Chapter 16
My hands shake as I open the app and request a ride home, deeply regretting that I didn’t drive myself. Martinez’s steps grow closer, but I don’t turn. Not even when he calls my name, earning us a few stares as we cross the parking lot. He wants to talk about what he just witnessed, but I’d decided I was done with him long before he walked into The Jungle tonight. So, regardless of what he needs to get off his chest right now, I don’t want to hear it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, gripping my arm so tightly that I wince when he spins me to face him.
I pull out of his grasp, rubbing my arm where he’s just squeezed it. “Let’s just… stop.” That’s all I’m able to say, because it feels like I’ve already said so much leading up to tonight.
If he’s looking for remorse or an apology, he won’t get that from me.
“I walk in, catch you standing with some guy, letting him hold you like he fucking owns you, and you don’t think that warrants an explanation?”
Hearing how worked up he is about Damien holding my waist, kissing my cheek, I can’t help but wonder how he would’ve reacted if he’d seen the rest.
At the thought of it, I swear I feel Damien’s fingers again, and my lids flutter.
“Answer me!” Martinez shouts.
My eyes land on his, seeing anger swimming in them. But then my attention is drawn across the lot when a bike engine revs—matte black, with the driver wearing a blacked-out helmet and leather gloves, an expensive tailored suit.
Damien.
His head’s turned this way, watching as he revs his engine again. But this time, he lifts his foot from the pavement and takes off, slipping into traffic as the roar of his bike is swallowed by the night.
Only now that he’s gone do I realize Martinez was watching Damien, too. And also watching me watching Damien.
“Are you planning to tell me who the fuck that is?”
“It’s a little late to get fired up, isn’t it?”
His brow gathers, and he’s brimming with frustration. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Shaking my head, I scoff at how clueless he is. “We’ve been doing this for more than six months, Martinez, and there’s no progress. No… substance. Don’t you think that’s sad? Don’t you think that means something?”
“We talked about this, Layla. That was supposed to be the whole point in inviting you here tonight. My introducing you to my friends was supposed to show you I want you in my life, that I’m not afraid to bring you deeper into my world.”
“And look how well that turned out,” I say with a humorless laugh. “I sat here for nearly an hour. Alone. Because you couldn’t decide on a fucking shirt?”
“Alone? You didn’t look all that lonely to me,” he snaps, completely ignoring the rest of my statement.
I roll my eyes and don’t even respond.
“Is that what this is about? Is this your way of acting out because I was a little late?”
“A little late is quite the understatement, Diego.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m so sick of this.” Gripping my hair, I take a few steps to cool myself down.
“You still haven’t explained what I walked in on, Layla.”
With my back to Martinez, I stare at the parking space Damien pulled out of a moment ago, wishing I’d had the courage to accept his offer. Wishing I’d had the courage to hop onto the back of his bike and ride off with him to escape this conversation.
“I just met him tonight,” I answer with a huff. The response is partly true. Tonight was our first face-to-face meeting.
“And what happened? You gave him your contact info?”
I roll my eyes, feeling grateful he can only see me from behind.
“No.”
“But you are cool with a perfect stranger groping you because you’re pissed I was late, right?”
He almost had me. I almost felt guilty. But thanks to his unrelenting asshole-ery, I’m quickly freed from that burden.
When I turn to face him, there’s this self-righteous look in his eyes that makes me want to rip them out of his skull.
“Spin this however you want to, but at the end of the day… I’m not your girl, Diego. And whether intentionally or by accident, you show me the truth in that almost daily. It almost seems like you go out of your way to prove I’m your lowest priority.”
“And that’s all on me?” He takes a step back, and his eyes flicker with anger again. “You’re a fucking ice queen, Layla. You talk all this shit about me, how little I put into this, but you’re cold, you’re distant. So, when the fuck are you going to admit that you’re just as disconnected as you accuse me of being?”
I draw in a breath, not just listening to what he’s said, but actually hearing him. My eyes meet his again, and I can’t even argue with him.
“I don’t disagree that we have some work to do,” he admits. “But what I saw tonight… that shit cuts deep. I thought we were better than this. Thought you were better than this, better than having a damn temper tantrum because I was late.”
“It wasn’t a temper tantrum.”
“Then, what the hell would you call it?”
“I’d call it me being the one not giving a damn for a change,” I blurt out, holding his gaze as my feelings come into alignment. “Usually, I’m the one sitting back, getting whatever scraps you decide to throw my way, getting what’s left of you, and tonight I just decided that’s not good enough anymore.”
The rims of Martinez’s nostrils flare, and I don’t blink, focused on how his expression morphs from angry to downright wicked.
“So, you’re admitting it? There’s something going on between you and that piece of shit?”
Realizing he’s missed about ninety percent of my point, I take a step away. But when he lunges for my arm again, I’m anticipating it, and manage to pull out of his grasp far more quickly than before. I stare at him, confused by what he thinks getting physical could possibly accomplish. But as things feel as though they’re shifting from bad to worse, I can’t shake the feeling that I need to get out of here.
Fast.
Much to my relief, my ride pulls off, and I rush toward the car, wanting nothing more than to be safe at home. And most of all, away from Martinez.
“I should’ve dropped your ass months ago, you fucking cunt!” he shouts, drawing an ocean of unwanted attention as I pick up speed. “So, thank you, Layla. Thanks so much for wasting my fucking time. See you at work Monday, bitch.”
By the time I reach the car door, I’m a shaking, crying mess. The sound of people whispering and laughing as they watch things unfold doesn’t help. I climb in, and I’m incredibly relieved to escape the fiasco, but I can’t help but to take it all in, wondering what the fuck just happened.
I’ve never been more angry, more frustrated, but… I’m also so fucking relieved. Just to say that it’s finally over, that my undefined connection to Martinez has been severed.
And despite the drama that came along with tonight, this is only a good thing. I’m grateful I was able to find the courage to make the separation final, but deep down, I know this was due in part to a little push. One that came from a very unlikely direction.
An unlikely source.
Damien.
* * *
Damien
My helmet clatters to the pavement, and Cole quickly retrieves it, placing it on the seat of my bike. I’ve barely tucked the keys into my pocket when I give in to what I’ve been fighting my entire ride home.
“Where the fuck is Aria?”
“She’s—I’m not sure, Sir.”
“Then find out. Now!”
“Right away, Sir.”
Cole’s steps trail behind me, following my path down every corridor, through every door while he makes calls. It takes three tries before getting a satisfactory answer to my question.
“She’s in the root cellar giving instruction to new members of the flock.”
I don’t respond, just redirect my steps toward the back door.
“Can I be of any further assistance to you, Sir?” he asks, and when I wave him off, he stops, pivots, then heads back toward the house.
Soft grass gives beneath my steps as I head toward the wooden door built into the side of a hill. I’m filled with unspent tension, and that never ends well for anyone. All because touching Layla—and not having any relief of my own—has left me feeling… unwell.
The sound of several women gasping greets me when I burst into the small space, startling them. Thick wooden planks creak beneath my feet as I duck inside, unable to stand to full height in the small space, but I’m distracted enough that I’m only slightly annoyed.
The aroma of damp earth and fresh herbs fills my nostrils as I lock eyes with Aria. She’s clearly shocked to see me, but pleased.
“Good evening, Sir,” she says, her breath quivering. “I was just giving these lovely women a lesson on rotating crops to avoid spoilage.”
I force a smile, pretending to care. “Ah, that’s very… interesting.”
The women smile back, and I’m searching for a kind way to dismiss them, but Aria beats me to it.
“Ladies, if it isn’t too much trouble, we can resume our lesson tomorrow morning.”
Without delay, they exit in silence, closing the door behind them. Aria steps closer, her cherubim face framed in red hair that glows like the fires of hell. Even in this small, dark place. Several months ago, her hair was my favorite trait of hers. But now, with its stark contrast to Layla’s dark mane, it only disappoints me.
“Was I expected in your bed tonight?” she asks. “My apologies for conducting the lesson so late. I’ve just been so busy today that I—”
“Stop. Speaking.”
Her breath falls away with the command, and a smile curves her lips. Slow, intentional steps bring her closer to me, until she’s gripped the collar of my dark shirt in her fingers. Her breasts heave beneath her dress as she pulls me to her, kissing me.
I’m at war with myself. I’ve come to her for a reason, to put out a fire that’s been lit and stoked by the object of my obsession. But on the other hand, I’ve found myself repulsed by Aria’s very existence lately. Her touch feels foreign to me, her kiss causing bile to churn in my stomach.
She’s confused when I pull away, but she smiles when I replace my tongue in her mouth with my fingers. Holding my gaze, she sucks them hungrily, savoring a flavor I’m curious whether she’ll even detect. But then recognition fills her eyes, and although she doesn’t stop, I’m aware of the exact moment she tastes the mixture of Layla’s arousal and the sweetness of her perfume on my skin.
Before she can speak or react to what she’s discovered, a gasp leaves her swollen, pink lips as I turn her from me. I press my hand against the top of her back until she bends, letting her breasts flatten against the table.
Her movement is damn-near frantic as she hikes her dress to her hips, revealing that she isn’t wearing underwear. She peers at me from over her shoulder with lust in her eyes, likely believing this is all for her. Not realizing that no part of me is meant for her.
Not anymore.
I reach inside my pocket, and then rip open a condom. The disappointment that spreads across her face next is damn-near tangible. She hates that I use them with her, and she’s pointed out more than once that they’re unnecessary—due to her strictly monitored birth control regimen and scheduled health checks performed by our physicians. It’s never been a matter of her cleanliness or fear of accidentally planting my seed in her womb… it’s merely the fact that I’d rather not have her wet cunt touching my dick.
A moan leaves her mouth as I push into her—rough, angry, feeling as though she’s merely a means to an end. I’m desperate to come, a reality induced by the feel of Layla’s tight pussy soaking my fingers. But Aria’s here, and she’s always a ready and willing participant, so it’s simple math for me. Fucking her tonight is merely an opportunity seized.
She pushes her ass back, locking our bodies tightly against one another, and I lift my head toward the ceiling, letting my thoughts leave this place. I’m no longer fucking an empty vessel in the root cellar, but rather, I’ve got Layla bent over the small desk against her wall. One of her black and white TV shows plays in the background, and her headset clatters to the floor when I thrust harder.
I know she wants this. Wants me. The small box she peeks inside of when she thinks no one’s looking—the one beneath her bed, filled with mementos of my kills—is proof of that.
“Fucking hell,” I pant, grabbing a handful of long hair I’m envisioning as Layla’s soft, dark tresses moving through my fingers. I wind it in my fist, pulling her head back, locking her in place as I drive into her, making tiny breaths puff from her lips.
“Oh, fuck! I’m coming,” Aria whimpers, but I only hear Layla’s voice, only feel her tight pussy pulsating around me as cum pumps from my cock and into the condom.
She doesn’t move. The only sign of life is her legs quivering against mine. She breathes deeply when I pull out of her, and I’m trying like hell to hold onto the illusion. But as my eyes fall open, and Aria’s bright hair comes into focus, I’m snapped back to reality.
Aria glances at me from over her shoulder as I step back, but I avert my eyes, realizing just how broken I really am these days. There was once a time that I would eagerly take several lovers within the flock in one night. But now, I’m convinced I wouldn’t have even been able to get hard had it not been for what took place earlier—touching Layla beneath that table, feeling her clench around my fingers as I brought her pleasure.
“Would you like for me to clean you up?” Aria asks, lowering her dress as she faces me. Her hand stretches this way, and I hold mine into the air, stopping her.
“Please. Just go,” I say, and I even sound broken, like a shell of the man I’ve become. All because one woman has rendered me nearly useless as my craving for her grows by the second.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I just—”
“Aria, get the fuck out!”
My voice sounds louder in this small, insulated space, and she cowers away, fear present in her eyes.
“Very well then.” She speaks just above a whisper, showing respect, but she’s unable to conceal that anger has begun to rear its ugly head, too. She snatches a small satchel from a nearby shelf, pulls it over her shoulder, and then slams the door on her way out.
I spill my cum into a bag of soil leaned against the wall, and then toss the empty condom into the trash before covering it. Not leaving my DNA handy for Aria or anyone else to get their hands on, it brings me some small measure of comfort as I zip my pants. For a brief moment, I’m able to pretend, able to remain calm, but it feels like I’ll explode as a surge of anger powers through me.
“Fuck!”
A dozen or more empty clay pots fly into the wall when I swipe my arm across the table. My vision blurs, and I close my eyes, knowing I can’t keep going like this. Between curbing my bloodlust and carnal lust… I’m beginning to feel unhinged. And despite just having released some of that with Aria, it’s only a matter of time before I go from bad to worse.
And if I go dark, if I lose myself completely, God help anyone trapped within the blast radius.