7. In His Absence
In His Absence
It’s been three days, and I’m still alive.
Each day feels like an achievement, given my company.
But it’s also been three days since I let that man touch me after nearly choking me to death.
I watched him fuck his own hand in the dark while I pretended to sleep.
Ever since, there’s been a dangerous tension brewing between us, as if I were perpetually suspended between the fragile brink of my death and my pleasure.
He hadn’t come near me since, though he still masturbated when the lights went out each night.
I didn’t even pretend not to watch anymore.
He always held my gaze throughout the whole thing, tormenting me, teasing me and challenging me.
And it was so hot last night that I finally gave in and touched myself under the blanket.
I wasn’t sure if he was aware; I had a pretty good poker face, but he came quicker than usual.
I knew how messed up that was. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from entertaining it.
I don’t know why he stopped touching me so abruptly that day.
Was it to mess with my head and make me want more?
I blame my sheltered, non-existent sex life for that moment of insanity and for not knowing how to handle all this pent-up arousal, which only seemed to grow into a constant, throbbing ache whenever he looked in my direction.
Actually, no. I blame my crippling social anxiety and my overprotective, ‘I’ll castrate any man who breathes in your vicinity’ brothers.
Even if I could have plucked up the courage to flirt with a man, they’d cockblock me before I even gave them my name.
That’s why M ghosting me as soon as he was released from prison hurt so much.
I’d believed he could be my happily ever after.
I knew it was likely he’d gone back to his roots.
Most inmates, no matter how much they want to get out and make a change, slip back into old habits as soon as they’re released.
I just thought what we had was special enough to make him try harder for a new life. Obviously, it was all in my head.
So, of course, when an undeniably sexy man, covered in tattoos and with a dark aura that terrified me as much as it turned me on, touched my neglected clit… I waved my white flag. Even if he had been trying to kill me. Trying was the operative word. He hadn’t. That was more important.
The violence in his eyes as he squeezed the air from my lungs with those scarred, tattooed hands should have sparked my instinct to fight back.
Instead, something deep inside me stirred with recognition.
His bloodthirst didn’t repel me; it called to me.
It kept me on the edge of this weird, silent foreplay we were having.
Kill me or fuck me? Fuck me or kill me? I could see the internal battle behind those dark eyes every time he looked at me. And I kind of liked it.
He kept his distance, and I kept to my corner.
But there’d been a subtle shift between us over the past few days.
He’d started leaving half his meals. He never offered them to me, but whenever he left the bunker with the guards, I always demolished what he left behind.
He’d come back to an empty plate and say nothing.
He’d thrown one of his hoodies at me last night when my teeth were chattering so hard I thought they might break.
This morning, he dragged that old, tattered armchair, the one he liked to smoke in, over to my small corner of the bunker and nodded.
Have it. Sleep in it. Whatever.
I’d given him a small grateful smile, which he grunted in response to, then returned to his side. That gave me hope, because why would he give me somewhere to sleep if he still planned to kill me?
It felt like sinking into a marshmallow as my bruised ass and aching spine moulded into it. Bloody heaven. I curled up under the blanket with my new book and smiled. I caught him watching me again; his expression unreadable.
As hard as I tried to ignore him, it was impossible.
His presence filled the room like a thick fog.
It invaded my lungs with every breath and coiled tightly around my spine, reminding me never to relax fully.
Yet his dark aura seeped into my skin like an odd, sinister comfort.
I didn’t like it when they took him away for a few hours and left me alone.
I preferred it when he was here with me.
Neither of us had said a word to each other, but there was something so intimate about getting to know him without words.
His mannerisms, routines and movements intrigued me more than anything had in a long time.
When he wasn’t working out, decorating his body with an old tattoo gun, or tackling his jigsaw puzzle, he seemed unable to stop watching me, too.
He smoked and stared. He lay on his bed and stared.
He ate his meals, glaring at me with every mouthful.
He paced up and down the arched cellar, those black eyes fixed on me as if I might vanish.
I didn’t know what he was waiting for, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. But I’d found comfort in it, too.
He obviously had questions about me, just as I had many about him, but he never asked any of them.
It was an odd set-up. He was free to leave, as long as it was under their supervision, and he was bound and tied like an animal.
They fed him, clothed him, and gave him the necessities to survive without dying of boredom.
Yesterday, he came back with a vial of ink he seemed really excited about.
By excited, I mean he almost smiled. He pulled out a tattoo gun from a box under his bed and immediately started tattooing a gap on his ankle.
That raised more questions. Did he do all his tattoos himself?
If so, he was insanely talented. But how the hell did he do his back, ass and thighs?
And the question I wanted to know most of all…
what was his real name? Because I refused to believe his mamma would be so cruel as to name him Monster at birth.
I wasn’t sure whether he wasn’t speaking to me out of defiance because I hadn’t said a word to him. But I’d never heard him speak to anyone. Even when Sean had come in once or twice, he didn’t react to the boss’s presence, which, if he were one of his men, would have been a huge sign of disrespect.
The bolt on the metal door clanked, making my heart lurch. Monster reached for his boots as Donal strolled in. I really hated him. I didn’t like any of them, obviously, but Donal gave me the creeps. His tongue always snaked out when he looked at me with that leering gaze.
“Not you,” Donal said before turning slightly to regard me in the chair. “You.”
Me? Merda. I glanced over at Monster. He’d frozen, laces in his hands. His black eyes met mine. I swear I saw a flicker of surprise, possibly even concern, in them.
“Do I need to drag you out myself, or do your legs work, Princess?”
I swallowed hard. The anxiety that had eased over the past few days surged inside me like a glass overflowing with water. My ears were whooshing with blood. My heart was erratic. And my throat… it had completely closed. I slowly peeled off the blanket and stood up.
As I walked towards the door, wearing only my tattered dress and Monster’s socks, Monster shot to his feet.
I paused as our eyes met, a silent conversation passing between us.
It was weird how that had started to happen.
How we’d become so in tune with each other that I sometimes felt I could read his mind.
I’m coming too.
I nodded, relieved he would. I felt safer with him than with anyone else, which was completely ridiculous. The man had tried to strangle me three days ago.
As Monster stepped forward, his unlaced boots dragging along the floor, Donal lifted his gun and pointed it at Monster’s head. My eyes widened. Monster growled, baring his teeth, reminding me more of a caged animal than a man.
“Boss says you’re not invited,” Donal snarled. “You have a big fight tonight, so rest up. He has a lot ridin’ on it.”
Monster took another menacing step forward, fists clenched, and ignored the threat. Donal swung towards me, and I stared down the barrel of a gun. Monster froze. His eyes narrowed and flicked between us.
“Well, look at that,” Donal chuckled mockingly. “Has the monster grown attached to its plaything? You don’t want me to put a bullet in her pretty head? Her pussy must be made of gold.”
Monster’s nostrils flared as he glanced at me. He retreated, sitting back on the edge of the bed and staring at the ground.
Donal reached out and grabbed the back of my hair, fisting it harshly and yanking me into him. Searing pain shot through my scalp, and I couldn’t suppress the yelp that escaped my mouth.
Monster remained statue-like, every muscle in his body tense, his fists clenched, yet he refused to look up. Donal chuckled. “That’s more like it. See? He doesn’t have it in him to care. Let’s go.”
Something inside me ached as I stared at Monster, which was pathetic. He owed me nothing. For all I knew, he was one of them. Why would he come to my rescue?
The bunker door locked behind us, and then I was dragged up the stairs and into the sunlight for the first time in five days.
Even though it was a dreary day, the sun burned my sensitive eyes.
The sky was spitting in my face as Donal hauled me across the grass by my hair towards a car.
I kept my eyes cast down on my soaking socks, which made me sadder than anything else.