Chapter 22 Everett #2
I look up at her to find Mrs. Foster’s questioning eyes, though she nods. “I’ll be right outside the hallway, sir. Shout when ready.” Then she leaves the room.
I muffle a thank-you under my breath as I watch the blood on Brielle and I merge with the water. She is on her side and fixed upon my chest. Still shaking.
“I’m going to slowly clean you off now, okay?” I whisper into her hair.
I hear her sniffle as her head slowly nods in agreement.
Taking a soft, wet washcloth, I carefully clean her delicate cheek, abolishing the crimson stains that mar her ivory skin.
Small whimpers thread between her lips with each tender stroke.
I clean her as best I can without becoming too invasive.
Brielle slowly stirs underneath me, appearing to become more coherent with each passing moment.
The waters become murky and tainted with red.
I tilt her head back, the water welcoming the strands of hair.
Flecks of blood separate from the strands as the crimson merges with the warm water.
Using the tips of my fingers, I massage shampoo into her scalp with small circles.
Soon, instead of small whimpers, a tiny moan escapes Brielle.
My fingers glide perfectly through her hair, relishing the simple yet intimate task.
I am grateful she is allowing me to try to care for her during this time.
As I finish rinsing out her hair, restoring it to its natural color, I lean in, placing my nose against her scalp. I exhale in relief that she is safely in my arms, but unfortunately, she is in this state because of me.
I whisper into her hair, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This would have never happened if I had never let you work for us.” Pulling her closer into my arms, I begin to feel her body rack with emotion.
Then, the most awful sound fills my ears and echoes off the washroom walls. Brielle’s wail. Such a harrowing, haunting cry as her small body curls into mine. I should have protected her.
For some reason, this sound is far worse than the cries that haunt my dreams from the battlefield.
I should have prevented her from joining us and avoided exposing her to this. She may have endured so much more before our encounter, but she began anew in Lockham. I painfully whisper again, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
She turns her forehead into my chest as her sorrow reaches into my soul, straining my heart and ceasing my breath. For several heartbeats, we sit there. I hold her close and attempt to comfort her.
Finally, she speaks. “No.” She readjusts her body as her emerald eyes peer up at mine. “I should have left when you told me to. I shouldn’t have been there.” Raising her hand, she wipes a tear off her cheek. “Thinking it was a lavish party, I wanted to…to impress you, for he ll’s sake.”
An angry sob escapes at her admission.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” she mumbles into her hands, sitting up between my legs. The murky crimson bathwater sloshes out the side of the tub.
Reaching out, I slowly rest my palm on her back. “Brielle, what may I do? I’ll give you whatever money you’d like, purchase you a one-way ticket to a new city, anything to get you safely out of this town. I know no amount of apologies may scrub this nightmare from your skin.”
She abruptly turns to her side, grasping both edges of the tub.
“No,” she hisses between her teeth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Knitting my brows together, I state, “Brielle, if you stay, your life will be in far more danger. I don’t want to lose you .”
“And me leaving would still cause you to lose me , so you do not make any sense,” she argues back, and then swiftly changes the subject. “What happened to him?” Her eyes narrow, and I understand the question is regarding Giorgio .
I clear my throat. “He is restrained. I will deal with him in the morning.”
She sits up, a void look flashing across her eyes. Then there’s a look of violent restraint, one I have recognized within myself.
“Do you want to deal with him?” I try to calm the sinister smile that wants to stretch across my face.
Slowly she turns her body fully toward me. Her knees rest between my legs, hands still grasping the sides of the tub. Her eyes have darkened, the hint of violence still dancing within them.
She wants revenge. She wants her own chaos.
“Would you like him to pay for what he did to you?” I slowly state between us. “Would you like to deliver justice? To deliver pain?”
She nods her beautiful head in agreement graciously.
I crack a smile. “You aren’t always a graceful dove.
No, my gorgeous girl,” I whisper, leaning in closely, watching her skin prickle.
“Lying dormant within you is a reaper, a beautiful raven of death. It sits in the depths of your soul, waiting for you to let it out. That hunger for malice. I know, for I have it, and I can feel it within you.”
She gives an audible swallow, turning sideways within the murky water. She peers down and states, “I’d like to get out of the tub now.”
The back of my two fingers gently slide along her arm. “All right, I’ll call for Mrs. Foster. She will assist y—”
But my instruction is cut off by Brielle’s small voice stating “No.” She abruptly turns toward me, her eyes dancing with something unreadable.
“You tell me to order you. Demand from you .” Panic and unease flutters in her eyes as she finds her next words.
“I want you to cut this dress from me.” She slowly stands from the tub and I stand beside her.
I exit the tub first, then outstretch my hands so she may follow my movements.
As the water crashes upon the floor, her hands grasp mine. Her nails slowly dig into my skin.
“Cut it off of me,” she demands, her emerald eyes staring at me with such intent.
Leaning toward her, I lower my voice. The last of my restraint is being challenged by her words.
“You need to understand that your soul must be fully invested in this decision. For I’m not just cutting that dress off you, darling.
I’m going to kill you, Brielle.” Her eyes widen as I step closer to her, sliding my hand to rest upon her chest. Her breath hitches as concern and confusion etch across her beautiful face.
“I will rip out your heart, and as it ceases to beat within my palm, I shall resurrect you into the woman you were meant to be .” I lean in so our foreheads touch.
I inhale slowly, closing my eyes, choosing the words carefully, so she may understand.
“You will no longer be this version of yourself.” I caress one hand gently up and down her side.
“You will take what you want from others. From life. From me .” I move closer, my lips hovering over hers.
The back of my finger gently travels upward to caress her shoulder.
“Do you understand? This docile creature you’ve become shall no longer exist.”
Her eyes glaze over in fear, but a spark of determination spreads across her features as she exhales out, “I trust you.”
Then we collide.
Our collective calm ceases as we become two storms merging, comparable to the waves of a storm crashing upon the Saltdean cliffs.
She raises to the tips of her toes as her lips meet mine.
The caress of her hand upon my jaw, her soft and sweet lips, drive me to absolute madness.
It causes a chain reaction of movements, from sucking in her bottom lip, grabbing her round ass and pulling her tight, leaving no room for space.
Reaching for my blade, I cock my head to the side and give a smug grin. “You trust me?” my husky voice rasps out.
She nods in anticipation, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth. Fuck .
With a firm hand I grasp the strap of her dress. Pulling it taut, I gently swipe my knife down the center of the fabric. The blade cuts through with ease as the beads of the dress clatter to the floor.
I’m welcomed by the sight of her curves.
Her smooth porcelain skin begging to be touched.
The rise and fall of her bare breasts begging to be sucked.
Two fingers slowly skate across her chest and push the fabric off her delicate body.
I want to grab her. Make her mine. Claim her.
Though I do not want to harm her, nor do I want to scare her. She is only beginning her journey down this new pathway. If I lose myself, I may lose her entirely as well .
Pursing my lips, I continue my slow exploration by pushing the dress off either shoulder. The heavy beaded fabric falls to the ground with a thud.
“If you want me to stop, say stop . Do you understand?” I ask with reverence.
She nods her gorgeous head, her curls bouncing with the movement.
“No,” I state. “Say it.”
She clears her throat. “Stop. I’ll say stop, if I need you to. Please, Everett.”
I cock one eyebrow and slowly walk her back to the bed. “Please, what?”
She swallows, clearly uncomfortable asking for what she wants. Too bad—this is something she needs to practice.
“Touch. Me. Please,” she grits through her teeth. Her patience has now dissolved. I therefore chuckle.
Her small hand comes up in my peripheral vision. I brace myself, thinking she is about to slap me. Which I wouldn’t mind. But instead she places either hand upon the lapels of my shirt and forces it open. The buttons sprawl out in various directions.
Mrs. Foster is not going to be happy with our mess.
She moves feverishly, tugging my suspenders off my shoulders, then sits on the edge of the bed as she reaches for my trousers. I cease her impatient hands.
“Brielle, when was the last time you had someone?” I ask quietly, so as to not ruin the moment. Though I need to understand her limits.
Her cheeks turn bright crimson, then she peers down at the floor. She begins to place her arms over her chest to hide herself from me, but no .
That is not allowed.
“A while,” she states. “A long while. I’m not as experienced as you. If you’re going to judge me or make fun of me, I shall take my leave now.” Her eyes narrow up at me.
Releasing my hold of her wrists, I encircle my arms around her and whisper into her hair, “I’d never take the piss out of you. I just need to be careful with our first time. Now lie back,” I growl.
I inhale slowly.
Steadily.
For the first time in a very long time, someone will see my scars.
Let her see me fully. Lay my vulnerability at her feet.