27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
HARLOW
Tires crunch on cracked asphalt as the truck rolls to a stop behind the white-sided building that houses a million horrors.
Closing my eyes, I work through the anger creeping up through the cracks, counting backward from three until something cool and rough settles on my lap. I peer down to find my duffel bag slumped over my thighs.
“Get dressed,” Lynx instructs from the driver’s seat. “And make it quick.”
I flash him a sarcastic smile before saying, “As you wish, master.”
It earns me a warning scowl, and I roll my eyes and reach for the door handle. But I’m stopped short when the lock engages.
I whip my face to his. “You’re even dumber than you look if you think I’m going to get dressed in front of you.”
His response is to slide his seat back, stretch his legs out, lock his fingers behind his head, and stare expectantly at me.
“I’ve seen it all, Harlow. Now do as you’re told.”
Gritting my teeth to resist the urge to punch him in the throat, I open the bag and rifle through it to find my sneakers, a pair of leggings, and a hoodie.
And buried at the very bottom is my mother’s rosary.
I wrap my fist around the cross, gripping it tight.
“It’s special,” Lynx says, catching me off guard.
I nod. “It was my mother’s. I’m not religious. But somehow, when I wear it, I feel her here with me.”
Exhaling a shaky breath, I loop the rosary around my neck before kicking off my stripper heels, peeling out of my fishnet stockings, and awkwardly shimmying into the leggings and sneakers.
Then, without removing my bra, I slip the hoodie over my head and bury my nose in the collar, ignoring Lynx’s heated gaze the entire time.
But that becomes nearly impossible when I glance up and we lock eyes. And, oh boy, what I find there makes my heart take off in a full-blown gallop.
Three. Two. One.
Breathe.
“You’re beautiful, Harlow,” he says lowly, reaching across the cab and swiping his thumb over my bottom lip. “Now get out before I change my mind and shred those fucking clothes from your body.”
I make some sort of embarrassing wheezing sound before clambering out of his truck and meeting him at the front.
Without a word, he laces his long fingers with mine and leads me into the bowels of the cemetery, straight to where the grass meets the forest.
I jerk us to a stop at the tree line.
“I’m not going in there,” I screech louder than intended, scaring off a bird in the trees above us. “And if you force me to, I’ll never forgive you.”
He tugs me against him and snakes an arm around my lower back, holding me upright as my palms splay flat over his rock-hard chest. Beneath my fingers, his heart beats slow and steady as he gazes down at me.
“You’ll show me what’s in there, little killer. And then you’ll forgive me. Because this is no longer you against them. This is us against the entire world. Do you understand?”
Something in my chest aches. The pain is unfamiliar and unwelcome.
I’ve never been vulnerable because I’ve never met a man who’s given me a safe place to do so.
To remove my armor and bare my ugly scars to the world.
And that’s exactly what Lynx is doing. And I hate him for it because it’s making me weak and destroying everything I had planned.
Regardless, I whisper, “Yes,” and close my eyes to ward off the stupid fucking tears that keep threatening to fall.
“Good girl.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and tenderly brushes his lips over mine. Then we’re moving again, my teeth chattering despite the warmth of Lynx’s hand wrapped around mine.
Occasionally, we pause for him to ask which direction, and I point left or right.
We’re getting close now, the forest denser and the air heavier. The smell of damp soil and rot floods my lungs.
When we come to a stop at a small clearing in the middle of the trees, all the blood in my body freezes to ice, shards of it scraping along the insides of my veins as I stare in horrific embarrassment at my dirty, filthy secret.
“Judge me and I’ll kill you,” I mutter, a rush of heat flooding my cheeks.
“Christ, Harlow,” Lynx says, dragging a hand through his hair. “Who’s in there?”
I glance down at the large mound of dirt—a hand-dug grave aged with weeds and grass—and want to vomit all over it.
Three. Two. One.
Speak.
“A monster.”
Lynx stares at me for a beat, his gaze darting all over my face as a million questions flip through his mind.
“Your father isn’t buried in the cemetery under his stone, is he?”
I lift my chin and sniff. “No, he isn’t.”
“You put him here instead.”
“Yes.”
“So that”—he tosses a thumb over his shoulder in the direction we just came from—“is nothing but an empty box.”
“That’s correct.”
He nods as if that’s no surprise and saunters around the perimeter of the grave. “When did you move his body?”
“Six days after he was buried.”
“Six,” he deadpans. I nod. “There were six men, plus your father.” Another nod. “So why are there seven empty graves beside your father’s, and not just six?” He gestures to the seven other holes I’ve been working on in my spare time over the last few years.
“Because when I realized you were following me, I came out here and dug one more. I was certain you’d be the seventh.”
He pauses and stares at me from a few feet away, a grin tugging at his lips. “You dug me a grave.”
“I did. Still not sure if I’ll be putting it to use or not.”
He barks out a laugh and closes the space between us.
Threading a big hand through my hair, he cups the back of my head and angles my face to his.
“No need to kill me, pretty girl. I’m not going to hurt you.
But what I am going to do is protect you.
Own you. Fucking worship you. Because this monster”—he tugs on my hair and nips at my bottom lip—“is yours now. And I’ll flay anyone who dares cross you wide open and lay their cold, lifeless heart at your feet. ”
And then he kisses me, his tongue lashing at mine as he bites and sucks and devours me. When he moves on to my neck, I grow lightheaded, my knees shaking as a soft moan vibrates from my chest.
“Lynx,” I pant, reaching up to drag my fingers through his hair.
When he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh beneath my ear, my breath hitches and a warmth settles deep in my core.
“Yes or no, little killer,” he whispers against my neck.
“Yes,” I rush out. “Oh god, yes.”
A satisfied growl moves through him. Our hands grow frantic, his mouth hot and feverish as he brands every inch of my skin with his lips. And I don’t know which way is up because my brain is high off pheromones and lust and everything is falling apart, but somehow it’s fucking perfect.
Rough hands fly over me, ripping at my clothes as words of adoration are murmured against my skin and whispered in my ear.
Then somehow I’m naked and on my knees in front of him, wearing nothing but my mother’s rosary. Bracing my hands on his thick thighs, I stare up at him in a daze.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly.
So handsome. And so fucking dangerous.
He reaches down and gently removes my rosary. I go to protest, but when he presses a finger to my mouth to shush me, I swallow the words on my tongue and watch closely as he carefully tucks the beaded jewelry into his pocket for safekeeping.
Then he unzips his fly and frees his cock, and all thoughts of my mother evaporate before me.
Saliva pools in my mouth as I take him in.
Long, thick, and so hard it looks painful.
The two steel balls decorating the tip shine beneath the pale moonlight.
I wonder briefly if it hurt when he got it pierced, but the question leaves as quickly as it came when Lynx starts speaking.
“Remember the rule, Harlow. You’re in charge. Tap twice, and I’ll back off.”
“Okay.” I nod and dart my tongue out, sampling the bead of salty cum leaking from the tip. He tastes of strong male in his prime, masculine and potent.
“Fuck,” he hisses as I lap at him again, wetting my lips and gripping the base with one hand and tugging gently. “More, pretty girl. I need more.”
I smirk up at him. “I’m in charge, remember? You’ll get what I give.”
His hand finds my hair and he gives it a warning tug.
“Defiance will only get you face down in the mud with my cock buried deep inside your perfect ass.”
Grinning because even though he’s threatening me, I know I hold the real power here. But I do as instructed, taking him all the way into my mouth until the tiny steel balls hit the back of my throat.
His head falls back on a groan as I hollow out my cheeks and suck, breathing through my nose to avoid gagging because he’s just too fucking big.
But all the nose breathing in the world won’t stop my eyes from watering. From my mascara spilling down my cheeks. And it certainly doesn’t stop the ache building between my thighs.
“Touch yourself, pretty girl.”
I don’t hesitate, reaching my free hand between my legs and circling my clit, moaning around his cock while sucking and nibbling and swirling my tongue in tune with the pace of my fingers.
An orgasm builds in my core, threatening to send me tumbling into the abyss as Lynx takes the lead and begins moving his hips, thrusting in and out of my mouth.
If someone had asked me a week ago where I saw myself today, it certainly wouldn’t have been here, on my knees in the dirt with my priest of a father’s hand-dug grave less than two feet from me while the hitman hired to kill me fucks my mouth and pulls my hair.
Yet somehow, I feel the most beautiful I’ve ever felt. The most powerful. Like a queen finally taking her throne.
Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Perhaps fate does exist after all.
A hand touches my face, stopping my thought in its tracks, and I peek up at Lynx through wet lashes.
“Are you still here with me, pretty girl?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says, pulling out of my mouth with a hiss.
I swipe the drool from my chin and gaze up at him. Before I have a chance to lash out at him for robbing me of my orgasm, he shoves me back, flips me over, and pulls me up onto all fours.
A sharp gasp escapes me when he slides his cock through my arousal and pushes inside me unexpectedly.
Stars dot my vision as my fingers dig into the damp grass and dead leaves blanketing my father’s grave, Lynx’s rough fingers gripping my hips as he seats himself all the way inside me and releases some sort of animalistic growl.
I can’t breathe. Can’t so much as move. All the oxygen in my lungs has been squeezed from my body and there’s a noose around my heart that’s tightening with every word of praise he murmurs. With every perfectly timed thrust as he moves in and out of me at an agonizingly slow pace.
When he nudges my cervix, my breath hitches.
“That’s right, little killer. Take it like the good girl you are. Fuck, Harlow. You’re making this soulless monster feel things he shouldn’t feel. And I hate you for it.”
A whimper escapes me. I swallow the next one back and rasp, “I hate you too.”
But the words taste like vinegar leaving my lips.
It’s a lie. It’s just a fucking lie. Jesus. I lie almost as much as I breathe. Yet this is the first one I’ve ever told that leaves a bitterness on the back of my tongue and makes my eyes well with tears.
“I know, pretty girl. I fucking know.”
He smacks my ass. Pulls my hair. Reaches around and strums my clit.
When he gathers my juices on his thumb, presses it against the tight knot of my bottom, and tells me I’m his and that nobody will ever hurt me again, I come violently, my entire body racking as my pussy convulses uncontrollably, pulling him in until he’s so deep I’m sure he’ll leave his mark on me for eternity.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip until the sting of copper floods my mouth as I stifle the sob ripping at my throat.
Three. Two. One.
Break.
I do just that, falling apart at the seams as hot tears track down my face and plop onto the dirt beneath me.
A few more thrusts and Lynx meets me there, warm spurts of cum flooding my insides as he growls out his release.
My elbows buckle and I collapse forward. But before I have a chance to connect with the cold, damp ground, an iron arm coils around me, holding me upright so my back is pressed against his stomach.
He’s so warm. So big and solid and fucking safe, even though that’s the most ridiculous thought that’s ever crossed my sex-addled brain.
Into my hair he murmurs, “You’re the closest to heaven I’ll ever get.”
I hear his words, but they don’t register because I’m focused on my breath, desperately trying not to pass out like the first time he took me in the forest.
When I’m no longer fighting to stay conscious and my body has sagged in relief, Lynx carefully pulls out of me.
A cool weight settles around my neck, pressing against my breastbone—my mother’s rosary.
Then I’m floating effortlessly in the air, cocooned in his warmth with my face buried in his chest as I clutch the cross at my chest.
“Don’t worry, little killer. You can finish digging my grave another day.”