Chapter 54
It’s far too early to be awake, but I wanted to be on the first plane off the island.
The sooner I make this meeting with Jay about infiltrating the weapons market, the quicker I can find Kyle and fake murder his ass.
He flew out two days ago, settling himself into a swanky hotel in the heart of the city I’m destined for, while I shacked up with Rose at Bleakcrest until it was time to leave for the airport.
My presence there is becoming less marked. Yesterday, I was able to come and go twice with nothing more than a head tilt from the guards. Soon, I hope to be able to move like an unnoticed shadow through the halls.
I check my phone one last time before I’ll need to shut it off. Scrolling through the most recent credit card charges, I’m glad to see Kyle has absolutely no issue with thoroughly enjoying himself on my dime.
If it all pans out in the end, I don’t care what it costs me.
The line moves ahead as people slowly make their way onto the airplane after the gate attendant confirms their ticket.
I tap on the photo album, the most recent picture popping up.
Rose sits astride my cock with my hand on her throat, eyes rolled back in her skull like a demon drunk on pleasure.
She’d probably scratch my eyes out if she knew I took this picture last night, or the other sixteen I have from the past twenty-four hours.
I know this trip will provide me distance and clarity, but what happens if I lose myself again? She won’t be a quick drive across the island, and the ocean’s calming embrace will be miles away. How will I recalibrate myself, stop the spiral of suffocating trauma?
That’s why I took the pictures…and the short video. To reel myself back in if there’s an issue.
Not because the thought of going without seeing her face or hearing her laugh, her moan, that sharp tongue, for days on end makes me want to cancel my flight and crawl back into bed with her.
Fuck.
I’m completely hooped.
What the hell is happening to me?
The book Rose insisted I read on the plane is tucked safely into my carry-on.
She claims it’s a quick and fucked up tale I’m sure to enjoy.
Something about a girls trip in the forest gone wrong.
I don’t know for sure. She was so excited babbling about it, the only words I caught were donuts, screwdrivers, and primal play.
Which, if I’m being honest, was intriguing as fuck.
What the hell is she reading? I want to know, so I bent to her wish.
Rose’s infectious excitement pushed away the thoughts of Shantel, and the rage I felt whenever my mind would be dragged back to that hotel room. Until the only thing in my mind was her—my flower, my escape— how good she makes me feel, and the raging desire to make her feel the same.
Sex is easy most of the time, sharing is not.
Navigating the minefield of my past is not for the faint of heart.
But she sat with me. Let me confess what I was comfortable with without any prying questions.
Her soft smile, and the openness with which she greets my darkness, had me pressing my lips to hers again.
Trying once more to satiate the way I yearn for her, even when she’s right in front of me.
Needing to convey what her companionship means to me when I’m so fucking lonely I ache.
I let my body speak the words I don’t know.
Hoping she feels what I do. The blankness in my mind.
The quiet. The silencing of my monsters.
I know it’s impossible for her to pick up on that, but I can dream that maybe it’s not.
She has to feel what I do. Even if it’s just a flicker, a cast-off spark from the inferno raging inside of me. She couldn’t possibly beg so perfectly for my fingers to stop teasing, pitch her voice like a melody when I snap my hips, or plead for me to ruin her for anyone else, if she felt nothing.
And I so willingly fucking obliged.
Used her gorgeous body to chase away my living nightmares, burying myself so deep inside her that her light infiltrated every hidden crevice of my porous soul.
I don’t need to command her like my previous partners.
She presents her wrists to be bound, craves the special kind of hurt only I provide.
Rose wants to feel me every time she moves for the duration I’m away.
Her desire for me, for the darkness others claim to want but shy away from, feeds something deep within me that’s been starved for the entirety of my existence.
Acceptance.
Rose takes me for who I am, and I’ve found her wrapped so tightly around my chest, I couldn’t pry her loose if I tried. Not that I want to. My obsession with her grows faster than I can contain it. Every newly discovered sharp piece of her fitting perfectly into a jagged, empty part of me.
“Boarding pass and ID,” the airport worker says as I approach the boarding bridge, slipping my cell into the bag hanging from my shoulder.
I hand her my ticket and passport. She assesses them, eyes flicking between the information and my face.
I refuse to let nerves get the better of me.
Just because the passport is new—it had to be, I have a whole new face—doesn’t mean it’s fraudulent.
“Do you have another form of identification, sir?” she asks, and I nod.
Stepping to the side, I allow her to assist other passengers while I work to get my drivers license out of the stupid plastic viewing window of my wallet.
When I finally pull it free, another card flutters to the floor. I pass my ID to the lady, then retrieve the business card I had completely forgotten about from the carpet. Patrick Melborne - Accountant is typed across the black card in metallic font. It’s too over the top for an accountant.
“You may proceed, Mr. Morgan. Thank you for your patience and enjoy your flight.” I nod to the woman, and make my way onto the plane. Rose’s father’s phone number burning a hole in my pocket the entire way to my seat.