Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Madelyn
“Such a good girl, my Madelyn. I’ve waited so long for this.
” My stepfather’s voice plays in my head on repeat.
I’m at an impasse; a place where the past and present meet.
Images of Oliver throwing me down on the floor form the past, whereas the present shows me something entirely different.
Jackson is there, holding out his hand. He says nothing.
His expression unreadable. But more than anything, I want to take it.
I want him to protect me when I am unable to do it myself.
Even if I hate myself for needing the protection of a murderer.
My body shifts as I am placed on something solid.
The floor? No, I search with my hands, discovering rough sheets.
He put me on the bed. Immediately, the images fade to allow sleepiness to take its place.
I shouldn’t sleep. I’m already vulnerable.
Jackson must sense the shift in me as he says, “No moving. No running. Go to sleep.”
“No,” I mutter, shaking my head for a more dramatic effect.
Covers slide over me as Jackson tucks me in like a burrito, except for my wrist. That he saved for the handcuffs.
“If you escape, I will catch you. Then I will fuck you. And last but certainly not least, I will shoot you. Go to bed and don’t tempt me to do anything of those things prematurely. ”
Heat, like embers, begins in my belly and spreads farther down.
Catch me. Fuck me. Jackson would do those things, and a side of me wants to see just how far I can provoke him.
There’s just one problem, and that’s the shoot me part.
I cannot forget what he really is. “Monster,” I say, sleep already coming back to take me under.