Lost in Life

Chapter 22

I stare at the mangled corpse in front of me. Rex’s head is slumped forward, the knife used to end his life sticking out of the top of his skull, one last fuck you from West.

Zayn whistles beside me, walking up and inspecting the damage my broken friend has done. “I knew the kid had a violent streak but,” Whistling again, he grins at me over his shoulder. “He’s a natural.” Running his gaze down my body, he quirks an eyebrow. “What about you, beautiful?”

I stiffen, my eyes darting to the corpse beside him and back. “What about me?” I retort, trying to keep down the fear I feel at being trapped in this cabin with both of them.

Zayn rubs his hand over his jaw, humming thoughtfully. “You know, maybe this could work.” Getting lost in thought, he mumbles something to himself that sounds suspiciously like another language. Latin maybe?

Sighing, I turn my back on him, heading to the closed bathroom door.

I’m so over his bullshit and refusal to answer a fucking question. Like, what’s so hard with just giving a straight answer?

Knocking on the door, I call out, “West? It’s me. Can I come in?” Silence greets me. “West?” I call again, rapping my knuckles against the wood. When I’m met with continued silence, I give up, my shoulders slumping as I slink away in defeat.

There was once a time I would have just barged in, but that was a lifetime ago.

I catch sight of Zayn typing on his phone as I walk to the couch and fling myself onto it. Kicking my feet up, I watch as he sets his phone down on the counter beside a set of keys I hadn’t noticed earlier. He begins cleaning up the crime scene in front of us. His grunts fill the small room, making the space between my legs tingle.

Stop it.

I mentally chastise my pussy.

You’ve gotten me in enough trouble as it is.

My gaze travels down Zayn’s frame, his muscles bunching as he hoists the corpse over his shoulder. At some point he took off his shirt, revealing artwork covering nearly every inch of his skin. My fingers itch to trace over the designs, to learn the stories behind each one.

Catching me watching him, Zayn smirks, flexing his muscles. I lick my lips, getting lost in the rippling muscles, a soft moan slipping out as I imagine them moving over me.

In the span of a heartbeat, he chucks the body on the ground, crossing the room with long, quick strides. Hovering over me, he snaps his hand out, grabbing hold of my braid. With a firm grip, he yanks my head back. Leaning down, his breath ghosts across my skin as he hums, “The violence get you all hot and bothered, beautiful?” Flicking his eyes up to mine, a cheshire grin spreads across his face. “Or is it me that has this effect on you, my little nightmare?”

My breath catches as I stare into his grey eyes, getting lost in the liquid clouds. He chuckles, pulling my head back farther, exposing my throat. I shudder as his lips press softly to my skin, a gasp escaping when his teeth sink into the sensitive flesh.

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” He admits, brushing his lips against me with each muttered word. “Ever since that hospital room, you’ve consumed my every waking thought.”

My heart flutters at his words. A desperate hope that they’re true. That I could be the center of someone’s world.

You already are.

My mind decides now is the perfect time to interject that reminder, a flash of West’s bloodied face flashing behind my eyes. Along with it another memory surfaces, effectively dousing any flames of desire still burning.

With the memory, an idea sparks.

Lifting a hand, I trail it down Zayn’s bare back, electricity buzzing from the connection. I meet his heated gaze, biting my bottom lip. His eyes snap to my mouth, darkening further as his pupils blow with desire.

A groan slips free from his lips. “You really are my nightmare, aren’t you, beautiful?” He murmurs, stroking the loose strands of hair back from my face with his free hand. “One I hope not to wake up from.” A pang of guilt hits me, but I push it aside.

Don’t feel bad for him. He’s a murderer.

My eyes shift to the bathroom.

They both are.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I push him back, surprised when he moves without resistance. Watching me curiously, he half kneels on the couch, one leg still placed on the floor. With him far enough back from me to wiggle out from under him, I clamber to my feet. Turning to face him, I push his shoulder, encouraging him to sit back. He obeys, his expression full of amused curiosity.

Once I have him situated where I want him, I climb onto his lap, straddling him. He sucks in a breath as I lower myself onto his lap, his hardened cock pressing against my aching pussy almost enough to distract me. Almost.

Resting my hands on his shoulders, I slowly run them down his body, my fingers trailing through the soft curls lining his broad chest. I lean closer, rolling my hips into him. He moans loudly, his hands moving to my hips. I suck in a breath at the sensation of his rough fingers brushing against the skin peeking out from under my top, trying to remain focused.

Moving my hands to my chest, I slide them down my body, watching his eyes follow the movement, goosebumps rising under his heated gaze. I move to grip his wrists, pulling them away from my body and pressing his hands down on the couch on either side of his thighs. He smirks, allowing me the power in this moment.

Bad choice.

Sucking in a calming breath, I lean my head back slightly before propelling forward and smacking my forehead directly onto his nose, leaping off his lap in the same motion. He howls, enraged as blood seeps down his broken nose.

I don’t have time to admire my handiwork, knowing it only bought me a few seconds. Sprinting across the room, I snatch up the keys on the counter and run out the front door, the sound of Zayn’s furious shouts following me as I desperately search for the car.

Fumbling with the keys, I click the unlock button, listening closely for the telltale beep. A faint noise drifts to me and I take off in its direction, careful to watch for traps in my hurry to get away.

I let out a relieved cry as I spot the vehicle. Flinging the door open, I jump inside and immediately hit the lock button.

A loud thud sounds as Zayn runs into the car, yanking on the locked handle. “Open the door!” He roars, pounding on the glass.

I flip him off, throwing the car in reverse. “Fuck you, asshole!” I shout, backing up the car, disappointed when he leaps out of the way and I don’t get the satisfying sound of his feet being crushed.

I still broke his nose, so there’s that.

With a mental pat on my back, I drive off, my mind focused on the one thing I need to do more than anything. Pressing my foot down harder on the gas pedal, I drive as fast as I can.

I’m not losing anyone else.

“I’m sorry, miss. There was nothing more we could have done.” I don’t have the energy to respond as I stare down at Hollis’ lifeless body.

I was too late.

His last moments.

He was all alone.

If I had only gotten away sooner. Maybe I could have…

A tear rolls down my cheek, quickly followed by another as the dam of emotion breaks. Suddenly I find nothing matters.

I have nothing, I have no one.

My eyes land on the small bag of Hollis’ personal effects sitting on the table beside his hospital bed. I reach out with numb fingers, rifling through the bag and pulling out his phone. I stare at the screen, a photo of the two of us staring back at me.

A sob breaks free from my chest and I can’t be here.

Shoving the phone into my pocket, I stumble blindly out of the room, hunting for the exit behind blurry eyes. Distant voices try to talk to me, but I can’t focus enough to hear what they’re saying. I hear the ding of the elevator and pivot toward the noise, desperately needing to be out of here, away from this place of death.

That’s all hospitals are in my experience, just a fast track to hell.

I wonder if ghosts get trapped here.

I push away the thought, irritated West’s crazy has rubbed off on me. There’s no such thing as ghosts, not in real life. Just a longing to hold onto our loved ones a little longer.

My heart cracks as I’m flooded with the same agony I felt all those years ago when Mona died. And then again when West left me.

Exiting the elevator, I walk past all the concerned faces, ignoring their attempts to make sure I’m alright.

I’m not alright. I don’t know if I ever will be again.

Hollis is gone.

West is lost in his own shit.

I don’t have anyone else.

My mind flashes briefly to Zayn, but I brush it off, wanting nothing to do with the psychopath.

One other person pops up and, against my better judgment, I fumble with my phone, dialing the number and pressing it to my ear. It rings three times before answering.

“Hello?”

Sucking in a deep breath, I release it as I brokenly whisper, “Hey Mamma.”