don't speak to anyone about my family. But something about Monroe's trusting gaze makes me want to open up for the very first time. "My mom... she was a drug addict since before my brother and I were born. When I was sixteen, she OD'd."
The silence hangs between us, heavy and charged with tension. Finally, Monroe reaches across the table for my hand, gently covering it with her palm as she whispers, "I'm sorry, Alaric."
"Don't be." I don't pull away, surprising myself. "She wasn't a good mother."
"And you said you had a brother?"
"Yeah."
"He's gone... too?" She looks so sad for me. But this isn't a sob story meant for her to feel sorry for me. It's a story of how I dragged myself out of the gutters and made a life, a name for myself. And I'm not going to feel bad about it. After all, everyone around me is long gone by now. And I'm the only one still breathing.
"Yes, he's gone."
"What happened?" she whispers.
"He died two years before my mom," I mutter. "He got shot in a drive-by. He was dead on the scene."
"I'm so sorry, Alaric."
"You don't have to keep saying that." I grin darkly. "I've made my peace with the past. I had to move on to save my own life. But I had help."
"What kind of help?"
"The Lombardis." It doesn't escape me how pale she gets when I mention that name. She's afraid of the Lombardis and for a good fucking reason. If I were handing out advice, I'd tell her to stay the fuck away from them. They're dangerous, lethal. But then again, so am I. "They gave me a home, took me in when my mom died. I had no one else. They took good care of me. But of course, they expected something in return. And that's how my training began."
"Your training... to be a killer?"
I don't get to answer Monroe's question because my phone rings. I scowl at the number displayed across the screen. "Sorry, sugar. I have to take this."
The call is quick and efficient, like always. It's a name, a location, and a date when it has to be completed. Except I don't even get a week or a day. It has to be done by midnight tonight.
My fist tightens around the burner phone as the call ends. I set it down and look warily at Monroe.
"What?" She knits her brows together in worry. "What is it?"
"There's something urgent I have to do," I mutter. "You'll have to come with me."
She pales, panicking. "But... you haven't even touched your food."
My food is the least of my worries right now. I'm more stressed about the fact that I'll have to drag Monroe to a kill site with me, and I didn't bring a pair of handcuffs.
"Come on." I toss a hundred-dollar bill on the table and motion for her to follow me. "We're leaving."
With trepidation, she falls into step beside me as we walk to my ride. On the drive over, she's quiet and pensive, and I can almost feel her quickened heartbeat without so much as touching her.
"When we get there, I'm going to have to lock you in the trunk of the car while I do my job."
"W-What?" Pure panic washes over her face. She's suddenly pale as fuck, trembling at the prospect of being locked up. And that's when I remember her past, what her stepdad did to her, how he locked her in a closet. Fuck. I don't want to do this, but I'm afraid I don't have a choice. "No, Alaric. Please. Don't do that to me."
"I don't have a choice," I grunt in return. "Especially with your attempt to run away. I'm not fucking risking it."
I pull up in a back alley while her panicked hands cling onto me. "Please. Don't do this to me. I'm begging you. Don't lock me in the trunk, Alaric, please, fucking please. I'm so scared."
I glance at her, trying to figure out another way to do this. But there is no other way. Either I lock her in the trunk, or she has to come with me. At this point, I'm not sure which option would mentally scar her more. They're both fucked up.
"Do you understand what I'm going to do in there, Monroe?" I hiss at her. "I'm going to hurt someone. And you'll be forced to watch."
"Please." Her panicked expression doesn't wane as she clings to me. "I swear, I'll be good. Just take me with you. Don't leave me here. I can't take it. I'll die."
I groan, cursing out loud. She doesn't leave me with much choice. The worst part is, I'm going fucking soft for her. I want to help her. I want to make her feel safe, but the option she wants is even worse than the trunk. She just doesn't know it yet. But then my sadistic side awakens. The one that wants to do this to her, wants to show her how I make the money that pays for her grandmother's nursing home.
"You want to come with me?" I ask to make sure, and her vigorous nod convinces me she does. "Fine. We're going in. Stick by my side, don't leave me for a second. Don't look at anyone. Don't make a scene."
"Yes, of course," she answers quickly. "Thank you, Alaric."
Her sweetness makes my heart hurt as it did before. It's an unwelcome feeling, especially since I've almost managed to convince myself I don't have a heart at all.
I get out of the car and open the door for her as well. We walk to the front of the building. It's a sleazy, shitty strip club I normally wouldn't step foot in. Purgatory is just so much better.
I grab Monroe's hand and drag her beside me. We walk into the joint, and I instantly feel everyone's eyes going to my pretty companion, devouring her. Anger simmers inside me, threatening to boil over as I drag her inside the club. She does as she was told and keeps her gaze trained to the floor. I want to tell her she's a good girl, but my tongue is tied. I need to focus on what I have to do here, what Monroe is about to witness. I need to step into the role of what the Lombardis made me—a murderer.
Someone approaches us, but I give the prick an icy glare. It's enough for him to back off. I know exactly what he wants—a taste of Monroe. But I'll sooner rip his fucking eyeballs out than let him lay a single dirty finger on my property. She's mine now, and I'm getting really fucking close to my breaking point. I almost want one of these shitheads to make a wrong move so I can punish them in front of my girl.
We walk into a VIP room, where my victim is. I push aside the veiled curtain blocking our entrance, already knowing what kind of scene we're going to walk in on. It's easiest to take the bastards down when they're balls deep inside a hooker. And that's exactly what's happening in the back room of this shitty club.
An old, balding man with a beer belly is fucking a strung-out looking girl, grabbing her dark hair as he grunts and drives himself deeper and deeper inside her cunt.
"What the hell?" Monroe whimpers. I don't let go of her hand.
; "Get out," I bark at the dark-haired girl. She looks like she's about to argue, but then I flash her my red bracelet, and her eyes widen, making her look even more drugged up. My heart slows into a steady beat, and I'm in the zone, ready to fire a bullet at the old prick. He grunts as the girl moves away, and his semi-flaccid cock drops out of her pussy. The girl makes a desperate grab for some clothes, but I stop her, pulling out a gun. "I said get the fuck out. You don't have time for that. Fucking leave."
She lets out a soft shriek and runs out of the room stark naked.
"W-What the hell?" Monroe repeats, clutching my hand for dear life.
"You," I bark at the guy. "Your name David Hodge?"
"Depends who's asking," the prick slurs drunkenly. Finally, I let go of Monroe's hand, letting her tremble alone in the corner of the sleazy room. The guy is still naked as I walk him up to the wall and slam his back against it.
"I said," I continue icily. "Are you David fucking Hodge?"
"I-I-I..." He catches sight of my red bracelet, and his eyes widen with fear. "Please, man. Let's talk about this."
It's all the confirmation I need to know this is the prick I'm supposed to kill.
I pull out my gun while Monroe shrieks. Fuck, she's distracting. But I need to focus right now. I’ll worry about my girl later.
I feed David the barrel of my gun, impassively watching his bleary eyes fill with tears.
"Look away, Monroe," I hiss.
"No!" she cries out. "Don't do this!"
"Look away!" My voice betrays how pissed off I am with her, and she whimpers as she looks down, softly crying as I pull off the safety of my gun. "Goodbye, David Hodge."
Unceremoniously, I paint the walls with the guy's brain. The gunshot rings out in the room, and David's lifeless body falls to the ground with a heavy thud.
It's over. It's done. And now, Monroe finally knows just how big of a monster I truly am.
14
