Chapter 10
Will
“Do I really have to leave?” she murmurs as she tugs on her clothes.
Misery is everywhere in her voice.
Her hazel eyes are proud, but there’s more to it.
She’s afraid. Of what, I have no clue.
I don’t want to fucking do this.
The bottle of oubliette is warm in my hand, the stopper firmly keeping the contents contained. I’m supposed to, what, dump it into the sherry glass which is currently tucked in my pocket? Give it to the most precious girl I’ve seen since Elisabeth’s death?
I understand why we can’t keep Autumn. It makes perfect fucking sense.
I actually agree with Xander, even though the wanker doesn’t know it. He and I—we destroy the people we love.
If I close my eyes, I can see it still. Elisabeth’s skin, marred with blood. The bite marks gaping. Dark. Unhealed. They would never heal. The sheets stained with blood already dry, wrinkled and twisted around her, around us.
So of course, Xander is right.
This is best for Autumn.
I just wish it didn’t hurt so fucking much.
I walk Autumn to the doorway leading outside, behind The Corbin. I push open the door. We step outside. The late spring morning is cool, with the promise of becoming scorching later in the day.
“The sunlight doesn’t hurt you?” Autumn asks in a shy voice.
I hold my hand out to the light. “I wear a really good sunscreen.”
Her mouth scrunches. She doesn’t know whether to take me seriously.
“It doesn’t hurt me,” I say truthfully, “but I also don’t like it. My eyes are sensitive to it, and the heat makes me sluggish.”
She nods, looks up and down the street. She’s barely listening to me. She’s already calculating her next move. Strategizing. My little love is a fighter. What is she fighting?
Turning to face me once more, she says, “Okay. Well. I guess this is goodbye then.”
“Wait,” I say, the oubliette bottle clenched in my fist, hidden in my pocket.
Her hopeful expression is sharper than a stake to the heart. She thinks I’m saying wait because I want her to stay.
And I do. More than anything.
I’m going to fucking murder Xander.
Autumn’s voice is gentle. “What is it?”
Just pour the oubliette into the glass. Hand it over. Give her a bloody good memory of a night she had with two enticing strangers. Let her believe that she left because it was best for her—the truth. Let her forget everything and live a happy, short, human life.
I clench the bottle tighter in my pocket.
I can’t do it. I can’t give her the oubliette. “You can stay.”
“I can?” She jumps a little on the balls of her feet.
“This is the last night,” I say. “And you won’t remember any of it afterward.”
“Xander said that, too. But I don’t believe you.”
“We’ll make you forget. It isn’t safe to remember, for us or for you.”
She shakes her head. She sounds naive and earnest as she says, “I could never forget this. I could never forget what we did.”
Every woman thinks so. For the first time since Elisabeth, I wish one was right.
“Go out today,” I say, gesturing down the busy street. “Find yourself a job, a place to stay. You can start a new life. Come back here before it gets dark. Not to the main library entrance, to this one. I’ll let you in when you knock. We’ll have one more night together.”
One more night. I can’t resist. I must have her lithe little body. I must feel her shuddering through pleasure in my arms.
“Is Xander going to be mad at you?” she asks.
“Probably. But I’ll deal with him.”
Autumn
Pride. Pride is the reason I’m out on these streets, pretending to look for jobs. I should’ve just told Will that I don’t have ID, that my cash is running out, that my stepfather is a murderer with the kind of connections that enable men with no morals to climb higher into political positions.
Will would’ve understood. He would’ve let me stay.
But worse: he would have pitied me. And that is the thing my pride can’t handle—his pity.
Well, that, and Xander’s derision.
I wander toward the less affluent part of the city.
No respectable establishment is going to hire someone without ID, without contact info, without references.
Eventually, the glittering, immaculate facade of San Esteban begins to fade.
The streets bear more trash, the buildings more graffiti.
I pass a diner, a karaoke bar, and some truly depressing-looking apartment buildings.
The stench of garbage filters through the heat, wafting on a lazy breeze from neglected alleys.
I come to a pub, and pause. Bartleby’s, a sign over the door reads. Next to the door is a stapled piece of paper. Hiring dependable workers. Inquire within.
But I can’t inquire within, because I don’t have ID or a phone, nothing.
Shit. Somehow, I need to get those things.
How does someone start from the absolute bottom?
I’ve had help already—so much help. From the kind woman in the bus station, and from the librarian, Izzie, allowing me to stay in the library and then leaving out food and other essentials.
Yet despite all of that help, I’m still nowhere near to getting on my own feet.
Do I go back to Dale? Pretend I didn’t see him kill Marcus Patrick? I could tell him I’ve been partying it up in San Esteban with a random guy and I have no recollection of the past week and a half.
Yeah, right. Dale doesn’t like loose ends. He doesn’t like uncertainty. I can only return to Altera if I want to end up like Marcus Patrick. If I want to end up like my mom.
Tiny hairs rise on the back of my neck, like someone’s watching me.
All these thoughts about Dale, and paranoia starts sinking its claws into me.
The street is intimidating, and I need shelter.
I open the door to Bartleby’s and step inside.
I don’t have to inquire about work, but it wouldn’t hurt to check the place out, see if it has potential.
“Sit wherever,” a low voice drawls from the bar.
“Oh. Um, I was actually not going to—”
His glare causes me to shut my mouth and take a seat at the bar, a few feet away from where he’s standing. He has oily blond hair, or maybe there’s product in it, making it shine. It looks greasy to the touch, either way.
He ambles over. “What do you want?”
I don’t have money to be wasting on drinks, but this is the first place that looks like it might possibly hire me at some point, so I say, “A hard cider, please.”
He pours one from the tap and slides it over. “That’s six bucks.”
I find a ten-dollar bill in my wallet and try not to wince as I push it across the counter. “Keep the change.”
He nods, doesn’t even say thank you.
“I saw a sign that you’re hiring?” I say.
“Yep.”
“Do you like working here?”
He shrugs his skinny shoulders. “It’s a job.”
Well, he’s a real treat.
My cider is too sour, and I purse my lips after the first sip. “I thought I might introduce myself to the manager. Is he or she around?”
“You’re looking at him.”
“Oh, hey.” How did this guy get to be a manager of anything? He can’t even manage his hair. “I’m new in town. Are you looking for a bartender, or a server, or…?”
He reaches under the counter and says, “Here,” before sliding an application form over the bar to me. He looks at me closely, and his gaze flicks down to my tits where it lingers just long enough to be rude, not long enough for me to call him out on the rudeness. “Fill it out.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I wait for him to walk away, then I get up. I fold the application neatly in half and tuck it into my bag, but I’m not planning on filling it out. The dude gave me bad vibes.
Evicting him from my brain is something I do with great pleasure. No more thoughts of him, I think, as I tug on the door and let myself out of the pub.
It’s getting dark, so I start the trek back to The Corbin.
It’ll be my last night there.
It’s fine, I tell myself. I don’t want to remain where I’m obviously not wanted.
Except, Will wants me. Why does he even stick around with Xander, anyway? They don’t seem to agree on anything except sexual positions.
I guess long-term relationships have been based on less.
Six-foot-tall hedges conceal the back entrance of The Corbin from the sidewalk. If I didn’t know it was there, I would never find it. I can’t help but feel a little burst of self-satisfaction that all the other people in San Esteban walk past it and have no idea, but I know.
I dart through a gap in the bushes and down some stairs to find the stone-colored door blending perfectly with the rest of the building. I take a deep, calming breath, then knock.
Will answers the door. His blue eyes glitter as they fix on me. “You came back.”
I’m reminded of yesterday, when he cornered me in the library. He’d appeared completely at ease—bored, even. And yet that focus had seared through my clothes, stroked my skin.
I was his with just a look last night.
Tonight is looking to be the same.
He holds out a hand, though—it’s a request, not a command.
“Yeah.” I reach out and take it. “I came back.”
“You probably shouldn’t have. But I’m quite glad you did, love.”
“I think I’ll be glad too, Sir.”
With a muttered curse, he pulls me through the door.
He slams it shut behind us. The hallway where we stand is dark.
Before I can move, he presses me against the wall.
His lips and teeth are at my neck, insistent.
Soft and sharp all at once. The scrape of his fangs gives me shivers as I remember what he and Xander did to my breasts last night.
Those puncture wounds had already healed when I woke up. Maybe someone else would have questioned whether it really happened or not, but I’m determined to remember.
He said they could make me forget.
I doubt it.
I reach for the hem of his shirt, eager to feel him beneath my palms. He growls, grabs my hands, holds them above my head with one of his. Then his free hand is at my waistband, shoving into my pants, delving between my underwear and my skin.
He makes a pleased sound when he finds me wet. His finger is firm and thick as he runs it over my pussy lips. It’s as if a warm glow builds within, every stroke making me hotter and hotter. I need more. I need his cock in me again.
“Please, please, please,” I babble.
“Fucking love hearing you beg, little girl.”
I’ll beg all he wants. I will do just about anything to keep his hands on me. He kisses my neck—wet, openmouthed kisses. A hint of teeth. I shiver in his arms, helpless with my hands above my head.
“More,” I say. “More, I need more.”
“Greedy little love,” he murmurs, nipping my earlobe.
He plunges a finger into me and I cry out.
“Yes,” I say. “Please, yes.”
He strokes me over and over, his finger delving slowly in and out while the heel of his hand brushes over my clit. White-hot pleasure spikes in my pussy. I clench around him, eager to hold him there, keep that finger teasing, taunting.
A few more strokes and I just know I’ll finish. My voice is unrecognizable to my own ears as I whine, begging him to keep going.
He growls something in another language and yanks his hand from my pants.
“No,” I whimper. “Please—”
He yanks at my leggings and panties, shoving them down to my knees before using his foot to push them the rest of the way off.
They tangle around my shoes, but I kick them off.
Soon, I’m naked from the waist down. He attacks my shirt and bra next, none too gentle in tugging the shirt over my head and unsnapping the bra.
I return my hands to the wall over my head, because I know that’s what he wants. Panting, he leans back and simply stares at me.
“Beautiful,” he says, a reverence in his voice I’ve never heard before.
Reaching to my pussy, he cups his palm against it.
“Give this to me,” he says on a groan, those wicked, dark blue eyes searching mine. “Give me everything.”
Everything. He wants everything. In this moment, crazed with lust, overcome by his touch, his voice, those beautiful eyes…I will give it to him. Everything.
Staring right back into his gaze, I whisper one word. “Yes.”