11. Garrison
ELEVEN
GARRISON
I grit my teeth as hot water floods the gash on my leg. Unsurprisingly, I look down to find pink water swirling around my feet. I know I need proper stitches, that much is obvious. But he didn’t hit anything major and I have shit to do so for now, I’m gonna have to grit it out. The few mouthfuls of whiskey I took on my way in haven’t done much, but the bottle has plenty left waiting for me.
Rolling the bar of soap between my hands, I replace it in the dish then scrub my chest. White suds cling to the hair on my chest as water falls against my shoulders and back. Fuck this feels good, and overdue.
Carsyn’s gonna hate me a little bit more before she doesn’t, but I’m okay with being her monster until the time is right. I could just haul off and try and tell her everything now but a woman like Carsyn? She wouldn’t believe it. She’d poke holes in everything and question me relentlessly until she had herself convinced that I was lying.
She needs proof. She needs to hear it, see it and experience it, and I get that. I never would’ve believed Liam is who he is had I not been faced with the truth of it. In our hearts, I think, we want to believe in good. I don’t find her na?ve for that; it makes her human.
Men like Liam Davis and Forrest Conway, on the other hand, are something else entirely. They roam the earth growing stronger from each trauma they inflict. They’re sent here by the devil himself, maybe, I don’t know. What I do know is a person like Carsyn should not exist in a world where Forrest Conway does, or where Liam does for that matter. Liam’s crimes may not be as bad as Forrest’s—or they may, I don’t know the extent of it. Either way, I won’t stand for them dragging her through it, using her, manipulating her.
Using the small bottle of shampoo on the shelf, I wash my hair, keeping suds in my hands to wash my cock and balls, too. When I’m clean, I get out, wrap a towel around my waist and find my bottle. Taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, I prop my bad leg up and analyze the wound. I need to keep it elevated for the night, but I know that’s not gonna happen. Equally, I don’t want to waste lidocaine or any other numbing agent I have on hand, not yet.
Gotta take care of it the old fashioned way.
With just my towel on, water dripping from the ends of my hair down my back, wetting the floor beneath me as I go, I stumble into the kitchen and pull out one of my med kits.
“You can’t leave me here like this,” Liam rasps, watching me as I look for the small glass bottle. Finding it, I unscrew the lid and soak a few cotton balls before propping my leg up on the counter.
“She won’t believe you,” Liam says.
“Yeah?” I reply, placing the clove-oil-soaked balls on my self-stitched stab wound. Over them I place a few pieces of gauze, then some large bandages. When I’m done, I make my way toward Liam, bending at the waist to bring my face an inch from his. He’s right. She won’t believe me. Not me alone. But I have what it will take to show her I’m not lying. “You sure about that?”
I leave him there, glaring and struggling with his cuffs as I head back to my room for a pair of sweats and another few drinks of whiskey. I haven’t heard a peep from Carsyn since I put her in her room an hour ago, but before I go check on her, I need to rest my fucking leg. Hell, I’m starting to think a gunshot wound would’ve been easier to fix.
I brush my teeth and hair, toss a gray henley on, and flop down on my bed, tucking a pillow beneath my ankle to elevate my calf. With the whiskey bottle to my lips, I use my free hand to turn on the television set. I don’t think I’ve turned it on more than a couple of times while I’ve lived here, but tonight, I need a distraction.
My leg hurts, and the way Carsyn’s been looking at Liam fucking pisses me off.
The TV flickers on, and the local news fills the screen.
In a blue marquee along the bottom of the screen, tall white letters spell out the name of the man being interviewed. As if I wouldn’t recognize Colton Beckett, I read his name anyway, processing.
I guess this makes sense. A loved one gets kidnapped and the first thing the family does is a press circuit. But I tap the up button on the volume until I can hear what the blonde reporter is saying.
“And tell us again who you and authorities believe she’s with,” she urges, shoving the microphone in Colton’s face. My spine straightens when a blonde woman on the other side of him comes into frame, her eyes full of tears, her hair down over her shoulder in a messy, long braid.
“My God,” I breathe, sitting up a little as I take another pull from the bottle. “Kinleigh.”
She looks… Well, right now she looks like hell. But goddamn, she looks healthy. Well fed, no bruises, dressed warm, clinging to Colton’s arm. The two of them, they’ve been through hell but they made it out. I can’t imagine how hard Kinleigh had to work to lead some semblance of a normal life. And being in love with a woman who’s been through what she’s been through while tending to your own captivity trauma? Colton Beckett is strong, and I knew it from the first moment I met him. Despite the fact he fucked up years of undercover research and planning by stumbling upon Forrest’s operation and subsequently freeing the women before we safely could, Colton Beckett isn’t on my shit list.
But I understand why I’m likely on his. And Kinleigh’s.
Setting the whiskey aside, I get to my feet and make my way across the hall to Carsyn’s room. With the back of my knuckles, I knock gently a few times and to no surprise to me, she doesn’t answer.
“I’m coming in, Carsyn,” I warn her through the door before opening it, my hand still on the knob as I spot her on the bed. Her chain tangles in the blue comforter, but between her hands are a book.
“I don’t know why you tell me you’re coming in. You’re gonna do it if I say no anyway,” she grumbles as I move past the foot of the bed to the TV on the dresser. I press the power button and the same channel appears on screen.
With the news flickering against the side of my face, I study her as she watches it. Eyes wide and glossy, Carsyn swallows thickly, completely forgetting about the novel between her hands as she edges forward on the bed, closer to the TV.
“If anyone has seen my sister or this man, please, I’m asking you from the bottom of my heart,” Colton says, tugging off his Cattleman as he presses it to his chest. Kinleigh clings to him, burying her sobs in his shoulder. “Please notify the FBI. Call 911. Please,” he beckons, and I notice he does not make mention of the Buffalo Trails sheriff’s department.
“Please help us bring her home,” Kinleigh adds, her frail voice sending bumps over my arms and down my back.
I’m glad Kin made it out.
Chains rattle, and I turn just in time to see Carsyn attempt to loop the extra length around my neck. Catching it in the center, I tug it off me, over my head easily with one arm, using my other hand to hold her by the throat.
She fights against me, throwing punches, screaming, tears everywhere. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” she hollers, and in the midst of the many curses, she snaps.
The chain falls from my hand to the floor as she leaps onto me, throwing her fists into my neck and ear, my shoulders, my chest, anywhere she can make contact. Hell, she even bites me in the throat as I’m trying to peel her off of me without hurting her.
“Quit, goddamn it!” I shout, pushing her into the mattress with finality, pinning her there. Her legs flail, the chains shake, and she screams. God, does she scream.
“I’m here! I’m here! Colton! Colton, I’m here!” she screams, her eyes closed, tears all over her cheeks, making the hair around her face damp. The pillow, too.
Hovering over her, I apply the least amount of pressure necessary to hold her down, and I wait. I hold her and wait. Wait for her voice to get weak, for her legs to give out, for her spirit to dwindle.
Finally, a few minutes later, she grows weary and settles into the bed, her eyes opening. Swollen, rimmed in red, she looks up at me, her bottom lip trembling. “Please,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.
She’s begging for freedom, and we both know I can’t give it to her yet. But when her tongue peeks out, tracing her bottom lip, I take my chances.
Her hands come to my chest, and press into my pecs as I lower my mouth to hers.
She hums when our mouths connect, and the tiny emotion vibrates through my groin. I pull back, despite the fact that my lips pressed to hers is probably the most right I’ve ever felt.
“Calm down, Carsyn,” I breathe, kissing her again before she can protest. She lifts off the pillow a little, meeting me for the kiss this time, her soft moans gaining intensity when my tongue slides against hers.
“Colton can’t hear you,” I tell her, though I know it’s not comforting. Truth is, I can’t comfort her. Not yet. I don’t normally comfort anyone in my custody. Don’t normally stock my “home” and fill it with their sized clothes, either. And I’ve never wanted to… until now. “You’ll see him again, okay?” I hear myself promising.
“Let me go,” she whimpers, her words begging for freedom as her hands slip underneath my henley and move up the curve of my back.
I take her jaw in my hand and press my mouth to hers, drowning her in a deep kiss. She mewls her frustration and depravity into my mouth, her spine arching off the mattress as she grinds her little body against mine, starved for me. After all, this is what she wanted a few nights ago. Me. My body. My cock making her forget her name.
She widens her legs around my hips, reaching between us to tug my sweats down. Hard and thick, Carsyn curls her fingers around my cock, her palm wrapping my shaft. “Fuck,” I hiss, fighting the urge to rip her leggings off and bury my cock deep inside of her.
“Please,” Carsyn whimpers, and I move my gaze from my cock in her hand up to her eyes, wide, full of unshed tears. A minute ago, she was begging for her freedom, but now, she’s begging for me.
Fuck the leggings.
I reach between us, holding my body over hers on one arm, and tear her leggings by the waist, straight down the center. She moans in response, lifting her head off the pillow to crash her lips against mine, nails carving lines down my back as she does.
Finding the thin strip of fabric over her cunt, I tug it aside, sliding my fingertips over her bare lips. Fuck she’s wet. So wet that when I slip two fingers inside of her, I hear it, and so does she.
“Eager for me,” I rasp, but not patronizingly.
She squeezes my cock in her hand. “Could say the same for you.”
And with my fingers buried in her pussy and my cockhead weeping into her palm, our eyes linger, breath caught. I know who she thinks I am, and I know what she thinks I’ve done. But I also know that deep down inside of her somewhere, she questions it. Because Carsyn Beckett is smart, and she trusts her gut. And in her gut, she wants me. I know it.
Inviting me inside, she opens her legs wider, eyes still holding. My mouth finds hers as I position my cock at her entrance. A very real part of me wants to ease slowly inside of her, to take my time and fuck her right, but that’s not Garrison, and that’s not what she needs. Not tonight. Her eyes search mine as I kiss her again. “Hold on,” I warn, as her hands come to my shoulders and her heels dig into my lower back.
She nods like she understands that this will be wild and harsh. “Destroy me,” she whimpers, and I pull my mouth away from hers long enough to get a good look at her face in the dim light of the bedside lamp. Wide, amber eyes blink up at me, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing a bearded, mustached man.
In one quick stroke, I shove my cock inside of her. Carsyn coughs a little when I’m all the way in, pressing her hand to her lower belly for a second. “What?” I breathe, my hips rolling between her open legs, my full balls slapping her bare ass with each stroke in.
“Destroy me, Garrison. Fuck me so hard that it hurts. Please,” she breathes, tearing my shirt off over my head. I lift an arm at a time to help her get it off, and as soon as it’s tossed to the floor, her hands stake claim on my chest. “Please,” she begs as she roams over every flexed tendon, every swollen muscle.
Without a word, the kissing is on the shelf, and so is the whispering and soft warnings. I hook my hands behind her knees and roll her back onto her shoulders and neck, leaving her cunt and asshole on display through her torn pants. I spit on her pussy, then slap it with my hard cock, and the moan she lets out nearly shakes her chains, I swear to God.
“You’ve been wanting this,” I tell her, using my thumb to push the crown of my cock into her cunt. A thrust of my hips and I’m balls deep, Carsyn’s scream is caught by her hand as she cups it over her mouth.
“ You’ve been wanting this,” she manages to grit out between yelps and moans.
“Take off your shirt,” I command, fucking her hard, so hard that the bed shakes, hitting the wall with each thrust.
“C-can’t in th-this position,” she moans, adding, “stupid.”
With my cockhead pressed against her cervix, I move my hands from her legs long enough to tear her tank open, right down the middle. Hooking my hands under her thighs, I roll her onto her shoulders and continue ravaging her cunt with my cock, stroking in and out with relentless power. My body slaps and slams against hers, Carsyn gasps and moans, her tits jiggling with each thrust.
I don’t dirty talk. Neither does she.
I just fuck her like crazy, at one point taking her by the hips to flip her onto all fours. I fill my fist with her long, silky hair and yank her head back while I watch my thick, veiny cock disappear into her body, over and over.
Her hairless pink lips grip my cock, and the sight, smell and sound of us has my nuts tightening, my stomach clenched.
“You got a good cunt to fuck, Carsyn,” I tell her as my climax nears, the pulsing in my groin undeniable. “Wet, greedy, it’s fucking perfect.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” she breathes, her hands moving around the bedding, clutching the sheets. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, on my knees behind her, my chest and back covered in evidence. Scrapes and scratches leave me red, but the sight of her with her ass backed into my cock is fucking perfection. “Choke me,” she begs, stealing my focus from our reflection.
My hips keep the momentum going as I let her hair go, watching chestnut waves spill down her back and over her shoulders. Swiftly, I wrap my palm around her throat, pulling her back just enough to put pressure on her breathing. She gasps and I thrust, the only noise in the room coming from our feral bodies taking pleasure from one another.
Pressure builds and my toes curl, and I know I’m not gonna last. “C’mon, turn around, face me,” I groan, my voice thin as my orgasm nears. Doing as I tell her, Carsyn turns around on the bed, her eyes immediately locking onto my cock in my hand.
“C’mon, lick your pussy off my cock,” I tell her, shoving my hand in her hair, yanking her face to my groin. She does as I tell her, opening her mouth as I guide my cock inside. She can’t take all of me, but she sucks and licks the first few inches, moaning the entire time.
I don’t warn her, but I do watch her face as I come. Each pulse of white hot cum has her eyes rolling closed, her throat working down every bit of it. I come, cursing, pulling her hair, watching her face as she moans and swallows through all of it.
When my balls are empty, I shove her down onto the bed, hook her knees around my shoulders and press my mouth to her clit, swollen and sticky.
“Oh fuck, Garrison,” Carsyn moans, reaching down to stroke her fingers through my hair, pushing it off my face. And after just a few flicks and the tip of my finger circling her cunt, Carsyn’s body tightens, her words drifting. “Oh,” she manages just before she clamps her thighs around my head, her spine curling as she comes hard.
I eat her until she’s motionless, exhausted and limp on her bed, then drag my beard along her inner thighs in a quiet moment of delight.
When she’s limp and her eyes are closed, I get off the bed and dig around in her drawers where I’ve put more clothing. I pull out a pair of sweats, a tank top and some underwear, tossing them to the foot of the bed.
“How’s your leg?” she asks quietly, still a little out of breath. Her tired eyes survey me as I stuff my cock into my sweats and find my balled up henley on the floor.
“Get dressed,” I tell her, feeding my arm through my shirt one at a time. “And it hurts.” I shove my hand through my hair. “You ever been stabbed?”
Slowly, Carsyn sits up on the bed, her torn clothes and pink, used flesh making me hard again. “Na, kicked by a horse, shot with a BB gun, but never stabbed.” She smirks at me, sarcastic but cute. “But the night is young.”
I roll my eyes and grab her hips, dragging her to the edge of the bed. “Here,” I say, lifting her arms up to take the shredded tank off of her. I slip the new one on, then get to my knees next to the bed, tugging off the remainder of the old leggings.
“Gotta uncuff me to put the new ones on,” she reminds me after I get the last bit of the old pair off and unravel it from her cuff.
“You gonna try and kick me, or choke me or attack me if I do?” I ask her, reaching for the keys shoved into the zippered pocket of my sweats.
She shrugs. “Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, I’m tired.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Fuck, I’m pretty tired too.” I uncuff her, slip the panties and pants up her leg, and recuff her as she shimmies them up her hips, still sitting on the bed.
I get to my feet and look around the room, moving to turn the TV off before I leave. On my way out, Carsyn stops me. “You deal with monsters all the time. So let me ask you, you think I’m a monster?”
I scratch the side of my jaw, fighting the urge to crawl back into that bed and have her again. “You’re my prisoner. How does that make you a monster?”
Her brows rumple, like I’ve missed the most obvious thing in the world. “Because I fucked you. Everyone knows the girl that fucks the bad guy isn’t a good person.” As if she has no idea how her words move through my chest, leaving me anxious and irritable, she adds, “so am I a monster for doing that?”
I don’t answer but I do close the door and wash away the taste of pussy with whiskey.