Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
ANVIL
She sits on the mattress on the floor. The one I fucked her on.
She’s pretending to read, but she never turns the page.
My rage is back. This time it’s directed at myself for letting her get to me again.
When the burner phone rings, I jerk and then stalk over to it.
I was so distracted I left it on. It’ll be a bullshit call.
No one has the number. I bought it so I could check an anonymous email account I set up to communicate with Leone and Frank.
When I look at the screen, I recognize the number. I shake my head. Fucking Trick.
I swipe the screen. “What?” I say.
“What’s up, ‘Vil?” he says.
“You called me.”
“Yeah, on your secret burner. So again, I say, what’s up, ‘Vil?”
“How’d you get it?”
“You bought it on Aberdeen. Word got around.”
I shake my head. Usually Trick gets the burners in Boston. Never at the same place. Never somewhere that one of us would be recognized. I should’ve gone to Boston to get it, but I was running out of time.
Also, just because he heard a rumor I bought it on Aberdeen, doesn’t explain how he got the phone’s number. But I guess I’m not surprised. That’s Trick all over. He finds shit out. And no doubt he’s been asking after me, since I’ve been disappearing without explanation.
“Where you at? On the low.”
I scowl. “If I wanted you to know, on the low or otherwise, I’d tell you. But I guess you’ll track me down if you decide to.”
“‘Vil, one hundred,” he says in a serious tone. “I need a word.”
I curse silently. I don’t want to talk about this with him. I don’t want it on either of them. But when he says one hundred, he means he’s not playing. There’s no way I can ignore that.
“All right. Soon.”
“All right.” He ends the call.
“Hey, little girl, come here.”
Rachel stares stubbornly at the same page she’s been looking at for like half an hour.
She doesn’t lift her head, instead she raises her middle finger.
I almost laugh. I could break her bones from blowing on them too hard, and she’s gonna flip me off?
That’s how she gets to me. It’s one of the ways anyway.
“Raven, get over here. Or I will show you what I do to girls who disobey me.”
She doesn’t move. Is she serious?
I stalk into the room and sweep her up. She slaps me across the face before I get her locked into a carry that neutralizes her.
I tie her hands with a belt, sit on the couch, and flip her over my thighs. The shirt rises up, revealing her smooth white ass. She’s got no panties since I cut the only ones she had off her. My cock rises.
I slap each of her cheeks several times in quick succession. She struggles and screams curses at me. I lay down firm enough spanks to turn her ass bright red. She kicks her legs helplessly.
“Beg me to stop,” I say in a low voice.
“No!” she yells, but her voice cracks.
I bring my palm down against her soft, burning flesh. She thrashes, trying to break free. My grip on her means she’s going nowhere. She’s completely helpless, and we both know it. Ten more strong swats on her pretty ass, and she dissolves into tears.
“Okay,” she exclaims softly. “Please stop!”
I spank her for another minute to be sure she understands which of us is the boss. Then I let her sob while I rub her punished ass.
I massage her lower back with small circles, overcoming the tension. Her shoulders shake at first, then she settles as I handle her. She lies over my lap like a wilted flower. She’s always beautiful, but especially now when she’s mine.
My cock’s an iron rod, and it needs attention. My balls ache for me to put it in her tight little pussy again. Or I could claim some other part of her. The temptation is so strong it almost gets the best of me. Almost.
I need to take care of things. The shower’s the best place for it, but I’m not leaving her alone like she is.
I pick her up and carry her into the bathroom.
She turns her head away from me, still proud and still crying.
I turn her to face the wall and release her wrists.
Then I haul the shirt up and off of her.
She pulls back.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. Punishment’s over,” I say, hugging her to me.
She can’t make up her mind. At first she leans in, then she pulls back.
I let her go. I’d rather hold on, but she needs time to come to terms with it.
“It’s all right,” I say, lifting her and putting her in the shower. I strip and step in, then turn on the warm water, looking over my shoulder at her. She wipes her eyes.
“What are you doing?” she says.
“Taking care of this,” I say, stroking myself, unable to take my eyes off her. That face, that skin. I want to touch her. I want inside of her.
She’s looking at my hand around my cock and, after a few moments, seeming almost dazed, extends her hand.
“Yeah, touch it,” I say in a low voice as I turn to face her. I bring her hand near me. The touch of those little fingers of hers makes my cock jerk. I suck in a breath.
She looks up through spiky lashes. I close my hand over hers and show her what to do.
I lay my forearm against the tile and rest my forehead on it, breathing hard as she jerks me off. Her free hand slides over my stomach, and I lean into her.
“Faster,” I mumble.
She strokes me harder and faster with her right hand, and her left slides around to my back. She slaps my ass and digs her nails into me. The pain’s nothing, and it does nothing.
I open my eyes, and she’s staring at my face. She moves her left hand to my chest and my pecs clench. Her thumb brushes my nipple and she whispers, “Stay. Stay with me.”
A memory hits me full on. Of being on the brink of death, of pain and fire so deep that I just want it to end, but I keep holding on, keep fighting the end, because she wants me to.
“Fuck,” I choke out as I come.
I let her stroke me until I’m empty, then I sink to my knees. I lick her tits and then move my mouth lower, kissing her belly and wrapping my arms around her. I’m gutted.
It’s unreal, like witchcraft, the way she can reach phantom fingers into my body and squeeze my soul until I’m breathless.
After a few moments, she rubs my shoulders. “I’m the one who got you shot. But I’m the one who saved you, too.”
I let go of her and force myself up, regaining my feet.
She grabs my forearm. “I saved your life, right? That’s why you can’t hate me?”
I wash the cum off my body and then push her in front of me to rinse her off too. Then I reach around her and turn off the water.
I lift her up and push the shower door open, stepping out and setting her on the floor. I towel off and then hold the towel out to her.
“Sasha?”
“What?” I say gruffly, rubbing the towel over her skin and hair.
She grabs the towel and jerks it from my hands. “Sasha!”
“What?” I growl.
She slaps a hand on my belly and glares up at me. “Tell me you don’t hate me.”
“You know I don’t,” I say, low and frustrated.
Her voice softens. “Because I saved your life?”
“No. Because you could.”
“What does that mean?” she asks, pulling my T shirt back on.
I move her aside and stalk out of the bathroom.
“I’m trying to understand,” she says, following me.
I lift a duffle onto the kitchen table and yank out some clothes.
I drag on a pair of boxers and trousers that need to be ironed, staying silent, but tempted to talk.
This is the way it is with her. When I ignore her, it’s an act, and an act of will.
I raise a custom black shirt and pull it on, buttoning it without looking at her.
“Hey,” she says.
I glance her way. Her hair is spiked in all directions. I give her a comb. She shakes her head, but then drags it through the inky black strands.
“Did you bring me here to get even with me?”
“Why do you call me Sasha?”
“It’s your name. Sasha Stroviak.”
“You don’t call C Connor. You don’t call Trick Scott.”
She tilts her head. “Trick’s name is Scott?”
She doesn’t even know that Trick’s name is Scott Patrick? That’s so fucking satisfying it almost makes me smile.
I make a hand gesture that says, ‘there you go.’
“I think Anvil’s a bad nickname.”
I make the hand gesture again.
The corners of her mouth curve up. “Do you think it’s a good nickname?”
“For me? Definitely.”
“You’re not some blockhead. You’re smart. You speak three languages that I know of.”
I smile. “C gave me the nickname because my fists land like anvils. It was before I got this big. I had his back in middle school and I used to have this move where I would jump up and bring my fist down with my whole body. I don’t know that it added much to a punch.
I think it just knocked the wind out of kids when I body-slammed them to the ground. But it gave me an edge.”
“And then you grew and that was your edge. And C’s. He definitely knows how to capitalize on something.”
“He does.”
“I’m pissed at him. He took my best friend, and now I can’t see her.”
I can see her pain over not getting to talk to Zoe. It’s so strong I can feel it.
“Why don’t you answer her texts?” I demand. “She told us she texts you and you don’t respond.”
“I can’t. Frank took my phone. Punishment for my involvement in the show and for sneaking out to perform. I’m only allowed to talk to Alberto.”
“I’ll bring her to you,” I say before I’ve had time to think. There is no way C will be down with a plan that brings Zoe off grid while Frank’s searching for both of the girls.
“God, I would love that,” Rachel says wistfully, but then she sighs. “It’s a bad idea to bring her here though.”
The burner phone rings. I know without looking that it’s Trick. The clock’s ticking.
“It’s time to break your deal with Frank. Whatever it was, it needs to end. He doesn’t care about you. Not the way he should.”
“I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I made it to protect people. As long as I do what he wants, nothing happens to the people I love.”
“Except you. What about what happens to you?” I snap.
She shrugs. “I made the only deal I could.”
“Maybe it was the best you could do before. It’s not now.”
RACHEL
Sasha’s gone at the moment, and I’m incredibly confused. Is he on my side? Or against me? Sometimes he seems brutal and ruthless. At others, he seems concerned and almost tender toward me. I don’t know what to expect or how to feel from one moment to the next.
I do understand that he expects me to wait for him to get back, but he didn’t want to lock me in. So I can get out if there’s a fire or other emergency, he said. And I think he’s counting on the fact that I’m not planning to leave dressed only in one of his T shirts. He’s right.
Instead, I formulate a plan. I retrieve my dress and underwear. I can’t find a needle and thread, so I stab a hole in the sides of the panties and tie them together with shoestring I found in a pair of sneakers. It’s a low rent version of a string bikini bottom.
The front of the dress is torn badly, but the skirt’s only torn at the top. I puncture the skirt on either side of the rip and use a shoelace to cinch it closed. I put the dress on and use a line of duct tape to close the front. Then I put Sasha’s T shirt over it.
I don’t know where my shoes are. They’re either on the ground by the theater or in the trunk of the car Sasha used to kidnap me.
Either way, I’ll be barefoot. I want to take my violin, but I worry about her if it starts to rain.
She’ll be safer inside. I trust that if Sasha took the time to pick her up from the ground while abducting me, he’ll make sure I get her back at some point.
I take the key that’s tucked into the lining, but I don’t take the note. I wonder for a moment if it’s from Sasha. A warning to leave town before he went forward with his plan? Giving me a chance to get away? It feels like something he might do because he’s full of contradictions.
It doesn’t matter now what he intended. I close the violin case and set it back on top of the fridge.
Then I leave.