Episode XX| Cmere Baby girl Pt.I
Basket heard the shower running. The sound of water cascading down only made his thoughts more chaotic.
Christie needed a decent bath, needed time to wash away the pain of what had been done to her.
But his mind? It kept drifting back to Honey.
The thought of her pissed him off so deeply that his fists clenched at his sides.
He wanted to go downstairs and choke her to death.
But he knew that wasn't the right call—not because of some legal consequence, but because of Christie.
Her feelings outweighed his hatred for Honey. Basket needed to get his shit together.
He stood up abruptly, pacing in the dimly lit room, his thoughts colliding with one another. His boots thudded softly against the floor as he heard the faint turning of the shower knob.
Christie, on the other hand, was trying to calm herself as she let the water go.
She could hear his footsteps outside the bathroom door, each step making her heart race faster.
Her stomach twisted painfully, a bubbling anxiety that made her feel sick.
She didn't want him to approach that door.
She knew there were no windows in this bathroom, no way to escape, but her eyes darted around as if looking for a miracle.
Knock. Knock.
His knuckles tapped the door twice, soft but intentional. Christie closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a breath, trying to summon a memory—the first time she met Basket. Back then, things were different. Back then, she wasn't scared of him.
She breathed in slowly, exhaling with a shiver as the door swung open. It was as if he knew exactly when to enter.
Basket stood there, taking her in. His eyes scanned her, not missing an inch.
Her dark skin glistened under the bathroom light, still damp from the shower, while the yellow towel clung to her body, hugging her curves as if it were trying to hide her from him.
But he saw through it. She looked like a chocolate-covered sunflower—that's what he came up with as he stared at her.
He bit his lip. "If I told you that I wanted you, even after everything I've done to you—would you let me touch you?"
His voice was low, like a predator's whisper. "Would you let me take your body over and over, until you can't even breathe? Would you let me replace the pain I caused in your heart?"
He leaned against the doorframe, his hands sliding casually into his pockets, but his eyes were anything but calm.
The black T-shirt he wore clung tightly to his muscular chest, showing off every curve of strength.
The tattoos on his arms seemed darker, more vivid in contrast to his tanned skin.
He exuded dominance, standing there, knowing she couldn't resist him.
Christie felt her pulse quicken. She had never been able to say no to him. Not when he stared at her like that, when his presence alone suffocated every rational thought she had. She loved him. She always had.
But that love scared her. She knew what it meant. She knew that one day, he'd kill her, and that terrified her more than anything. The love she felt wasn't real. At least, that's what she told herself—it was a figment of her imagination, some fantasy spun out of her desperate need to survive.
She was a Pisces—her imagination was always wild, always vivid.
"Even if I said no, would you listen?" Her voice trembled. "Basket, I-I love you. I love you so much, but I think we should stop here."
Her gaze locked with his, her eyes pleading for something he couldn't give her—freedom. But Basket's pupils dilated, his expression darkening, and she knew immediately she'd struck a nerve. He had never been this quiet.
The silence was suffocating.
He took a step forward, slow and deliberate. "Repeat what you just said."
Christie couldn't. Her breath hitched, panic rising as she took a step back. Her voice faltered, soft apologies spilling from her lips, desperate to undo what she'd said. Basket's face remained cold. He wasn't going to hurt her—not physically.
But that wasn't his intention.
He took another step toward her, and she stepped back again, her body trembling as she felt the cold wall hit her back.
"Nowhere else to go."
Her skin burned under his gaze, the heat of his presence overwhelming her. Tears filled her eyes, falling before she could stop them. She was trapped. She wanted him to hold her, but the fear was stronger now. She had triggered something in him, something she couldn't control.
Christie broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.
Outside the door, Block stood silently, his body pressed against the wall. He could hear her crying, the muffled sobs seeping through the door. But he didn't move. He didn't speak. This wasn't his place, not anymore.
Block had his own issues to deal with. Honey. He needed to make sure that she wasn't lying dead somewhere in his mansion, that Basket hadn't already made good on his threats. His mind was racing—Christie was the real concern.
He cared for her, more than he cared to admit. To him, she was a sister, someone he cherished. He had warned Basket countless times about pushing her too far, about taking her loyalty for granted.
But Basket didn't listen.
He had told Block before—before the week was over, Honey would be dead. And now, Block wasn't sure if he believed that or not. It wasn't just about Honey.
It was about Christie.
Block pushed off the wall, deciding the best thing to do was walk away for now. Christie's sobs echoed in his ears, but he couldn't do anything about it.
Not yet.