Текст книги "Fable of Happiness Book One"

Автор книги: Pepper winters

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CHAPTER TEN

OUT OF ALL THE things I’d done.

Out of all the years I’d been alive, and all the things I’d seen, experienced, and endured, the worst was closing my eyes. Worse than masturbating on that girl. Worse than all the black images of fucking her against her wishes.

I’d lost control.

I knew that.

But in the darkness, all alone, I couldn’t focus on that. Couldn’t come to terms with how easily I’d broken.

If I closed my eyes, the nightmares came.

If I went to sleep, the memories were waiting.

If I let myself relive what I’d done, the thirst for her became fucking unbearable.

Night for me was the worst kind of torture. Sleep would always be my nemesis.

Therefore, instead of seeking rest and willingly giving myself over to the blackest pits of my mind, I stayed awake.

I lay in my single, sunken bed with just a worn sheet over my nakedness and stared at the lacy cobwebs in the rafters.

My hands never unfurled.

My body never relaxed.

I lay in a state of explosive readiness. Ready to slaughter anyone who came after the girl imprisoned in my cellar. Ready to leap from this room and spill blood in the corridors.

She couldn’t leave.

I knew that.

She was locked below. Completely captive. Her very existence relied on my generosity.

I could keep her for however long I wanted, or I could kill her and end the misery she’d created, or I could fuck her until I cured my sudden insanity.

Regardless if help did come for her, she was mine. Like I’d told her in the cell, this was her fault. She’d trespassed. So didn’t that give me the right to do whatever I wanted?

Seriously, what are you thinking?

I groaned and glowered at the shadows.

Keeping her was an inconvenience. Keeping her meant double the work, double the preparation, and a whole shit ton of personal pain.

But I couldn’t let her go, either.

No one could know about this place.

No one.

I sat up in bed, checking for the millionth time that the locks on my door were still in place and the warning alarm was still rigged against my window. Just because no one had come to find her in over fourteen hours didn’t mean they wouldn’t come. That they weren’t waiting for my guard to drop.

But that was the thing. I’d learned the hard way that to survive, you couldn’t stop looking over your shoulder. I’d been doing it for eleven years. I’d become a master at it.

No one would touch her without my permission.

Running my fingers over one of the three knives resting in grabbing distance, I glanced at the other two. One beneath my pillow, one on the floor, and one on my current book.

If more people came, I was ready.

And if they don’t?

If it’s just you and her?

Alone?

For days? Months? Years?

I gritted my teeth.

Then we’re both royally fucked.

Tonight had shown just how weak I was. Just how screwed up I’d become by denying natural urges. I’d broken within moments of being in that cell with her. I’d gone down there to demand answers, yet instead of a calm interrogation, I’d lost all sense of who I was.

I shattered every shred of discipline.

I’d become like them.

I drove my head into the pillow and bunched the sheet over my thighs.

Just because nightmares couldn’t find me didn’t mean the memories of what I’d done to her didn’t. They ignored my command to stay the hell away. They bombarded me with sensation.

Memories of how delicious she’d felt as I’d driven my cock against her came fast.

Her vulnerability made my balls ache to claim her.

And I knew, right down to my rotten soul, that the next time I saw her, I’d want more. I’d take more. I’d use her, with or without her consent, and that left me hard, hurting, and horribly eager to storm down the stairs and command her to her knees.

* * * * *

Standing in the kitchen, I fought against necessity and nastiness.

I was hungry, starving actually, after not consuming a thing yesterday. And if I was hungry, that meant my prisoner would be equally malnourished.

Which led to the dilemma I now faced.

If I fed her, that meant I intended to keep her alive.

If I didn’t, that meant I was destining her to die.

Both scenarios came with ramifications that I wasn’t prepared to deal with on an empty stomach after a sleepless night.

Stalking into the walk-in pantry, I grabbed the rest of the loaf of sourdough rye bread I’d made two days ago. Disformed and stale, it wasn’t exactly enjoyable. It was moderately edible, and for the past few years, that was good enough for me.

In the beginning, I’d eaten like a king.

The cellar once had another purpose instead of housing trespassing girls. It’d been teeming with food. Canned vegetables, huge sacks of rice and potatoes, barrels of sugar and salt, shelves upon shelves of chocolates, wines, and liquors.

There’d been enough rations to last almost four years. I’d stretched certain things, done without on others, and began the necessary shift from eating prepared grains and gathered ingredients into growing my own.

Thank fuck the owner of this place had entered the wilderness prepared. Once a year, they’d have supplies brought in. Huge crates of linen, soaps, juices, savory, and sweet. On top of all the frozen, smoked, dried, and packeted food, they’d imported seeds of every fruit and vegetable. Stocked the library with every book on horticulture, employed gardeners and chefs, and straddled the convenience of modern living with the old ways of cultivating the land.

Those deliveries had stopped long ago, and I’d learned how to stay alive through trial and error. My body had been used as a tester on more than one occasion, confirming what was palatable and what was not. And now, I’d become fairly proficient at providing for one man through four seasons.

I had a system in place.

Chores that needed to be completed each month. Checklists that couldn’t be ignored. And all that had now been thrown into chaos with an additional mouth to feed.

Wrenching open the ancient fridge that ran off hydropower thanks to the swift currents found in the cave system, I yanked out fresh strawberries, a bowl of crunchy snow peas, and a few sticks of last week’s celery.

Placing equal measure of food onto the fancy plates where the gold leaf had long since washed off, I tore up the rest of the bread and carried the two meals down the stairs and to the cellar.

The instant my bare feet landed on the damp concrete of the lower level, a chill shot up my spine.

The heat of the summer didn’t reach down here.

I was suddenly glad I’d slipped into my shirt and slacks, deciding clothing would be a better alternative than going to visit her naked. However, I hated these clothes even more than usual after last night. They were a reminder of what I’d done. The fact that I’d had to scrub away the stain of pleasure. That the slacks were still damp from coming against her—it all shouted a message that I wasn’t in control. Of fucking anything.

A pounding began in my head.

Just get rid of her.

Why are you feeding her?

Why are you delaying the inevitable?

Placing both plates on the ground, I pulled out the key and unlocked the padlock.

I had no answers to those questions, so I ignored them.

The faintest of scurrying inside made my ears prick. What had she been doing all night? Had she set a trap for me?

Rolling my eyes at my stupidity, I curled my hand around the handle. I should’ve checked her for additional weapons when I’d thrown her in here. I should’ve smashed that cell phone, regardless if it was completely useless. I should’ve stripped her down and investigated every inch of her to make sure she had nothing that could hurt me.

Yet another reason you should stop this nonsense and kill her.

You’re overlooking things.

You’re messing up.

Bending, I gathered up the plates before wedging my foot against the door. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’m coming in.”

Kicking the door, I braced for pain or her attempt at escape.

Instead of her racing toward me with a knife or shoving past me to the stairs, she merely blinked from where she sat cross-legged against the wall. The cell phone with its pointless antenna rested beside her. I would’ve expected technology to have improved in the decade and a bit since I’d been gone from society, but judging by that piece of shit, it seemed as if the world had gone backward.

Stepping into her prison, I kicked the door shut behind me.

What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

Offer her food? Pretend this was normal?

Smile?

Clearing my throat, I braced my shoulders and moved toward her.

She flinched and looped her hands together. Her eyelashes glittered in the harsh electrical light. Her eyes never strayed from my face while her body pretended to be non-threatening, sitting on the floor. However, every muscle twitched with tension.

I knew that pose.

I’d mastered that pose.

And I knew that look, too.

I’d worn it. I’d seen it. I didn’t need her to tell me that she hated me, feared me, and wanted me to die in equal measure.

“Here.” Placing the plate on the ground, I shoved it toward her. It slid across the concrete with a clunk, the bread tumbling into a shallow puddle. I scowled and reached to pluck it out before it could get too soggy. One of the many rules I’d learned here was you never wasted food. Ever.

She watched me carefully as I placed the bread back on her plate. A little bit of water never hurt anyone.

Holding her stare, I sat cross-legged before her, ignoring the cold concrete against my ass.

She bit her bottom lip, her eyes turning glassy as she stared at the bread. She trembled and sniffed as if food had the power to make her cry. Dismay coated her face as she glanced from the bread to the red juiciness of the strawberries that I’d tended, grown, and harvested.

Her hunger was obvious.

Her joy at seeing a basic feast sparked a cord of comradery inside me.

She wanted something I’d created.

Her desire for the breakfast I’d offered made possession flash through my heart. It silenced my hate just for a second, and with a quick snatch, I swapped her bread for mine.

I did it automatically.

Some long-dead chivalry raising its head despite my current lack of social skills.

Her head snapped up, long blond hair slipping over her shoulder.

And that was all it fucking took.

A single strand of hair.

A simple quirk of attention. Her eyes on me. Her awareness on me. Her heat so close. Her body so near.

Shit.

My cock swelled and pressed against my slacks, switching my starvation once again to her. A quaking desperation cracked my bones. I needed to shove the food away, strip her down, and wrestle her to the floor.

I’d stared at her last night, searching for tricks and lies. I’d been too focused on survival to see her for what she truly was.

But I saw now.

I saw her.

A woman.

A woman who stunned me fucking breathless with beauty I’d refused to see. Either my eyes were unused to seeing anything but my river-cast reflection or I’d forgotten what females looked like because I swore on the final shreds of my self-control that she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

Leaf-scattered hair, big green and brown swirling eyes, pink lips, dirt-smudged cheeks, and a body that wasn’t feeble or fragile but had muscle tone, power, and a stark warning that if I was going to take what I wanted, I’d have to fight for it.

Images instantly sprang to mind.

Of her nails on my skin. Of her teeth on my throat. Of her legs spreading as I subdued her to the ground and—

Stop!

My hands shook as I dropped my eyes.

Don’t.

My nostrils flared as I struggled with self-control. I balanced on a knife-edge of staying where I was or launching myself at her.

And then her voice cut through my raging pain. Soft and tentative, grateful. “You didn’t have to do that.”

The shock of her kind tone wrenched my head up. My cock stopped trying to buckle me beneath its command. I sucked in a breath. “Do what?”

She licked her pink lips. “Swap the bread.”

Her thankfulness sent me reeling. No one had ever been thankful. No one had ever used that tone toward me. No one. I cleared my throat, scrambling for forgotten words. “It was wet.”

“I’ve eaten worse.” Raising a shoulder, she half-heartedly shrugged. “I camp a lot. I don’t always make an effort to cook decent food. I don’t care about dirt or rain.”

Was she talking to me?

Was this a trick?

Some sort of ploy to make me interact with her?

You’re already interacting with her.

You’re feeding her, housing her, wanting to fuck her.

I balled my hands, distrust overshadowing my sudden compulsion to keep her spilling her secrets.

“What’s your name?” The question was sour on my tongue.

What the fuck?

Why would you ask that?

Who cared?

I didn’t.

I didn’t plan on keeping her around long enough to know why she camped or climbed or didn’t care about dirt.

She was dangerous.

I knew that now.

I couldn’t keep her as a pet. I couldn’t house her during winter and use her body whenever I wanted.

She has to go.

Gritting my teeth, I steeled myself against any other unwanted softenings.

I would carry out the unpleasant task of her demise tonight. Today. This very fucking moment before it got any more complicated.

I raised my hand. “Don’t. Don’t answer—”

“Gemma.” She bowed her head as if coming to the same conclusions I had. Spying a weakness in our boundaries, knowing that the more we conversed, the more connections would spring.

It was inevitable.

It was human nature.

It was the oldest trick in the goddamn book.

It had also been used against me far too many times to count.

And I won’t let it be used again.

“Gemma Ashford. But everyone calls me Gem.”

“I don’t care.” Dropping my gaze to my plate, I snatched a strawberry and shoved it into my mouth. First, I would eat. And then, I would kill.

She was nothing more than a creature caught in my snare with a broken leg and a bloody hide. I was doing her a favor. She’d thank me for—

“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice quiet but strong.

I kept chewing and ignored her.

“What is this place?” She waved around the cell. “How many live here? Is it just you? Where are you from originally? Have you been here long—”

“Shut up. Eat. I don’t have all day to finish this.”

“Finish what?” Her voice caught with fear.

I looked up.

We made eye contact.

She sucked in a breath, reading the truth of what I meant. Not finish breakfast. Finish her.

Shaking her head slightly, she bit her bottom lip. “Why?”

Once again, I ignored her, grabbing the bread and tearing a mouthful off with my teeth. Her questions had made my own spring up. What was the world like these days? Where had she used to live? Did she have a husband back home? Would anyone miss her when I buried her in the garden? What was her favorite season?

I need to know everything.

I don’t need to know a thing.

Stuffing a snow pea into my mouth, I chewed hard and fast.

Sensing my animosity, she reached for her own plate. She went to grab a strawberry, but then she paused. Throwing me a suspicious glance, she watched as I selected a stick of celery and crunched.

Swallowing, I cocked my head. Her stare made my hair stand on end. “What?”

“You tried to kill me yesterday, and you just admitted that’s still your intention. Is this how you’ll do it? Is that why you’ve given me food?”

“I’ve given you food so you don’t die on an empty stomach. It’s called being kind.”

Her nose scrunched in disgust. “Kind is letting me go. Kind is not touching me. Kind is letting me live.”

“Then eat, and you’ll live a little longer.”

She held up the berry I’d painstakingly nurtured from seed to fruit. “Is it poisoned?”

I turned to chilly stone. “I’d never tamper with food that way.”

“Yet you’ll tamper with my life.”

“Different.”

“How is that different?” She glared at me as if her hatred had just grown a thousandfold.

“I want the strawberry. I don’t want you.”

Her shoulders went to slouch, only for steel to force her straight. “You wanted me last night.”

My hands curled around my plate. “That won’t happen again.” Those four words were spoken in honesty, but they tasted like the worst lie I’d ever told. Would I be able to end her life before touching her a final time? Would I truly deny myself the chance to be inside her before she turned lifeless and cold?

She studied me silently, dropping the strawberry back onto her plate. She scanned the breakfast I’d generously provided, her eyes slowly filling with an empty darkness.

Once again, I was familiar with that look.

I’d seen it staring back at me in mirrors before I’d smashed them, and I’d seen it in the eyes of my prey. She’d stopped fighting against the inevitable. Her instincts sensed there was no way out. She was dead, regardless if she wanted to be or not.

Normally, with that realization came a hollow kind of peace. But in her case, she looked lost, terrified, and painfully alone.

Eating another snow pea, I tried to ignore the tug in my chest. The sensation of empathy that I’d long since crushed.

She placed her plate silently onto the floor.

That affected me to the core.

She’d been so grateful for the food only moments ago. And now, even in her immense hunger, she refused to take a single thing from me.

A stalemate sprang between us.

Her despondency made impatience and annoyance fill me, but beneath that, a minor trace of compassion burned.

Silence ticked for a while.

Her stomach grumbled.

I snapped, “Nothing is poisoned.”

It was her turn to ignore me.

“Would I be eating if it was?” I growled.

She didn’t look up, staring at her hands in her lap. “You could have just poisoned my share.”

“I value food too highly to ruin it. On that you have my word.”

Her hair slid forward, obscuring her face.

Needing her to look at me, I said coldly, “And why would I poison you, anyway? It would deny me the pleasure of squeezing your delicate neck again.”

She swallowed hard, her swirling eyes flashing up to mine. “You’re a monster.”

“No, I’m dealing with a problem.”

“Let me go, and I’ll no longer be a problem.”

“Let you go, and you’ll bring a thousand problems in return.”

She crossed her arms, trembling hard. “Go on then. Finish the job. Kill me.”

I tore off a piece of bread, a sudden coldness flashing through my heart. In the few short minutes of conversation, I’d remembered something that I’d so successfully forgotten.

With her trespassing, she’d brought life back into this place. She’d chased away the quietness that’d settled so deeply inside me.

After years alone, you tended to forget.

If enough time passed, you could even pretend it never existed.

But thanks to her, I remembered why I’d struggled so much in those first few years. Why I’d spent a year catatonically drunk before I’d had to make the choice to live or die. Why I’d turned my back on those who’d turned their back on me.

Loneliness.

It was a disease that once caught, there was no cure.

Its endless vacuum sucked up every emotion and thought until the only thing left was a husk. A wordless husk with bones so hollow, I expected one day just to shatter into dust and be done with it.

“Well?” she snarled. “I’m done waiting. You made me wait all night. If you’ve made up your mind to become a murderer, then just do it already.” Tears glittered in her angry eyes, a final attempt at hope blazing. “But...if you’re still looking at your options, I have money. I...I’ll pay you to free me. What do you want? A million? Two? Put a price on my life, and I’ll pay it.”

I paused. “You expect me to believe you have that sort of money?”

“I do.” She balled her hands, warming to her crusade. “I’m successful online. I haven’t had anything to spend my income on. I’m...a good saver. If I have to buy my life from you, then so be it. You can have every penny I have if you let me go.”

I sat back, stunned once again at her beauty. This time, it wasn’t her looks that made me hard but her fierceness. Her fury and skills at negotiation. She hadn’t accepted her end, after all.

When I didn’t speak, she licked her lips and rubbed her arms. “Well? Do we have a deal?”

She didn’t need to know that money meant nothing to me. What would I spend it on out here? It couldn’t be used to buy food, not when I couldn’t afford to reveal my existence. I couldn’t plant a dollar bill and have it sprout into parsnips.

It wasn’t the money that she was willing to give me that made interest and hesitation billow. It was the fact she was willing to offer me anything at all.

It made my cock twitch.

It made me wonder...

Picking up my final strawberry, I ate it slowly, savoring the sugar and licking at its juice. “I don’t know.”

She froze. “But...you’re open to discussing it?”

I shrugged. “I’m unsure at this point.”

“What would make you sure? Why are you so intent on killing me? Tell me that, and maybe I can—”

“You don’t belong here. I need you gone because I don’t know any other solution. Because you have nothing to offer me other than complication and will end up demanding more than I can afford.”

Silence tumbled between us, heavy with thought and consequence.

She let her arms uncross and hands settle into her lap. Her breathing turned slow and deep as her forehead scrunched. I watched it all as she shook her head, her eyes narrowing on the puddle next to her.

I couldn’t guess what she was thinking, but whatever it was took all her concentration. All her courage. Everything she was.

Finally, after what felt like forever, she lifted her chin and captured my eyes.

She studied me. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, swept to my hair, then glided down my body.

She nodded once.

Inhaled hard.

Then murmured, “I have something else to offer.”

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