Moth to a Flame

3. CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Regan

Me: Look, Marshall. I thought this through, and maybe we aren’t such a good match. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Sorry!

After hitting the send button, I tap my fingers on the wooden table that’s set between my kitchen and living room nervously. Stare at the screen, disturb my bottom lip, and wait for Marshall’s reply.

This is the first time I’ve rejected a man. The first time I’ve spoken to a man like that . Will he be upset? Will he call me names?

My older sister, Rosemary, broke up with this guy a couple of years ago. He was an asshole about it. Called her a stuck-up bitch.

Marshall didn’t strike me as an asshole.

I just wasn’t into him.

Over two hours have passed since we ended our conversation. Two hours that I haven’t been able to sleep. Not because I want him so much. Because I’ve been waiting to see if I have some sort of a reaction to him.

I’ve come up blank. He doesn’t even scare me like I hoped my match would.

It’s not his fault. Marshall isn’t ugly or something. He was a little crude, but mostly he was okay, I guess?

Okay isn’t the word I’m searching for. He just isn’t it for me.

For my particular need, I was looking for someone both respectful and dominant on Moth to a Flame. A man with a presence.

Someone to play out a rape scene with me.

My heart palpitates a little faster at the word rape . My fingers clutch on to the edge of the table instead of stroking it. My knuckles turn white.

You’re fine, Regan , I hear my sister’s voice in my head. The words she repeats to me whenever I start freaking out. I’m right here, right across the hall. One scream, and I’ll come running.

We don’t have latch locks installed for that reason. In case someone breaks in through the fire escape or anything like that.

She’s a light sleeper, so I know she’ll be here if someone tries to rape me. Again.

He can’t hurt you. I’ll kill the motherfucker. Fucking gut anyone who touches you.

Those last affirmations help. That and Jigsaw, my gun. My Ruger stares at me from where I left it on the table, always loaded, ready to fire at whoever gets too close.

“I have you.” I reach over to grab it, cradling it in my palm. The gun is heavy and warm in my hand. My personal bodyguard shines in the soft glow from the floor lamp behind me. “I have Rosemary.”

What happened to me when I was fifteen will never happen again.

The Ruger grows slightly heavier in my hold as if voicing its agreement. Other than my sister, it’s been my most trusted companion for the past ten years.

A decade.

That’s how long it’s been since that awful night in Central Park. My body and soul will never recover from what that monster took from me.

But I have to move on. I refuse to miss out on so many things because some sick fuck’s idea of fun was to rape and sodomize a fifteen-year-old girl.

I’m ready for my life to finally start. For that to happen, I need closure. A do-over. A rape scene where I know the man on top of me isn’t out to hurt me. That it’s just sex for both of us. A transaction that won’t leave me scarred emotionally and physically.

This state I’m in, it can’t go on. Crying when I try to touch myself is awful. So is the fact that I’ve never been kissed.

I want that. I want an orgasm. I want another man’s lips on mine.

But when I think about dating, I shut down.

Consensual rape. That’s the answer I’ve come up with. A way to address my problem. I’m ready for it.

Moth to a Flame was supposed to be the platform to help me with that. Of course I’d vet the man before doing anything remotely sexual with him.

I’ll do everything the right way. Rosemary would come with me on the first date. Dad said to spare no expenses on investigators and a bodyguard when I go meet him, whomever he is I choose to date.

A smile tugs at my lips at the thought of our unconventional family. Dad is a renowned horror author, my favorite genre. Rosemary and I grew up to his scary stories before bed, to Mom yelling BOO! at the end of each of them.

By the time I turned ten and Rosemary was twelve, we already knew how to hide a body. Where the femoral artery is. What acid works best to melt bones.

That was the fun part.

That, and the being honest with each other. They’ve always insisted on it.

We’ve kept both even after that night.

So yeah, I told my parents about signing up for Moth to a Flame and they supported me. I was so excited when I took that first step. Since then, I’ve been losing hope. I started to worry that I was the problem. That no one, out of all these men, wants me.

Two weeks of being active on their website and the only man who was suggested and actually talked to me was Marshall. Clayton doesn’t count. A day after his profile popped on my screen, he blocked me.

Back to Marshall.

I’ve waited for him to take charge, to be the one to approach me. How can he dominate me if he can’t say hi , right?

Tonight, he did that. Passed the first test. Unfortunately, after talking to him, it’d become blatantly clear that he wasn’t the one for me.

Five minutes have come and gone since I sent him that message.

I wait a little longer.

Ten and still no sign of life from Marshall.

Maybe that’s his way of dealing with rejection. Ghosting me.

Fine by me. Being ignored sure beats being called a stuck-up bitch.

Now what? Sleep is out of the question. The whole situation with Marshall left me antsy.

Reading is just as impossible. I have about a hundred pages left to finish my monthly book club choice, but my mind is a mess.

Only thing left to do is go outside for a walk. Not by myself. Not this late at night. Hell no.

Mojo, Rosemary’s St. Bernard and my dog-nephew, will come with me. Between the two of us and my Ruger, we should be okay. We always are.

I unfold myself from the chair, pull on my light navy sweater. My socks, and sneakers. My Ruger slips into the pocket in my concealment leggings. After locking up behind me, I walk across the hall.

The adorable St. Bernard welcomes me as soon as I’m inside Rosemary’s apartment. He wags his tail, shoving his nose into my legs.

“Hey there, doggo.” I bend to rub him behind his ears just the way he likes it. “Up for a late-night walk?”

Woof!

“Knew you would.” It’s impossible not to laugh at that. He’s too adorable. “Let’s go.”

“Regan?” My sister shuffles on bare feet to the living room, hugging her arms around her oversized T-shirt. Her red hair, the one feature that sets us apart, tumbles down her front. “Can’t sleep?”

“Yes. Sorry.” Mojo doesn’t leave my side when I head to where Rosemary hangs his collar and leash at night. He lifts his face to me so I can put the collar on him, his large brown eyes smiling at me. “For waking you up.”

“Nonsense. I can tell something’s bothering you.” Her hand waves in a dismissive gesture. “Want to talk about it? I’ll make tea. You don’t have to be by yourself.”

“I’m good.” Other than the fact that no one out of the millions of people on Moth to a Flame is remotely interested in me. No, that’s okay too. I will not feel bad just because I’m unmatchable. “The guy, from the dating website—”

“Was he being an ass?” She cocks a hip to the side and scowls.

“No, he was actually not that bad.”

“Let me have at him.” Righteousness flashes behind her brown eyes, even in the dark apartment. “I’ll tell the fucker exactly what I think about him.”

Woof, woof!

“Good boy.” I pat his head. Mojo doesn’t approve of either of us being upset. “I’m sure your momma didn’t mean to go all Carrie on us.”

“Regan.” The movie reference doesn’t amuse her. “I’m being serious.”

“He’s not the one for me.” I walk Mojo over to her, crossing the kitchen that’s identical to mine, and press a peck on her cheek. “That’s it. And this.” I raise Mojo’s leash. “I can’t sleep. Need to get some fresh air. Please, go back to bed. You don’t want to show up to work with black circles under your eyes.”

When I say work , I’m talking about our small business. We inherited this two-story building in Brooklyn from our grandparents, seeing we were their only granddaughters.

For a while, we toyed with the idea of turning it into a bookstore. We love reading. Both of us are a part of the same horror book club, and Rosemary goes to a romance book club too.

The problem was the tall shelves. Anyone could hide behind them. Any man who wanted to could grab us and drag us back there.

No one would see them hurting us.

Hence why we opened Everglow Repairs, our computer and phone repairs shop. We’re both good with electronics and we figured, why not. No one can get in the back without a key. Our theory proved itself, too. Over the last eight years, we’ve been safe.

They could, though, if they really wanted to.

I bite the inside of my cheek, steeling my muscles against the shudder that I can feel coming. Rosemary doesn’t need to freak out even more than she already is. She needs to go back to bed.

“And you do?” Her frown melts, gaze softening.

“We both know you’re the one our customers look at.” I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger, and she laughs. “The pretty one.”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes at me before grabbing me by the elbow and hauling me to the full-length mirror with the antique frame in her living room. Even though it’s obvious that I was joking, she pins me to her side and asks, “Who do you look like?”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes playfully at her. “Mom and Dad.”

“Try again.”

That’s my sister. I’ve woken her up in the middle of the night, and all she cares about is making sure I’m okay.

“You.” This isn’t a lie. Many people have confused us for twins over the years because she’s only two years my senior.

Some even thought Mom was our older sister.

The three of us are five-two curvy women with the same soft features. Rosemary is the odd one out, with her red hair that matches Dad’s, but she’s definitely not as tall and bulky as he is.

“And…” Rosemary pinches me, clearly having the same line of thought as I do.

“Mom.”

“The stunner.”

I nod.

“Ding, ding, ding. You got it right. Now you may leave.” A smile spreads on her face. It’s contagious, and I laugh as she pushes me out the door. “Don’t stay out too late. Jigsaw’s on you?”

“Always.” I pat my hidden pocket where I keep my gun.

“Good.” She covers her mouth when a yawn escapes her.

She really should get some sleep.

Mojo is antsy, his paws scraping the floor when she leans in to kiss his snout. “Be a good boy, keep Auntie Regan safe. I’m counting on you.”

Woof!

At his vehement response, Rosemary shoves a doggy bag into my hand and closes the door behind her. I don’t go down the stairs until I hear her lock slide into place.

The first hints of the fall’s cool breeze stroke my face when I step outside. A couple of lights in the windows greet me, other than the lampposts’ soft glow on the dark street.

Many people might feel safe knowing that their neighbors are up. To have someone hear their screams in case they were attacked.

Not me. I trust Mojo and Jigsaw and my instincts.

Chin up. Shoulders pulled back.

This is my neighborhood. I won’t be terrorized by my nightmares. I’ve got this. I won’t be intimidated.

If only it was that easy when I tried pleasuring myself.

It will be, soon.

One night and I’ll be free to put myself out there. I’ll find a real relationship. One that’ll last forever.

With Mojo trotting at my side, I take in the colorful awnings and large signs on each storefront. I stare at the first, then the second car that drives by my block.

A few more days on Moth to a Flame, and I’ll find my match.

“All I’m asking for is one night,” I say to Mojo who stops next to a trash can. “Am I that unrape—unfuckable?” I whisper the last part.

I haven’t said the word “fuck,” in a dirt way ever, and it makes me wonder how I’d react to a man who’d say worse things to me.

It’s another thing I’d need him to do for me. Show me that words are just words.

If you scream, I’ll kill you, whore. You’ll let me fuck you, or you’re dead.

Mojo, who doesn’t hear my rapist’s voice in my head, lifts one leg, relieving himself on the trash can.

Focusing on him and how cute he is calms me. Lester’s voice is silenced. Being a dog aunt is the best thing to ever happen to me.

He pees some more. I guess that’s what he thinks of my question.

My lips curve in a smile. He’s done, and it doesn’t look like he has number two. Good.

He twists to look up at me, wagging his tail excitedly.

I would’ve shared the sentiment, except we aren’t alone anymore. Any remnant of warmth is being sucked from my body as the chill creeps up my spine.

The street is quiet. And yet, I can sense it isn’t empty.

My hand goes to my hidden pocket. Fast.

Someone’s behind me. Maybe it’s a neighbor.

Maybe it’s someone as bad and as huge as Lester who’s on the lookout for a girl or a woman he can hurt.

Calm down.

I’m not calm at all. I should pull out my gun.

What if it’s a neighbor? What would it look like if I aimed a gun at them?

Bad. Horrible.

It might even go off, and then I’d have shot an innocent person.

I keep my hand on my hidden gun. That’s it.

Even if this person is right behind me.

Even if they’re being stealthy.

Even if they walk around me until we’re facing each other.

Even if the they is a he . A tall, broad-shouldered, beautiful he who tilts his head as he examines me.

I can’t bring myself to point Jigsaw at him. I should.

Can’t.

The worst part? He doesn’t scare me.

His black eyes and tiny twitch of his lips tear down my defenses.

I’m frozen, staring up at the man with the wool hat who could be a rapist, a burglar, or a murderer.

“Hi there,” he says, his voice deep, sending shivers through my body. “A sweet little lamb like you shouldn’t be wandering the streets this late at night.”

“I…” Can’t speak. Can’t move.

I need to. I have to.

Mojo breathes hard at my side, like he does when he likes someone.

“Unless you’re out here looking for me.”

A threat. He might be handsome as all hell, but the way he talks, there’s no doubt he’s threatening me.

I open my mouth to scream, my hand closing on the gun.

The stranger is faster.

With one hand on my shoulder, he spins me to him and locks that arm around my waist. The other hand slams on my mouth, shutting me up.

Is it crazy that I notice that his nails are painted black? Have I completely lost it, thinking that I like the chipped nail polish when he’s holding me like that?

Totally. This isn’t me.

Mojo doesn’t even yelp. He really does like this man.

What the hell…

To survive this, I have to fight. And I do. I thrash my body.

Scream.

It gets me nowhere. Pressing me tighter to his body, he locks me in.

“You wound me.” His lips brush my ear, and I hate that he smells good. Like a faint hint of spice and the ocean. Hate even more that he feels good. “Kicking and screaming like that. Is that a way to treat your new friend?”