Chapter 29
Every goddamn time I tried to follow her out into those hills; I fucking lost her. The road twisted like a snake, and she slipped through my fingers, vanishing into the trees with those two bastards without fail.
Every single time.
I couldn’t see where they took her, but I knew she was close.
I couldn’t find the house she was hiding in.
But I would.
I was good at that—at finding Frankie Blake when she tried to hide from me.
She thought she was safe, playing house with both of those Neanderthals like the perfect little slutty housewife taking both of their dicks every night as if it was normal and sane.
Bullshit.
Frankie thought she could disappear with them, and I’d stop looking. Stupid. She was mine. She had always been mine.
I remembered the sound of her voice the night I took her virginity years ago. She was sixteen, and I had pushed drink after drink into her hand at that party, loosening her up after she dragged me along for weeks, keeping those pretty little thighs closed tight like a little tease.
But not that night.
No, that night she had fallen onto her back and spread her legs for me like the perfect little slut I wanted her to be.
She was perfect that night too. God, she felt so good wrapped around my dick each time.
It was the start of my obsession with her. One I never grew out of, like I thought I would. So, I made sure she never left me, not like her mom wanted her to do when she graduated high school. Not like her friends begged her to when they realized she was cutting them off for me.
Instead, I convinced her to leave with me. To run away somewhere far away so that no one could try to rip us apart.
Somewhere we could be happy and alone together.
We made it a few years before she started threatening to leave. Before she started telling me everyone had been right about me the whole time.
Before she started fighting me off her when I tried to fuck her after she picked a fight.
Damn, but those nights were almost better than the nights that she came to me willingly.
The sound of her voice when she cursed and spat her venom at me. And then the way her voice would break when she fought against me.
She was so beautiful like that—weak, desperate, trembling under my hands as I fucked her. She never understood that I was her only lifeline, everyone else abandoned her when she left. I fed her. Clothed her. Paid for everything she had until she had nothing but me.
And all I wanted in return was her body. Her loyalty.
Until she fought me so frequently that I only started wanting her when she screamed no while I fucked her.
She was so good at it too. She’d cry. She’d fight. She’d scream like a brat, like saying no would ever mean a damn thing when she was mine.
When she belonged to me.
Stupidly, she got pregnant. Again. I hated it when she was pregnant. She stopped fighting me when she was growing an alien inside of her. Instead, she just lay there and let me do whatever I wanted to.
Even though she still felt good as sin wrapped around my cock, I needed the fight back from her. That was what I craved.
So, I went elsewhere for it, and she didn’t even care. I fucked whoever I wanted while she stayed at home, sucking me dry of money and patience, raising the girl while she grew the boy like it protected her somehow.
It wasn’t like she had anyone; I kept her so locked down for years, she didn’t have anyone in her life to turn to. No one to tell. She didn’t have friends or family; she didn’t even have freedom. She had only me.
I should have seen her submission for what it was, though. She was buying time to run.
To flee from me like a fucking coward. She checked out of the hospital early after having her son and ran.
Bitch.
I knew where she had gone, of course. The only place she’d go was back to Cedar Bluff. So I followed.
And instead of dragging her back by her hair, kicking and screaming as was my right, I fucked with her. And holy fucking shit, it was hot.
Her fear got my dick harder than her anger ever did. Harder than her slutty willingness ever did.
No, fucking with her mind was my favorite.
And I did it so well she broke like a porcelain dish falling off a shelf.
Suddenly, she was in a million pieces on the ground, and then I didn’t even have her fear. They doped her up with so many meds; she was numb to everything. I hated that version of her. So, I left. I had to work after all to make money to keep my toy on the hook.
I waited, watching from afar as she regulated and got comfortable in her life back in Cedar Falls again. Until she stopped her meds. Until she started going out again.
And then I started messing with her again.
Unfortunately, she decided to start being a whore for the hockey team around the same time, messing up my plans.
But I wasn’t going to leave empty-handed this time. I’d waited long enough. I perfected my plan for a reason.
So that when I finally made my move, she’d be my perfect little toy to control again.
God, she was going to cry so prettily the first time I fucked her again.
And it was time for me to make my move. Because those kids—my kids, no matter what lies she told them about me, were my way to get her back. I’d used them before without her noticing.
This time, all it was going to take was one phone call, one whisper to the right people, and suddenly the world would see her for what she was.
An unfit whore in a mental health crisis.
Unstable.
Unsafe.
She cracked once, had her little mental breakdown when she almost killed herself, and I made sure it was on the record. This time, the courts would believe me with zero effort.
This time she wouldn’t escape.
She thought she could play house with those two douchebags and keep her body away from me; she was wrong.
She’d have no choice but to come crawling back to me.
I’d find her. I’d break her. And then I’d remind her what it meant to be mine.
She could fight. She could scream. She would cry.
But regardless, she would break.
Again.