Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Regi
T hree more days went by—we’d been here practically a week, and I was still pissed at Decker for berating me like I didn’t know my own mind. Although I regretted shouting at Krew.
As an apology of sorts to Krew, I made sure to clean up every speck of puke in the bedroom and sprayed air freshener I’d found in the bathroom. However, I’d made no other efforts to atone for my outburst toward him. I simply avoided both him and Decker.
Decker . I fisted my hands, wanting to— Gaa!
I’ve never been an aggressive person, but he brought out the part of me that wanted to beat the hell out of his face.
Just thinking about him now raised my hackles.
I wanted to kick something of his—like maybe his balls, for treating me like I was a child.
And yet, my mind kept returning to his warning about spanking me.
Why did I think that was hella hot? At one point when I was cleaning up the puke, the idea of defying him had yearning and curiosity swirling in my stomach. Fortunately, I managed to cut off that notion immediately. Well, almost immediately.
Instead of the nightmares waking me the past two nights, it was wet dreams. In one, Decker had bent me over his lap and cracked my ass until I came.
In another, Decker and Krew spit roasted me until I’d screamed out both their names.
They’d made me come until I couldn’t orgasm anymore.
Then Decker and Krew took me both at the same time and claimed me as theirs.
Hmm. I shivered at the images those dreams left in my mind. The idea that my body could accept them both at the same time—like my heart did, raised another layer of yearning I had to squash.
I pondered on what I should do and decided there was only one way to handle these unwanted feelings. Stay away from both of them.
Yeah, right .
So I stayed in the bedroom, just like I had the first two days in this place—only venturing out for food and bathroom breaks when I was sure they weren’t around.
Gah! I was going stir crazy.
I was my own jailer, and didn’t know what was worse, being cooped up in this house—in this bedroom like a prisoner, or being on the run from killers. None of it had merit. But I certainly couldn’t hide in here any longer.
At least neither man bothered me. While I kept to the bedroom, the guys did whatever they were doing downstairs. I didn’t know, and frankly I didn’t care…
Alright, that was a lie. I was bored and lonely sitting in the room, without conversation—without any interaction with them. I was talking to myself like a frickin’ loon. I felt touched starved and my brain hungered for connection.
There was no television, and Decker had taken my phone away, so no one can track us , his words.
I hated the fact that I’d put myself in this corner. I was the one who’d made it damn clear that I didn’t want to be bothered. And they granted me my wish.
Then the nightmare—the one with Teke hurting me, woke me from my afternoon nap. That familiar sick feeling clung to me like a wet woolen blanket, and the desire to be touched drained from my body. Those moments of desperation to escape drove a frantic rush to pack my bags.
I talked myself out of that impulse because I was certain that Decker and Krew would come after me, and my decision to run could ultimately lead to our deaths.
Nonetheless, I had to get out of this room.
And the aromas creeping through the undercut of my door made that decision infinitely easier.
I sniffed and my mouth watered as I identified meatballs, tomatoes, and garlic—some of my favorite foods.
When I opened the bedroom door, the smell intensified, and my stomach growled.
The robust ambrosia filled the air with the scent of rich ragu as I crept down the stairs. My senses were bombarded with goodness when I took the last few steps to the main floor.
In the open kitchen, Krew stood in front of the stove, lowering a handful of angel hair pasta into a pot.
He turned, grinned, and then twisted back to whatever he was frying in the skillet.
“Is that meatballs?” I asked, slowly approaching him. I focused on the frying pan before looking at his face. Krew was relaxed, like he was in his element.
“I had a taste for Italian.”
“I…” I cleared my throat. “Is there enough for me?” I would understand if he didn’t make enough or didn’t want to share with me, since I had been so horrible to him.
“There’s plenty,” he said, as he turned the meatballs in the pan. “I remembered that meatballs used to be your favorite food. Are they still?”
A lump formed in my throat and a sour taste laced my mouth. Krew was still a genuinely sweet person. Whereas life had turned me into a cynical bitch.
“Yes,” I admitted with hesitation.
“I figured that.” His smile evolved into a smirk and I recognized his underhanded tactic.
Krew clearly remembered, whenever my mother made spaghetti and meatballs, I went straight home after school and did my homework in my bedroom until supper time.
It was the only time I hadn’t hung out with the guys.
“Trickery.” I mean-mugged him.
Krew’s grin widened as though he knew he’d won this battle of wills. “I had to figure out a way to get you out of that room.”
I shook my head and folded my arms across my chest. “What if it hadn’t worked?”
“I knew you couldn’t resist spaghetti and meatballs.” He raised one meatball with a metal tong, dipped in the bubbling sauce and waved it in my face. “Want a bite?”
“I’d rather bite something else,” I blurted out with no thought of what my words might do to Krew.
Krew’s eyes went liquid as he slowly lowered the meatball. “Like what?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper.
There was lust and want in his depths, and instead of taking those closing steps and kissing his sensuous mouth, I swallowed down my own need and stepped back. I couldn’t afford what my body and heart craved. “A candy bar.”
Candy bar? Really, Regi? Stupid .
Krew returned his attention to the frying pan. “Decker and I are playing Spades after dinner. Want to join in?” he asked, his posture stiff—like if he moved, he’d break in half.
That was it? No questioning on why I put a halt to my blatant flirting and the stupid candy bar? His voice conveyed casual, while his body told a different tale.
“Umm.” I didn’t know what to say. And I was somewhat confused. Either he wanted me to play the card game we used to play together but he knew I’d say no to the offer—or he didn’t want me to play but was too polite to not ask. I didn’t think it was the latter.
I concealed my nervousness with a weary smile; this was my chance to apologize for being such a shrew. “Krew?—”
“That smells great.” Decker strode into the house and his presence totally obliterated the speck of courage I’d scraped together to apologize to Krew.
He went up to Krew and kissed him like they were in some sort of domestic bliss—minus me in the picture. I got it. Messaged conveyed loud and clear, Deck .
A tiny note of jealousy reared up, but it wasn’t because Decker was kissing Krew. It was that I wanted a kiss too. Decker was true to his last words—he didn’t look at me or acknowledge my presence, like I wasn’t even standing there.
My chest hollowed out at his disregard. But I straightened my spine, and bolstered my take-no-shit attitude. Showing Decker any weakness was like giving catnip to a feline. I’d rather starve than expose more of my emotions to this jerk. I’d done enough of that.
“Is it ready? I’m starving,” Decker said, rubbing his flat stomach. My eyes dropped to his hand, then down to his bulge, before I quickly looked away as the memory of my wet dreams filtered in.
“Almost. Just waiting on the garlic bread,” Krew announced, then turned to me. The tension evident in his stance moments before was gone. “Do you want to set the plates?”
I opened my mouth to tell him yes, except Decker butted in. “I’ll do it.” His brisk tone and sharp stare were aimed at me now.
At least he’s looking at you .
He grabbed three plates from the open shelving by the window, and placed two at one end of the table and the third dish on the other side. Not once did he talk or glance again my way. I knew what he was doing and it was pissing me off even more.
Instead of pasta, Decker wanted me to eat crow. And I would, for being such a bitch to Krew. I could give less than a shit about Decker. He’d made it clear that he was done with me.
I ignored the knot of pain corded tight in my chest at that notion, and stood there, unblinking, as I watched Decker set the table.
His cold, calculating blue eyes—eyes I’d once thought beautiful, had a threatening glint in them. And it hit me then that this man— this Decker Moss, was dangerous.
When we were young, I had never seen the vicious side of Decker. Sure, the dark wickedness of his temper had been doled out from time to time to the kids that had deserved it. And to his asshole father.
Decker’s comebacks were cruel—but again, never aimed at me… until our confrontation in the bedroom three days ago.
The impulse to scream at him grew with my frustration. Now, whenever we faced off, every word out of his mouth would feel like a balancing act—one misstep and I could either stand my ground or lose my footing entirely. I was poised on the knife’s edge, waiting.
Decker’s eyes sharpened as I watched him watching me. My heart kicked up as they pinned me in place, daring me to say something. This silent confrontation between us gave me a shot of adrenalin, and I sucked in a breath.
This is what you wanted, Regi.
But had I really? Had I wanted to be ignored? The longer I stood there, the faster my resolve crumbled to dust and I looked away.
“You know what, I’ll take my plate upstairs,” I told Krew, picking up the dish and walking it over to him.
“No, I’d like you to stay. Decker, stop being a dick, and sit down,” Krew barked over his shoulder.