27. Claire
Honestly, I don’t know if it’s the ‘badass’ I’m leaning into or the crazy, but I’m leaning into something as I walk quickly across the lawn, trying not to run but also trying to walk with every bit of the purpose that’s burning inside of me. The knife I pilfered from the kitchen when Elaine blissfully went to answer the front door is sheathed and tucked blade down against my hip. It pokes out from the bottom of my dress every few strides, so I just pull the fabric taut and carry on.
I don’t know if Remy keeps his evil half brother attended twenty-four seven, so I’m just hoping I can convince Dimitri to let me in. My other option was to wait and then find the guest-house key tonight while everyone sleeps, but I don’t want to lose my opportunity in case something goes wrong, and he ends up getting shot. Rhea assured me the security will be extensive and they won’t let Wes get away, but if he tries, he could end up dead and then I’d never get the opportunity to do this.
It doesn’t take long for the door to open after I knock. Dimitri opens it and looks down at me, confused. His tie is loose around his neck, the top button of his shirt not yet fastened. I take note of the gun holstered on his hip and feel a little bit better about what I’m about to do. “Hi?” His voice doesn’t hide his confusion, and the smile I fix him with doesn’t seem to help matters either.
I hear the TV in the background and realize he has most definitely been staying here day in and day out to keep watch over Wes. I wonder if he sleeps on the bed Remy and I fucked on. “Dimitri,” I bat my eyelashes.
“Do you… need something?”
That’s good. He wants to help. I nod slowly before looking up at him from under my eyelashes. I bite my lip too, for good measure. It feels ridiculous—I’ve never fancied myself to be an actress, but he doesn’t look at me with suspicion so I must not be obvious in my manipulation.
“Yes.” My voice is small. That part, I’m not faking. That comes all on its own. “I want closure.”
He knows what I’m asking for without me needing to elaborate, and I’m grateful that Jovich’s replacement is at least smart. And compassionate, apparently, because he doesn’t immediately shoot me down. “I… can’t let you in here.”
“I just really want to look in his eyes and ask him why he did what he did.” I bite my lip again because I’m afraid he’ll see right through me.
He hesitates, though for a moment I think his eyes go watery. “Remy would be furious if he knew I let you in.”
“Remy doesn’t have to know,” I say. “I won’t tell him.”
Dimitri looks like he wants to help me, but he’s conflicted. His loyalty is nice. I wonder if it would end at serving me up to the darkness to protect the ones he’s pledged that loyalty to. “I’m supposed to keep you safe.”
This is the most I’ve talked to him, so hearing him claim he’s supposed to protect me is kind of disconcerting, but I choose not to focus on that. “He’s tied up, right?” I shrug. “And you have a gun. He can’t hurt me.”
I see him working through the thought a moment before he opens the door wide enough for me to come in. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up about closure. Men like him don’t have good reasons for doing what they do. They just like to pluck the petals off flowers before they stomp on what remains.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat and nod my understanding. I know the way to the cellar—Remy took me here just a few days ago. I killed a man who made me try to kill myself in that very same space. I remember every detail of that night—I relive it every time I start to fall asleep. I think I could walk down there with my eyes closed, but I wait for Dimitri to lead me anyway.
My heart hammers harder with each step I take; I consider running in the opposite direction and hiding in my room ‘til after the wake ends, but I bet he hears my voice. He might even smell my perfume. It was a bold move, coming here all dressed for the wake, but by the time I committed to this idea, I wasn’t about to change back into something less formal.
When we step into the basement room, its not what I expected. Last time I was here, Wes was tied to a chair in the center of the room with his hands bound behind his back and duct tape over his mouth. Dimitri didnt lie when he said that Wes was tied up, but instead of being bound to a chair, his wrists are secured tightly to a bedpost. It doesnt look comfortable, but it does look better for sleeping than the chair, and Wes is taking full advantage. His head lolls to one side, his eyes closed.
And he is fucking snoring.
I’m annoyed by his audacity to get some rest, and I think Dimitri recognizes it because he shrugs. “Fucker tipped the chair and busted out of his restraints. This was Plan B.”
A brief flicker of satisfaction blooms inside of me as I recognize it as the bed that Remy laid me over when we had passionate, hot, and not quiet sex above Wes’ head. Definitely better him than Dimitri.
“You keep your distance,” Dimitri warns. “I’ll wake him for you.”
“That wont be necessary.” I smile, drawing up to Wes’ side. He’s a heavy sleeper, apparently. If I couldnt clearly see his wrists bound with thick black cable ties, I would have thought he was feigning sleep in an attempt to catch me off guard when I get close.
“Claire,” Dimitri warns. His voice is nervous, like he is also entertaining the idea that Wes might be faking it. But Ive come this far; Im not going to stand across the room from him.
I hike the skirt of my dress up just a little in the front so that nothing is in my way as I swing my leg over Wes’s torso and sink down on his stomach until I’m straddling him. Dimitri blows out a breath, but Im not sure if its because he’s seeing the knife tucked into my thigh-highs, or because he thinks Im about to do something devious.
My weight on his stomach is enough to stir him from the deeper stages of sleep, but his eyes dont open until I wrap both hands around his neck and apply just the slightest bit of pressure.
When his eyes fly open, theyre clouded by confusion as he looks for the source of whats restricting his air supply and perhaps realizes it wasnt only in his dream. The confusion doesnt last long and neither does the fear that flicks across his green eyes. There is tape over his mouth; If I pinch his nose shut right now, how long would it take until his heart quits beating?
I lean into him and blow across the tape, though I doubt the warmth of my breath is enough to warm the tape up much. I also dont care if it hurts, so I dig a nail under the corner under his lip and yank the strip free all at once. He grunts in pain, bracing against the bed as he tries to contain his discomfort. I can’t help but laugh that a little bit of duct tape makes him cry out and react like he’s been lashed. “What’s the matter, baby?” I taunt. “You dont like it rough?”
His jaw twitches as he attempts to ease some of the stinging on his face—the skin is red where I just exposed it to air. “No, I do,” he says. “I just prefer to be on top.”
I’m sure you do.
“Worried about your fragile manhood?”
“My manhood is just fine, Claire. Scoot a little further south and youll find out for yourself.”
I grace him with a laugh for that. “Maybe another day. I think your brother plans to keep you around for a bit, so we have plenty of time to play.”
His eyes flare at that, and I don’t know if it’s the promise of fun to be had or his indignation at the thought of playing captive any longer. “You gonna let him watch?” He tips his chin toward Dimitri. “I know you like to have an audience.”
“Do you?” I ask quietly.
“I know you were putting on a performance for me after you killed that other guy, baby. I heard you moaning, screaming all the way from down here. You sound like you enjoyed yourself but how genuine was it? I know that I could make you scream a hell of a lot louder than that.” He laughs, bobbing me up and down along his chest. “Hell, I already did.”
“Youre right,” I whisper the words over his lips. If he leans forward just a little, his lips would brush mine. He could snare them between his teeth, and Id have to burn them off to rid myself of his touch there. But he doesnt move, probably due in part to the blade I slip out of its sheath. Its covered in cheetah print, and I assume Elaine shopped for it, but it has a wicked sharp edge, the tip of which I press into the space between his collarbones.
Wes’ breath comes faster.
“I could give you a rematch. Dimitri could be the judge, deciding who screams loudest—me when I come on Remy’s cock, or you when I drive this blade into you.”
A smile curves his lips, and he flicks a tongue out, presumably to soothe away the stinging on them. Blood is trickling in the middle of his bottom one, and it blooms anew when his tongue is back in his mouth. “Where was this Claire the night we met, hmm? We could have had so much fun together. We still can…”
“This is pretty fun,” I admit, drawing the blade ever so gently across his skin. It bites into him just a little, leaving a thin line of blood to well there. Wes bucks a little, his shoulders arching back and his hands coiling into fists. He grunts through the pain until he controls it, and then he tamps it down in favor of a smile.
“I knew you had it in you. From the moment I followed you into that bathroom, I could sense your sickness.”
That gives me pause. I relent enough to give him the space to tell me more. “My sickness?”
Wes attempts a shrug and then winces when it pulls on the zip ties. “That’s just what I call it, not a clinical diagnosis. It’s different for everyone who has it, but like recognizes like. Most people do have it, these days. A sign of the times.”
He hasn’t explained what it is, but that’s not the only thing I need clarification on. “Youre the one who came in the bathroom that night?”
“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “I was really considering pinning you up against the wall and seeing just how far youd let me go… a stranger in the dark. I bet you would have let me go all the way, wouldn’t you? But I was there for Rhea, and even though I was pretty sure you wouldn’t stop me from fucking you in a bar bathroom like the whore you are, I also couldn’t risk you running to your little friend and ruining the night. Mack did that all on his own when he couldnt keep his hands to himself and grabbed a handful of some other man’s pussy. He sent you that drink to fuck with you because he thought you were Rhea. Stupid fuck.” He laughs. “Im really not mad that hes dead. He brought me so much more stress than joy and this has been a nice vacation. Bed’s comfortable, smells like you… fucking heaven.”
“You sure?” I taunt, flipping the blade so that the edge is parallel with his neck, situated right under his Adams apple, which bobs when he swallows nervously. Its an interesting contrast to the casual way he speaks, which is fitting considering Im also pretending to be far less disturbed than I am. “It should smell like Remy considering he pulled out of me and spilled his cum all over this mattress.” The bed had sheets and a duvet on it, of course, but I’m not going to mention it. I bite my lip in an attempt to keep back the giggle threatening to bubble out of my throat at the look of disgust on his face. “Seems your brothers cum smells like heaven to you, Wes. And you think I’m sick.”
I lift the blade, letting the faint light catch on the silver and then dig the tip into his chest, just above his pecs, and watch the blood glitter too. Wes grunts, but he gets hold of himself quickly. Apparently, he is used to pain to some extent. Maybe he doesnt just dish it out. “It’s not too late, Claire.” His mouth cocks into a grin. “You could cut these ties and we could run away together. I could make every one of your kinky fantasies come true. I could take care of you.”
I tip my head to the side, considering it. “And we would live happily ever after?”
“If thats what you want. You want the white picket fence and the two children and a golden retriever? I could get you that and so much more. Youre letting your crazy out, baby, and doesnt it feel so fucking good?”
I laugh a little, dragging the blade up his arm to slide the tip between his flesh and the cable that is immobilizing him. When I free the first one, his eyes go wide with surprise, but it quickly turns to hunger. Wes takes it as a sign that he’s appealing to me and decides to keep going in hopes that I’ll free his other hand and together we’ll overpower Dimitri and disappear into the ether.
It would be one hell of a plot twist.
“Your sickness,” he says, his voice bordering on desperation. “You want to be loved and hated. You want to be treated like a queen in public but like a whore in private. You want passion, you want fucking color in a world of black and white. It’s normal, baby. But they don’t understand you.”
“And you do?”
“Yes,” he laughs. “I understand you because I am you, Claire. I see your abandonment issues, your want to be loved, and I raise you a mommy who abandoned me and a daddy who fucking hates me. Better no parents than the kind who make it their life mission to fuck you up.”
“Jonathan Boudreaux sold his daughter to your father. I’d hardly say he cared about her.”
“Just because he cared about himself more doesnt mean he didnt care for her. And our whore mother at least acknowledged their existence. What did I ever get from her? She sat across from my father during all of their parties and never once did she ask about me… her first born.” He scoffs. “Neither of us have that. Were both caged birds that the world turned away from, but you have a chance to unlock my cage and see what we could create together.”
“Wes,” I mutter. “Its so soon to be proposing marriage, children.”
“You think Boudreaux would give all that to you?” He laughs, jostling me along his chest. I hunch over him further until we share the same air.
“You think I can’t take it for myself?” My laughter joins with his, but it’s short-lived.
“You don’t know how. But I could teach you.”
“I could kill you right now.” I counter, perfectly calm.
“Come on, Claire. You’re not a killer.”
“Oh?” I glance around at Dimitri, like he’ll give me confirmation on that point. He just looks at me—or rather, grimaces. “Didnt you hear when I killed Eric Giante? You probably don’t know who that is.” I shake my head and sigh. “He’s no one important, just a former foster father who needed to be put down like the sick dog that he is. Hes the man I killed in the room right next to this one. And I mean, sure, Remy started it for me. But I delivered the final blow. The last thing he saw in this world was his victim becoming the villain.” I shrug. “Dont overestimate your worth, Wes.”
“I know my worth, he smirks, and you cant afford to kill me. Boudreaux just wouldnt let that fly.”
I let my shoulders slump and blow out a breath. Hes got a point. “You know what, Wes? You’re right. I can’t kill you.”
A triumphant and cocky grin spreads across his lips, but its cut short when I drive the blade right through his still-tied hand with enough force that the tip pokes through the other side. I fight a slight feeling of wooziness as I cant my head to the side, seeing the space where the knife protrudes from his flesh and digs into the wall.
He doesnt contain his scream this time. His free hand makes a grab for me, but especially now that Remys kitchen knife is pinning him in place, he cant get the range of motion he needs to be successful. I slide back out of his reach without losing my grip on the handle.
“Remember when you asked me if I was a nurse?”
“You fucking bitch,” he spits, kicking his feet like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He doesn’t answer my question, but I continue anyway.
“I may not be a nurse, and I am certainly no doctor, but I think if you hit a nerve just right, you’ll lose sensation in your hand. That would be a terrible loss for a surgeon.”
I don’t give him a minute to piece together where Im going with this, because I jerk on the blade, dragging it through flesh and muscle until I feel it catch on bone.
Wes is writhing in pain. I don’t bother pulling the knife out as I climb off of him, allowing him to draw his knees to his stomach.
“Go ahead and cry, Wes.” I say, sliding my phone away from where it’s been pressed against my hip and navigating to the camera. I make sure to turn the flash on before snapping a few photos, and then I reach up and coat my fingers in his blood before painting it across his lips. He tries to spit at me, but I pinch his lips closed.
“I see what you mean,” I breathe, pressing my lips to his forehead for a moment, reveling in the power Ive taken from him. “This really is addictive. And you?”
I swipe my thumb along the top of his cheekbone, wiping away a pained tear I don’t think he wanted to fall. “Pure fucking magic.”