22 Olivia
June 2nd, 2022
I gasped and groaned when the first drops of hot wax hit my hardened nipple, my entire body vibrating in pleasure. “Oh, fuck,”
I moaned. “What did you give me?”
“Something Azrael created for our torture sessions, but I figured it would be something that would come in handy,”
he purred, tipping some on my other nipple. “You have an issue with allowing yourself to want something. With allowing yourself to feel the orgasm rip through you. Now you don’t have a choice. This opens up every single nerve of yours and while we do use it for torture, you like it fucking rough.”
I groaned, pulling at the ribbon. I pressed my legs together, my pussy aching for something to touch it. Anything. “But you took it too,”
I panted, finding his eyes. “I saw you take it too.”
His pupils were already blown, and the way he was standing very still, it looked to me as if it was affecting him the same way it was affecting me. He couldn’t stand his clothes touching him right now. It was too much. “I couldn’t allow you to be the only one to take it for the first time.”
“Just in case things go wrong, I need to know how you feel,”
his eyes said.
I felt my eyes slowly shift into a glare and I fought the way the cooling wax made my pussy throb. “Don’t do that.”
He set the candle on a dish on the wardrobe and stepped in front of me again. “Do what, exactly?”
“Be so fucking soft. I hate it. Stop doing it.”
He cocked his head to the side. “So, you want me to be angry, aggressive, to take what you owe me? Tell me, Olivia. Use. Your. Words.”
I heard that little hitch in his breath, but I saw the curl on his lips too. He was proving himself right and he was basking in it. “Yes,”
I seethed, my voice trembling in rage. “That’s what I want.”
He cocked his head to the side, every single one of his muscles taut.
I snarled at his condescension. “Punish me,”
I demanded, trembling in need. “Punish me for being a fucking whore. Punish me for letting him touch me. Punish me for being a pathetic piece of shit who was too much of a coward to walk away. Punish me for being weak, for slapping you, for everything I’ve done wrong. Fucking punish me! I dare you,”
I rasped. “Punish me for arguing, fighting, talking back, lying, just fucking punish me.”
A muscle in his jaw feathered, his eyes flashing right before he brought the whip down across the side of my right breast, causing my body to lurch, the pain shifting into something warm and tingling that shot straight to my clit.
I snarled rather than groaned. I didn’t want him hearing how much I liked that. I didn’t want to know how much I liked that. Steven beat the shit out of me, I hated every second of it, I couldn’t like this. If I liked this, I liked what he did to me too. But my ass still hurt from last night, the truth blaring. “The basic deciding factor between abuse and a good fucking is who is behind it and how it’s being give.”
That’s what he had said. He was that deciding factor.
He pulled back the whip and brought it down on my stomach causing my body to lurch, a groan sliding through my teeth. “Don’t swallow it, little writer,”
he told me, bringing the whip down on my nipple. “Feel it.”
The ache between my legs was excruciating. Every time my thighs rubbed together I could feel the slickness between them. “Fuck you,”
I panted, meeting his eyes.
“You don’t get that privilege.”
He slapped the whip against my thigh again and then held it up, gazing at it carefully. He finally clicked his tongue. “This just won’t do.”
He walked over to the bag, set the whip down and pulled something else out. Straps, it looked like, with a bar in the middle.
I rubbed my thighs together, trying to get any sort of friction while his back was turned. Fuck, it was painful. If he would just touch me. Just relieve a little pressure—
He turned back around, and I straightened, glaring at him, my hair falling in strands around my face and shoulders. At least, I hoped I was glaring. I wasn’t in complete control of myself anymore and sweat coated my skin. My entire body was shaking in need. Just a little pressure down there. A graze.
He got down on his knees and my breath caught, my hips moving towards him instinctively only for him to shove me back. “Ah, ah, ah,”
he said, although his voice was thick now, far huskier than normal.
He grabbed my left leg and wrapped the leather around it, buckling it and cinching it down tightly.
I whimpered, reveling in the feeling of his hands on my skin, in the way the leather bit into me.
He shifted to my other leg, wrapping the leather around it, buckling it, and cinching it tightly, a short bar now taut between my thighs, keeping them apart.
His breathing shifted as he gently ran his hands up my thighs, never touching my skin, but close enough to feel the warmth of his calloused fingers.
I groaned, trying to squeeze my thighs together, my muscles straining against the bar. God, that was so unfair.
His hair hung in his face now as he studied his masterpiece, flicking the bar, sliding his hand up the inside of my thigh. He looked like he was in a world of chaos, barely holding onto his own control.
Closer.
Closer.
He leaned in and suddenly, I could feel his hot breath graze my cunt. He inhaled deeply, his fingers digging into me, a low growl falling from his lips on the exhale.
I whimpered, pushing my hips out and he shoved them back against the wall painfully before shoving himself to a stand, his eyes flicking to mine for half a second before he turned back for the bag.
He was sweating now too, his jaw working, his muscles tense. If this shit was affecting him like it was affecting me, I couldn’t imagine why—how he still had his clothes on.
My eyes drifted down, my heart racing. I could clearly see the outline of the bulge in his pants. Rock hard, throbbing.
My mouth watered and I fought against the restraints. “So fucking pathetic,”
I panted, egging him on.
He eyed the duffle bag angrily, but made no move to pull anything else out. “You?”
“You,”
I seethed. “You’re pathetic. Tying up a girl so she can’t touch you? Afraid to be touched, baby?”
I cooed bitterly. “Don’t worry, I’ll only bite to draw blood.”
His muscles were tense, his hands shaking. “There’s only one brother in my family that hates being touched, little writer, and it certainly isn’t me.”
“Then why the restraints?”
I tugged against them.
He tossed the duffle bag aside and turned back to me, his eyes black. “Because sometimes the girls we fuck like to run, and we don’t like that.”
He walked over to the candle, the hot wax now filling the bowl. “We can’t control ourselves, or three of us couldn’t. When our prey runs, we fucking hunt. And after that? Well, they just shouldn’t have run.
“Azrael’s killed many girls that way, I’ve killed four. So, we adopted our interrogation tactics in the bedroom and while sometimes it still ends in death where Azrael’s concerned, at least they don’t try to escape.”
Sweat poured from my skin, causing the ribbon to chafe against my wrists. “You’re lying.”
He walked up to me, that bowl filled to the brim. “I’ve only lied twice in my life. Once about my name, and that kind of stuck. The second time today.”
“Why?”
I snarled.
He held the bowl up above my chest, his eyes locked on mine. “Because you asked me too.”
He dipped it forward.
I cried out as soon as it touched my skin, moaning as it dripped over my breasts, between them, down my stomach, slowly hardening the cooler it got. “God, fuck,”
I panted, fighting the restraints.
“Where did he touch you?”
Everett asked, lowering the bowl.
“Everywhere,”
I said through my teeth.
“Specifics, Olivia. Hands?”
I swallowed, shivering violently. “Hands, feet, arms, lower half of my legs, stomach, neck, face.”
His eyes twitched. “Lips?”
I jerked, leaning forward. “Neck. Lips.”
I wanted to vomit. I wanted to peel this skin off and put a new one on.
“Tongue.”
“Mouth, nipples.”
His hands tightened. “Cock.”
“Pussy,”
I bit. “Ass. Two things that you definitely are.”
A muscle in his face twitched. “Let’s get back to the basics,”
he said tightly. Everett turned, set the bowl down, and left the room.
I snarled, jerking against the restraints, my eyes lifting to see how he had tied them. I wasn’t in the best of shape, but I had some muscles. I had stamina. If I could just lift one arm high enough, I could maneuver the ribbon enough to untie it, I was sure.
“You’re not getting out of those.”
I fell back against the wall. He was carrying in a large bowl with steam drifting from it. “I could.”
“Nobody has ever escaped my knots.”
“Then I look forward to kicking that pride of yours in the goddamn ass.”
He set the bowl down and ignored me.
I worked my jaw, letting my head fall back against the wall. “What is that?”
“Your favorite,”
he answered, turning to face me. In his hands were two gloves, or ice packs in the shape of gloves. “You want to peel your skin off because of your ex-boyfriend, I’m going to do the next best thing.”
He walked up to me and slid one over my left hand. “I’ll erase it.”
I shivered violently, gasping, a moan slipping through my lips as my body tensed and shook.
His eyes flicked to mine, his jaw working. He jerked it on and moved to my other hand, pulling the other on quickly before turning back to the bowl.
He pulled out two more ice packs, wrapping one around each foot.
I released a long breath, trying to fight off the cold and the tingling sensations that kept spiking from the points of pain straight to my pussy and erect nipples. “Bring girls back here often then?”
“Nobody has been to this apartment,”
he answered quietly.
“Then why the ice?”
“You didn’t think being kidnapped was a two and done deal, did you?”
he asked, glancing up as he finished off my feet.
I sneered, giving him the most hate-filled glare I could. “I saw how hard you are,”
I told him, keeping my voice low. “You don’t have the self-restraint not to touch me.”
He slowly stood, the warmth of his body spreading across my skin, and he leaned in until his nose almost touched mine, my jaw dropping in need. I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted his tongue so far down my throat, I choked on it. “I never said I wouldn’t,”
he hummed and took a step back.
The wax had long since cooled, my hands and feet already going numb. Panic slammed through me, desperate panic. “Don’t fuck me,”
I ordered him, praying it would push him to the edge. I needed him to fuck me. I needed his cock inside of me, throbbing, pounding into me so hard that he left fucking bruises, that’s what I needed. What I wanted. “Don’t touch me.”
“It’s impulsive,”
he told me, walking back to the bed, only to pick up the whip. “You saying stuff like that.”
His eyes found mine. “I’m going to break you of that habit.”
He slammed the whip against my inner thigh, causing me to cry out, my pussy dripping. “When we’re done here, my hope is that you’ll speak in clear concise sentences. Everything you say will have a meaning, a purpose. It will ring with truth. I don’t like playing games. I don’t like riddles. I don’t like having to figure out what people are thinking. Those people always end up dead. So, you don’t get to be that person.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Because you don’t want me dead?” I dared.
He whipped my inner thigh again, my body jerking. “Because I said so.”
He watched me quiver, a snarl erupting from his lips.
He looked me over carefully, his eyes filled with hunger, need. After a second, another snarl erupted from him. He was more animal than he was human at this point. Driven by one primal need: to fuck.
He slid the whip between his teeth, ripped off his shirt and tossed it to the floor.
“Fuck me,”
I mumbled, taking in his chest. It was covered in tattoos. Black as night, tattoos everywhere. Coating his…his hardened, muscular body. Really fucking…so many goddamn muscles.
One tattoo in particular caught my attention, but I couldn’t see all of it, just the tips of it. The tips of black wings cresting over each bicep, as if he had a black bird spreading its wings across his back. I wondered if it matched that silver ring he never took off. The one with the raven on it that he wore on his right hand. I wondered if it was important, an emblem of his precious family.
He also had scars. Lots of scars. Slashes and bullet holes, it looked like. They were everywhere.
My mouth started to water as my eyes lifted back to his, the whip in his hand again, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. “Why do you have so many scars?”
I asked, my breathing labored.
“It’s part of the job.”
He whipped my nipple again, my stomach, my ribs.
I was heaving, moaning, my hips moving with each hit. I just wanted something, anything between them. This was getting fucking painful.
Suddenly, the whip was between my legs.
I moaned, grinding my hips against it as he slowly pulled it back and pushed it forward right against my pulsing cunt. “Fuck,”
I moaned, trembling in need.
Everett stepped up to me, holding the pressure of the whip steady as he searched my face, watching me. It’s like he got off on the sounds, the way I looked, the way I reacted to him.
He liked it.
He liked to watch.
I rocked my hips forward, pulling on the restraints, wanting nothing more than to touch him, to drag my nails down his chest, make him hiss with need. “What now?”
I panted, my hands and feet thoroughly numb.
He pulled something out of his pocket, his eyes dropping to my chest. “Now is the next step.”
Only a second passed before a sharp pain erupted across my chest. I groaned, my head falling back against the wall, my hips rocking forward, trying to get more pressure just as another sharp pain erupted across my chest. He had put clamps on my nipples. They were tight, throbbing, and he decided to add to my agony by putting goddamn clamps on them.
He flicked one of them, my body jerking. “He touched you everywhere, so I will too,”
he hummed and released the whip.
I whined, rocking my hips forward, missing the pressure. Missing the feeling of the building orgasm. All my brain felt was pleasure. I needed more. I had to have more.
He stepped to my left side, running his hand along the length of my arm without touching it. Just hovering, his skin so hot, it warmed the air around him, burning my skin.
I groaned, thudding my head back against the wall, looking over at him, watching him hover like he was afraid he’d break me. “My skin isn’t so delicate,”
I told him. “I’m used to the color purple.”
He glanced over at me, his eyes like lunar eclipses now. “Is that why you put on a mask of makeup the first time I gave you an ice bath?”
I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, my eyes locked on his lips. “I’d wear your bruises like I wear dresses,”
I whispered, finding his eyes again. That meant something, I understood that. It was deeper than everything else. It was important, but I prayed it wouldn’t go to his head. I prayed it was just enough to encourage him to keep going.
He watched me for a long time before turning back to my arm, his hand still hovering above the soft skin of my inner wrist. He leaned in and my breath caught, my body stilling, until his lips touched my skin.
I moaned. I couldn’t help it. It was like liquid fire, his lips against my skin, and then I felt his teeth. “Oh, fuck,”
I whimpered.
And then he sucked. Hard. Everything ached. It ached so badly I wondered if I would ever be able to feel my pussy again. I just needed relief.
He kissed and sucked and licked, all the way up my arm, using his hands to press my arm into his mouth tightly. I could feel the bruises forming everywhere he touched, digging his nails into my skin. Sucking, licking, kissing.
He did the same with my right arm, sweat causing my hair to stick to my skin, the room filled with our panting, our slamming hearts. I needed more. “More,”
I begged, my legs sore from straining against the bar. “I want more, you absolute prick,”
I pleaded.
“You want?”
he asked, running his tongue across my shoulder where he had just left another bruise. “Little Miss Writer losing her nerve,”
he taunted, sucking hard against my skin again.
I groaned, trying to lift my legs to wrap around his, but the weight of the ice and the bar kept me from doing much of anything besides jutting out my hips. “And you’re so filled with self-control?”
I grunted, my skin an open bundle of nerves. “If I were touching you right now, you wouldn’t be able to control yourself either.”
He laughed, his hot breath coating my skin. He leaned back just enough to meet my eyes. “You can’t test me. I’ve been through things you can’t even comprehend in that imaginative brain of yours.”
I glared at him, but the way my body craved his was more than clear for both of us. “I bet you I’ve written worse.”
“I’ve read your books,”
he hummed, his lips so close to mine, I could taste him.
My heart was racing faster than it ever had before. “There are things hidden in my place I’m too terrified to publish,”
I panted, leaning in.
“Why?” he asked.
I could taste his air. “Because I don’t want them knowing what I think about when I can’t sleep.”
His hands wrapped around my hips, and he slammed me back against the wall with a warning snarl, his eyes sparking. “What do you think about?”
He was suddenly desperate. He hated the fact that there was still stuff out there he hadn’t read. That there was something out there that he didn’t know about me. He hated it and he needed to know it like I needed him inside of me.
I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. All I knew, all that existed in this life, was him. “The sound a bullet makes shattering through a skull,” I whined.
Everett paused and leaned back enough to meet my eyes, his breathing all but stopped. “What?”
I chewed on my bottom lip and nodded, so desperate for his touch, I thought I might just die without it. “I picked the genre for a reason. Blame it on mommy issues, never being loved, always being unwanted and left alone, take your pick. I dream about what it would feel like to put a gun to someone’s head, the barrel pressing into their temple, and me pulling that trigger.”
His eyes widened, his expression so serious, I thought I would melt. “You scrambled back when I hit your precious boyfriend with my gun,”
he snapped. “You were afraid.”
“I came all over your .45,”
I reminded him.
“You were afraid,”
he half shouted.
“I didn’t want him on me anymore,”
I confessed breathlessly. “I wanted…I wanted…”
He pressed his hands into the wall on either side of me, stepping up, his body pressed against mine, the rough fabric of his pants teasing my sensitive skin. “What? What did you want?”
I swallowed, finding his eyes, seeing the absolute burning lust in them as I carefully moved my hips forward just to feel more of it. “I wanted to be the one to pull the trigger. And I saw you gut him, I wanted to be the one holding that knife. I wanted to feel it slide through his skin. I wanted you to teach me how to break his jaw clean off, to guide my hands.”
His forehead fell against mine, a moan escaping his lips. “Fuck,”
he panted. “Fuck!”
He slammed his fist through the wall and shoved himself away from me as if he suddenly couldn’t wait to get away from me.
My eyes widened and I fought against the restraints. “Wait,”
I said, watching him walk away. “Wait. Come back. Everett, come—”
He spun around and ran at me.
My breath caught, my body jerking, my eyes widening.
He slammed his lips against mine ferociously, one hand threading into my hair, the other grabbing onto my hip so hard, I knew bruises would remain when this was done.
My heart exploded, a cyclone of emotions erupting within me as his lips worked against mine passionately and without remorse.
I groaned, despite the pain from my cheeks, our tongues clashing together, his teeth biting down on my lip, his hands tightening their grip painfully so. Fuck I wanted to touch him. Everything in me wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel him everywhere all at once.
He kicked the ice packs off my feet and his hand left my hip for only a moment before something sharp sliced through my skin.
I hissed, my head pounding from lack of oxygen. I could feel warmth pouring down my leg as his lips pressed into mine, but all I could think about was that my legs were free.
I lifted them, my torso screaming, and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him against me, his hands exploring my body. Digging, bruising, scratching across my skin.
I was going to suffocate if he kissed me any longer, but I didn’t care. I grinded my hips against him, feeling his slick torso sliding against them, his muscles working as he moved his body closer.
One hand disappeared again, another sharp slice cutting against each wrist and suddenly, my hands were free.
My shoulders screamed in pain as I lowered them, flicking the gloves off and wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pulling myself against him as tightly as I could.
Fuck, I couldn’t get enough. I wanted more.
More.
More.
More!
I couldn’t feel my hands, but I did my best raking my nails along his shoulders as he carried me away, I didn’t know where, I didn’t care. I heard a crash, a few of them, and then my ass was put on something cold.
He finally broke away from me, his lips going to my neck only for his teeth to sink into it a second later.
I groaned, dragging my nails down his chest, leaving trails of blood in their wake, finding his belt only to struggle and whine. My hands were numb. I couldn’t get his pants undone. “Everett,”
I whimpered.
He pulled back and grabbed my neck, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Stop saying my name.”
I could see the need in his gaze. The way he craved me as much as I craved him. “Everett,”
I whispered, pushing him, watching his lip curl into a snarl. “Fuck, Everett,”
I moaned, tightening my legs around his hips, jerking him forward.
He snarled, unbuckled his belt and kissed me hot and deep. A second later, pain exploded across my left breast, forcing me to rip away and cry out.
He pulled the other clamp off, and I cried out again. “You fucker,” I panted.
“You should listen.”
“I did listen, I just didn’t want to fucking obey you. I’m not a dog.”
He smiled and pulled my head against his. “Woof woof,”
he taunted. His hand wrapped around the back of my ass, and he jerked me forward.
The snarl on my lips quickly turned to a moan when I felt the tip of his cock slide right into me.
I groaned, rocking my hips forward, his cock sliding deeper into me, stretching me, filling me just as that .45 had, maybe even more.
He slid in another inch.
Fuck, definitely more.
Everett panted, keeping his hand around my throat, his forehead against mine as he shoved his hips forward.
I grunted, my cunt clamping down around him as he sank deeper into me. “God, that has to be it.”
He laughed, the chuckle setting my soul on fire. He shoved it deeper. “Relax, Olivia, be a good little brat for me and breathe deep.”
I slid my hands up his shoulders, digging my nails in deep, forcing myself to relax.
He must have felt the shift because that very second, he slammed into me.
I cried out, our breath mingling, our hearts racing. “Oh, fuck.”
I could feel him throbbing inside of me, it was everything I wanted and so much more. I could feel myself stretching around him, but even completely relaxed, it was a tight, euphoric fit. God, it was everything.
He pulled out and shoved back in, testing the waters, so to speak, hitting that overly sensitive spot on the way back in. “Tell me what you want, writer.”
I grit my teeth, sliding a hand back into his hair, keeping his forehead against mine. “I want to see your face while you fuck me like I ran off and you had to hunt me down and punish me for it,”
I whispered.
A creepy little smile touched his lips. “Then take it off.”
My eyes widened, my breath hitching. I didn’t waste any time, fearing he might take it back. Gripping his hair in one hand, I reached over with my other and carefully lifted his mask off.
I dropped it to the floor and took in his face. Smooth and clear, dark brows, a tattoo around the edge of his right eye in a half-moon shape, a scar crossing over that same eye, from his eyebrow to the bridge of his nose, leaving a thin gap in that eyebrow. He had tattoos lining his right jaw, up around his temple too, the same side that mask covered. Something identifiable.
I reached up and ran a finger over that marking around his eye, his eyes studying mine as if he were waiting for me to reject him. To leave. To beg him to stop. “What is it?”
It looked like font, but it was so small, I couldn’t make it out.
His forehead fell back against mine. “I’ll tell you if you survive this.”
I laughed. “Survive you? Your pride is far too big.”
“No,”
he panted. “This. Everything.”
He adjusted his grip on my neck, tightening it, his other hand digging into my ass. “Don’t fucking move.”
He pulled back and shoved himself to the hilt. His rhythm wasn’t forgiving. It was hard and fast and absolutely painful as the back of my knees dug into the edge of the counter, my head pressed against his, my nails scoring his skin. I felt as if I were being fucked by a goddamn robot, it was so hard, so fast, so perfect. It was almost inhuman, but it felt so fucking good too.
I felt that feeling build deep in my stomach, radiating through my entire body, everything tingling and on fire as if I had just been plugged into a telephone wire. Every slam was another shock of pleasure going straight to my fucking toes.
I couldn’t hold in the cries, the moans, the grunts as the sound of our slapping skin and heavy breathing filled the room. “I’m gonna cum,”
I whimpered. “Fuck, Everett.”
He tightened his grip around my throat, cutting off my air supply. “Don’t say that.”
My head was pounding, everything hurt, and everything felt good all at the same time. It was the best kind of pain. The only pain that mattered.
“I’m gonna…”
I inhaled sharply and it exploded through me in hurricane of pleasure. I cried out his name, his thrusts getting more violent as his lips slammed against mine.
My body tightened against his, my legs shaking, my muscles tensing. I groaned into his mouth, sinking my teeth into his lip so hard, blood exploded across my tongue.
I groaned, my pussy throbbing, tightening around his cock, my head spinning. Fuck, it tasted so good. It tasted like life. It tasted like control. It tasted like—
Another one ripped through me, forcing me to pull away from him. “Fuck, Everett,”
I whimpered, trembling against him.
He forced my eyes to meet his, wild and unforgiving. His breathing was labored, his chin coated in blood now. He searched my eyes for several seconds before he spoke again. “Say it again,”
he demanded, something in his own eyes shifting.
“Everett,”
I breathed out, watching his eyes turn black with lust.
He shoved himself into me, his nails digging into me. “Fuck, again,”
he ordered. “Like you mean it. Like only you could.”
I moaned, wrapping myself tightly around him, our eyes locked in a way that could never be broken. “Everett,”
I breathed out.
He slammed into me like it was the last time his cock would ever fuck again.
“Oh, fuck, Everett,”
I whined desperately.
He groaned my name in a way I had never heard it said before. There was a look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher. Realization, rage, lust, need. Shame.
Why was there shame?
His forehead fell against mine, both of us breathing hard, shaking, our hands digging into each other painfully. My eyes fell shut, exhaustion sweeping over me in waves.
I needed water. I needed rest. I needed to get away from him.
But I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay in his arms. I wanted to never leave this moment. Ever.
A few seconds passed and his hand forced my head back, my tired eyes meeting his. Hard and unforgiving. The normal Everett back in action. “Your payment is complete,”
he said bitterly, his tone sounding like something inside of him had died.
He pulled out of me unforgivingly, giving me just enough time to scramble back onto the counter before he turned, grabbed his mask, and left the room without another word, leaving me on the counter in his kitchen, covered in sweat, blood, wax, and cum.
The drugs, or whatever it was he had given me, wore off as soon as the door shut behind him.
Either that or my shame was enough to overpower whatever aftereffects it had.
Because I felt it. I felt shame on an entirely different level now. Shame and rage.
Absolute, brutal rage.
Because that had been life-altering—mind-altering fucking. What just happened became a part of a person’s genetic makeup, and I hated it. I hated it because he just proved, once again, that it was nothing.
Nothing but a debt owed.
A means to an end.
And I had fallen for it again. But this time, I thought he had to. A stupid, idiotic, pathetic part of me thought I had seen something that clearly wasn’t there and never would be. Why would it? I was not that idiotic girl who thought she could change the heart of the mafia prince, but what the Hell?
Come on.
That had to have meant something to him, right?
That couldn’t have just been a debt owed, that had to have held more.
Unless he was just that cold-hearted, which I knew he was. Rationally, I knew that.
Irrationally?
Irrationally, I was the idiot girl who was letting herself fall for the serial killer.
Goddammit!
I wasn’t stupid. I knew he knew I would ‘follow direction’s’ and leave, but I certainly couldn’t stay.
So, I slipped on the first things I found, a sweater resting over a chair, and a pair of sweats and socks left on the back of the couch. I took the cash I found on the table, before finally leaving the apartment.
I hailed a cab, gave him the cash, and went back to my place, ignoring the driver’s judgmental looks the entire way.
Yeah, I couldn’t imagine how I looked either. A monstrosity, probably.
He had sliced through my thighs and my wrists. I hadn’t really felt it because of the drugs. But by the time I got home, the sweater and sweats had blood stains on them. I wasn’t sure if they’d come out, and I didn’t care.
I took a long shower, dressed all of my wounds, and Lucy and I crawled into bed without making a single sound.
Payment. That’s what this was. And I would have remembered that had he not given me some creepy ass torture device his creepy ass brother made specifically for torture.
God, how could I have been so stupid?
Whatever. He could have his sex. I could have my orgasm, deal with my shame, and then, once it was paid off, I would never have to see him again. That’s how it had to be, no matter what I really wanted.