Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Lola
I t’s been a week, and I’m starting to go stir-crazy.
I might be used to spending time alone, but I usually have more space to move around than just a bedroom.
I miss being outside.
Everything feels suffocating in here.
I’ve read my book twice and watched a ridiculous amount of daytime TV.
If I see one more soap or game show, I might lose it.
. I’m half-tempted to climb out the window and shimmy down the drainpipe—but I’m nowhere near as athletic as I was back in my cheerleading days.
A kick to my ribs makes me wince.
I place my hand on my stomach, which seems to have popped even more over the past week.
“I know, nugget. I’m bored, too.”
When the lock clicks, I don’t even bother looking up.
I just stay where I am and watch my stomach as my son kicks against my hand.
“Can I feel?”
My eyes widen at Hannibal’s words before looking up to see his face.
“The baby. He’s moving, right? You always get this look on your face when he moves.”
“He’s kicking me because he’s bored, just like I am.”
He moves closer and climbs onto the bed beside me, his hand hovering over mine.
With a sigh, I grab it and press it to my stomach, where my son is practicing his soccer skills.
“He’s feisty,” Hannibal says.
I can’t be sure, but I swear there’s a bit of awe in his voice.
“It feels like he’s running out of room.”
“He’s got all the space he needs.” Reluctantly, he pulls his hand away and looks up at me.
“Your eye looks better.”
I nod.
The swelling’s down, and the bruise is fading into that ugly green-yellow stage.
If I had some makeup, I could easily cover it up.
“I need to make a supply run today, so I’ll be taking the truck instead of the bike. You wanna come?”
I sit upright.
“Really?”
He nods.
“I need to restock the clinic here and grab a few things for when we head back. You have anyone with medical training back home?”
“Umm…I think Mud used to be a paramedic, but I might be mixing him up with someone else. He and Meek are kinda new, and I don’t spend much time at the club, so I’m not too sure.”
“A paramedic’s good. Is that who the club uses when someone needs medical attention?”
I shake my head.
“They have a doctor they call. I think they’ve got something on him—I don’t know what—but whatever it is, it’s enough for him to throw his ethics out the window.”
“You don’t like him.”
“Haven’t you heard? I don’t like anyone.”
“Funny, you might be standoffish, but you aren’t the cold-hearted bitch I’ve heard you are.”
I swallow, hating that’s what people say about me behind my back.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. That look right there.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek.
“A real cold-hearted bitch wouldn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought of them. But you do, don’t you?”
I shake my head.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say as he stares at me.
“So, um, what time are we leaving?”
“Huh?”
“To get supplies.”
“Oh. Whenever you’re ready.”
I climb off the bed, conscious of the fact I’m only wearing boxers and one of his T-shirts.
He curses, making me turn.
“I forgot about getting you clothes and shit.”
I shrug.
“You’ve been busy. It’s not like I’ve needed them. Your T-shirts and boxers have been fine—though you might wanna do some laundry because you’re running out of clean ones. As for shampoo and stuff, I’ve just been using yours. I hope that’s okay?”
He climbs off the bed and stalks toward me, his hands sliding to my hips as he pulls me close.
I freeze at the casual touch.
He’s acting like this is something he does all the time.
Like I’m his. But I’m not, and he most definitely doesn’t touch me like this.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to be a nag. You’ve been nice enough, and I didn’t want to push my luck and rock the boat.”
“Rock the—” He sighs, dropping his forehead to mine.
My heart kicks into overdrive at the unexpected closeness.
What the hell is going on?
“You wouldn’t have been nagging me or rocking the boat. Jesus, I’m fucking this up already. Tell you what—while we’re out, we’ll pick up a few things for you too.”
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling warmth spread through my chest. I remind myself that he’s just trying to keep me happy so I don’t cause trouble.
But it’s hard not to react to his kindness, especially when I’ve been starved of affection for so long.
“Get dressed, Lola, and we’ll head out.”
He pulls away, and I feel the absence of him more than I should—which is ridiculous and enough to snap me out of the weird feelings.
Is Stockholm syndrome a real thing?
Or is this just some kind of fucked-up reaction because my captor’s shown me more care than the man who had been living with me for the last five years?
Not that I ever considered Driller my man.
Men don’t force women to obey—monsters do.
There’s a reason you can’t make someone love you, but you can sure as hell make them fucking hate you with everything they’ve got.
Over the years, I’ve fantasized about all the different ways I could kill Driller and get rid of his body.
Then I’d play dumb and let everyone assume he ran off with his latest conquest. The problem is, the easiest method would probably be a bath full of lye––and I don’t have gallons of the stuff lying around or even a damn bathtub.
“Lola.”
“Sorry.” I cringe, waiting for him to get pissed.
I’ve always had trouble focusing.
My father used to say my mind drifts away with the fairies.
I don’t know about fairies, but I have trouble concentrating for long periods of time.
That’s why I had to work twice as hard as my classmates to keep up.
“What were you thinking about?”
I bite my lip, unsure what to say.
Something tells me he’ll know if I lie, and I don’t want to tarnish this thing between us before it starts, so I go with the truth.
“I was thinking about how I used to fantasize about killing Driller and how I would get rid of his body,” I say before grabbing my jeans and sliding them up my legs.
I haven’t put them on since I arrived.
They are a little tight, but I’m not going pantsless.
I groan as I shimmy and shake myself into them, positive I’ve grown wider in the last week.
“And what way would you kill him if you could?”
I lie back on the bed so I can button my jeans, and blow my hair out of my face.
“Killing him isn’t the hard part. I don’t really care how he dies as long as he’s dead. Though saying that, I figured overdosing him with something would be the least messy way to do it. Then, when he was weak, I’d lead him to the bathroom, where I would throw him in a bath of lye and wait for him to become a vat of human soup. I know it needs some work.” I raid his drawers for a sweatshirt and slip it on before I notice he’s gone quiet.
I look over at him and see his eyes are filled with something dark and dangerous.
Oh god, is he going to kill me now for threatening a Raven Souls brother?
He licks his lip, his eyes zeroing in on my mouth, which makes me realize he’s not pissed-off.
He’s turned on. Holy fuck.
Talking about killing Driller is arousing him.
I don’t know how to react to murder talk as foreplay, so I say nothing.
Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed and attempt the socks I stole so my feet don’t get cold.
Eventually, he takes pity on me and kneels on the floor in front of my feet.
“Lye is an effective way to get rid of a body for sure, but buying large doses of it will likely get you flagged.”
“I figured as much, but as I don’t have a bathtub, it was only a pipe dream,” I murmur as he slips the socks on my feet, followed by my Converse.
How on earth I’m finding him putting my socks on sexy, I don’t know.
He’s hardly throwing me down on the bed and ravishing me, yet watching his fingers deftly tie my laces has my vagina purring like a cat in heat.
Maybe murder and socks will be the new Netflix and chill?
“How would you do it?” I whisper.
“Hmm…depends. I’ve never been a fan of the man, brother or not, but seeing his handiwork on your face makes me want to cut out his spleen and eat it.”
My eyes widen so much I wonder if my eyeballs might pop out of my head.
I have a niggling memory in the back of my head of someone once saying that the only difference between Hannibal and a serial killer on death row is that Hannibal hasn’t been caught.
I swallow, fear twisting up with everything else.
Yet I still don’t feel the urge to cower from him.
Call me stupid or naive, but I don’t think he wants to hurt me.
At least not in the way Driller does.
“How would you get rid of his body? Or at least the bits you don’t eat?” I joke but he grins as if I said something really interesting.
Oh boy, I’m not sure this is a good idea after all.
He’s looking at me like he wants to remove part of my skull and peek inside.
“I was thinking of buying a pig farm.”
I blink, trying to figure out what I missed.
“For the body. Pigs are good for cleaning up scraps.” He shrugs.
I can either freak out here or just roll with it.
Until he actually tries to feed me to a pig, I’m just going to go with the flow.
“There’s a lot of land at the clubhouse that is not being used. There’s plenty of space for pigs.”
“That’s what I heard, too.” He winks at me before offering his hand to help me up.
Cautiously, I slip my hand into his much larger one and let him help me get to my feet.
Surprising me, he keeps hold of it.
I look at him covertly out of the side of my eye, trying to figure him out.
He’s made it no secret what he thinks of me, and yet, he’s not been cruel.
He’s a mass of contradictions that I can’t understand.
One minute, he hates me.
The next, he’s intrigued by me.
He takes me on as his old lady when, honestly, I’ll be more of a hindrance than an asset.
But he doesn’t seem to care about that.
I worry that this is all part of some elaborate setup, one where I end up humiliated at best and, at worst, handed back to Driller or one of the enemies he owes money to.
Either would be a death sentence.
I can’t shake the feeling that there's more to this, and yet the roots of hope are slowly trying to push their way through the fragile wall I have built around my defenses. I don’t want to like him, or anyone, but there's something undeniably intriguing about the man.
Maybe I’m just as crazy as he is.
He leads me out of the room and down a long corridor and a flight of stairs, slowing his pace when he notices I have to practically run to keep up with him.
I’m surprised we haven’t run into anyone.
When the door spills us out into the outdoor seating area, I know he’s sneaking me out the same way he snuck me in.
I try not to let it hurt my feelings, even if it does make me feel like a dirty little secret.
He leads me through the ghost town I walked up yesterday.
This time, we pass a couple of people, but they just eye us and keep walking.
I keep my head down, feeling my face flame.
Have people been told to ignore me, or do they hate me here as much as they do back home?
Havoc's their president now, after all.
Not a single person talks to us, and by the time we make it to the truck, I’m about ready to crawl out of my skin. As soon as he pops the locks, I yank the door open and climb in, slamming the door closed. Stupid tears fill my eyes as I fumble with the seatbelt. I swallow a sob when Hannibal’s hand covers mine, clicking the seatbelt into place.
In the next second, his fingers are under my chin, tipping my head back. I hate that he always does this. It makes it impossible for me to hide. “What’s wrong?” His voice comes out gruff, as if my tears personally offend him.
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“Fuck that. Tell me why you’re crying.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Everyone hates me.”
“So.”
A snort of laughter escapes me. “I thought you’d tell me I was imagining it.”
“I don’t sugarcoat shit, and I won’t lie to you. You know people have an opinion formed about you. You can’t control that, but you can control how you let that affect you.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Do you want me to go fuck them up?”
I startle at his words. “I…what?”
“Do you want me to fuck them up? Would that make you feel better?”
“You can’t kick someone’s ass just because I’m sad.”
“Yeah? Fucking watch me. I don’t like seeing you cry.”
I have no idea what to say to that. I do an impression of a gaping fish, but then he surprises me even further by leaning forward and pressing his mouth to mine.
He slips his tongue inside before my brain can come back online again. His grip on my face tightens, but not enough to hurt me, just to hold me in place as he shows me what I’ve been missing for the last few years.
Driller had zero interest in my pleasure. All he cared about was what I could do for him. Havoc was the last person to make my body sing, and even then, it was in the way that first love blooms. He was the man I lost my virginity to and my first kiss. His kisses were a promise of the life he planned to give me—the same one he took away in an instant. Driller’s kisses were all about punishing me for loving his brother and hating him. He knew he could force my body to do his bidding, but he couldn’t force my heart to love him. Hannibal, though, kisses me like a man who came, saw, and conquered in one fell swoop. He might not be my first man, but his kiss brings with it its own promise—a promise that he will be my last.
When he pulls back my eyes flutter open.
“Anyone else makes you cry, you tell me about it and I’ll fix it.”
“Sure,” I whisper, lying through my ass. I won’t be running to him, telling tales. Snitches get stitches, after all. Hopefully, though, the fear of Hannibal stepping in might hold them back, and that’s enough for me.
His lips twitch like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, but he doesn’t call me on it. Instead, he puts his seatbelt on and starts up the truck, nodding to the prospect who opens the gates for us.
The second we’re off Ravens property I begin to relax. Each mile farther, the easier it is to breathe. I might have to return to my prison later, but for now, I’m going to enjoy my freedom.