Chapter Seven
Malory
The sound of crackling fire fills the dimly lit living room.
Staring into the dancing flames, I’ve been nursing the mug of green tea for a while now.
It’s been a good day despite the heavy rainfall that hasn’t let up all afternoon.
I ended up helping Tyson cover up the dry wood once it became clear that it wasn’t just a quick shower.
Manual labor isn’t something that I’ve done much of in the past, but it felt exhilarating to get down and dirty.
By the end, my clothes were soaked and my limbs trembling from exhaustion, but it was worth it.
I desperately needed that dose of endorphins.
Now, dressed in dry clothes and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I’m seated cross legged in my usual corner spot on the couch with Tyson’s hand resting on my knee.
I’ve gotten increasingly used to his touch, even started to crave his warmth. Yet the tightening feeling in the pit if my stomach whenever he’s near hasn’t stopped.
In fact, it’s getting more and more unbearable with every passing day.
As I untangle myself to set the mug down on the coffee table before settling deeper into the soft cushions, Tyson hauls my legs into his lap.
“W-what are you doing?” I stutter, unsure of where he’s going with this.
“Your feet are freezing, little one.” He starts kneading my toes between his big hands, his thumbs rubbing the tired soles of my feet in gentle strokes.
It feels so good.
Closing my eyes, I let myself enjoy the feeling for just a moment. Not wanting to think about the fact that I shouldn’t let him touch me this way.
No one has ever laid their hands on me like he does, and I so desperately want him to continue.
Slowly but surely, Tyson keeps knocking down my walls, crossing the thin line that we’ve been toeing. And the worst part is that I’m not doing anything to stop him.
“Tell me about yourself.” I blurt out, feeling a sudden burst of boldness. Anything to get my mind of what this man is doing to me.
For how much he knows about me, it only seems fair that I get something in return.
I haven’t had the courage to ask before and he didn’t offer, keeping his cards close to his chest.
Usually, I wouldn’t be one to pry, but anything he tells me might be useful against him later on. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
The man doesn’t go anywhere or talk to anyone except for me and Nero who by the way has lately started spending more time at my side than his.
Not that I’m smug about it or anything.
Tyson is a vault, with the phone he barely uses tucked in the back pocket of his cargo pants along with the car keys.
I know that because I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to grab them this entire time. It’s a futile effort though.
He’s overly aware of my every move to the point I can’t even reach for a glass of water before he’s handing it to me.
And I refuse to admit how my heart leaps to my throat every time he does things like that.
“What do you want to know?” The smooth, deep voice breaks my train of thought.
“I don’t know, anything really.” I shrug. “What do you do? You can’t be living like this all the time.” I ramble as my expectations that he’ll actually tell me anything about himself dwindle by the second.
“I’m a hitman.”
My jaw drops.
Come again?
I scan his face, searching for a twitch of his lips, for any sign that he’s not serious. Only to find none.
Not a trace of emotion is marring his sharp features as his ministrations on my feet continue like he didn’t just drop that.
This guy is an actual assassin, a killer for hire.
And why does that kind of make sense?
“I’ve been taking on contracts since I was thirteen. My uncle took me under his wing, taught me everything I know. I guess he was trying to give my life a purpose and this was the only way he knew how.” There’s something vacant in his gaze, something darker hidden in the vast emptiness.
“You m-murder people for money?” My voice breaks since I already know the answer.
“That’s one way of putting it.” Tyson drawls. “The world is filled with cruel bastards, each of them more than deserving of a slow, painful death. I just happen to be the executioner.”
He turns to me, our eyes locking as a cold shiver runs down the length of my spine.
“The worst of them all, little one.”
I’m frozen in place, gaping at him as I struggle to grasp the meaning of his words, the clear warning that should make me want to run and hide.
But I don’t.
This actually explains a lot about my abduction, or why I never hear him enter a room before I feel his presence at my back as he wraps an arm around my waist seemingly out of nowhere.
What does that say about me that I’m letting a cold-blooded killer touch me like that?
I should be disgusted, utterly horrified and yet there’s barely a trace of those feelings within me.
Instead, a profound sense of understanding washes over me.
It all makes a bit more sense now.
A small piece of him falling into place.
“Don’t ponder it too much. It’s just business.” Tyson shrugs, leaning deeper into the cushions with a low sign.
“If I didn’t do it, someone else would.” His gaze lingers on mine, reading my every expression like I’m an open book. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings in the first place but with him, it’s impossible.
“I’m not going to lie to you and say that it isn’t fucking satisfying seeing my bullet pierce some asshole’s head, that to some extent I don’t get off on it.”
Well, so much for brutal honesty.
And weirdly enough, I appreciate that.
“Is it the danger, their pain or just the act of killing someone itself?” I ask.
His eyebrows furrow and I can tell he didn’t see that question coming. But there is something perversely intriguing about what he’s implying.
Something must be really wrong with me that I’m this invested in figuring out this insanely unhinged and complicated man. How at this moment I want nothing more than for him to let me in.
“Huh, I haven’t thought about it that way.” Tyson absently runs his calloused palm up my calf to the sensitive skin below my knee. “Would it make a difference to you?”
I don’t know what to think, what to feel at this point.
“Being able to take fate in my own hands, having the final say over someone’s life. It’s a craving. This need to prove to myself that I’m no longer a helpless…” His hand on my leg flexes almost painfully as he cuts off like he’s revealed something that should have remained buried.
“The way I do it is irrelevant. Rifle, gun or switchblade, it’s all the same to me. Only indulging in torture if I require information out of someone. Otherwise, it’s a nuisance to deal with the mess.” He says matter-of-factly.
“As for the danger, I’ve never been scared of death. Never really cared for my life to begin with.” The man pauses briefly. “The only thing that kept me going all these years was my vengeance.”
As he speaks the last words, Tyson’s piercing black eyes sweep over my body before settling on my face.
“Now however, you’ve tempted with my priorities, little one.” His voice lowers dangerously, making me shudder, aware of the intensity with which he’s looking at me.
He can’t mean what I think he does.
No, I’m just a pawn in his game, nothing more.
A very well cared for prisoner, but a prisoner nonetheless.
“W-what about your family?”
It’s a weak attempt at changing the topic that my racing heart can no longer take, but to my relief, he takes the bait.
“I have two half-brothers and some cousins I barely know.” He recounts indifferently. “The rest is dead.”
My teeth click shut, the chilling coldness in his tone instantly stopping the question that was at the tip of my tongue. This is a line I’m not going to cross unless he wants to tell me himself.
“Your turn. Tell me something about yourself.” His demeanor changes back to neutral without a trace of the hostility that oozed out of his very being just a few seconds ago.
“And here I thought you already knew everything.” I counter with a little smile, nudging my foot against his thigh, thankful for the change in his mood.
“I don’t know the important stuff. The things that go on in your pretty head, all your dreams and wishes.” Tyson’s whole body shifts towards me expectantly, making my thoughts turn to mush under his undivided attention.
“I always wanted a sibling.” I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind since we were on that topic.
“An older brother who could take the brunt of my mom’s expectations, someone who’d be in my corner when I needed it. Or just someone to hug when the loneliness got to be too much.”
I know it sounds pathetic, but I don’t remember the last time someone held me.
Well, besides that time I rammed a pair of nail scissors into my stalker’s neck.
“You have me now.” Tyson brushes an unruly strand of hair behind my ear, gently running his thumb along the shell while his other hand still has my feet trapped possessively in his lap.
“A-are you serious?” My voice turns into an incredulous whisper.
“Deadly.”
I search his eyes for any trace of doubt or deceit, only to find pure determination burning in the black, bottomless pools.
“Do you talk to your brothers?” I cop out yet again, wanting to stifle the warm sensation that has started spreading through my chest.
“They call to check in every now and then. I think they feel guilty for me being the way I am, though there’s nothing they could have done about it.”
This habit of not elaborating on his vague statements is starting to drive me up the walls.
“What do you mean?” I can’t help my curiosity this time around. And I mean I’m the best person to talk to since I won’t be going around spilling his darkest secrets to anyone except for his dog.
“It’s in the past. No use of bringing it up now.” Tyson looks straight through me as he speaks, staring off into the distance and for a fleeting moment, he looks broken. A shell of the man I’ve come to know.
“All that remains is for me to deal with the consequences.”
Whatever pain lingers in his eyes vanishes as he blinks. Blank and expressionless, that’s his default.
Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the need to comfort him, I reach out with shaking fingers, lightly stroking his corded forearm.
His whole body tenses, but then a deep groan escapes from between Tyson’s parted lips as he closes his eyes, relishing in my touch on his bare skin.
This is the first time I’m the one initiating physical contact, breaking down yet another barrier that should not have been breached.
I’m so tired of overthinking the things I shouldn’t do.
My head snaps up, startled at feeling hard, uneven ridges beneath my fingertips.
They’re almost invisible under all the tattoos covering his skin but the countless scars marring his forearm are there, hidden in plain sight.
Scooting closer, unsure whether I’m imagining things, I gently lift his short sleeve and sure enough, his upper arm and shoulder are covered in long, protruding welts.
“T-tyson?” My voice is barely a whimper as my vision starts to blur.
“My father was fond of his belt, or any other sharp object in his vicinity.” He has gone completely still, carefully gauging my reaction like he’s expecting me to recoil from him at any time.
“I-I’m so s-sorry…” I sob.
“Don’t be, little one.” His expression softens into something I haven’t seen before. “It led me to where I am today. It led me to you .”
Tears gather in my eyes as I lean over, softly pressing my lips to the biggest scar in the crook of his elbow.
I don’t dare looking up as I hear Tyson’s breath hitch, continuing to kiss my way down his arm, softly caressing every single mark with my mouth.
“Malory…” It comes out choked as if he’s hurting, making me finally lift my gaze only to find him already looking at me with an unreadable expression.
“If you don’t stop,” His eyes burn into mine with unbridled lust, every muscle in his body taunt. “I won’t be able to hold back much longer.”
I don’t know what compels me to say it, but locked in this moment, I don’t think about my parents, societal norms, or even basic morals.
There’s only us.
“Then don’t.” I whisper, my tongue subconsciously darting out to wet my quivering lips.
His hands fist the fabric of his pants, his white knuckles threatening to burst as he follows the movement, his gaze fixated on my mouth.
“Fuck, little one.” The man groans and then he’s on me.
One hand grabbing me by the throat while the other palms my cheek, dominating yet gentle at the same time.
He pushes my back into the couch, letting me feel his weight without crushing me beneath him. Tyson’s chest heaving inches from mine, breathing heavily as he brings our foreheads together.
We don’t move.
Our noses touching, our mouths hovering over each other. So close yet not close enough.
Hesitantly, I place my trembling hands on his chest, feeling his thundering heart that beats in unison with mine.
Then it’s gone.
The spell breaking as Tyson reels back like he’s been burnt, storming up the stairs without sparing me another glance.
It’s when I hear his bedroom door slam shut that I let the tears fall.
He left. All this time, I naively thought he wanted me, and he left.
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
An agonizing hollowness spreading through my chest while I muffle my sobs in the collar of my sweatshirt.
I stay curled up on the couch, watching the flames burn out as my tears slowly dry up.
It’s for the best.
So why doesn’t it feel that way.