46. Braxton
I stay in their house for a few nights. The first night after waking, the doctor left me some pills to help with the pain and another for sleep, and I contently fell asleep staring at Hope after I told her I loved her. I don’t care that she’s a little fucked up in the head. In fact, it’s precisely why I love her.
I think I fell for her that night in the park when I saw her again, and she sat there giving us attitude. It was clearly the alcohol speaking, considering the facatextde she hides behind in her everyday interactions. But I knew the moment I saw her spitefully looking up at me through those thick glasses that I could stare into those blue eyes all day, every day, with the added bonus of her scathing tongue.
When I wake up on the third day, my side is fucking killing me, and she’s nowhere to be seen. Managing to sit up, I look around for a shirt but can’t find one. The whole room smells of her. I walk to her closet and pull it open, and what I see inside makes me smile. There’s an array of beautiful dresses and overalls, but it’s the glass statue that she’s been hiding from me that has snagged my attention.
I pick it up, turning it over in my hand. It’s me, and it’s so detailed that it’s terrifying. Red sprays from the back of my head from a bullet wound to the forehead. It’s the highest form of flattery from her.
Closing the closet, I inspect her room. It’s simple and clean, and other than a few of her sculptures, it doesn’t look like it’s been updated since she was a teenager.
When I open the bedroom door, I hear someone speaking softly and head toward the sound. I stop at the end of the hall and find her mother in the kitchen. She isn’t cooking; she’s leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to someone on the phone. She takes a sip from her mug, and that’s when she spots me. She hangs up and waves me in. The last time I saw her, which was at the art show, she didn’t look too impressed with me, so it’s a refreshing surprise to be greeted with a small smile as I approach her.
“You seem to be healing up quickly,” she says as she pulls out a bottle of water for me. I thank her for it.
“Thank you for your hospitality.” I’m unsure of what else to say. How much does she know? What can I discuss with her? This is the woman Hope idolizes, and as much as I love terrorizing her father, I need to impress her mother. It’s a foreign concept to me—trying to gain anyone’s approval. Especially a mother’s. Admittedly, I don’t even know what a real mother is, but I’m willing to learn for Hope’s sake.
“Hope is a good girl,” Lena says with a bright smile. “But she’s a lot like her father and her aunt. She has a darker side not many people will embrace. I was afraid of your relationship going further, for the simple fact you would endanger her and potentially judge her for it. She isn’t perfect, but she is perfect in my eyes, so if you do anything to betray her, it won’t just be my husband coming after you,” she warns.
I’m a little taken aback because she delivers the warning with a perfect smile on her lips. “With all due respect, Ms. Love, I love your daughter because of her faults . Which is why I’m also the best person to protect her.”
I wonder if Lena’s protective mama bear routine has more to do with the fact that Hope has never brought a man home. I know this because I dug up as much as I could about her. “My husband says you can make all this serial killer business go away.”
“I can pin it on anyone at any time,” I tell her because I can. It can all be swept under the rug within minutes. But that’s up to Hope and if she’s ready for it. There’s a part of her that has an ego, one that wants to be seen and fawned over in a way that she can watch from the shadows. It’s not like her real life as a sculptor, where people demand her to take credit in the spotlight. This she can admire from afar.
Lena bites her bottom lip, and I figure that’s who Hope gets the habit from. “Please just look after my girl,” she whispers and then pulls me in for a hug.
Pain immediately flares in my gut, but I make sure not to wince or flinch. At first, I don’t know what to do. I don’t think my mother ever hugged me. I’m sure there were times I wanted her to when I watched other families with envy. But I’d never received this kind of love.
I wrap an arm around her, and a tiny, fragmented part of me from when I was a boy returns. It was a part of me that I released when I let my own mother go. And it’s suddenly clear why Hope cares what her mother thinks—because her mother is loving and good. Kind and fair. In that moment, I decide I want to do right by Lena Love as well.
She pulls away with a smile, and an unsettling feeling stirs in my stomach. Is this what it might’ve felt like to have a loving mother?
And I can’t help but wonder if I had, would I have turned out any different? Probably. But I wouldn’t have wanted any path that didn’t lead me to Hope.
“Welcome to the family then, I guess,” she says with a small smile. “Though, I hope you know what you’ve signed up for. Everyone is a little unhinged around here.” She laughs as she leads me down the hallway again. The house is beautiful, and it’s filled with so many of Hope’s sculptures. I wonder if her mother will ever proudly display the morbid, grotesque ones. If not, I’ll make sure to display each one of them proudly in my home.
We come to a room with two large wooden doors, and I hear Hope’s laugh flutter through the open one. I immediately look over Lena’s shoulder as she leads us into the room, and I see Hope is playing chess with her father.
“You’re awake,” Hope squeals and immediately jumps out of her chair. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been shot,” I deadpan, glancing at Alek, who tugs his gloves on.
“I had arrangements made with your chief. I told him you’re feeling unwell,” Alek says, then pulls my phone from his pocket and hands it to me. “I suggest you stay sick for the next week.”
“You went through my phone?” I accuse.
“Yes,” he replies without hesitation or remorse. “And I’d appreciate if you didn’t stalk my daughter’s Instagram so often.”
“Dad!” Hope chides.
“Just because you’re in a relationship, it doesn’t mean you should get distracted from your career,” he warns.
Lena pulls him by his hand. “Come on, dear, we’re going to have another private discussion about how our little girl is all grown up.” She leads him out of the room, and at first, I don’t think he’s going to leave until she whispers something in his ear that immediately has his attention.
“Eww,” Hope says as they close the door. “What did you and my mother talk about?” she asks, wrapping her arms around me and looking up at me through her glasses.
I don’t go into detail about my revelation about my mother and my slight envy that Hope has always had parents like this to support her. What I do say is, “Your parents would do anything to protect you.”
She smiles. “Hence why you got shot in the stomach.”
I smirk, my cock twitching at the thought of taking her in her father’s office. I’m certain it’ll piss him off.
“I’ll take as many bullets as I have to. I do have a serious question for you, however,” I say as I lift her. She squawks in protest but wraps her legs around my waist, and I ignore the searing pain as I step over to her father’s desk. “Do you want all of this serial killer business to go away?”
Her eyebrows furrow. “I can’t just switch it off. If that’s what you’re asking of me, then?—”
“No.” I quickly cut her off. “I meant with the media. I can make it all go away. Or do you want it to remain unsolved?”
Her mouth opens and then closes as if she’s not sure how to answer as I place her on the desk and begin kissing down her neck.
She giggles. “We’re in my dad’s office.”
“Answer the question, Shortcake, or you’ll be punished until you do,” I warn, reaching under her dress and pushing her panties to the side, then inserting two fingers inside her. She hisses, her gaze going hooded as she tries to speak but can’t. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I’m not ready for it to go away yet,” she says breathlessly as she leans back and watches me with amazement as I pump my fingers into her pussy. My little she-devil is full of ego. I fucking love it. Love how she gets off on her own scandal, all the while pretending to be sweet and innocent.
“I have another question for you,” I say as I undo my belt and free my cock that’s itching to claim her all over again. I never thought I’d see her again, never again experience what her pussy feels like. My pussy. My woman. My claim.
“Aren’t you awfully chatty today,” she sasses, then gasps as I shove my cock into her pussy, impaling her. I wrap my hand around her throat, squeezing just enough to restrict her air, and her cunt envelops my cock. Fuck, she feels good. Like home. My home .
“I want you to tell me you’re my woman and that the only way you’re getting out of this, us ” —I slam into her again to make a point, and she moans— “is by one of us dying.”
I pound into her, claiming and bruising her from the inside. “That sounds like marital vows,” she whispers, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as I thrust into her. My hand grips her throat harder. It’d be so easy to break her, and it’s so tempting to chain her up and keep her to myself.
“Call it what you want.” Thrust . “And I’ll do whatever you need.” Thrust . “Matching tattoos.” Thrust . “Rings.” Thrust . “Everything I have is yours. But you will always be mine.” I bite her jaw, and she hisses as her fingers dig into my wound. I keel over, my vision dancing with light.
I’m still inside of her as she smirks and says, “Of course, dear. But don’t ever forget who’s truly in control here.” Her nails drag from my wound up to my lips. I can taste my own blood before she leans in and kisses me, my cock twitching with excitement at how feral this woman makes me.
“But, yes, I’m yours for as long as you can make me come,” she whispers sweetly against my lips.
I bite her bottom lip and pick up my pace as I pound into her, going completely savage for this woman who is definitely my undoing. “Fuck, I love every part of you.”
I know that to be the truth. I also know that Hope Ivanov will be my ending. And it sounds like a lifetime of thrills and games to be played. She couldn’t be more twisted or perfect.
“I’m going to break you,” I growl as I slam into her, knocking items off the desk. Her legs are quivering as she reaches her high, and her nails dig into my back.