17 Olivia
May 21st, 2022
I felt numb.
I was barely aware of the woman cleaning the cut on my hand and on my head, on my face, sanitizing them, bandaging them.
The sound of squelching and slicing was distant.
I couldn’t see him doing anything. The entrance to the kitchen was off to one side, so from where I sat on the couch, I could see nothing. Not one thing.
What happened?
What was happening?
Not in the house, I was aware of what was happening in the house, I meant in my life. What was happening in my life?
I let things get so out of control.
I shouldn’t have moved away.
I should have just stayed in Denver with the nannies who cared about me, with the big house that always felt so empty, and the parents who forgot I existed at all.
I should have stayed in the city filled with more noise than The Springs. Where we had a gardener who came every day just to make sure the roses were picked.
I always loved roses.
Nobody ever got me roses.
I never even planted any on my balcony like I swore I would do once I left my house. My own little rose bush. Red ones too. Not pastel yellow or that pink color, even though I did like the color pink, no, they would have been red.
There was a fountain in front of my house in Denver. A big one. One with three angels, all naked, wings spread, reaching out to touch the sky.
I used to sit on the edge of that fountain in the middle of the night and look up to the angel closest to the heavens, and I always wondered where they were trying to go. Home, I guessed. They realized this world wasn’t big enough for them.
It was too small.
That’s how I always felt.
Too small.
My phone started ringing, bringing me out of my stupor. The woman had been talking, but I didn’t hear a word she said.
I just stood and pulled my phone out of my bloodied purse. I’d have to get a new one.
It was my mom.
With shaking hands, I answered, putting the phone to my ear, my arms shaking all the way to my shoulders. I only ever ran. Never did any weights. Maybe I should start. Make myself stronger.
Stronger than this.
Stronger than a weak, pathetic whore with a silver spoon in her mouth.
I didn’t say a word. Not one. I had no idea if I was feeling rage or confusion or nothing at all. It felt as if I was feeling everything and nothing all at once.
I hated that more than I hated Steven.
The line was silent. “Hello?”
she asked. “Helloooo?”
She clicked her tongue and sighed. “The silent treatment, hmm? You haven’t sent the check yet, Olivia. We need that money, sweetie.”
I wrapped my arm around my stomach and walked slowly around the room, looking at things I never bothered with before. Every time I came here was a nightmare. Every single time. Why did I think this would be any different?
When I didn’t respond, she huffed. “You are acting like such a child,”
she bit. “What are you, 12? I thought I raised you better than this.”
Once again, she didn’t raise me at all. The moment I was born, she handed me off to a nanny, Greta, and went off to whatever premiere some popstar invited her to. My first word was Greh. Not mom or dad, Greh. I don’t think I learned how to say ‘mom’ until I was 3. There was no point in learning it. She was never around.
“Send me the check,”
she stated as I walked up to a bookcase filled with DVDs near the hall. Who even watched DVDs anymore? “And stop texting your father, he wants nothing to do with the daughter who refuses to give him grandchildren.”
I paused in front of a small bookshelf always piled high with clothes and garbage. There was a picture frame poking out among the pile that I had never noticed before.
I picked it up, finding a picture of a beautiful blonde holding a beautiful little brown-haired girl with heterochromia. I studied it carefully, but no emotions came. Not even a little.
He didn’t have any siblings, that’s what he had told me. So, either he lied about that or…
Or he had family, and I was just…just his little piece of trash, like I was Everett’s piece of trash.
Just the city whore.
“You’re such a worthless piece of shit, you know that?”
she said, mirroring my thoughts. “I gave you everything. All of it. Every dime we had went to your education, your chefs, your nannies, your horseback lessons. You always had the best of the best and you show me your gratitude by treating me like this?”
She sighed deeply and went quiet for several seconds.
“Okay, sweetheart,”
she began again, her voice gentler, “I’m sorry about whatever you’re going through, but we really need that check. Please. We need it.”
I didn’t have the energy to answer. To tell her that I sent it the day after I had gotten it, but it takes a while to clear, and depending on the amount, it may take longer than normal. That she should check her bank account because it’ll show a pending statement.
I didn’t have the energy to fight, to stand, to do anything but sleep.
So, I hung up, I set the phone in front of the picture, and I headed for the front door without another word.
Everett was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, blood splattered across his face, the woman sitting on the couch, but I didn’t slow until I caught sight of the blood behind him.
I slowed to a stop, looking around him, taking in the body parts I could see.
He had gutted Steven, sliced him up with that butcher knife. He had set the heart on the ground beside the mutilated head, and I could see the hole in the center of it where the ring was buried.
That knife had been sharp.
I should get that brand.
He took my chin and tilted my head up, tearing my gaze away from the scene to find his eyes. They were cool, not chilling, just cool. I wondered if he expected me to be okay with this. To run to him like damsels in movies because he had saved me from the big bad boyfriend.
I didn’t feel like being touched right now though. Or ever again. I didn’t feel like talking ever again. All I wanted was to go back to my place and sleep for a very long time.
“Mine,”
he told me. It was quiet, a low rumble of a threat that reminded me of the Colorado thunderstorms that wrecked through the state during Fall. Just one word.
One word that set my entire world ablaze when it shouldn’t have meant a fucking thing.
Sure, I was his.
His until the debt was paid.
His until he got bored.
His until he did to me what he just did to Steven Pelgard.
His until my time finally ran out.
I pulled my chin out of his grip and walked right out the door.
May 26th, 2022
I stared at the ceiling. I should have gotten stitches. If not in my hand, then certainly on my face.
The cut on my hand wasn’t healing, and Lucy was getting tired of going on walks with the dog walkers rather than me. I was sure the food delivery people were also getting tired of me requesting them to deliver food to my bed.
But what was the point of leaving? The man—Everett, he’d find me if I left the house, and the police? I was shocked they hadn’t come for me already. I would have checked the headlines, but with no phone, and a laptop in the living room, I had no access to the internet near me.
Just my books.
Just reading.
I wondered how angry Katie was.
I wondered if she would call me a worthless piece of shit too.
Lucy, I knew, was getting angry. She couldn’t understand why I was lying in my bed all day without talking. Only getting up when I had to use the bathroom. I should be spending more time with her. If I was going to prison, I needed to get as much time as I could with her before I never saw her again.
Even so, I just stared at my ceiling.
I heard my front door open, Lucy’s panting meeting my ears. The dogwalker was back. Great. They always tried to talk to me. Why couldn’t I just have one good one that never spoke?
I didn’t want to have small talk. I didn’t want to know about the weather or about the other dogs at the park, I just wanted to lay here and have my nightmares and my sushi and my coffee that I couldn’t give up because I had no willpower, and just…be.
The door opened and I heard Lucy’s paws against the soft carpet pad over.
I closed my eyes and pulled my blanket closer to my chin, careful of the bandages around each cheek. I didn’t have the energy to do anything but hold her. I wish she wasn’t so worried, so antsy for me to get out of bed, so I could just hold her.
My blankets disappeared and I gasped, lurching up, finding Everett standing at the end of my bed, his eyes glowing brightly like a damn wolf in the night.
My eyes widened and I scrambled back, wincing when I put too much pressure on my hand. I clutched it to my chest, heart hammering. What the Hell was he doing in my house?
He stormed around the bed and grabbed my arm, jerking me from the bed.
I grunted, fighting against him, but it was useless. I had no strength left. I hadn’t stood up much in days, and the heaviest thing I had held was an 800-page book, which was heavy, but not enough to matter.
He dragged me into my bathroom and tossed me onto the toilet.
I watched in panic and fear as he walked over to my cabinets and went right for the first aid kit.
How did he know where I kept that?
What was he doing here?
“He’s here to collect his payment.”
Steven was dead, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t left the house, that was the thing that made the most sense. If he wanted his payment, he needed to come to me.
I scowled at him as he headed for the counter and I folded one knee over the other, fully aware that I was wearing nothing but my pink silk shorts and a tank top. No bra. No underwear. Just that.
He glanced over, taking in my new position and he rolled his eyes, turning back to his work.
My chest caved in a little. He didn’t want me though?
Why would I want him to want me? I didn’t. I didn’t want him anywhere near me. I shouldn’t care about that at all. In fact, I should just call the police myself. I saw what he had done. I listened to him dismember Steven piece by piece, I was still dreaming about it, that had to be enough to get him arrested.
But to make me an accessory. It’s been five days. The police would ask why I didn’t call them earlier. And why hadn’t I? Because I was waiting for them to come get me?
What a load of crock that was.
But even despite all that, I felt a stone grow in my stomach when I thought about that look and I immediately turned away, glaring at my shower instead.
No, I didn’t want him to want me, not rationally, but then there was that little piece of irrationality within me that remembered how it felt when he looked me in the eyes and fucked me with his loaded gun…
He stepped in front of me, blocking my view, his hand held out and I glared at it for half a second before turning my head to the wall. Fuck him.
He assaulted me. Wasn’t that what he had done? I didn’t stop it, I wanted it, but he did assault me.
He made me cheat on Steven.
He broke me in a way that I couldn’t fix. I had one thing in this world that I could control and that was my own body and how it reacted to others. I couldn’t control how mom felt about me. I couldn’t control what Steven did to me. I couldn’t control what Katie decided to change in my books or when I was allowed to send in a chapter. I couldn’t even control my own fucking dog now.
But I controlled how my body reacted up until I met him, and I would regain that power. Whatever the cost, I had to get it back.
He grabbed my hand anyway and I winced at the pain that shot up my arm. I would have pulled it out of his grasp, but it hurt so bad. It hurt to move my fingers, it hurt to flex my palm.
I should have gotten stitches. At the very least on my right hand, but most likely, I should have gotten them for everything. All of it.
He sat down on a chair I hadn’t noticed him bring over from my vanity, and started to carefully unwrap the dirty bandages on my right hand.
I had changed them twice before I gave up. What was the point? If I lost my hand, maybe they would go easier on me in prison.
If I lost my hand, I wouldn’t be itching to go write anymore.
I never wanted to write again.
I continued to glare at the wall, wincing and instinctively pulling at my hand whenever it hurt too much, but he held firm. Firm but gentle at the same time.
He tossed the bandages in the trash by the toilet and pulled over a bottle of scotch I had hidden in the cabinet with a bottle of wine for the nights I needed a bath and drink.
How did he know about that?
I watched out of the corner of my eye as he pulled the cork out with his teeth and spit it to the floor before tipping the alcohol onto my cut.
It burned.
I gasped, jerking my hand out of his and pulling it close to my chest, watching as it turned bright red right before my eyes.
I frowned, glaring at it, worry coating my skin. I hadn’t looked too closely at it in two days. It looked a little green, pussy. A kind of red that made me wonder if I was ever going to regain full function of all five of my fingers.
His hand appeared in my line of sight again and I looked at it for a long time before turning back to my hand and studying it. I would lose my hand. I would die of infection.
I had to let him help me, I really didn’t have a choice.
I swallowed and slowly placed my hand back in his, turning my eyes back to the wall.
I should repaint. Pale blue? Who painted their bathroom pale blue? That was an accent color, not a main paint.
I felt him gently dab something onto the center of my palm and then I felt something cool line the cut.
I glanced over again, my curiosity getting the best of me. He was putting some sort of medicine on it. He set the tube down and lifted my hand closer to his face, gently spreading my fingers and tilting my hand back and forth, running his fingers from the base of mine to the tip. Each one. Thumb, index, middle, ring, and finally my pinky.
His eyes were studious, his hands careful.
When he found, or didn’t find, whatever it was he was looking for, he lowered it and reached for the gauze, his eyes flicking up.
I quickly looked away, glaring at the wall. I wasn’t looking at him. I wanted to see how badly my decisions fucked me over.
He wrapped my hand in gauze easily and let me take it back before moving onto my face, repeating the process.
It was harder to hold the glare while watching him take care of the long cuts on either side of my mouth. Steven had sliced up from the corners of my mouth, up towards my temples, only making it to the bottom of my cheekbones on each side. They had been shallow, like Evelyn said, and I didn’t think they would leave too terrible a scar, but there would certainly be a scar.
People would start calling me ‘Joker’. I’d have to get some Syfy makeup or something to make them disappear during signing events. Because now with the collar and the scars, people would surely make connections.
Even so, his eyes were so cool, focused on the task and nothing but the task. He looked angry, simmering, but still focused.
I wondered how he did that. How he controlled it so well. I wanted to learn how to do that. How to have that much control over my emotions, because as it was, I sucked at controlling anything at all.
He taped new bandages along each cut and finally stood, picking up after himself and quickly tossing away the old bandages.
I glared at him before turning my attention to my hand and inspecting it, studying how clean the gauze looked, how professional the wrap looked, and my glare only deepened. You didn’t have to be someone special to wrap up a hand. It wasn’t impressive.
He caught my chin and lifted it, causing me to reel back only for him to grab it again and pull my head forward.
My heart slammed as that familiar scent accosted me fully, only his eyes weren’t on mine this time either, they were on the cut that lined a part of my hairline on the right side of my face. It had healed just fine; I don’t know what he was so worried about.
He straightened and gestured to my other hand.
I frowned, holding it out to him, finding that spot on the wall as he inspected my ring finger.
It was fine. That one was healing nicely. After all the blood was washed away, the tear in my skin hadn’t been that deep. It would still take a couple of weeks to fully heal, but it was better than my palm, which had been sliced down near to the muscle, it felt like.
Everything was fine though. It was, I could handle myself just fine.
He let my hand go and grabbed my upper arm, hoisting me up without warning and he dragged me through the house.
I let him do it. There was no point in fighting this. I’d just be his little puppet. Let him do what he wanted, and he’d leave me be for a few more days before coming back and getting another ‘payment’.
Now that Steven was gone, I owed it all. Wasn’t that how it worked in this world? It always came down to the woman. Every goddamn time.
Fuck men.
He dragged me into the living room and let me go, storming across the house as if he had a point to prove.
I folded my hands across my chest, shaking my head, only to freeze when I saw the woman standing in front of one of my art pieces.
She turned to me, her long dark hair falling in beautiful thick waves to her waist. She had on a fitted leather jacket over a blood red tank-top, her lips painted a matte rose, her jeans fitting her well.
I swallowed, looking her over. Damn. It would be a crime if I didn’t appreciate how beautiful she truly was.
She smiled softly. “Hey, I’m Evelyn, we didn’t get the chance to officially meet yet.”
She had an accent. Russian, I think. Very light, beautiful.
God, she was beautiful.
I glanced towards Everett, who was doing something in the kitchen, and back as she made her way over, her movements as graceful as his. She didn’t have a mask on.
I dropped my hands to my sides and gestured to my face.
She nodded, glancing to Everett and back with a shrug. “My brothers like their theatrics. Masks keep us safe.”
“Evelyn,”
Everett warned.
She rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed at his very existence, which I could thoroughly appreciate. “We all wear them, but I don’t think it’s necessary all the time. Not like Mr. Mystery over here who wears his even when fucking.”
My eyes narrowed and I looked over to Everett, ignoring her last comment and how it threatened to warm my cheeks. He was going through my cupboards. Masks kept them safe? My brows furrowed in question as I found her eyes again.
Her own softened. “I can’t tell you much.”
She reached out, her nails painted the same color as her shirt, and slid her hand over my cheek. Her touch was soft, warm, and it instantly made my eyes fill. “Are you okay? How are you healing?”
I leaned into it, unable to help it, feeling her thumb caress my cheek just above the bandage, my eyes falling shut. I swallowed past the lump in my throat, the pain from the last few days, the fear, slowly dragging me into the depths of Hell.
Her eyes were so kind. Her presence was so good. When was the last time I had been touched like this. Softly, as if I mattered. As if I were cared about. When was the last time someone asked me if I was okay without there being some horrible bite to it? Some insult?
This was nice.
“Baby.”
I opened my eyes and realized that tears had slid down my cheeks, instantly being absorbed by the bandages.
I inhaled sharply and took a step back, quickly wiping under my eyes and hardening my expression. No. No, I didn’t know them. They broke into my house; they brainwashed my dog! None of this was a choice of mine. None of it.
What was wrong with me that I was just letting them do this?
I stumbled back a few steps and looked between them, shaking my head. I needed to call the police.
But I couldn’t because I was wanted for murder.
I wasn’t ready to go to prison. Not today. By the grace of God, I hadn’t been taken in yet, but these two could have led them straight to my apartment.
“Where is your coffee?”
Everett asked, finally turning back towards me. “You drink coffee like people drink water. Where is it?”
I glared at him. I was giving it up. I threw it all away. Did that stop me from ordering it? No, but I was doing my very best.
His eyes sparked in rage. “Should we go back to the basement, little writer, or are you still convinced that was a delusion?”
he threatened, stalking towards me.
I fell back against my bedroom door, my heart racing, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to talk to them. I didn’t want to give him the power of using my own voice against me. My words, my thoughts. I didn’t want him turning my words into something else like Steven did. Like Mom did, like everyone in this whole goddamn place seemed to do. If I kept quiet, I could pretend that I had some semblance of control over whatever the Hell was happening in my life right now.
“You don’t get to not talk to me,”
he threatened. “You don’t get to take that away from me,”
he said, closing the distance between us.
I pressed myself flat against the door, my skin warm as he stepped up to me, sliding his hand around my throat, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, as if he were the one losing what little control he had.
My lips parted, one hand wrapped around the doorhandle, the other pressing against the doorjamb as I stared into his cold silver eyes and didn’t say a word.
His gaze fell to my parted lips, his hand tightening again. “I heard you scream,”
he said, his eyes finding mine again. “Don’t take that away from me.”
I swallowed against the palm of his hand, wondering what was wrong with him. This wasn’t who I met. This person was not the person who fucking assaulted me in the park. Who talked to me in The Club.
I hated him.
I hated me for hating him.
I hated him for making me feel this again.
I didn’t want him to touch me. I didn’t want anyone to touch me ever again.
I shoved him away violently only to jerk my arm back when the pain flared. Shit. My glare lifted back to him, finding those cold eyes glaring back at me. He hadn’t moved an inch.
Because I was weak.
I was a child.
Mom thought so. Steven thought so. Mr. Kingsmen told me to my face that I was still just a child.
Weak, pathetic, little girl.
“Are you going to hit me, little writer?”
he hummed. “Are you that angry that you would hit the man who gave you the best moment of your life? The man who killed the man you didn’t have the guts to kill.”
I wasn’t a killer. I didn’t kill people.
“Because you’re weak. Pathetic. Nothing but a goddamn kitten.”
My eyes narrowed to slits, and I put as much hatred in the look as I possibly could. He already proved to me that he didn’t have the balls to actually torture me, and Steven had beat the shit out of me more times than I could count. His words meant nothing.
Nothing.
He seemed to see this in my eyes because he lifted his chin, his lip curling in disgust and looked me over. “No,”
he said, his eyes finding mine again. “No, you’re the prodigal too scared of your own shadow to return, aren’t you? You’re not brave, you’re terrified and the anger is your armor.”
He leaned in closely, his hot breath brushing over my lips, so close that I had to look up to meet his eyes. “I’ve got a brother with anger issues, his true self revealed by the woman he claimed. This is nothing. Your anger is weak. It’s nothing.”
And despite everything, I swallowed, tears prickling my eyes, but I swallowed them back. I wouldn’t let him see me cry. Not now, not ever.
He grabbed my jaw and yanked me forward until our noses touched, until I could feel the ghost of his lips on mine, my entire body catching fire, my hands wrapping around his wrist. “You want to feel real rage, baby, taste it.”
He rushed forward but just before his lips touched mine, my door opened, and Lucy started snarling.
Between one second and the next, he went from assaulting me to pointing a gun at the intruder with me now pressed between him and the door, fully hidden from view.
Panic instantly filled me. The last time I had been put in this position, I had a ring shoved onto my finger. I couldn’t breathe more than quick shallow breaths, my mind spinning as I tried to remain where I was rather than slipping into another nightmare.
My eyes flicked to Evelyn as my heart raced. Her gun was on the door too, Lucy snarling and snapping in warning.
But a moment later, her gun lowered an inch, her fiery expression turning to irritation. “What the fuck, Azrael?”
“I’ve been greeted by far more guns in far smaller spaces,”
he said in a sing-song voice, the sound making my skin crawl. “More than once by family.”
“That’s because you always show up unannounced.”
I closed my eyes for a second. Just breathe. He wasn’t pressing up against me, he wasn’t forcing me back against the wall, he was just standing there.
I swallowed, gritting my teeth as I opened my eyes again. I still couldn’t look around him though. He was too close. All I could see was his back. The way his spine curved, the way his muscles slid under his shirt and vest, how well they fit him. His scent accosted me, the warmth sliding from his body, caressing every inch of my bare skin.
This wasn’t like what Steven had done. Nothing like it.
I shivered, lifting my hands carefully, holding my breath as my fingers hovered over his back. I remembered how his hand had felt under mine when he finger-fucked me, how his legs had felt when he did the same thing in the park.
How he looked standing above me with that gun tracing over my body, sliding into me.
Nothing but strength and power. Real power. Not the arrogant, ‘alpha’ power those self-proclaimed idiots boasted about on the internet, but real, true power. Unspoken, not needing to be flaunted or shown, because it just was. It exuded from his skin in waves. He didn’t need to say a single thing about being the most powerful person in the room, he just was.
It was no wonder Lucy obeyed him. With the way my head was spinning, I truly wondered what I would do if he asked me to get on my hands and knees and speak.
Seconds ticked by. “You’re not going to lower your gun?”
Azrael asked, causing my eyes to lift to Everett’s right shoulder. His arm was still up, unmoving. Why? Who was this guy?
“Where have you been?”
Everett asked coldly. “Why are you here?”
Azrael was quiet, but something about it was deafening. After a moment, he said, “I’ve met a meek little mouse and a fire-starting daffodil, but I have yet to meet the thorn covered rose.”
My brows furrowed and then my eyes widened. Me? Was he talking about me?
“I assume she’s hiding behind you. I can see her prickling.”
I glared, my hands tensing, but right before I was about to step out, my eyes caught Evelyn’s.
Her eyes were steady, a warning.
I frowned, turning back to Everett. Why? They had guns, and I was sick and tired of people. Just all people. All of them. Every single one of them. Who was this guy to come into my house and call me prickly? Asshat.
I glanced the other direction and found Lucy. She had backed up closer to me, making sure I was within her eyesight. I caught her eyes and nodded for her to quiet.
She kept snarling for several more seconds before she stopped. She kept her head low, and her eyes trained on Azrael, rage burning in their depths.
“Oh,”
he smiled, “she wants to meet me too.”
I wanted to hear—
“She wants to hear what you’re saying,”
Everett said, remaining where he was. “She’s annoying like that.”
I glared at him, reached up, and plucked a hair out of his head.
He flinched, glaring back at me out of the corner of his eye before turning back to Azrael who had released a creepy sort of laugh. “I know a little mouse who likes to listen. Have you picked another mouse, Everett?”
He clicked his tongue. “Sad. I thought highly of you.”
“She’s paying her dues,”
Everett spat. “A debt owed. That’s what we’re here for. She’s nothing to me but a means to an end, a pawn in my game. Why are you here?”
I swallowed, feeling the rock grow in the pit of my stomach. Paying my dues. His whore for the time being, that’s all I was. Which was why I hated his fucking kindness. I was his whore, paying off a debt Steven occurred, nothing more, and I kept letting myself forget that. My mistake. Always my mistake.
“I have my own mission, as always. Don’t worry, I’ll be the ghost breathing down your neck in the depths of the night. I just needed to get a better picture of the rose. You should have used my cameras, yours are a little old, the pictures grainy.”
Everett snarled. “I got them from your storage unit.”
He paused a moment. “Stop hacking into my fucking shit.”
“I could place my own upgraded cameras in here,”
he hummed, causing my eyes to widen, “I’ve done so with the last two, but alas, too much work. These will do, I suppose. Ta-ta for now. Until we meet again, rose, perhaps with less people. Everett’s gotten a taste of that pretty little cunt, but he’s not the only one who can collect a debt.”
My rage exploded.
I shot a look at Lucy, jerking my chin towards the door.
She ran, snarling and snapping.
I heard the door shut.
Lucy hit it, clawing and scraping barking savagely.
I slipped out from behind Everett and found his eyes, the anger beating through me in waves. Cameras? Cameras? He put cameras in my goddamn house!
He shoved his gun away and only spared me half a glance, bored. “Don’t be so shocked, we do our jobs well.”
I turned to Evelyn in question.
She walked over. “I told you my brothers are difficult. Here.”
She pulled out my phone from her back pocket. “I charged it for you.”
My glare eased when I saw my phone in her hand. The screen was already lit up, messages from Katie and my mom littered the screen, but nothing from Steven. Why would there be? He was dismembered. I had seen his heart. Seen the blood. I had seen it all.
Slowly, I reached out and took it from her. Nothing from the police. I stared at it for a long time before turning back to Everett who was shutting the cupboards he had left open and heading for the fridge. “I don’t want to go to prison,”
I finally said, my voice chilling even to my own ears, my cheeks stinging at the stretch of the words.
Lucy looked over at the sound of my voice, her ears perked.
Everett stopped for less than half a second before he pulled things from the fridge. I had seen it though. I had seen the way his body tensed at the sound of my cracked, unused voice. Like the sound had answered something for him that he never wanted answered. “We don’t get caught.”
Four words. Four simple words, and while I had heard them, written them, dozens of times before, hearing them come from his mouth was reassuring. It allowed my shoulders to relax a bit. Allowed me to release a breath.
“We don’t get caught.”
“How much have you written in the last five days?”
he asked, pulling out a pan.
I glanced over to my laptop, suddenly exhausted. “Why does it matter?”
I asked bitterly.
“Everyone has a deadline. How much?”
“None,”
I stated coldly. “I’m never writing again.”
His eyes lifted, chilling. “Oh? Because your stories came to life? That’s a stupid reason to give up on something you actually care about.”
“I don’t care about it. I’m fine without it.”
He cracked an egg before meeting my eyes again, his shoulders tensing. “I don’t coddle, that’s something you need to understand clearly. Allow yourself to want it. Allow yourself to want something.”
“I want you.”
I shook the thought away just as soon as it came and narrowed my eyes. “Why? Because I’ll get it? Because everything will work out for my own good if I just believe hard enough?”
I said in a mocking tone. “I don’t write fairytales, I write thrillers. There are no happy endings.”
He cracked a few more eggs. I didn’t even know I had eggs. “Every single one of your damn books has a happy ending, don’t bullshit me.”
God! I forgot he had read them. “Fine, if you want me to want something. I want you to take off your mask,”
I ordered, folding my arms across my chest. “Go on,”
I said when he looked up, his silver eyes locking me in place. “I want it, so let’s have it.”
I didn’t actually care about seeing his face, in fact, not seeing his face was better. I didn’t want to imagine that there was an actual person behind that mask, but even so, it was a power move. He wanted me to want something, so here I was, wanting it.
His eyes narrowed to slits. “No.”
he turned back to his cooking.
I watched him for a few seconds, my anger growing. Well, that was just great, now it was a pride thing. Now I had to see his face just to prove a point.
I worked my jaw before I stalked into my bathroom with a purpose. I crouched down, searching under the sink for exactly what I wanted. I hadn’t used it in some time, but it would be perfect for showing him how much of an actual dick he was.
When my fingers wrapped around the cold rubber, I smiled.
I grabbed the hammer and stood, storming into the living area and heading straight for my table.
“Fuck,”
I heard him say.
I broke into a run, lifting the hammer high in the air and slamming it down with everything I was.
An arm wrapped around my waist, swinging me around, the hammer hitting nothing but air as my feet left the ground.
I snarled, pain exploding across my face, and started kicking my feet back at him as his free hand wrapped around the hammer. He snatched it with annoying ease out of my grip and threw me on the couch.
I screamed from the sudden weightlessness before landing on the couch uncomfortably.
I sat up, huffing.
He pointed the hammer at me. “You act like a child, I’ll fucking treat you like a child,”
he stated coldly. “Sit there until I say otherwise.”
I glared at him angrily until he finally gave up and turned away. I hated him. I hated him so much I wanted to scream.
Without thought, I jumped up, and lunged from the back of my couch, wrapping myself around his neck and waist like a fucking monkey.
He stumbled back a few steps before he caught himself. “I swear to God.”
I tightened my grip around his neck, grabbing my wrist in my other hand and pulling back with everything I was, the pain nothing compared to the absolute irritation I felt at having this man in my life.
Everett just stood there, clearly unphased. “You’re not strong enough to suffocate me.”
I paused, the rage boiling under my skin again. Maybe not, but I could rip his mask off. I could kick him in the dick.
I reached for his mask, and he immediately grabbed my wrist. “Nice try.”
I shifted my weight and lifted my leg, slamming my heel down towards his cock.
He grunted, falling to one knee. “You fucking cunt,”
he rasped. Everett dropped his hammer, reached back, grabbed my arms and ripped me from his back.
The air left my lungs as he flipped me over him and right onto the ground.
I grunted, my head spinning, my pussy throbbing as he easily climbed on top of me, pinning me to the ground, a snarl on his lips, but the proof that he liked it as much as I did pressing against my stomach.
He leaned in, pressing my arms into the floor, his teeth bared. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
My eyes narrowed, my breathing labored. “Why? What are you going to do, huh?”
I asked through my teeth. “Extend my debt? I know men like you. I give it a week before you get bored and find some other pussy to make a deal with. Just kill me already and be done with it, you coward.”
He snarled. “There are no men like me,”
he bit. “You irritating little bitch.”
But my body was getting too warm, and I could feel his cock throbbing, I could feel the way my hips started to push up. He needed to leave. I needed him to leave.
I wanted him to stay.
I met his eyes evenly. “I bet you wish I would have stayed silent now.”
I needed him to say that yes, he did. That he hated my voice. Hated everything about me. That I was nothing but a pathetic, worthless piece of shit. I needed him to hate me as much as I hated me.
He shook his head. One time, he shook his head, and it was such a small movement, I truly believed I imagined it. “I’d rather you scream like you did that day I dismantled that…boy,”
he said it as if it were poison, “than ever go silent again.”
And the world went silent but for our mingling breath and sizzling anger. Our anger felt so…volatile, so loud. It felt chaotic and hot, and it was fucking painful.
I inhaled sharply, the glare cracking as I felt the tears fill my eyes before I hardened them again, but I saw it. I saw that he saw it. I knew that he had in the way his eyes suddenly devoured every inch of my face before finding mine again and hardening.
His lip curled and then he shoved himself off of me. “Let’s go, Evie.”
I collapsed onto the floor, trying to regulate my breathing, my heart.
“If I come back and your electronics have been destroyed, I’ll do to you what you did to them.”
He didn’t wait for a response before he opened the door, his steps fading down the hall.
Silence fell across the world in a way I didn’t quite understand when he left, only to be filled half a second later by the quiet footfalls of Evelyn.
“Inhale, baby girl,”
I heard her say as I stared at the ceiling. “The stars haven’t collapsed yet.”
Her heels clicked across the floor before pausing a moment later. “My sister came up with that one. She’s a publisher. Take care of those cuts, they’ll heal in no time,”
she added just before the door shut.
I released a shuddering breath, the tears filling my eyes so full, they managed to slip through as that deafening silence filled the world.
He had called her Evie. A sentiment. He had a heart in there and I…I hated that I knew that now because it changed everything.