Chapter Twenty
Abbott
“I like knowing you’re inside of me,” I tell Rian as we lie in bed together, skin tacky with sweat and my cum.
“I like knowing I’m in you.” His hand slides down my back to my ass, fingers slipping between my cheeks. “Can I?”
“Yes. I’m tender, so be careful, though.”
“Then I won’t.” Rian tries to pull away, but I don’t let him, grabbing his wrist and moving his hand to my ass again. I want him to touch me, want him inside of me, even more so because it’s clear how much he doesn’t want to hurt me.
Rian does terrible things.
He will do something terrible to me.
Yet, at the same time, he’s so gentle with me, so loving and caring, always worried about my comfort and wanting to take care of me.
I’ve never had someone in my life like that before—not someone I’ve let see all the parts of me the way I have him.
Even when I was with Hector, I held myself back, didn’t let myself get too close for fear of getting hurt.
I understand why Hector couldn’t be with me anymore, even if I’ll never condone the cheating.
“Okay. Tell me if it’s too much.” He pushes a finger in my ass, which makes my body relax into his. I lift one leg, throwing it over him, my head on his chest while he gently plays with my well-fucked hole and just…holds me.
I don’t know where it comes from. It’s like my birthday when I called my dad and said the things to him that I had. I just can’t keep it inside of me anymore.
“My father used to cheat on my mom,” I admit.
“God, the women, Rian. There were so many of them—all of them very young…inappropriately young. I saw him when I was just a kid, first at five and then at nine. In the beginning, I didn’t understand what was going on, and after I did, when I kept my mouth shut and didn’t tell her, he didn’t try to hide it as much around me.
He knew that just like everyone else, I would do what he said. She deserved better than both of us.”
He pulls back slightly so he can look me in the eyes again. “She deserved better than him, yes, but not better than you. Christ, Abbott. You were a child. That burden should never have been put on you. What were you supposed to do?”
“Tell her,” I say. “He said I would hurt her, that she knew, and they had an agreement, but it would break her heart if she found out I knew. That me talking to her about it would change everything, and I was so scared of my life changing that I kept it to myself.”
“No. You were afraid of hurting your mom. And you trusted your father. And again, you were a fucking child. None of that was your fault.”
He says that, but it’s not easy to believe him, not easy to forgive myself, especially when I know what kind of man my father is.
“Maybe it would have changed things if I’d said something…
maybe she would still be alive. Maybe he wouldn’t be the most powerful man in the state. He’s not who people think he is.”
Rian slides his finger out of me and cups my ass before leaning in to press his lips to mine. “Was he ever good to you?”
“No.” I give a humorless laugh. “He used me the way he does everyone else. My mom and I were only around to look good on his arm, to make him a family man. He never cared about me, and when she died, he cared less about pretending he did…unless cameras were around, of course. Then he was the grieving widower, the broken father who just wanted to raise and do right by his son. I was nothing but a way for him to get ahead, and unless he needed me, he forgot I existed.”
Rian tenses against me. “You deserved better…you still do.”
Yes, I did, but it’s too late for all of that now. “I listen to the way you talk about Cillian and try to imagine my father ever loving me that way.”
“I walked away when Moira died. I wasn’t even at her funeral. I abandoned my son for a long time, Abbott. I’m not a good father.”
“You did all those things, but no one will ever make me believe you don’t love him. The way you talk about him…and you’re trying now to make up for it. That’s what matters.”
“I don’t know about that,” he says.
I push up onto my elbow and look down at him.
“I do. And Cillian does. You love your son. You loved your wife. You would have never done the things to Moira that he did to my mother, and you would have never done the things to me he did either. That’s who you are, Rian, and after this, I need you to remember that.
Just…treat Cillian well. Call him more. Take risks.
You’re afraid of doing the wrong thing and pushing him, but it’s important you remind him that you’re there.
And don’t hate yourself too much for this, us, because you showed me what it’s like not to feel lonely anymore. ”
He closes his eyes tightly, squeezing them shut, and when he opens them again, a tear rolls down his face.
Rian is crying for me.
For what he’s going to do.
Yet he’s still going to do it…and I’m going to let him.
“Go to sleep,” he says.
“Will you fuck me again? Before the night is over?”
“Yes.” He kisses my forehead, a tear hitting my skin.
“Talk to me. Tell me things.”
“Okay…I think I want to open a concert hall…bring an orchestra in. It would be another avenue for us to clean money and—”
Surprisingly, I chuckle. “Because of course it would.”
“I’m a businessman, pretty thing.”
I like being Rian’s pretty thing. “Go on.”
“I’ve thought about it in the past, but now…”
“Now because of us?” I ask, knowing the answer.
“Yes. Because of us. Would you like that? I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”
My hand moves absently over his chest, playing with the hair on his broad pecs. “I would like that. Something for us.”
“For you,” he adds and then…keeps talking. Eventually, I must fall asleep, and just like always, he keeps his promise, waking me up twice more to fuck me throughout the night, filling me with his cum.
After he takes me for the third time, I pass out again, limp, sated, and feeling like, for the first time in my life, I’ve found where I belong…and knowing that soon, it will be taken away from me.
*
“Wake up,” Rian says, nudging me.
I roll over, eyes grainy and sleepy. By the looks of the soft light coming in from outside, it’s early morning. Rian is dressed already. “Your sling.”
“I don’t need it,” he says, voice harsh and cold—distant—as if even though his body is in this room with me right now, the rest of him isn’t.
“Put those clothes on.” He nods toward the jeans and T-shirt sitting on the bed, but doesn’t look at me.
In fact, it’s like his eyes will look anywhere except at me.
“Rian,” I say, wait, and when he doesn’t respond, I say his name again. “Rian.”
I stand, take a step toward him, but he gives a small shake of his head. “Don’t. Just…don’t. Get dressed, please.”
So, that’s the way this is going to go. He’s putting a wall between us, and even though it makes no sense, it still hurts. This man is going to kill me, yet I have my feelings hurt that he’s not all cuddly and friendly beforehand? Jesus, this whole situation has really fucked me up.
I grab the clothes and go into the bathroom.
Rian doesn’t follow.
I wash up and brush my teeth like this is any other day, rather than the day I’m going to die, and then I get dressed.
There’s a pit in my stomach the whole time, this vast emptiness that just keeps growing and growing until it takes me over, and there’s nothing left of me.
My hands shake.
The urge hits me almost too quickly to turn and lunge for the toilet. I make it there just in time to start heaving everything from my gut into it. My eyes water, I vomit so hard, but it just keeps going as my gut cramps like it’s trying to expel even my internal organs.
When there’s nothing left inside of me, I flush the toilet, turn to look for something to wipe my mouth…and Rian is there, in the bathroom with me, holding a wet washcloth.
He pulls me to my feet, then wipes my face—the two of us, close, facing one another now—the green of his eyes darker than I have ever seen it.
“Come on. Brush your teeth again. Are you hungry?”
“Fuck food,” I snap. “Get out, Rian.”
How can he be with me the way he was last night, wet a cloth and wipe vomit from my face, offer to cook me breakfast, and then turn around and kill me? I knew all along, but it’s hitting me now. He’s going to do this.
I’m going to die.
Rian nods and steps out. I close the door, trying to get a handle on my trembling body.
Somehow, I don’t think I believed this day would come, that he would go through with it.
But this is who Rian is, isn’t it? This is what he does.
Spending this little time we had together isn’t going to change what’s been ingrained in him his whole life.
The reflection in the mirror swims, tears pooling and then flowing down my face.
I do my best to swipe them away, not wanting him to see me cry. Fuck Rian. Fuck all of this. And fuck me too, for thinking last night meant something—that any of our time together did. I don’t doubt he wants me. I don’t even doubt he cares about me. But not enough.
Just like everyone else.
I go back into the bedroom. I sit down, not speaking as I put on my socks and shoes.
I won’t allow myself to cry again. Won’t show him any weakness, but I can’t show him any compassion either. I just want to get this over with.
“We should get on with it,” is all I say.
“Abbott—” Rian starts, but I cut him off.
“No. You had it right when you woke up. There’s nothing we need to say to each other.”
He takes this moment to stare at me, to look for something—who knows what—before giving me a slow nod.
I’m surprised when Rian moves closer, steps behind me, and places a blindfold over my eyes.
The shaking intensifies, multiplying like bacteria sweeping through my body.
“Come on.” Rian takes my arm, leading me outside and then down the back porch stairs.
Will I be buried out there? My body lost, never to be found?
His hand on my arm feels so different from his recent touches—his body cold, when it’s usually warm. Strong, but not in the possessive way, but like he’s trying to keep both of us on our feet.
Each step we take, my heart drops further, faster. We walk for what feels like an hour, but I know it can’t be that long.
I’m going to die this morning, and the killer I’ve fallen in love with is the one who’s going to do it.
I pull to a stop, my feet stuck in quicksand.
“What’s wrong?” Rian asks.
The man I love is a killer.
I love Rian.
How can that be true? How can I feel that way about a man who does the things he does? Knowing he will kill me?
“Abbott? What’s wrong?”
“You’re going to kill me,” I say, as though this is news to me. But it’s not. We’re out here…and I’m somehow in love with him.
I don’t know how to make sense of that, don’t know if it’s possible, or honestly, under the circumstances, why it matters.
“Yes,” he answers simply, and I don’t know if I wish I could see him or not. Which is better—looking into his eyes and acknowledging how I feel about him, despite what he does, or keeping this layer of distance between us?
“Kneel,” he says, voice soft and broken.
“Fuck you,” I tell him. “Fuck us both,” and then I simply…do as he says, kneeling there in the dirt.
Tears fill my eyes behind the blindfold, but I refuse to cry so he can hear me. How can he go through with this? Doesn’t he know that I couldn’t hurt him? That I could never hurt his son?
I know what it’s like not to be loved by your father, and I would never do anything to force a wedge in Rian’s relationship with him. It’s partially because of that relationship that I’m able to feel the way I do about him.
My heart thumps in my ear, this loud, drumming sound that blocks out the noise of the forest around us.
I wait for it to happen, wait for him to say something, try to remember what it was like to be touched by him, to make him laugh, to have him share stories about his family, his son…the ways he tried to take care of me.
What it felt like to have him inside of me—filling me. Making me smell like him.
“Do it,” I say, but he doesn’t respond.
Why isn’t he doing it?
I wait as my mouth goes dry, as my racing heart slows, as the blindfold around my eyes is wet.
“Rian?” I say, but he doesn’t respond.
I lift my hand to the blindfold, tug it down, and I see trees, leaves, sticks, brush…on and on and on, but not Rian.
“Rian,” I say one last time, but there is no use.
He’s gone, and I’m alone again.