Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
O liver
When Londyn emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body, Oliver was waiting for her in the bedroom.
“That’s my stuff,” she noticed, wariness filling her tone as she nodded toward the overnight bag on the bed.
Oliver nodded. He could hardly look away from the perfection of this girl. Her dark hair was wet, streaming down her back in a silky waterfall as her dove-gray eyes met his. She clutched the towel closer to her as if that would ensure the cloth would not be wrestled away.
“One of the guards gave it to me when they dragged you inside. I’m guessing you have suitable clothes in there?”
Surprise lifted her eyebrows high. She obviously expected him to rummage through her private belongings. “Unless they kept my things, there should be something I can wear.”
“Get dressed then,” Oliver ordered, waving a hand in her direction. He had finished packing his few items into a rolling suitcase and began pulling on a fresh black T-shirt.
Londyn hesitated. Her gaze flickered over his muscular body, briefly landing on the bandage covering his wound. Then her features hardened, and she clutched the towel even tighter.
Oliver found her shyness amusing. After everything he’d done, Londyn was reluctant to reveal her gorgeous body to his lustful stare. Which was smart. Because his cock ached to be inside her. The innocently seductive image she presented was severely testing his willpower. He wanted to fuck her. Fuck her hard. Fuck her senseless. Fuck her until their bodies fused and merged into something created by the Devil himself.
“Londyn...” Oliver’s tone was stern. “I’ve already seen you. All of you. Every goddamn inch. I’ve even tasted you. But I swear to God, I have no intention of fucking you here. Now, get dressed before I change my mind.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, her gaze flitting to the bed at the reminder of that unforgivable act while she lay helpless and unconscious. With a tilt of her chin, she dug through the travel bag. A virginal set of nude panties and matching bra emerged along with a pair of jeans and a cream-colored, long-sleeved blouse. Turning away from his prying gaze, she let the towel fall to the ground while fumbling with the panties. When she dropped them, she bent at the waist to retrieve them, and Oliver hissed a groan of desire. Palming his erection through his jeans, he fought for control.
“Are you purposefully trying to drive me mad, Londyn? Because I’m this close to saying fuck it. I’m this close to taking what I want.”
“I’m sorry,” Londyn whispered, tugging on the panties with such haste she nearly toppled over. In record time, she was dressed, panting from exertion, and her face flushed with embarrassment. “You don’t have to watch, you know. I’m quite capable of dressing myself without guidance or criticism.”
Oliver’s jaw ticked. Londyn’s quiet yet resentful snarkiness ignited a desire to show her just how cruel he could be. Up to this point, he had handled her with an odd sort of tenderness completely foreign to his brutal nature. And she had no idea the depths of depravity to which he could sink. No clue of the darkness of his soul. Under the tutelage of his deceased father, he had mastered the fine art of torture and would gleefully exhibit those skills if she continued pushing him.
“Someone needs an attitude adjustment,” he growled. “Settle that shit before I blister that sweet little ass of yours a second time.”
Little brat.
It was becoming clear that his captive did not like being told what to do. Which only made Oliver want to order her around even more.
Her lips tightened into a thin line at the threat as she forcefully plopped onto the bed. A wince of pain creased her brow when her bruised buttocks hit the mattress. Yanking on socks and a pair of doe-brown ankle boots, she kept her silence, although he was sure the cuts and scrapes on her feet and lower legs were probably hurting, too. He would take care of that once they reached his cabin.
“I have a car coming for us soon, but I need to know if you can behave yourself. Can you do that, Londyn? Can you behave? Or must I physically restrain you for the ride?” He watched as she pulled the length of her hair over one shoulder and quickly wound the wet strands into a thick braid that hung to the middle of her back.
“I’m not a child,” she shot back, eyes flashing. But when Oliver took a menacing step toward her, she held out a hand to stop him. “Yes. I will behave myself. I promise. I know any escape attempt will not end well for me.”
Ignoring the pathetic attempt to ward him off, Oliver prowled closer until he towered over her. She was still seated on the bed, her eyes level with his mid-chest. The pulse in her neck thumped rapidly. How sick was it that Oliver found her fear as heady as any aphrodisiac?
Wrapping the braid around his fist, he jerked Londyn’s head back. His gaze narrowed as he stared down into her wide eyes.
“I’m warning you, little killer. Keep mouthing off like that, and I’ll stuff your throat so full of my cock you won’t be able to breathe without my permission.” His dick swelled more, throbbing with painful intensity, demanding that he follow through on the threat.
This wasn’t like him. Keeping his cool, staying calm and collected while doing the most unhinged things, was his signature. And this girl was fucking all that up. He could barely think straight, especially when he remembered how she tasted. And how it felt when her tight cunt and ass squeezed his fingers when he made her come.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Oliver abruptly tugged her off the bed using the braided rope of hair like a handle. “Get on your fucking knees.”
Londyn yelped in alarm, tumbling to the floor, only to be hauled upright and put into position with a hard hand gripping her elbow. She instinctively braced herself with her palms flat on his thighs, balanced on her knees for what he had planned. Although her eyes filled with tears and her breath escaped in panicked gasps, that delicately mutinous chin tipped high.
It fucking pissed him off that she did not seem particularly scared of what he might do to her.
Time to remedy that.
Still holding her hair in his fist, Oliver ripped at the button of his jeans with his free hand. The material gaped open in a V, revealing a couple of the letters inked above his groin.
“You are about to get a valuable lesson, Londyn. I hope you learn something since that spanking didn’t accomplish shit.” His grip tightened, and she let out the most delicious whimper. Her fingernails dug into his jeans with such force Oliver felt the pinch through the thick material. “Open your fucking mouth.”
Londyn shook her head, a choked whimper bubbling up from her throat.
That sheer defiance she exhibited rattled Oliver. It disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. This fucking girl had more steel in her veins, in her spine, in her tiny goddamn pinky than most of the men he knew. He almost admired her for it, even if she was stupid for believing she could fight him and prevail.
“Remember your promise to obey me, Londyn. Don’t make me tell you again,” he snarled. “Now, open your fucking mouth.” This was wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. His need to dominate her was inescapable. A need unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.
BUZZZZZ.
It was the security system monitoring the cabin sending an alert. Someone was on the front porch, pressing the doorbell. Next came a succession of sharp, forceful raps from a hard fist. Most likely, it was Joey, the same Winter Enterprises driver who had dropped him off the day before.
Oliver snatched Londyn to her feet, grinning as relief flashed across her stunning features.
“Don’t think this interruption means your instruction is over. Because I’m far from done with you, Londyn. And since our destination is about two hours away, I’ve got plenty of time and opportunity to prove my point.” Leaning close, he brushed her mouth with his, nibbling on her bottom lip until her eyes squeezed tightly. “During your time left on this earth, I’m going to teach you how to be a good girl… my good girl.”
Despite her obvious trepidation, Londyn was asleep within the first half hour, her head propped against the window’s panel, arms crossed protectively over her chest as if that would save her. Oliver watched from his corner of the limo as she twitched and mumbled. His piece of property was exhausted. Everything from the past twenty-four hours was finally catching up to her. So, he allowed her to slumber while considering the best way to exert control over her.
And doing nothing about it.
This… empathy … was annoying. And confusing. Londyn belonged to him. He paid a fortune for the right to fuck her whenever and however he wanted. And yet, he hesitated to follow through with the threats he had made earlier. For some reason, some goddamn, fucking reason that didn’t make fucking sense, he wanted to take care of her.
You almost forced her to suck your cock because you were angry. Is that some fucked-up method of taking care of someone?
Oliver clenched his teeth. Why he felt so strongly about this girl was bewildering as hell. He had never cared for anyone. All he’d ever done was hurt people. Gladly. Willingly. With enthusiasm and pleasure.
In particular, he enjoyed hurting women.
It was fucked up. Every depraved thought, calculated act, and desire revolved around forcing a woman’s submission. He accomplished that by following the teachings of his father. Sometimes, the women were complicit and willing to be dominated; and sometimes, they required more than a little persuasion . Until now, he’d never come across one who he wanted to protect from himself.
Or from others.
Maybe this confusing state of emotions was what his brother experienced when he fell in love. Maybe he should examine Kingston and Ava’s relationship to determine the root cause of why he felt this way now. While it was understandable that Kingston wanted to possess and protect Ava, Oliver found their deep love for one another mystifying. Even more so now when he wondered if the same capacity to place a woman’s happiness and well-being above his own needs and desires existed within him.
No. It doesn’t. You are a killer, just like your father. You are an abuser, just like your father. You love to see women bleed and cry for mercy. You want them to suffer at your hands. You are a psychotic piece of shit. Just like your father. And you know you will torment, abuse, and torture this girl until the day you end her life.
Just like your father would have. Kingston would have followed the same path had he not fallen insanely in love.
But there had always been a difference between Oliver and his older half-brother. Kingston somehow retained a thread of decency. A sliver of morality. The things he’d done over the course of a lifetime were a result of cruel manipulation by their sick father and the consequences of assuming the responsibilities of their criminal kingdom.
Oliver did awful things because he wanted to. He did them because he grew up full of hate and fear of his father and despised his mother for her weakness. The same woman who fucked her stepson behind her husband’s back and used Kingston’s love to get her hands on a gun. The day Rebecca shot Alan Winter and put a bullet in her own head at the dinner table—while he and Kingston watched in horror—was the day any semblance of decency died in Oliver.
“I’m a fucking monster,” he muttered to himself, gulping down the last dregs of bourbon in the crystal tumbler. “A monster.”
Wasn’t it about fucking time to prove it?
His gaze drifted over his sweet, little prisoner—his prize, his fucking possession. Any weakness he showed toward her would come back to bite him. He couldn’t let himself be swayed by her pretty gray eyes and a gorgeously curved body.
Not even if something inside him, something strange and unknown, demanded otherwise.
Stretching his legs so that he could touch the seat opposite of him, he leaned toward her. She was curled up with her feet tucked beneath her body. He ran a hand up her calf until he reached her knee and palmed it.
Londyn’s eyes fluttered open, sleepy confusion clouding the clear depths of dove-gray. She stared at him for a moment as though trying to place him. When he squeezed her knee, his fingers gripping her flesh even through the jeans she wore, clarity tightened her lips into a thin line. She was silent as they regarded each other, and Oliver’s mouth quirked in a wicked grin.
“Wake up, little killer. Time to play a game.”