13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Guilt clung to me like sweat, making my gym shorts feel heavier as they clung to my body. I walked with heavy feet around my room. I stomped back to apologize for launching the remote at her.
I froze with my hand on my doorknob as a migraine formed behind my wide eyes. It had been a long fucking day, one that I had been happy to burn off in my gym before my ears alerted me that she had fallen from the fucking bed.
Her anger had ignited mine. It didn’t take much after the deal I wanted fell through this evening. I was so close to detouring to Feebee’s house on my way home. So tempted to slit her father’s throat and wash away my stress in his blood.
Yeah…I was that angry. And he was still on my kill list. So many others had gone before him in recent months, all in painful ways. All destroyed completely so no one would find any trace of them. Stefan Serrano was the last person on my kill list—the man who had started this nightmare by requesting a heart for his daughter from someone living and breathing.
Guilt flooded my stomach again. Feebee’s face flashed in my mind, her innocence and beauty calling to my darkness, wanting to ruin her...in so many ways.
I pushed her from my mind, guiding thoughts back to the man who created her. The man who hadn’t gone to the papers with an appeal to find his missing daughter because I’d been checking daily.
He deserved to die...for being a shitty parent, which made no sense, as he had hunted the globe for a fast-track heart transplant for the same daughter he had stopped caring for the second she was out of sight.
Something wasn’t right there.
My nostrils flared in anger, only returning to their natural shape when I saw him in blood, a slice across his throat, and gashes around his untoned stomach, where my blade protruded from.
My bloodstained dreams were interrupted by the sound of night. Owls threatened the smaller birds, who fretted and screamed over the fear of being eaten. I closed the heavy drapes, shutting them out.
I was on my bed, crumpled sheets gathered beneath me. I couldn’t say how the fuck I got here. The memory was gone, along with so many others.
Again, I thought of her. Her and her shiny blunt-cut hair, her fucking fingers and how they had touched me, nails dragging over tattoos and muscle. Her eyes and how they looked when I brought the light back into them down in the cell...and how they looked yesterday when I took it away again.
She fucking hated me.
And I couldn’t blame her.
But it felt so much better when she didn’t.
It muted my pain. Made the tension causing pains in my neck lessen. Amplified the ache in my cock, but I could deal with that.
I needed to see her. I needed to see her now, without the anger we brought out in each other every time we existed in the same room.
And I could.
I gripped the remote on a floating shelf high above my bedside table, pushed a button, and lit up my TV, giving me options of what to watch—Netflix, cable, and the cameras I had set up in this house. I selected the last option...then, her room.
The tears in her eyes didn’t stop my fingers from rubbing over my crotch, didn’t stop my cock from responding to the sight of her. Her chest rose and fell, and teardrops had her skin glistening.
I freed myself, the strain against the material growing uncomfortable. I fisted my shaft with a hard and brutal grip, needing to strangle something...needing one painful ache to leave me the fuck alone.
Feebee sniffled on the screen, her attention moving to her own TV. She watched my memories play out before her eyes, all painful and beautiful times...but I saw none of them.
I only saw her.
Newer memories filled my mind...her between my legs that first day in the cell. I had played dead...practically out of it, unaware of her talents but not her turmoil.
But it was all a lie as I had rested, slumped against the cold wall, my cock in her mouth. I had felt everything. Her tongue, teeth, suction...her pulse pounding in her fucking throat as she sucked me deeper into her mouth. And it had felt fucking phenomenal.
Hiding my moans that day was one of my life’s greatest challenges.
The screen burst through my reverie. The image of Feebee crying over Chandelle’s existence, or lack of, amplified my guilt, but it didn’t stop me as I tugged myself harder, fingers slipping over my tip, smearing the precum dribbling out from me.
One last look into her eyes as she glanced in the direction of the hidden camera, not having any idea of its existence, as it hid in the beady eyes of a stuffed bear, and that was it. I didn’t need my eyes on a great body, my stare on something sinful or arousing. I came all over myself...by looking into her beautiful fucking eyes, and I knew right at that moment, I was fucking ruined.
Because of her.