23. Riggs
Riggs
T he knife feels too right in my hand. Like it belongs there. Like I was meant to hold it against this piece of shit's throat.
I shouldn't be doing this. Some small, rational part of my brain is screaming at me to stop, to walk away, to grab Maren and get the fuck out of here before I cross a line I can't uncross.
But that voice gets quieter every day. Especially when she's looking at me like that.
“Maren...” I whisper again, my voice rough even to my own ears.
Her hand slides over mine, cool and steady where mine is burning hot. The pressure of her fingers against my knuckles sends electricity up my arm, short-circuiting whatever's left of my common sense.
“You want to help,” she says again, and it's not a question.
I can't tear my eyes away from her face. The streetlight catches the edge of her profile, turning her into something otherworldly. Her eyes reflect nothing. Black pools I want to drown in.
“Yes.” The word tears from my throat.
The guy whimpers against the wall, but he might as well not exist anymore. There's only Maren. Only her hand on mine. Only the way she's looking at me like she can see every dark, twisted thing I've ever thought about.
And she doesn't look away.
“I know you do,” she murmurs, stepping closer until her body presses against my side. Her lips brush my ear, and I have to lock my knees to keep from buckling. “I know what you want, Riggs.”
The knife trembles against his throat. A thin line of blood trickles down his neck, disappearing into his collar. He's crying now, silent tears tracking down his face.
I should care. I should feel something—disgust, shame, regret.
All I feel is Maren's breath on my neck.
“Tell me,” I rasp.
Her finger traces the veins on the back of my hand, following them up to my wrist. “You want to be the monster.”
My breath catches. She's right. She's always fucking right.
“Not just any monster,” she continues, her voice hypnotic. “My monster.”
The blubbering frat fuck makes a strangled sound. “Please,” he begs. “Please, I won't tell anyone, just let me go?—”
“Shut up,” I snarl, pressing the knife harder without looking at him.
Maren's smile is slow, satisfied. “See how easy that is for you?” She shifts, her breasts pressing against my arm as she leans in closer. “How natural.”
Something snaps inside me.
The blade punctures his throat right where his larynx is, the way she showed me once on a medical diagram. “In case you ever need to silence someone quickly,” she'd said with that smile that haunts my dreams.
His eyes bulge. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out—just a wet, gargling noise as blood bubbles up around the blade. I pull it out, and he tries to scream, but all that emerges is a pathetic wheeze. His hands fly to his throat, blood seeping through his fingers as he slides down the wall.
I should be vomiting in the corner, overcome with regret and disgust at what I've done. I just ended a man's life. I just crossed a line that can't be uncrossed.
But as I watch the light fade from his eyes, all I feel is...power. Pure, intoxicating power surging through my veins like a drug.
I’ve only ever felt like this when I’m on the ice, but I don’t even know if that can even compare.
I'm alive. More alive than I've ever been.
The body crumples to the ground, twitching once, twice, then going still. Dead. He's dead because I killed him.
I turn to Maren, blood dripping from her knife in my hand. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. She's such a beautiful nightmare.
“Riggs,” she whispers, and my name in her mouth sounds like a prayer.
I grab her, pulling her against me, not caring about the blood on my hands or the dead man at our feet. Her mouth crashes into mine, hungry and desperate. I taste copper and salt and her.
“We need to go,” she pants against my lips, but her hands are gripping my shirt, pulling me closer.
“Not yet,” I growl, pushing her back against the opposite wall, away from dead body. My hands find her thighs, hiking up that black dress as her legs wrap around my waist.
This is insane. We're in an alley with a corpse. But the danger, the wrongness of it all, only makes the need more urgent.
“Riggs,” she moans as my teeth find her neck. “We can't?—”
“Tell me to stop,” I challenge, knowing she won't. She can't. She's as fucked up as I am. As consumed by this darkness.
Her answer is to dig her nails into my shoulders, drawing blood that mixes with the drops already on my skin.
“This is what you do to me,” I rasp against her ear. “This is what you've made me.”
I rip her panties down her legs without ceremony, the sound of tearing fabric lost in her gasp. My jeans are undone and shoved down just far enough in seconds, freeing myself while pinning her harder against the wall.
I slam into her in one brutal thrust that makes her cry out. There's no gentle warm-up, no careful preparation—just pure animal need. She feels like fucking heaven, tight and slick around me.
“This what you wanted?” I growl, driving into her again. “To make me like this?”
Her answer is to bite my shoulder through my shirt, hard enough to draw blood. Pain shoots through me, amplifying everything. I grip her ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as I pound into her relentlessly.
“Harder,” she hisses in my ear, nails raking down my back. “Show me what you really are. A pretty boy monster.”
Something takes over. I'm not even human anymore—just a creature of instinct and need. I fuck her like I'm trying to break her, to mark her from the inside out. Each thrust slams her back against the wall, and the small part of my brain still capable of thought worries I might hurt her.
But Maren isn't fragile. She meets every thrust with equal force, her body arching into mine. Her nails scrape down my arms, my neck, raising welts I'll have to explain away tomorrow. I don't care. I want her marks all over me.
“Look at him,” she pants, eyes flicking to the body. “Look what we did.”
I follow her gaze to the lifeless form just feet away, blood pooling black in the dim light. The sight should kill my arousal, should make me sick with horror.
Instead, I feel my cock pulse inside her, harder than I've ever been.
“Fuck,” I groan, pace becoming erratic as heat builds at the base of my spine. “What have you done to me?”
Her laugh is breathless, triumphant. “Released you from society.”
This beautiful, dangerous woman brought out a monster I didn't know existed, and now she's taunting me with it.
“You think you've got me all figured out?” I snarl, slamming her harder against the wall. “You haven't seen shit yet.”
My hand shoots up to her throat, fingers wrapping around that delicate column of flesh. I squeeze, feeling her pulse hammer against my palm. Not enough to stop her breathing completely, but enough to restrict it.
“This what you want, Maren?” I growl, hips driving into her with bruising force. “You want the monster? You fucking got him.”
Her lips part, struggling for air, but she's smiling. Fucking smiling as I choke her. My cock throbs inside her at the sight.
“You're so fucking wet,” I hiss, feeling her cunt clench around me. “Getting off on this, aren't you? On what we did. On what I'm doing to you now.”
I tighten my grip just a fraction more, watching her eyes glaze slightly. The power is intoxicating. I control her breath, her pleasure, her life. One squeeze too hard and she'd be gone, just like Tyler.
But that's not what I want. I want her alive, responsive, mine.
“Is this all you got?” she rasps with what little air I'm allowing her. “I thought you were going to show me something, Rhodes.”
Even now, pinned against a wall with my hand around her throat, she's challenging me. Pushing me. Making me crazier.
“Greedy little cunt,” I snarl, and her pussy clenches hard around me at the words. My other hand slides between us, fingers finding where we're joined. Without warning, I push two fingers inside her alongside my cock, stretching her almost cruelly.
Her back arches off the wall, a strangled cry escaping her compressed throat. The sound is fucking gorgeous.
“Too much?” I taunt, pumping my fingers alongside my dick, feeling her stretch to accommodate the intrusion. “This what you needed? To be filled up, used, owned?”
Her eyes roll back, tears gathering at the corners from the intensity. I can feel her body trembling on the edge of something massive.
“Answer me,” I demand, easing the pressure on her throat just enough to let her speak.
“Yes,” she gasps, voice ragged. “Fuck yes.”
“You think you're so fucking smart,” I growl, hips slamming into hers with brutal force. “Think you've got me all figured out.”
“Poor little hockey boy,” she manages to rasp out. “So corrupted by the bad girl. By the town’s bloody fucking Mary.”
“You think this is a fucking game?” I growl in her ear, biting down on the lobe hard enough to make her gasp. “You think you're still in control?”
I twist my fingers inside her, feeling her walls clench and flutter. She's so fucking tight around both my cock and fingers, stretched to her limit. The wet sounds of her cunt taking everything I give her echo in the alley, mixing with our harsh breathing.
“This cunt belongs to me now,” I growl, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. “Say it.”
“Make me,” she challenges, even as her body betrays her, wetness flooding around my fingers and cock.
I laugh darkly, adding a third finger alongside the others, watching her mouth fall open in a silent scream. Her eyes roll back, body trembling violently against mine.
“Look at you,” I hiss, driving into her relentlessly. “Taking everything I give you. Stretched so wide you can barely think straight.”
Her nails are drawing blood from my shoulders, but the pain only fuels me. I twist my fingers again, pressing against her walls as my cock continues to pound into her.
“Who does this pussy belong to?” I demand, teeth scraping down her neck. “Say it, Maren.”