Chapter 16
Emersyn
It’s since gone dark outside, and Turner still hasn’t come in. I’m not sure if what happened between us is the reason—and I did something wrong—or if it’s entirely unrelated. When the moment started, I thought of it as survival. When it ended, I wanted more of him.
Why do I still have a soft spot for him? I flip back the covers and crawl into bed, mulling it over and wincing at the ache between my legs. His story is so freaking sad, and maybe that’s where my empathy comes from—but also, I’m trapped here. He’s tried to kill me. He murdered Adam.
But maybe it’s part of his mental health issues?
I snort. All murderers have mental health issues, and I don’t feel sorry for most of them.
I turn over onto my stomach and bury my face in the pillow, letting out a frustrated sigh.
It shouldn’t feel this complicated, but then again, it was complicated between us long before he killed Adam and I willingly spread my legs for him.
It’s out of survival. That’s it. That’s all it is.
But as I hear the cabin door creak open and Turner and Gunner step inside, my heart skips a beat—and my thighs clench. I lay there in silence for the next thirty minutes, waiting for what he’s going to do next. Finally, the bedroom door creaks open, and I brace, waiting.
Once the shower starts, I roll over onto my side, facing the wall.
This bedroom is about as bare as they come, furnished with just a queen-sized bed, one nightstand and a dresser.
It reminds me of a hotel, except the bed feels more broken in, the sheets are flannel, and there’s not one single piece of art on the wall—not even the shitty kind.
I close my eyes, willing myself to just fall asleep. I mean, the best way to die would probably be in my sleep, if he’s going to kill me, right? Wrapping my arms around my body, I listen to the water shut off, Turner’s footsteps creaking across the floor, and then a dresser drawer opening.
He’s gone through these motions before with me in bed, and then he always leaves, disappearing somewhere upstairs… But not tonight. I feel him lingering, and the heat of his gaze burns into my body, heat flickering through my core. I swallow my nerves, waiting for his next move.
“I know you’re not sleeping,” he says, rustling with the covers on the opposite side of the bed. “You’re holding your breath. What for?”
Heat creeps into my face. How the hell does he know?
How often has he watched me sleep? I choose silence, and he lets out a sigh, crawling into bed beside me.
The heat from his body is a nice touch, given the cold nights I’ve spent alone, and I have to physically force myself to stay put, rather than move toward him.
“So we’re back to silence now?” His voice is flat, but there’s a hint of emotion there—enough to cause me to roll over and face him, taking in the way he’s lying on his back, his hand pressed against his forehead.
“No, we’re not. I just don’t know what to say.”
He cocks his head in my direction, and even in the dark, I can make out his eyes focused on mine. “When you got here, you had a lot to say. All the time. I’m sorry I fucked that up for you.”
Why is he suddenly acting like a decent person? I take a deep breath, the scenes in the kitchen of us dancing coming back to mind. Emotions bubble up in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” His fingers brush my hair out of my face, sending tingles through my body and consequently relaxing me more than a murderer should.
It’s so hard to hate him, especially knowing so much about him.
I slide my hand over his, where it’s resting against my cheek, and breathe in, the woodsy masculine scent of him strangely comforting.
He scoots closer, his legs brushing mine.
My eyes flutter open. “Why am I not scared of you, Turner?”
“I don’t know.” He searches my face. “But I liked you better when you were.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because now, even though you let me fuck you, you’re indifferent. Maybe pissed. Sickened. It’s all of the things that I don’t want you to feel toward me. Fear can be exhilarating, and I can turn it into excitement for you…” His voice trails off. “But I can’t change you thinking I’m a sick fuck.”
A knot grows in my throat, surprising remorse funneling in my chest. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
“No, I killed your boyfriend because I wanted to. He was a prick, and in the five seconds I heard him speak, I knew he didn’t understand what he had. So, I’m not sorry for it. I’m only sorry that I hurt you. I think that qualifies as a sick fuck.”
I purse my lips, trying to process everything he’s saying to me—and why the hell it makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside. “Okay,” I force the word out.
He chuckles quietly, removing his hand and rolling onto his back again. “Goodnight, Em.”
I lay there in silence for a few moments, and then reach for him, giving into the part of me that wants him—the part of me that started out small and seems to be slowly taking over.
He catches his breath as I draw myself into him, snuggling up to his body.
Turner wraps his arm around me, holding me tightly.
“I don’t hate you,” I whisper to him, letting the warmth of his body and thud of his heartbeat lull me to sleep.
I feel him leave the bed early in the morning, and I scoot into the spot he was sleeping in, soaking in the heat until it grows cold. After laying there for a few minutes longer, I flip the forest green quilt back, giving up on getting anymore sleep.
I slide into a pair of light wash jeans and black sweatshirt, then brush my teeth and redo my messy bun.
It’s two days till Christmas, and it doesn’t feel any different than any other day—not that it should.
Guilt hits my chest as I think of Aaron and Catie, who have no idea that Adam is gone.
Not to mention, my whole freaking family is probably worried sick about me.
My stomach lurches, and I vomit into the toilet, losing what little I’ve eaten in the last few days.
“Oh hell, are you okay?” I feel a hand on my back as I heave again, the soreness between my legs emphasized as my thighs clench to steady myself. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head as I straighten, eyeing Turner wearily. “I’m fine,” I choke out, wiping the tears away as I grab for a piece of toilet paper to wipe the corners of my mouth.
“Would you stop lying?” he snaps at me as I flush the toilet.
“It’s getting really old. You came out yesterday, playing some kind of horny empath, but now you’re hurling your guts up?
You’re still not talking to me the way you did before, either,” he exasperates, starting the sink and grabbing a cup for me to rinse my mouth out with.
“What do you expect?” I fire off back at him, losing my filter.
“You fucking murdered someone right in front of me—and that guy, he has a fucking family and people who care about him. They’re getting a dead brother and son for Christmas this year.
Actually, worse. Because you know what? He’s just going to fucking disappear, Turner, and you’re not even sorry about it.
Not to mention, a lesser offense, my family is probably worried sick about me. ”
His muscles visibly tense beneath his gray henley. “Yeah, you’re right, and they can all join the rest of the world that doesn’t have answers.”
“Why?” I throw my hands in the air. “Why add to that? Isn’t the world fucked up enough as it is? You could’ve let him go. You could’ve just told him to leave.”
“He was a dick,” Turner snaps at me. “He had it coming, and he tried to hurt my dog. You don’t understand how much I need him.”
“Maybe,” I admit, meeting his gaze. “But let nature take its course. It’s not your job to play judge and jury.”
“No,” he growls, suddenly angry. “I will play judge and jury in my house, on my fucking land. He chose to trespass and try to take away what’s mine. You,” he grabs my chin and hauls me to him, “are mine.”
“You wish,” I sneer, not backing down from the challenge. “You’re not the only one who can shoot a gun in this house.”
A wicked smile stretches across Turner’s face as he pins me against the bathroom counter, his erection digging into my lower stomach.
“You really know how to turn me on, Em. You better watch your mouth before I show you who’s boss here.
” I hate the way I react to him, my body suddenly arguing with my senses.
My chest heaves as he brushes his nose against mine.
“Why did you let me have you, Em? If you think what I did was so bad?”
I open my mouth, but he continues. “You can tell me it’s self-preservation, but we both know, you were wet with anticipation for me.
” Turner’s lips graze my skin as he makes it to my ear.
“Maybe I’m not the only one here that has a jet-black heart, because whether you want to admit or not, you’d fuck me again right now.
So maybe the fact that I’m a sick fuck, only arouses you more. ”
“Fuck you,” I choke out, my underwear soaked with the evidence that he’s right.
He breathes in deep, his exhale setting my skin fire. “Wouldn’t you like to, Emersyn. But I have things to do. So be a good girl, and don’t think about starting a war with me. I always win.” He releases me then, and begins to walk away, leaving my heart thrumming in my ears.
“Turner,” I grab his arm, tugging him back to me, breathless. “You can’t win.”
His jaw tenses, his eyes darkening. “And why is that, Em?”
I brush my fingertips across his cheek, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Because I’m already on your side, even if I don’t know that I want to be.”
Turner’s eyes drop from mine, and he shakes his head, before slipping out of the bathroom and leaving me there in a stupor. I just admitted the truth I’ve been battling since everything happened…
And he didn’t say a word.