Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Madelyn
Ipieced together that Jackson left after I reached for him and discovered his side of the bed empty.
A part of me tried to fight the overwhelming urge to keep sleeping, while the other part warned me this could be another time I could try to escape.
But with no obvious means to actually leave the compound, the sleeping section of my brain told the other side to kindly fuck off.
There is no point in running around a camera-infested place with no means or way of getting my car.
I need to save my energy for when I have a chance to get out of this alive.
So instead, I half-dose while letting my mind replay the way Jackson last fucked me.
Emotionally and physically, he demanded it all, and I gave it with little fight.
But I also gained a small piece of him, the part of his mind that may have some sort of feelings for me besides murderous contempt and lust. I’ll play that part until my last breath.
What about you? What do you really feel?
The questions float into the conscious part of my brain.
“I can’t afford to feel anything,” I whisper while hiding under the blankets.
“This is just survival. Nothing more.” My heart skips a beat as I try to believe that lie.
I toss the pillow across the room, hitting the wall.
Pain radiates down my chest and arm, and something else comes flooding back. He cut me.
The sound of glass clanking against the floor breaks me away from my thoughts.
Quietly I remove the covers from my head and peek at the source of the noise.
Jackson, who is naked and on the floor, faces the glass mirror.
Liquor bottles and metal trays surround him on both sides.
The mirror shows nothing but his own reflection.
I consider leaving him be, but there's something different about his energy.
He's more subdued than usual. “Jackson?” I whisper to break his trance.
He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes another drink, not looking my way.
“Go back to sleep,” he replies as his speech comes off a bit slurred.
Curious and definitely stupid, I ignore his command.
I slide out of the bed, but not without incident.
The cut Jackson made stings, causing me to wince.
I wonder if my movements are enough to get a reaction from him.
He continues to look at the glass wall with no indication that he heard me.
My feet carry me halfway to him, the floor feeling cold against my skin.
I tiptoe closer and slip beside him. His hair is damp, a result of an obvious shower.
Every inch of him is blood and dirt free-something I have yet to see.
I notice the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow, and my breath catches.
Jackson could pass as normal. Well, as normal as a tattooed, wanted, egocentric man could be.
“What are you doing?” I say, my tone light.
He tosses the now empty bottle against the mirror, but it just bounces right off.
“Thinking,” he mutters before pulling one of the metal trays toward him.
He lifts the dome lid to reveal an honest to God real cheeseburger.
I decide right then and there to go for it.
Jackson’s hand collides with mine right above the burger.
His eyes snap up at me, pupils dilated, and he lets out a laugh. “Go on then. Take it.”
“I’ve never heard you laugh like that,” I state while grabbing the burger. With how my stomach feels, I would have fought him for it-and lost- so I’m glad he’s allowing food.
He pulls another tray toward him and lifts the dome lid. Inside are three blunts and a lighter. “Never had a reason to.”
I take a bite of the burger and savor the melted cheese on the meat before responding. “Tell me why you have to kill me.” It’s a bold move, and I doubt it will work. But I want to hear from him why he thinks killing me will get what he wants.
“I need to tell you that all this…it's nothing personal. It's just the way of things.” He takes the lighter, flicks it, and pushes the flame into the blunt. I study him while he takes a hit. His eyes close, truly enjoying the high that comes with it.
His attitude is so nonchalant as if killing me means nothing at all. And I guess that's true. I'm just another number. Smoke comes from his nose as he waits for me to reply.
“I'm supposed to be thankful?” I say while pushing my half-eaten burger away.
He opens his eyes while struggling to focus on me.
“Yes, you should be. My brother is far worse.” He opens his mouth to say something else but pauses to take another hit.
“Before the age of five, he had an unnatural desire to harm others.
It started with our pet cat or any small animal he could find.
As long as he caused death, he didn't care what method he used.
Strangling and/or gutting them, it didn't matter.” His voice goes low so that his words are barely over a whisper.
“The only thing he made sure of was the fact that I was there to take the fall.
I had asked him one time when we were about six why he wanted to do those things.
He just shrugged, with a cold, blank stare, and simply told me because he liked it.
While I admit I am not one to control my impulses, I never had the desire to kill animals.
My parents blamed me for everything, and while they paid for my excellent psychological treatment, they neglected my brother.
He ran wild. Jamison always wanted what I've had, and now you are no exception. He will torture you for weeks. I offer a quick death.”
I scoff. “You're the one who kidnapped me. Your brother wouldn't even know of my existence if you hadn’t interfered with my life.” That much is true. “You can’t act like you are doing me a favor when you are planning on ending my existence.”
He takes another hit, this time blowing the smoke in my face. “You should have stayed in your car.”
My throat burns from inhaling so much smoke.
“I should have ran you over.” My jaw tightens.
I’m glad Jackson offered some information about his brother, but none of it made me feel any better.
I guess maybe I was na?ve enough to think that maybe Jackson would show some type of human decency regarding my life.
Especially since he seemed to push for more eye contact and intimacy, the last time he fucked me.
His eyes narrow while his lips form a thin line. Dropping the blunt, he moves closer until his thumb strokes my cheek. “Little fire,” he whispers. “Would you want to be a killer?”
I freeze, his question catching me completely off guard. Would I? “I.. I don't know.” It’s true I’ve had thoughts about killing Oliver and even Jackson, but that’s as far as it goes. I consider it. Could I take a life to keep mine? Maybe.
His hand moves down to my neck. Goosebumps form where he touches. “Could you murder someone if it was for revenge?”
My heart races, and I try to look away from his gaze.
His fingers grip my skin and force me to maintain eye contact.
“Stay with me. This is important.” He leans in so that his forehead rests on mine.
The smell of alcohol and smoke invades my senses.
I can't shake him as the gold in his eyes slowly reappears.
I want to bring up that I know what Jamison did. That Sam blabbed the story regarding his parents. I swallow, trying to figure out the words. “Jackson…I..”
He sighs and pulls away. “I think you could. Especially if it was Oliver. But how would you handle all the blood?”
“What?”
“All the fucking mess…” Jackson mutters to himself, lost in thought. “Could you stomach it?”
“What are you…?”
Suddenly, he snaps back. “Go to the mirror and press the button on the side. Now, little fire.”
“What’s going to happen? I cross my arms. Is something else going to come from the ceiling?” I pause, thinking this is some kind of trick. Alcohol can do a lot of things to a person, but this seems far more than that. “Are you going to fuck me again to get away from serious conversations?”
The muscles in his arms tighten as he uses them to stand. Towering above me, he holds his hand out.
I turn away, refusing to take it.
“I’m more than capable of fucking and holding a serious conversation at the same time, little fire.
” Jackson’s voice goes deep. “And to answer your question, I am going to fuck you again.” He places his hand on the top of my head and wraps my hair into his now closed fist. I go to grab his hands, but he pulls my hair to get me to my feet.
Heat rushes to my face, and I gasp at his sudden brutality.
“But first, you are going to stop being a little brat and push that button, like I said.” He tugs again, this time a bit harder than the last. I shudder. “Aren’t you?”
There’s a part of me that is scared about what may happen.
That’s a feeling that will never go away because he has his mind set on killing me.
But as I peer up at him now with his perplexed eyes, firm grip, and demanding tone, all I feel is a desire to please him.
Maybe it’s because I am afraid that I want to do as he says.
Yes, that’s what I am going to go with. It can’t be because there’s an annoying throbbing sensation coming from my pussy just because he tugged my hair. “Yes,” I whisper. “I will.”
“Go on then,” he nods toward the glass. I take a step forward, but notice he doesn’t loosen his hold on me. If anything, he uses his grip to make sure I don’t go out of his reach.
His breath tickles my neck as he follows behind each step I take. As my thoughts wander about what’s fixing to happen, my hands turn clammy. “Where’s the button again?” I ask, trying desperately to focus and not having any luck with it.