Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty Four
Isaac
Each day, it gets harder to watch my precious butterfly lose her need to fly.
I look at my body and want to scrub it clean.
To realize the man I’m becoming is a far cry from who I used to be.
However, the plan is working, and that gives me hope and the strength to endure unwanted touch.
The next couple of days become a routine.
Priscilla laces the water with God knows what, and they fall asleep.
While I give her what she wants from me, all while I drown in repulsion.
Happy that there’s no mirror to reflect me—what I’ve become.
I wonder if Ronnie would see past all this and still choose me.
Accept this version of me. Or will she run back to the safety of Max?
It makes me sick to my stomach to have to sneak around just hours after being forced to be inside with Ronnie.
I don’t know how much more I have left to give.
It’s driving me mad. The confinement. The lack of nothing but an endless cycle of abuse.
The mask I put on to give Ronnie room to grieve.
Every night, I become less and less of myself.
Betraying my heart all over again fucking the enemy while she’s fighting hers in her sleep.
“He likes her, you know,” Priscilla mutters. Her words cause me to shift my attention from Ronnie to her. Feeling my temperature rise, causing my skin to tingle as sweat begins to gather on my forehead.
“Of course he fucking likes her. Why do you think he was sneaking around to rape her?” I snap, causing Priscilla to flinch.
“I'm just saying this might be a little difficult,” she adds as she lowers her nightgown.
“Maybe don’t say anything and just hold your end of the deal.
Make it happen,” I bite back, fighting the urge to snap her neck.
It’s been a nagging itch that I’ve been dying to scratch.
Sometimes when I’m inside her, I think of grabbing her throat and choking the life out of her.
It would be over so soon, but one look at Ronnie crumpled up on the floor, fighting her nightmares, reminds me of all I have to lose.
My attention falls back to Ronnie, who sleeps peacefully for the first time in weeks, and I'm thankful for that. Priscilla mumbles something under her breath, not that I bother to look her way. I don’t really give a shit about what she has to say that doesn’t involve getting Ronnie out of here.
“He wants to kill you, Isaac. If you can’t prove useful to him, he will kill you and replace you.”
I shrug. “What do you think happens to her if he kills me?”
“Not sure.”
Slowly, I turn to face Priscilla. She looks concerned, her thin eyebrows knitted together, her golden-green eyes locked on mine.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it really wasn’t,” she mutters, tugging at the end of her braid.
“Isaac… all I know is that you're on borrowed time,” she adds.
“You should be more worried about yourself.”
My sore muscles stiffen at her words, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. My lips curl with disgust. “I don’t care about what happens to me,” I say through gritted teeth, pointing over at Ronnie. “I care about her, getting her the fuck out of here.”
She shakes her head, her eyes grow wide with fear. “I can’t. He’s obsessed with her, and I'm certain if she falls pregnant, you and I are as good as dead.” Her tone tells me she is serious, and that’s the only reason I answer.
“Then we kill him first. You just need to release me or place him within reach.”
Priscilla's head tilts to the side, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. Her mouth falls open before it takes the shape of an ‘O’. “Kill Harry?”
I nod slowly, my gaze never leaving hers.
“I don’t think I can. I don’t know.”
I pull on my ear, trying hard to reel in my emotions the best way I can.
There is no clearer option than the one I present to her.
She will either choose to help, or I will have to come up with another plan because clearly this one isn’t working.
Right now, the ball is on her court, and all I can do is wait.
I open and close my hands, picturing all the ways I would do it.
“Kill or be killed? You just confirmed he would kill you. Ronnie could be pregnant right now. And it will be mine. Then what?”
Priscilla’s gaze hardens, her mouth downturns as she stiffens.
She stares me down for what feels like a long moment before she kneels before me.
“What are you playing at?”I smirk, returning her gaze with firmness, feeling my jaw lock, pressing my lips into a firm line.
“What happens if I help you?”She hesitantly asks.
The question lingers in the air like a guillotine; there’s a flutter in my chest as I lean in. “Nothing. Things can stay the same for us as long as she gets out safely.”
“I don’t believe you…”
I don’t miss the apprehension in her voice nor the fear in her eyes, but I’m determined to get Ronnie out, even if I have to make this woman believe there’s a possibility of a future.
Grabbing a fistful of russet locks, I pull her closer until our noses touch.
“What game are you playing? You’re here almost every night like a desperate whore.
You tell me he would kill us. I give you options, and you have the balls to be appalled?
Why?” I growl, my eyes widening with each word, anger pulsating through me.
“Pick your poison. Can’t have both toxins.
It will come down to Harry or me. Who are you choosing? ”
She pulls back, her eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t you ever grab me like that again.
Or else,” she snaps. But her threats have no base, no foundation.
Her resolve crumbles the moment my hand wraps around her neck, pulling her in and kissing her.
The sensation of her tongue inside my mouth makes me want to hurl, but I shove it down.
I close my eyes, refusing to look at the woman invading my mouth.
Saliva pools in my mouth, and the urge to spit becomes too much to hold.
My throat burns from the sour taste in my mouth, even if I try to picture Ronnie kissing me instead of her.
No matter how much I will my mind to flee, it remains rooted in place.
Feeling unclean. But I’m so close to winning her over, I just need to sell the illusion that we can be something.
That she means something.
She moans as my tongue explores her mouth.
Repulsion spreads through me; there’s no more time to waste.
I’ll give myself up ten times over if it means I can spare her, to be able to give her the chance to rebuild herself, to be able to hold her up while she picks up her pieces.
I’ll be there, helping her every step of the way.
I open my eyes to make sure Ronnie is still asleep and close them once again.
Letting myself escape into the abyss, convincing her with each swipe of tongue that there’s something worth fighting for, something worth killing her husband for.
Her desperate touches tell me it’s working. She pushes me against the wall, pressing her body into mine, only to find me unresponsive even as she rolls her hips, begging for more. Once again, I force my eyes open, allowing them to drift to Ronnie's exposed skin. Even that feels like a violation.
I break away from the kiss, grabbing a fistful of Priscilla’s hair and flipping us over, pinning her against the wall, where I can’t focus on Ronnie.
Using my legs, I part hers. With my hand, I pin her hands above us, forcing her to remain in place.
My other hand rips off her lace panties.
No need for pleasantries. No time to waste.
Gripping my cock, I shove myself into her, eliciting a moan from her mouth.
My grip tightens on her wrist, my nails digging into her skin as I thrust harder and harder into her until I release deep inside her.
Once it’s all said and done, I pull out and push her away with urgency.
Before slipping my cock back into my pants, and falling on my ass.
My arms drop on top of each kneecap, and I let my head hang.
I can’t even look at her; I don’t want to.
I can’t look at either of them. And as much as I try to hold back the bile, it all spills out of me until I'm dry heaving, sweating, and shaking. Priscilla reaches out to touch me, causing me to recoil. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I growl. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Priscilla falls back, her eyes teary and wide as she looks at my pitiful form. I can’t resist the urge to purge.
“Go,” I snarl, but she remains frozen, her tear-stricken face watching me break down.
“Fucking GO!” For the first time, I break down.
Isaac Vargas crumbles under the weight of it all.
She reaches out again, wrapping her arms around me, the smell of flowers enveloping me.
The smell reminds me that I’ve come to hate flowers, and I shudder as her hand runs down my skin.
I want to yell, to keep her from touching me, but I cry.
No, I sob into Priscilla’s arms. Like a child in their mother’s arms, I cry, releasing the weeks of emotions I’ve kept buried deep inside.