Chapter 12
SKYLAR
I watch as the guys wrap up Damien’s body in a black tarp.
The plastic material is secured around his body so tightly it’s undeniable that there’s a body beneath its cover.
I thought I would feel different after he was dead.
I thought I’d feel this sense of uplifting weightlessness, but that never came.
Even when he stopped breathing. For a man that took away a piece of my soul, I’d hoped that watching the life leave his body would make me whole again.
It didn’t. In fact, I don’t feel any different at all.
My chest is still heavy, an iron fist with its fingers wrapped around my beating organ, slowly and painfully constricting between breaths.
I’ve spent the last few years dreaming of this moment.
The moment where this constant pain would disappear.
He’s dead now, so why do I still hurt? Why is this pain still there?
A deep bruise that’s never healed. The pain is a constant reminder of that day.
Gone is the man that used, abused, stole, and degraded me at such a young age, so why is he still burrowed in the depths of my skin? Forever present.
“Sky, I’m going to take you home now and get you cleaned up.
” I hadn’t noticed, but Saxon is currently kneeling in front of me.
Looking up at his face, I scan every drop of blood, the deep red color drying over and hardening against his golden skin.
I lift my fingers and gently brush over his eyebrow where blood had dipped into the crease of his scar.
The blood has already dried against the raised skin, and my fingers are unsuccessful at trying to wipe it away.
Saxon’s large hands are covering both my knees, his eyes set on my face as I continue my exploration of the dead man’s blood.
“How’d you get this scar?” I don’t know why I ask.
The question slips from my lips before I even have time to process what I’m asking.
I’m so tired, so very tired. The fight in me dying as quickly as it came.
I’ve never not known how to feel. I’m angry, furious even, but also blanketed with an overwhelming sadness.
Damien dying was supposed to fix me, but it hasn’t.
I’m still broken, a million little pieces floating around my body, refusing to fuse together again.
“One day, when Sage and I were little, we were walking home from school. A man drove by and stopped a few feet in front of us. The man got out of the car and came rushing at us, holding a knife. He told us to get in the car. The man was tweaking on something, his hair matted to his forehead from sweat. His eyes were so dilated there was no color left.”
“What did you do?” I whisper, while Saxon’s hand plays with another piece of my hair as he continues.
“I put Sage behind my back and when the man got close enough, I attacked him. He only got one good swipe with his shitty knife before I was able to take it from him. I was twelve. Sage was six.” Brushing my thumb over his scar one more time, I ask him another question.
“What happened to the man?”
“Does it matter?”
Not knowing how to respond, I drop my hand back to my side.
Does it matter that a bad man is dead? Because he most certainly is dead.
If I know anything about Saxon at all, it’s to never try to hurt his family.
We stare at each other for a long moment, his story and the events of tonight lingering in the air.
A grunt has me breaking eye contact as I watch Saint carry the monster beneath the tarp through the door we came in. I don’t say anything else; I stand and follow behind Saint as the three of us make our way back to the world above.
Once I emerge from the stairwell, I inhale a deep breath. It’s started to cool down, the last bit of the summer’s air filling my lungs. It’s gotten dark, and the forest above me is eerie as the trees’ branches bend with the wind, making cracking noises all around us.
“I’m going to drive you back to your apartment. Saint will follow us.”
“What are you going to do with him?” I turn my head, watching the guys slam the trunk of Saint’s vehicle.
They turn to face me, their facial expressions calm and giving no indication of remorse, or anything, for that matter.
Both men are like stone, their frozen faces staring at me, blank from years of learning how not to show emotion.
“Don’t concern yourself with that. Get in.” Saxon opens my passenger door, then makes his way to the driver’s side, getting in my car and starting the engine. I do what he says, getting in my passenger seat and settling in.
The drive is relatively short. It looks like we entered a piece of property that’s near where I know Saxon lives. I have no doubt he owns this land—why would he have a torture room underground of someone else’s property?
“Surprised you didn’t blindfold me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Maybe I’ll tell someone where your secret hideout is,” I say confidently as I continue staring out the window. I knew the dangers of what I was doing, taunting Saxon, but I didn’t care. Not tonight.
“You could tell someone, but you won’t. Because then someone may find out about your little basement hideout.” Twisting my head to face him, I’m dumbfounded. How does he know about the basement at Vice? What the hell?
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, Skylar. I know the behaviors of someone who’s taken a life before, and you, tesoro, are anything but an angel. A killer recognizes a killer, baby.”
I feel my neck heating up. My mouth opens, but I have nothing to say.
I snap it shut, my nerves suddenly on high alert.
How does he know? I want to hit him again; I want him to feel the same tsunami of emotions that’s drowning me from the inside.
We both had our reasons for wanting Damien dead, and while the end result was always going to be the same; it’s clear we both have our own agendas.
Our own techniques for seeking out revenge.
Damien, in one way or another, hurt both of us.
Saxon lost his father because of him, and I lost a piece of my soul.
While this connects us in a way, I can’t imagine after tonight Saxon and I will be buddy buddies.
The rest of the drive is silent, my thoughts racing with Saxon’s comment.
I know I’m no angel. No one would be, especially if they grew up the way I did.
It would sound crazier if I grew up as a completely normal human being.
I’ve also never tried to hide who I am. Except for the fact that I’ve killed people—I like to keep that part under wraps.
So how does he know what I do in my spare time?
Maybe it’s a trick, and he doesn’t know all the details of my hobbies.
My mind is in shambles, and when the car comes to a stop in the parking lot of Vice, I’m startled when Saxon opens my door for me.
Stepping out of my car, I head towards the door behind the club that leads to my apartment.
Saxon says something quick to Saint, who’d pulled up beside my car.
The pair exchange words before Saxon turns and follows me through my door.
“You can go now; I don’t need an escort to my apartment.”
“Just keep walking, Sky. You’re not fighting me on this.
” I continue up the stairwell and unlock my door at the top of the stairs.
Opening my door, I step through and immediately take off my shoes and start towards my bathroom.
With my hand on my bathroom door, I turn around to see Saxon closing and locking my door behind him.
“Really, Saxon. You can go. I’m fine. I can handle myself.”
“I know you can, but I’d feel better if you’d let me make sure for myself.”
“So, what are you going to do, wait for me to shower and tuck me in?” My eyes stay on his large frame as he crosses my small apartment and stands in my personal space, his height towering over me.
“No, I’m going to clean you up and then tuck you in.”
“Saxon, I don’t ne—”
“Get in the shower, Sky.” His tone is commanding, and I don’t know why, but I listen. I enter the bathroom and open my glass shower door. Turning on the water, I make sure it’s set to a soothing, hot temperature.
“Undress.” I open my mouth to protest, but he lifts his hand in the air, stopping me from refusing his order.
“Undress, Sky.” I turn around, giving him my back before I lift my shirt from my body.
Dropping the fabric to the floor, I make quick work of my pants and socks.
I freeze, naked in front of the man that just killed my rapist, except for my bra and the thin layer of lace covering my most intimate parts.
“Will you let me clean you off, tesoro?” Saxon’s warm breath fans across the nape of my neck. He’s right behind me, and I hadn’t even heard him move closer.
“Why do you want to help me, and why do you call me that?” I ask, my voice small, the pounding of the water against the tile floor the only other sound in the room.
“Call you what?” His lips graze my earlobe, and instantly, goosebumps rise, forming across my almost naked body.
“That name. Tesoro?” I ask again.
“It’s what my mother used to call me when she was alive.” Fingers gently graze my hips. Saxon slowly traces his fingers over my hips and waist, stopping at the clasp to my bra.
“What does it mean?” My voice trembles at his touch.
I should stop this. My body shouldn’t react to this man so quickly.
I hated him just moments ago, and now I’m letting him undress me.
I want to scream at myself, berate the touch-deprived woman, put an end to this thing between Saxon and me.
He doesn’t trust me because of who I am, and I shouldn’t trust him.
We were raised to not trust the rival. So why am I letting him unclasp my bra?
Letting him guide the straps down my shoulders, feed my arms through them, and let it fall to the ground?
My breathing picks up the slightest bit, the steam from the shower warm against my breasts.
“It means treasure. That’s what she used to tell me I was to her. Her treasure.”
“So why do you call me that?”
“I don’t think I’m ready to tell you that.” His hands find the corners of my thong, his body lowering behind me as he draws the last piece of my clothing down my legs and off my body. I’m completely exposed to him. I should want to run and hide, cover myself from this man. But I don’t.
“Now, get in the shower,” he whispers in my ear. I do. Stepping through the open glass door, I let the water cascade down my body, saturating every inch of me. I hear a bottle crack open and turn to see Saxon has my shampoo bottle in his hand, the glass door still open as he stands at the entrance.
“Turn around for me.” I turn, and Saxon starts working the shampoo into a lather across my scalp, his strong fingers massaging through my hair.
I let out a small moan, the sensation so delicious I never want him to stop.
I’ve never been to a spa, but I can imagine this is close to the pleasure you’d find at one.
“Okay, now rinse.” I obey every order he gives me. From the conditioner to the body wash. While he let me wash my private areas myself, he didn’t let me wash any other part of my body. Gliding the loofa all over my body and only stopping to hand it off, sparked a tingling sensation deep in my core.
Now, I know my body was reacting to his touch simply because I haven’t been with anyone since arriving in this town. However, I’m seriously embarrassed by the number of moans I let slip. Hopefully, he didn’t hear any of them.