Chapter Seventeen
ELIJAH
I kick my feet at the bunk above me with a growl. Beans has been snoring for the last hour and I’m just about ready to strangle the motherfucker. How can someone so small and scrawny be so fucking loud?
Unable to sleep, I login to the surveillance app and watch as Ava tosses and turns in her bed.
A few nights ago, I’d watched her dress for the Lutwidge charity dinner. She’d worn a soft peach colored gown that made her look ethereal. I’d hated watching her pace her apartment, trying to get hold of that waste of air, Chad. But I was glad he’d listened to my instructions. I would have hated for things to get bloody. My people were watching him closely, having followed him to the hole he’s crawled into like the snake he was.
Nicco had tailed her around over the weekend as she’d tried to get access to Chad’s apartment, spoken to his boss, and even called his mother. If I went missing, would she miss me?
No, not yet. But one day she would feel the same about me as I did her. I wanted to be her entire universe. This ‘little obsession’ as Chad had called it, had morphed into something much deeper. I’d had countless women and men over the years, but there was something about Ava Bishop, a feral instinct that made me want to both hunt her and keep her safe.
She’d come home from the gala, tipsy and grinning. Barely inside the door, she’d started stripping down to nothing but her thong and for the first time, I regretted staying in Ogmore. I wanted to be with her, buried inside her, kissing that beautiful skin, tasting the champagne on her tongue.
Thoughts of Bishop have me on edge as I replay the videos of her, restless as I’m torn about the two sides of her personality. She looks like butter wouldn’t melt, but melt she fucking did under my touch. In that instant, gone was the good little officer, daughter of a prominent judge, do-gooder and instead I saw a fellow apex predator. I watched the cogs turning in her head, like she was mapping out what would happen next. I saw raw hunger; the monster lurking beneath the surface, begging for freedom and how she shut it down. Ava stepped back and closed me out like it was nothing. I am not nothing. What we have is not nothing. That was unacceptable. Her monstrous side needed to be free.
I just hoped I didn’t push too hard and regret it afterwards. This was no longer something to keep me occupied while I was behind bars, or a way to ferret out who put me here. I wanted more. I wanted it all.
After finally getting a few hours’ sleep, I’m wide awake and ready for my first art workshop. I’d seen Bishop on Tuesday, but she’d been absent from the communal areas and cell block F. Obviously, I’d been watching her via the cameras in her living room and bedroom and Cato still made sure I received the footage from across the street but it wasn't the same as seeing her in person.
“I still can’t believe you got enrolled on the course,” Beans grumbles at breakfast, while we eat our cold toast and lumpy oats. He scrunches up his nose, making a frustrated noise, and I grin.
“Did ya expect anything less?” Papa T scoffs, as he pushes the lumps in his fruit cup with his spoon. I still hadn’t gotten a decent read on the man, but Cato had looked into him for me. Papa T was a gun for hire, a big bad mercenary. He had no allegiances, and so as long as he stayed out of my way, I’d stay out of his.
“I have plenty of fight left in me if you’d like me to take out another Cartel member.” I chuckle, glancing across the chow hall where Tiny’s gang mates are glaring at me. “Although, I think they’re more wary of me now.”
Beans gags, making a retching noise. “Nah, I’m good. I thought I was going to barf when you sliced Tiny’s face like he was Spam.”
“Should have stayed put then.” I scold. There had been so much blood, and with the adrenaline rushing around my system, I hadn’t realized Beans had come back into the shower and watched in horror as I’d cut the Cartel member. “If you’d listened to me…”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand, indicating for me to stop. “Well, I will next time.”
E ntering the classroom ready for the workshop, I choose a seat towards the back nestled in a space between the window and the supply closet. Ava does her best to avoid glancing at me as the other inmates enter, but I can tell that she’s struggling. She’s wearing a blue officer blouse, and a black high waisted skirt today with flat black shoes. Her whole body is tense as she stands at the front of the room, leaning against her desk with her hands clasped together.
Once everyone is in and settled with Officer Foxx stationed near the door, the class begins. The art workshop isn’t as dull as I thought it would be as Bishop talks about different mediums and the pros and cons of each. She shows us oil paintings, watercolors, inked pieces, sketches, and more abstract art where people have made shit out of bottle caps and whatnot.
We’re then tasked with drawing a bowl of fruit using at least two different methods for a warm-up, before we’re allowed to draw whatever we want, in whichever medium we choose. This will apparently make up part of a portfolio we’ll be working on over the next couple of weeks.
I debated toying with Bishop, antagonizing her so that she'd reveal just how sharp her teeth were, but somewhere along the way, I actually used the time to draw.
Like most children, I used to enjoy art. My mother and I would sit and sketch at the kitchen table, drawing or painting silly little things. Sometimes she would make a game of it, where she would draw something, and then I would carry it on, and then she would add to it and so on. My stupid little sketches had gotten better, and I would carry a notebook with me for between classes, boxing lessons and working with my father. One day, he’d seen me scribbling away while I waited for him to finish washing blood off his boots, and he deemed it a waste of time. He threw my sketchbook on the flames alongside the body of the man they’d been interrogating for hours beforehand.
My mother always bore the brunt of his rage and, not wanting to anger him, always took his side. There died my art career, gone up in flames along with the evidence of my father’s crimes.
Not that I would have ever been an artist anyway—I was always destined to be in the mafia, protecting The Family. Augustine Creed had plans for his son even before I was born, and I learned to accept early on that I was simply a pawn to be used to his advantage. That’s why he hated it when I rose through the ranks, and when I overtook him, he was furious. But his anger couldn’t reach me anymore.
Julian was my friend growing up, and while he went to a private school and was part of a rich affluent family, underneath it all, we were the same. Felix Asaro ruled with his fists, the same as my father had. There was no escaping the expectations of The Family, no matter how much money sat in your bank account.
When Julian killed his first man at twelve, he’d spent the night at my house, crying in my bed while I tried to tell him it would get better. We both knew I was lying. It doesn’t get better, you just become less sensitive to the blood and gore.
When he came to power after the death of his own father, he made it clear that I answered to no one but him and we vowed we would be better men than the bastards who raised us.
I’d never picked up another pencil or paintbrush because my father’s lessons still lingered. His voice was still ringing in my head. Until now.
Focusing on my sketch makes it easier to ignore Bishop, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed the occasional little sigh or tiny huff she makes every time she glances in my direction. Ignoring her seemed to antagonize her more than if I'd publicly taunted her.
Leaning back on my stool, I look at the canvas in front of me. In wispy, light pencil lines, it’s strikingly clear what I’ve drawn. It’s Officer Bishop, naked, arms behind her head with her hair flowing around her.
She’s faceless, but I know it’s her. She’s consuming me, invading every thought I have, making it worse every time she walks past in a cloud of cherry blossom, the scent clinging to her skin. Every time I inhale that scent, it’s a test of my willpower.
Standing, I head to the supply closet to grab some paints. I’d done the base in pencil, but I planned to work with acrylic since I’d never used it before. Finding a set of tube acrylic paints and a few different brushes, I can’t seem to locate a pallet for mixing. As I’m crouched down looking on the bottom shelves, someone enters behind me and holds one out, waving it in my face. The lingering notes of cherry blossoms fill the tiny space and I know it’s her without even looking.
“You’re being very quiet today, Creed.” She’s baiting me. I can see it in the gleam in her eyes. She wants me to bite, and I will, just not yet.
“All those promises you made…it appears you’re nothing but hot air.” She lets her gaze trail over me. I’d worn my gray jumper today, and as Bishop’s eyes land on the sleeves rolled up my forearms, I grin. She openly stares at my ink, practically drooling.
“I’m sorry Officer, did you want me to fuck you in front of the class? Make you scream in front of everyone?” I smirk at her with a tilt of my head. “I didn’t have you pegged as an exhibitionist.”
She blushes. She’s not an exhibitionist, but I’m willing to bet in the right circumstances she could be. Just how far would she go for me? How much could I push her?
“That’s not what I meant…” she whispers as she thinks about it. It may not have been what she meant, but now she’s intrigued by the idea.
“Yes it is.” I give a small chuckle. “Don’t be coy, let’s be honest with each other.”
I don’t know why, but I want the truth from her. I want her to face her inner demons and understand the monster that exists within. I want to be able to trust her. To trust my instinct that she’s just like me.
“Fine.” She crosses her arms. “Why haven’t you made a move, a stupid remark or tried anything?”
“You want my attention, Rabbit? Well you've got it.” Putting my supplies on a shelf to my left, I stand and tower over her, invading her space. “I have a few reasons for biding my time.”
“Rabbit?” she breathes, tilting her face up towards me.
“Mmm, my White Rabbit.” My hand snakes its way around her neck, and I rub my thumb over her pulse point. Leaning in, I let my lips brush over hers. “Innocent prey. Delicious. Addictive. Going to be the end of me. Just like the drug.”
My free hand lands on her hip, and I bring her body flush with mine so that she can feel just how much I want her. With a slow grind, I let the hard length of my cock press against her stomach. “Want me to continue? Or do you want me to kiss you?”
The corner of her mouth twitches seconds before she grabs a handful of my hair and crashes her lips against mine.
There she is, my little monster. My White Rabbit.
She tastes sweet like honey with something deeper, richer, like cherry brandy. With a quiet moan, she pushes me back carefully against the shelves, trying not to draw attention to us since she’d left the door to the supply closet open. The other inmates chatter away, oblivious to what their art teacher is up to in the dark with a criminal like me.
Her tongue dips between my lips, and I latch onto it, sucking and savoring her flavor. One taste would never be enough. I pull away, kissing her cheeks, along her jaw, down the column of her neck while she wraps a leg around me and grinds her body against mine.
Unbuttoning her skirt, I need to make sure she knows who she belongs to, to claim her. Sinking my teeth into her skin, I suck. She lets out a groan, and I quickly cover her mouth with my hand. Beneath my lips, I can feel the way her body trembles as she lets me mark her, over and over again.
Moving along her collarbone, I stake my claim with a trail of blooming purple marks. There are some areas where you can see the clear indents of my teeth. When I finally pull back, the skin just above and below the collar of her shirt is tender and covered in my marks. My woman. My Rabbit.
“More, I need more,” she demands in a hissed whisper, and I’m only too happy to oblige.
Turning her, I place her hands against the shelf in front of her face. Pushing her skirt up to her waist, I peel down her cotton thong and wrap it around my wrist.
“What’re you doing?”
“Giving you more.” Positing myself against her back, I press my cock against her ass and make a few lazy thrusts, letting her feel me. “But not everything.”
Reaching down between her legs while I kiss her neck, I let my fingers slide between her folds. She soaked, her cunt slick and swollen as I brushed the tips of my fingers lightly over her clit.
My other hand comes up under her arm and between her breasts to grab her throat. I don’t squeeze too hard, knowing that her neck is already tender from the love bites I’ve left there.
“The first reason I’m not going to fuck you in this closet—yet— is because we don’t have enough time. Foxx-face is going to come looking for you any minute. Fucker can’t keep his eyes off what’s mine.” With that, I bite down on her shoulder while I slide two fingers inside her, stuffing her full with me so that she knows exactly who she belongs to.
She bites down on the back of her hand, muffling her little mewling noises as I fuck into her, driving her wild while I gradually cut off some of her air supply. Angling my hand right, so that I’m still paying her clit attention, I work quicker, knowing that time isn’t on our side.
While exhibitionism appealed to me in theory, in reality, I refused to share her, especially not with the starving cunts waiting outside this closet.
“I’m going to need you to come for me, Rabbit.” I growl, rolling my hips against her while she keeps riding my fingers. “Before we get spectators.”
With a final squeeze of her neck, I hold it for a few seconds, before letting go and allowing oxygen to flood her system. The head rush, combined with the steady pressure I was applying to her clit, sends her over the edge, and as her body clamps down on me, I cover her mouth with mine and swallow her moan. As soon as her breathing slows back to normal and her body stops trying to pull my fingers back in, I withdraw and shove my pants just below my balls. Using the wetness on my hand, I wrap my fist around my cock and jack off. It’s sloppy and fast as I chase my orgasm.
With a protracted hiss, I come, covering her exposed ass in my hot jizz. It isn’t enough, the feral part of my brain whines. And without pause, I rub my fingers through the mess, pushing it into her skin so that she smells like me. Slick and hot, I move down her crease and push against her asshole while she makes a soft whimpering noise. My little rabbit was a filthy monster beneath it all.
Pulling down her skirt while she fastens her buttons back up, I admire the mess I’ve made of her pale skin. If anyone else got too close, they’d know she belonged to me.
“The second reason I haven’t fucked you yet is because I don’t know if I can trust you and while I’m dying to be inside you, I don’t stick my cock in dangerous places.” I make a show of tucking myself back into my pants, and offer her a smirk.
She turns and arches an eyebrow at my words. I’m calling her a risk and she can barely believe it. I’m questioning her, me, the criminal with a reputation that they use to scare adults into behaving. It’s like reading a book as everything flits across her face before finally her features settle in determination.
She wants to prove herself to daddy, but she wants me more.