Chapter 24 Luka
Luka
One or two of my fingers may be broken, my blood mixing with the blood of the scumbag below me, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not breathing, I’m not thinking, I’m just…hitting.
Her screams grew louder as I approached the dungeon, and I thought she was having another one of her nightmares. Turns out, she was living through something that will become a nightmare of mine.
I no longer feel the hard base of the skull beneath my fists, meaning his head has turned to mush.
Still, I don’t stop. Not until my biceps grow sore with fatigue.
Not until red leaves my vision, replaced by the real-life redness oozing in front of me.
My chest heaves with exertion and I retract my hand, ignoring the sting of it. There’s no need to check his pulse. He couldn’t possibly be alive with his eyeballs detached from his face, or parts of his brain showing.
It’s disgusting. But not nearly as disgusting as the sight of fear in Sophie’s warm eyes when he tried to have his way with her.
I release a strained breath, suddenly feeling exhausted.
“Is he…dead?” A soft voice breaks through the sound of my ears ringing.
I huff, wiping my hand on Zvone’s shirt. “Yeah, I think it’s a safe bet.”
The asshole is dead, and my body is aching, but the anger boiling in my stomach hasn’t subsided one bit.
“Luka?” she says, making me glance toward her. She swallows, and the sight of her form on that couch is almost too much to bear. She pulled her cami down and panties up, but her eyes are still blown wide, her hair a mess. Acid builds in my throat at the thought of what could have happened.
I clear my throat, remembering she called after me. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and her eyes are glossy, but she doesn’t look away. She holds my gaze in earnest.
I get up from the floor, needing to get the blood off me. “Don’t thank me. I’m the reason this happened in the first place.”
And that’s the crux of it all. I might have just beaten Zvone to death, but I’m the fucking reason he had a chance to get to her at all.
I’m the one who kidnapped her and brought her here.
I’m the one who’s been keeping her here.
And I’m the one who avoided her because of the guilt I felt, letting these assholes think they’re free to do whatever they want.
I start for the bathroom, but her response stops me. “You protected me. You protected my honor.”
Anger overflows inside of me, my fists growing hot again. “I haven’t protected your honor. I protected mine!” My finger stabs my chest as my voice roars in the otherwise silent room. She shakes her head, so I continue, “He was disobeying my orders! I couldn’t let that happen.”
“That’s not what that was…”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I scoff, turning to the bathroom, but her hand grabs my wrist. “I’m the one who keeps you here!” I shout, but she doesn’t flinch.
She leads me by my wrist into the bathroom. I let her, too tired to argue. Besides, she deserves more than for me to scream at her after everything that has happened. She turns on the faucet and lowers my hands under the lukewarm spray of the water.
“You’re the one who told me the world wasn’t so black and white.” I search her eyes for a trace of doubt but come up blank. She truly believes what she’s saying. She sees me as her savior, even when I’m everything but.
The crimson liquid spills from my hands, trickling down the drain as she massages the soap into my flesh, cleaning it thoroughly.
My skin is cracked, my knuckles are swollen, but my bones are intact after all.
I flex my fist a couple of times to make sure, and even though it’s painful, there’s no restriction of movement.
The water stops, and her touch is soft and warm as she lifts my hand to study it.
Her fingers trail over mine, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
They make their way over my palm and broken knuckles, before her lips follow the same path.
She presses a kiss to each one, as if thanking them for keeping her safe.
My heartbeat picks up, and I clench my jaw at the unfamiliar, gentle touch.
And just when the intimacy of the moment becomes uncomfortable, she moves my hand slowly down her body, stopping when it reaches her white cotton panties. The worn-out lightbulb crackles, jerking me away.
“Sophie, I…” I start to say, but she draws my hand back and presses my palm onto her heated flesh.
“Please, Luka. I still feel his hands on me.” Her voice pleads. “Help me.”
Finally, I dare to look at her. Her eyes are a forest floor after a summer rain, warm and soft, yet dampened with tears.
It’s not that I don’t want to. Fuck, my dick strains against my blood-soaked pants with the thought of it, but guilt lies heavily on my shoulders. I’d do pretty much anything to make her feel better. Even when I feel like this is the worst thing to do.
I shut my eyes, coming to terms with my decision before pulling my gaze down to where my hand is hovering over the apex of her thighs.
My gaze catches on her bare legs, her toned thighs carved with tiny little scars. There’s too many of them to count, and even though they look old, I feel them as if they’re carved into my own flesh.
Her breath hitches and as I look up, I see the way her mouth dropped.
“Who did this to you?” I barely mutter out. The pot of rage simmers again, a knot constricting my throat.
“I-I don’t…”
I pick her chin up with my hand, repeating my question. “Who. Did. This. To. You?” Keeping my voice level is a struggle. I want to kick, scream and kill the motherfucker who hurt her.
She shoots me a sad smile, a drop of liquid falling down her cheek. “A person you couldn’t protect me from.” My brows furrow, so she adds, “Me.”
Blood freezes in my veins. I open my mouth to ask more, but she shushes me. “I don’t want to talk about this now. Please, Luka, make me feel something other than agony.”
I let out a groan, her words snapping something inside of me.
My hand slips under the cotton, finding soft hair beneath.
She lets out a whimper, and the sound shoots straight to my dick.
My eyes find hers, searching for permission, and she gives me a frantic nod, spurring me on.
My fingers travel lower, reaching her core.
This time, her whimper is louder, and she bucks into my hand.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whisper, the truth of my words hitting me hard. Entranced, I stare at her—her gaze holding me captive in an ironic twist of fate.
Her nails dig into the flesh of my biceps and the sting only makes me harder.
I circle her clit, gently at first, then rougher when she grinds her wet pussy over my bruised flesh.
One finger plays with her entrance, slipping in and out just an inch.
It itches to bury itself deep inside of her, but I’ve taken enough from her, and I don’t want to take more. Not unless she begs me.
“Let me make you feel good, mila.” It’s the least I can do.
She lets out a quivering moan. Her nipples are two stiff peaks, stretching the fabric of her tank top.
I lick my lips to stop my tongue from reaching for them.
Her eyes sparkle with lust, rather than tears, taking my breath away.
I rub her harder, her juices making it easy.
Her moans fill the tiny space, growing louder and louder, until she lets go at last.
“Luka,” she whispers, her body trembling before growing limp. She says my name like a song, and I never loved it quite like I do at this moment. My arm wraps around her waist, holding her up as my heart beats a frantic rhythm. She breathes out a “thank you”, and the room narrows.
My dick is still rock hard, my whole-body stiff but the guilt comes rushing back. I bring her out of the bathroom, placing her on the bed, and take the phone out of my pocket, desperately needing to put some distance between us.
“Yeah?” Ivan picks up the phone.
“I need a cleanup…”
He doesn’t even let me finish before saying, “Text me the address.”
“At the club.”
“Anyone I should be sad about?”
I glance at the corpse. “No. Definitely not.”
“Good. I’ll be there soon.”
He ends the call, and I sigh.
“Good thing the floors aren’t carpeted,” Sophie deadpans. Her comment is so unexpected it makes me huff a laugh.
“You want me to grab your clothes?”
She reaches it first, lifting the hoodie before tugging it over her head. As soon as it reaches her head, she thrashes her arms, throwing the hoodie away.
“It smells like him,” she says, her breath quickening.
My chest constricts. “You can get under the covers, then. This will be done soon.”
The knock sounds at the door and her eyes widen. I bite the inside of my cheek.
“It’s Ivan.”
She nods her head quickly and I let Ivan in. He takes one look at the floor and shakes his head at me. He’s carrying a large carpet in one hand and some cleaning supplies in the other.
“I don’t want to hear it,” I mutter.
“I wasn’t planning on saying anything. Ali nadam se da zna? ?to radi?.” I hope you know what you’re doing. Fuck, would I like to say I do.
He eyes the body for a second, as if it’s another day at the office.
It kind of is. Dropping the carpet and the bag of cleaning supplies to the floor, he steps into the bathroom and tears off the shower curtain.
With practiced precision, he rolls the corpse into the curtain, before rolling out the carpet and repeating the process.
“Nisam imao izbora,” I say. I didn’t have a choice.
He lowers his chin in understanding. “Care to help me here?” He grabs the carpet holding Zvone’s legs, motioning for me to grab the other end.
I crouch down to grab Zvone, but Sophie speaks out. “Could you…” Her voice breaks. “Could you stay?”
Ivan lifts his eyebrows at me, but I drop Zvone’s body to the ground, ignoring him.
“Marko came with me,” Ivan says.
“Why the hell do you need my help, then?”
Ivan gets upstairs and comes back with Marko in tow. On the count of three, they lift the body and carry him out of the room.
I grab bleach, pouring a generous amount on the floor, and start scrubbing. The splatters from a punch are much narrower than the splatters from a gunshot wound, meaning I’m done in no time.
I doubt this would hold up under a black-light, or forensic research, but it’s enough not to see or smell blood. Dumping the water into the toilet, I wash my hands.
Sophie’s on the bed, barely keeping her eyes open. I shut the main light, leaving the glow of the bathroom light to illuminate the room, and try to make myself comfortable on the couch. My skin burns, knowing it’s the same couch where she was assaulted on, but there’s nowhere else to go.
A few minutes pass and I think she’s already fallen asleep, but then she speaks, “Would you mind sleeping here? Next to me?” I answer with silence, so she continues, “I think I’d feel safer.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me, and make my way to bed. I lie on top of the covers, trying to keep our bodies separate, but the heat of her body still reaches me.
Inhaling deeply, I ask a question I might not want the answer to. “Stupid question, I know. But are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really remember a time when I was last okay.”
I swallow around the knot of guilt. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened.” Moisture forms in the corners of my eyes.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you were here.” Her gratefulness only worsens my guilt.
I’d do anything to set her free.
But I can’t. I owe this to my brother. My family. To the memory of my father.
Her even breaths let me know she fell asleep, but sleep is nowhere near for me. My skin is buzzing.
The guilt, the rage, the lust, all the adrenaline, then her fucking gratefulness have mixed into an intoxicating cocktail. Blood rushes to my groin as the scent of her shampoo enters my nose. Why did she have to kiss my fucking knuckles? And beg me to make her come?
I groan quietly, grabbing my cock roughly to will it down. She’s definitely not a person who is supposed to be on the other end of my lust. Especially not after tonight. What happened in the bathroom was a mistake.
My emotional spiral gets interrupted by a soft sob that escapes Sophie.
Another nightmare. My insides clench, knowing that they’re bound to only get worse after this.
My dick turns flaccid in a second, my worry for her overtaking my mind.
Soon, she’s full-on crying, those pleads I can’t stand nicking my heart.
It becomes impossible to listen to them, so I do the first thing that comes to mind. I turn to lay on my side and spoon her to me. Her frame fits mine perfectly. I wrap my arm around her, trying to offer comfort.
She doesn’t deserve this.
She doesn’t deserve to be haunted.
She deserves to feel safe. To feel cherished.
While I wallow in self-pity, her sobs subside, turning into sniffles, before growing completely silent.
Using my thumb, I wipe her tears off her cheeks and let myself fall asleep.