Текст книги "Skin of a sinner"

Автор книги: Avina St. Graves

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

I shake my head. “Neither of us has known what we are doing ever since we were kids. When have we ever had a solid plan on anything? Everything we did was spontaneous, but we didn’t give a shit because we had each other.”

Tears fall down her face and I want so badly to hold her again. “I don’t want to go back to hiding and being scared. What if something happens to you while you’re fighting or going around killing people? What if you’re dead? What am I going to do then?”

“What you’ve always done, Princess. Survive. And I told you, there’s going to be no more fighting, no more gangs, no more killing—unless absolutely necessary.”

Bella hugs herself tighter. “I’m not safe with you.”

She’s right, but she’s also never been more wrong.

I reach for her again, and this time, she doesn’t fight me when I pull her into my arms. “You’re safer with me than without me.” Her chin trembles, wiping her tears away with her shoulder.

“That’s clearly not true. Should I list all the times I’ve ended up hurt with you around?” She looks at me with a mixture of sadness and fury, like she wants to curse my name and then kiss me after.

“I have a better idea; how about you list all the times you were hurt when I wasn’t around.” She shakes her head. “That wasn’t a suggestion, Isabella. Look at me and tell me every single time you were hurt because I wasn’t there, and the people who will never hurt you again because I stepped in.” I cock my head at her silence. “No? Alright, how about I start with the ones I know about—because I know you like to keep quiet about what happens.”

“Roman, don’t—”

“Greg. Marcus. His friends.”

“Roman.”

“Maxim and Mikhail. Mitchell.”

“I get it.”

“Skinny and Ugly. Those fucking customers at your work. The fucker that followed you from work the night you found me,” I list.

Her eyes widen. “That wasn’t you?”

“I stopped him before he could. Should I keep going?”

She shakes her head, and I watch the heavy rise and fall of her chest.

I continue anyway. “Troy from biology, who kept putting dead animals in your bag. Maddy from Phys-Ed, who would cut your bra straps. The postman who kept pressuring you for your number…” I tilt my head to the side. “How weird that he suddenly wasn’t interested anymore? Last I heard, he’s now mute.” Her eyes widen. “Aaron, who slapped your ass whenever he did his weekly trips to the store—you hadn’t seen him around lately, had you? Pity what happened to his house.” I continue, my gaze locked on hers. “What about that guy who works at the grocery store who likes to corner you? I wonder how he broke both his hands.”

She’s completely frozen, teeth chattering and staring at me with her mouth ajar.

I lean forward until our foreheads are a hair away from touching. “Now riddle me this, Bella; why did all those people stop hurting you?”

She sucks in a sharp breath as her lips quiver and drops her gaze to my feet. “I hate you.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

“That’s fine, Princess. You can spend your life searching for a reason to hate me, but the truth is, you hate that you can’t live without me. And you know what? I would rather die knowing you wish I were dead than for you to feel nothing toward me at all.” I tip her chin to get her to look up at me. “Maybe I haven’t made this clear: You have never been just a phase to me; you’ve always been the whole picture. Without you, I am incomplete.”

“But your heart is already full,” she whispers, searching my eyes for something I can’t see. “My leaving won’t change that.”

Wiping away her tears, I kiss her cheek. “My heart has only ever belonged to you, little Bella. You. Are. It.”

“What if…” She wets her lips. “What if something happens to me again? We’ll be spending the rest of our lives running from them.”

“It won’t,” I promise. “I’m going straight.”

“But… you want to get back at Vargas?” Her voice breaks as she talks.

“What happened once Damien dropped off the envelope?”

Bella chews the inside of her cheek. “We left.”

“That’s right. You and me, we drove off and got far away from Chicago. Far away from Vargas and Damien.” I cup her cheek. “Do you see what I’m trying to tell you?”

More tears spill from her beautiful brown eyes. The cop behind her shifts, crossing his arms as he watches us. If he tries to ruin this moment, I’m going to lose my shit.

I answer for her. “Ask me to give up anything, and I’ll do it for you, Isabella. As long as I have you, I don’t give a shit about the rest.”

Her eyelids fall close as another shiver racks through her tiny body. “Then prove it,” she says as she opens her eyes.

My lips tip up at the corner. “Always. For the rest of my life.”

“What about Jeremy?”

“Damien will keep an eye out. And once things settle in a couple more weeks, we can go see him.”

Taking a deep breath, she nods and doesn’t run when I drop my hold to her elbows. “Where’d you park?”

Bella’s coming with me willingly.

Bella trusts me to keep her safe.

Bella wants to be with me.

“On the road.”

She sniffles, wipes away her tears, and starts moving in the direction that I came.

“Hey, no, get your ass back here.”

“What?” she frowns, looking back at me.

“I’m mad at you, too.”

Her eyebrows hike up her forehead. “Excuse me?”

“It’s cold.” I pull her hood over her head, button up her jacket, and wrap her scarf around her properly, all while she gawks at me. “And for God’s sake, Bella, if you’re going to run, at least take some money and the IDs with you. This isn’t amateur hour.”

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Chapter 31

ISABELLA

Rough cotton scratches against my cheeks as I turn over in bed. My back hurts. My ass hurts. My goddamn eyes hurt. I’m so sick of sitting in a freaking car.

Even with Roman and I’s fickle truce after he picked me up from the station, things are still tense. I’m not ready to go back to where we were before he went to prison or even before I almost got kidnapped.

But he’s trying to make it up to me; I know he is.

After a lot of arguing last night, he respected my wishes to let me have a bed all to myself. Trying to fall asleep while he watched me from his spot on the chair was unnerving, but I managed to, eventually. Part of me thinks he only agreed to keep his hawk eyes on me to ensure I don’t run again.

I honestly wasn’t sure how I got away yesterday morning. He’s a light sleeper, and he’s become worse since he came back. I guess prison changed him after all.

Peeling my eyelids back, I survey the room, searching for Roman. The bathroom door is open, and all our stuff is still here. He probably went off to get breakfast. I guess he thinks leaving me is a show of trust or something.

But I admit, it’s unlike him to be out of bed before nine-thirty in the morning.

Whatever, he’ll be back whenever he’s back.

Yawning, I rub sleep out of my eyes as I crawl out of bed, ready to use all the hot water. I reach for one of the duffle bags on the floor—they all look the same, so it’s a guessing game to figure out which is mine.

Kneeling on the floor, I stretch and click out my rigid joints before unzipping the bag to get a change of clothes. Various shades of dark clothes spill out of the bag as I search for a pair of underwear and a fresh shirt before I realize that I’m looking through Roman’s bag.

Just as I’m about to place the contents back in, my fingers wrap around something solid. Frowning, I pull it out and inspect the stack of envelopes tied together by rubber bands. Needles prickle my throat as nervousness fills my body. It’s addressed to me.

Tentatively, I remove the bands and pick up the first letter, seeing it ripped open already. Right in the corner is a stamp: UNITED STATES PENITENTIARY. Every single letter has the same return and sending address.

My heart slams against my chest, unsure if I should pull it out. Why does Roman have this? Why is it addressed to me? Who opened it?

I glance around as if he might have materialized out of thin air to answer my questions, but it’s just me and the stack of letters calling my name.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pick up the first envelope and unfold the letter, reading the scratchy handwriting.

Dear Isabella,

What’s up Princess,

Ignore the first line. I didn’t realize how hard it was to figure out how to start a letter. Shit’s too formal. I should warn you that this is the first time I’ve written without auto-correct in over a year so if you see any spelling mistakes, no, you didn’t.

And ignore the shitty handwriting because if you didn’t know, I got shot (like, literally, with an actual gun and bullet). Don’t freak out though, I’m alright. Now. I wasn’t for half a second there. I had a half decent doctor and a couple decent nurses. And don’t get jealous, I’ve been waiting on you to give me a sponge bath (I didn’t realize how much I used the winky face emoji until now).

Anyways, you’ve probably been wondering where I’ve been (and I refuse to believe that you know where I am but you’re intentionally ignoring me). Just know that I haven’t left you, and I’ll be back to being your loyal bodyguard/ man-servant/ chef/ hair stylist/ guinea pig/ art supply dealer/ soulmate/ human heater/ sexy taxi driver in three years.

There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it:

Those fuckers Maxim and Mikhail know how to fight.

Their mom has a solid aim.

I got arrested.

Surprise! I’m now in prison.

It fucking S U C K S in here. And my chest hurts like a bitch all the time. But what sucks even more is that I don’t have your pretty face and your sweet voice to make my day anymore. Which leads me to my next point. You changed your phone number? What the fuck? I expect a letter ASAP with your new number.

Okay, my chest is starting to hurt too much to write. I expect to see your cute little butt on Saturday when we can have visitors.

Congratulations btw, you now have a prison pen pal.

From your one and only,

M.

P.S. Marry me? We can have conjugal visits.

A lone tear drops onto the paper, making the rough black ink bleed all over the page. He really did try to get in touch with me. He didn’t forget about me.

I suck in a sharp breath. Roman told me Marcus and Greg took the letters he wrote, and I never thought twice about what he said. I could’ve asked about them, or checked if he took them so the police wouldn’t connect the dots to him so easily. But as always, I’ve been too caught up in myself.

I pick up the next letter.

Hello Isabella,

I’m mad at you, so you don’t even get any nicknames right now.

Firstly, what the fuck? I’ve sent you four letters now and you haven’t responded to a single one of them. No, “Hi Mickey, I missed you so much. Can’t talk right now!” or “My darling Mickey, oh dear! Are you okay?” from you? Literally nothing.

Nada.

Zilch .

Come to think of it, there’s no ‘secondly’. You haven’t answered my calls or visited me. Even this fucker named Damien came to visit me. I almost turned down his visit in case you showed up, but guess what? You didn’t.

WHY.

WON’T.

YOU.

ANSWER.

ME?

Someone tried to stab me today, and they came real fucking close to killing me because I could barely move my arms. Do you even care?

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I’m healing great after my wound got infected. Thanks for asking. Really appreciate that, Isabella.

I’ll probably forget about how mad I am at you if you respond. But you better have a really damn good reason for the radio silence.

The only time I get to talk to you is in my dreams, and that’s not good enough for me anymore. I want the real thing. I want the real you.

I fucking miss you, Bella.

Respond to me. Please.

Yours,

Mickey.

P.S I’m still serious about the conjugal visits. Say the word and I’ll get it arranged ASAP .

There’s no stopping the tears streaming down my face.

We both suffered. I haven’t stopped for one second to think what it was like for him for the past three years. I’m not the only one who felt like life was ripped away from me, and I’m so unbelievably selfish for being so goddamn self-absorbed.

The next letter I pick up is dated earlier this year.

Are you okay? Thunderstorm was really bad, and I know how scared you get.

Please reply so I know that you’re alright.

He never forgot about me. He didn’t even try to move on, and here I was, spending the past three years trying to forget about him.

There’s no order to the letters, because the next one I open is two years old.

Someone thought it was a good idea to play Disney on TV in a room full of thugs. We watched Mickey Mouse. It made me think of you.

Everything makes me think of you.

Why didn’t Mickey give me these sooner? Why didn’t he remind me about them?

I just won two and a half grand in a bet. Where do you want to go? I’ll take you anywhere as soon as I’m out of here.

I chuckle through my tears as I pick up the next letter. My heart crumbles, the padding falling out and the cracks splitting wider.

8160 hours.

365 days.

52 weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen you.

Happy birthday, Isabella.

I’ve been learning how to sketch portraits. It’s not much, but the drawing at the back of this page is my gift to you.

I love you, Princess.

I wish I could hear your voice. Or that you’d write to me. That would be my birthday wish. That’s the only thing I want.

I choke on a sob, giving up on trying to keep my tears from spilling onto the parchment. He’s bled for me while I’ve cried for him. We’re nowhere near even. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, he’s willing to bleed for me until the day he dies, and he’ll spend the rest of his life keeping the tears out of my eyes.

I have an idiot cellmate who gave me an early birthday present in the form of a prison tattoo. Can you guess what it is?

That must be Rico.

Why didn’t I try harder to find him? Why didn’t I even consider the possibility that he might be in jail?

That was stupid. I don’t know why I asked you to guess.

I’ll just tell you the answer: I wanted to carry a part of you.

It hurts.

It all fucking hurts.

There must be at least a hundred letters in this pile.

I don’t even know why I still bother sending you letters. You probably don’t even read them. You’re eighteen now and most likely far away from Greg’s house. I’ve been lying in bed wondering what you’re doing now, which colleges you applied to, and what you’re planning on studying. Or if you are still deciding what you want to do.

You’re so smart, I know you’ll be amazing at whatever you put your mind to.

I knew you’d worry about paying tuition, so I’ve been saving for when you decide if you want to go. And if you don’t want to go, that’s fine too. I just want you to know that it’s there when you need it.

Just respond whenever you can, I guess.

I miss you.

M.

Hidden in the corner behind the bed, I stop breathing as I read the next letter.

They put me in the box yesterday.

As soon as they put me in there, my first thought was, “At least I can see Bella after this.” Then as the minutes—or maybe hours—went on, the voices got louder. They wouldn’t stop. No matter how much noise I made, they made more.

It’s worse than I remembered.

I wanted to die, Bella.

Thoughts of you were the only thing that pulled me through. But I couldn’t stop thinking about this one question. Do you think about me anymore, or have you forgotten?

I tried telling myself that there will be a letter from you waiting for me once I crawl out of Hell. But I should have known better, because I know the answer.

You’ve forgotten about me.

Pulling my knees up to my chest, I sob into my arms.

I don’t deserve him. I never have. I never will. I’ve taken him for granted; he should never forgive me for how terribly I’ve treated him.

I want you to know that even if you don’t miss me, you have been the only thing on my mind since I met you. Bars will never change that.

“Bella, what’s wrong?”

I snap my head up to the door, and a second later, I’m on my feet. Nothing else registers until I crash into his arms. Sandalwood and cinnamon soak into my skin, but I need more of him. My fingers find a home in his hair to draw him closer until there isn’t an inch of space between us. “I’m so sorry. You must hate me. I’ve been awful to you. Mickey—Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” I cry against his lips.

Pulling away, deep gray eyes bore into mine, the corners creased with worry. “Bella, what happened? Talk to me.”

I nod frantically. “I will. Whenever you want.”

I lean into his touch when he cups my face, and I hold his gaze. All he’s ever done is support me, and it’s time I support him too. “Why are you crying? Who do I need to kill?”

I bark out a breathy laugh, sniffling as I wipe my cheek. “The letters.”

He pales. “You…”

Pressing forward, I thread my fingers through the silky strands of his hair as my broken heart beats for the man in front of me. “Why didn’t you show them to me sooner?”

His forehead leans against mine, and I hug him tighter. I just want to hold him so he knows how sorry I am for being so selfish. All I’ve done is look out for myself when he looks out for me every day. But who takes care of him? Who makes sure he’s alright?

The answer is no one, and I promise to never let him feel that way again. Because I know what it feels like, and I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

“I didn’t want you to feel bad.”

“You could have shown it to me back at the Horror House,” I insist. I probably would have fought him less or gone with him more willingly. I think.

“The Horror House?” he questions, then shakes his head. “The letters aren’t important.”

“How could they not be important?”

He lifts a shoulder. “What we have can’t be simplified down to a couple of letters, Bella. I want you to want me because you’re everything I need.”

My skin prickles along with the hot tears. “I can’t give you anything.” I’ve never been able to. Mickey has always been the one to provide for me, chase the monsters away so I can sleep easier at night. All I’ve ever been able to truly give him is my fractured heart.

“You’re all I want.” His soft lips brush against mine, and I don’t hesitate to chase them. But it hurts because, even though I know he would never leave, I could have been so much better to him.

“I can’t give you dinner at six. I can’t wear a pretty dress and be as beautiful as you think I am, when all I want to do is disappear underneath the covers. I’m not this sensual goddess that can give you sex appeal.” Gesturing to the fraying bed behind me, I say, “I can’t even give you clean sheets.” I don’t know what it’s like to live when I’m not under a thumb, scared of the creaks in my own home.

“Who said I want any of that?”

“Everyone wants that,” I whisper, suddenly doubting why I’m still fighting him, when all I’ve ever really wanted to be is complete and by his side.

Hands curl around the backs of my thighs, lifting me so I wrap my legs around his waist. The stiff bed groans as he lies me down, towering over me as he runs the back of his knuckles along my jaw and whispers against my lips. “I want every single thing you are willing to give. I want takeout with you at midnight. Sleep-ins and sleepless nights. I want you crying, and I want you smiling, no matter the reason for either of those two things. I just want you, Isabella, whether it’s on an unmade bed or the forest floor. You’re all I need.” He kisses my wet cheeks. “You don’t know what I want, even though you’ve already given me everything I need.”

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Chapter 32

ISABELLA

My lips meet his, and I give him everything I have to offer. My soul, heart, and body. All of it swells and explodes, feeling too big for my little self to take.

That’s one thing about Mickey. We were never made for the silent type of love. We were made for the kind that shatters windows and breaks the earth’s surface. It’s fireworks and dancing and lime juice mixed with absinthe.

This time, he isn’t the one claiming with our kisses. I’m his just as much as he is mine. Our lips move in sync, labored breaths filling the space in between.

I claw at his t-shirt covered back, needing to feel his bare skin against mine like it’s the only thing that could keep me alive. He chuckles darkly as he rips his shirt over his head, tearing mine off before my heart can take another beat.

The cold air prickles my skin, pebbling my nipples into sensitive points as they ache under his heated stare. He doesn’t give me time to acclimatize before my shorts and panties disappear into the corner of the room.

His gunmetal eyes turn pitch black, as if possessed by a demon, descending on my core, devouring me like I’m the closest thing to food he’ll ever find.

Holy shit.

By my count, he’s only done this once, which doesn’t explain how he’s so good at this. Every time he licks along my entrance, my breath catches. Each time he takes my sensitive clit in his mouth, I see stars. He’s playing me like a professional who has done this for years.

“You’re stunning, baby girl.”

My back arches into his touch, begging for more. He licks and kisses and sucks like he’s never tasted me before, and he’s starved for seconds. The darkening gaze of his predatory eyes holds me hostage as two fingers slip inside me.

“Mickey,” I cry, my body arching from the bed as my hands latch onto his hair.

He doesn’t let up, sucking my clit while pumping his fingers in and out of me until the evidence of my arousal covers his face and hands. He keeps hitting that spot.

That spot.

The one that sends a thousand fiery butterflies fluttering through my veins, lighting me up like a firework. Hundreds upon hundreds of blinding sensations zip through my marrow. Tension builds and multiplies in my stomach, tightening around his fingers, layer upon layer of pleasure and pressure bringing me a taste of heaven as I scream out his name.

Until suddenly, it disappears.

“Holy fuck,” Mickey gasps, taking his fingers with him when he stands back.

My eyes widen, and my muscles wound tight as I snap upright. “What?”

Did I do something wrong? Does he find me… gross? Maybe it’s too much for him in the light, or he needs more time to get used to being between my legs? Or… it could just be a cramp. I mean, he’s been going at it pretty hard, right?

My gaze trails over the moisture covering his face and dripping down his chest. A splatter of dark wet patches stains his jeans. Slowly, I look down at the sheets between my legs. Soaked.

Mortification colors my skin bright red. Oh, God. What have I done? Why did I have to do that? Oh, shit, shit, shit, he must be grossed out. I can’t even look at him. What does he think about me now? This has to be at the top of my list of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever done in front of him.

I jolt out of bed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Where do you think you’re going?’ he all but growls.

I swallow and inch back from the bed. “To get a towel?”

“Get your ass back here. You’re doing that again.”

I blink. “What?”

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

By some divine power, my skin turns an even deeper shade of red. “But you’re all wet?”

“I came on your face, and I know you fucking loved it.” He grins. “It drives me wild just thinking about having you all over mine.” The muscles in his shoulders ripple as he hunches over the bed, fists on either side of the space I filled moments ago. “Get back here. Now.”

I hesitate, watching fury blaze in his eyes for a moment before the inferno morphs into desire that melts my insides. With slow, uncertain movements, my hands hit the bed, then my knees, feeling the springs dip and squeak as I crawl toward him with big, innocent eyes. His gaze stalks each of my motions until he’s close enough for me to reach forward and run my tongue over the hard contours of his abs.

“Good girl.” A low sound rumbles through his chest. A hand shoots out, keeping me in place with tense fingers gripping my chin. Possessive lips crash into mine, showing me that he belongs to me, just as much as I belong to him.

Fisting my hair, he yanks my head back. “I’m not done with you yet,” he snarls, voice filled with gravel and shadows.

Every inch of me is completely at his mercy as the world turns in a series of colors and lights until the darkness hits. The cotton sheets press against my face, making each breath harder than the last.

Warmth overwhelms my core in a vicious drag from my entrance to my clit. My body reacts to his call with an arch of my back and pushing my raised hips against his face. Strong fingers slip into me, and I throw my head away from the sheets to scream.

Oh, God, I can barely take him. The burn from the stretch is as blissful as it is painful. His vise-like grip around the back of my calf stops me from running away from his commanding touch.

“Always taking me like the needy little girl you are.” Roman chuckles darkly, biting the soft skin of my thighs while his three fingers work me over.

“Please, Mickey,” I whimper as I dig my nails into the sheets to try to find purchase to get away.

“You can take it.”

The hand around my ankle winds its way around my hips, holding me in place while he rubs circles over my clit. With the compounding sensations, it doesn’t take long before the pressure builds, growing stronger and stronger, and like boiling water, I overflow. The release rips through me, bone deep.

Mickey continues his punishing pace until the world around me goes blurry, and another orgasm shreds through me, from head to toe, until there’s nothing left of me but a panting pile of skin and bones. A kaleidoscope of stars burst behind my eyelids to rain molten desire all over my body.

My legs give out beneath me, and I tumble onto the bed. He flips me over before I get another chance to breathe.

“That was fucking glorious.” He chuckles as he peppers kisses all over my chest and face.

I need a second.

I’m pretty sure I just saw another dimension.

When he positions his hard cock at my entrance, I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to survive if he makes me orgasm again. An idea festers in the darkest part of my brain, and I put a hand on his warm chest to stop him from using me for his pleasure.

He pulls back, concern etched deep into every crease, pinching his face. “What’s wrong?” It’s only two words, but I can feel the concern dripping from them into my soul.

Newfound energy finds a life in my racing heart as my plans solidify. With unsteady movements, I shuffle my legs away from him and lift myself onto my elbows, crawling back like the mouse he thinks I am. My face doesn’t betray my emotions as his remains in the same worried stare while he tracks my movements.

My chest aches from making him feel this way, but I know it’ll be ancient history to him in a matter of seconds.

All my life, Mickey has catered to my every want and need, sacrificing himself just to make me happy. He gave me bliss; I want to give him something in return.

“Bella, baby, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Mickey reaches out to me with a tentative hand, but I’m gone before our skin can touch.

“Tag,” I squeal. In a flash of white and black, I take off for the bathroom, leaving a trail of barely contained giggles for him to follow. “Catch me if you can,” I throw over my shoulder.

I’m unsure when he caught on to my plan or when he started moving. One second, my bare feet are flying over the carpet. The next, my body is sandwiched between a wall and a hard body.

A hand curls around my neck, placing the slightest pressure, just enough to make my lungs work harder for air. His bare chest vibrates against my back in a warning growl. “That wasn’t very smart of you.”

Fear and exhilaration light up my nerve endings. Whether by sheer stupidity or pure masochism, I say, “What are you going to do about it?”

The deep, rolling laugh that follows my words makes my hair stand on end. “Are you challenging me, Isabella?”

With a single move, he fills me with his cock, stretching me more than his fingers. My head falls back onto his shoulder without choice as he forces me to curve my back to take every thrust of his bruising pace.

“It’s like you don’t want to be able to walk.”

A scream works its way out of my throat when his skilled fingers find my sensitive flesh. No amount of clawing or begging adds the term mercy to his dictionary. Roman is ruthless through and through.

Dots dance in my vision as the unbridled and uncontained moans leave my lips. Then, suddenly, he stops. I bite back a groan. I didn't actually want him to stop.

“When I let go of you, you’re going to run for the door.” The dark cadence of his voice sends a shiver through my bones.

My eyes widen. “But I’m naked.”

“Then you better learn how to hide, because I’m killing every person who lays their eyes on you.”

He means what he said. It isn’t a threat; it’s a promise. “Mickey,” I plead.

He lets go of me.

“Run.”

One word and the earth shifts.

My axis spins as I scramble away. The fractured heart in my chest beats loudly, roaring in my ears as every one of my senses narrows onto the front door, just like he told me to.

I want God to hear my prayer for once in my life. Please don’t let anyone be outside.

Just like the game of cat-and-mouse we played a week ago, my freedom is in sight. All I need to do is open the damn door.

But he stops me from reaching civilization when my hand touches the handle.

He yanks me back with a fist in my hair and crashes me into his chest when a scream breaks past my lips. “You can’t outrun me,” he hums. “You’ll never get away from me.”

My feet have no choice but to comply as he walks me back to the bed. It’s useless to throw my arms out when he shoves me face-first into the mattress, because his torso is right behind me, forcing me to fall into submission.

He drives into me without warning, making pleasure and pain thunder to every corner of my body. The cotton sheets muffle my moans and cries, and the pressure building in my core is unstoppable. This time, I’m confident I won’t survive. When my climax rips through me, everything goes black, and all I can hear is the sound of Mickey snarling his release, spilling his seed into me.

The hard muscles of his body crush me against the bed as he topples over, rasping his tired breath against my sweat-stained skin.