Chapter Thirteen
Austin
Holy fuck I’m out of my league. The escorts I pay agree to my deviance. I’d go to jail if I picked up a woman in a bar and beat the fuck out of her. Melina begged and I delivered my soul on a platter for her taking. The fucking soul I didn’t know I have.
Victor encouraged my sexual deviance. He fired the flames by providing women who could handle me. I paid exorbitant amounts of money to the escorts and they always came back for more. Everyone was happy, or so I made Victor believe. The truth is, I hated the women and only used them to relieve the pressure in my balls. I hated that I couldn’t have a normal relationship.
Melina takes away the revulsion I’ve lived with since I was a teenager. I’ve only given her pain and darkness while taking so much. And still she wanted me and never shied away from the beast. Unafraid, she also trusted her life within my hands. The filthy hands of a killer.
I’m stunned when she wiggles beside me, slowly lifts my hand, and draws it to her mouth. She places a kiss on the backs of my fingers and smiles. I gaze at her and smile back like a fool. My fingers glide over the welts and bruises on her ass and thighs. I stayed clear of the plastic wrap. Nothing, not even the aberration I am, will destroy the masterpiece inked into her flesh. I trace the red and white stripes on one thigh, sending another thrill to my cock. Down boy, she’s had enough.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper. I’ve never cared. I’ve never given thought to a woman after I’ve fucked her.
“Perfectly,” she says with another grin. So much is in that one word.
I would say I’m sorry for the pain but she doesn’t need an apology. The thrill of the belt hitting flesh still fills my ears. I tried to hold back the tide when I hit her. The more she moaned and screamed the more my beast unleashed. And she took it all.
I finger the wrap on her lower back and ass. “Do you want to see?”
“No,” she whispers and then hesitates for a moment. “I want to like you for a little bit longer.”
Like me? That’s almost funny. Her skin is a masterpiece and she doesn’t want to see it. The ink makes her more beautiful in my eyes and I want her to understand it went so much further than revenge. The portrait on her skin is for her. “Go to sleep,” I say instead. Maybe this is why making love has never been in my playbook. Only anger, revenge, and death have a place in my life.
“The basement is waiting for me,” she mumbles sleepily.
“Not tonight.”
She closes her eyes on a long exhale. I watch her until I’m sure she’s asleep. Sliding from the bed, I take my phone off the dresser and walk naked from the room.
I dial a familiar number unsure if he’ll answer this late. “Moon,” I say when the phone clicks.
“I hope you want me to pick up the woman who’s causing so much trouble?”
My gut twists. “Five days,” I tell him. “Pick her up here at the main house and she’s all yours as long as she’s going straight back to her brother.”
“You have my word.”
I end the call. Five days with Melina isn’t enough and that’s the scary part. I need her skin unmarred by the belt when her brother sees her. I can’t touch her again. Five fucking days to know what I will miss for the rest of my life. Somehow I need to shake her from my system and follow the plan. Somehow I need to forget her after she’s gone.
I decide to make business phone calls while she sleeps. I need space right now. An hour later, when my resolve is stronger, I return to bed. She’s spread eagle in the middle of the mattress and my lips twitch. She’s a bed hog. I shouldn’t sleep beside her, but for this one last night, I want to hold her against me and imprint her memory on my skin. I slide her over, crawl in, and circle my arm beneath her. She makes a small sound and I kiss her nose before pulling her in tight to my body, where she belongs.
∞∞∞
My eyes snap open the next morning. Light streams through the windows and I know immediately Melina isn’t beside me. I can’t believe I didn’t wake up when she left the bed. Fuck. I charge into the main part of the house intending to head outside naked. I don’t want my guards touching her. The smell of bacon stops me before I throw open the front door. When I near the kitchen, she’s humming softly. I round the corner and my cock appreciates the view. She’s wearing my T-shirt with her long bare legs on display. Damn, the bruises on the backs of her thighs are glorious. She turns with a spatula in hand and jumps slightly. Her smile grows slowly along with a heavy blush. She fucking lights up the room.
My insides clench.
I don’t do romance or tender feelings. I also never allow women to sleep in my bed or make me breakfast the morning after. I don’t fucking do the morning after.
“Not that I mind, but did you forget your pants?” She’s fighting another grin and all I want to do is pick her up and carry her back to bed.
I’m only naked because I thought she left. Not that my men would allow it, but I wasn’t really thinking when I ran out of the bedroom. “I would ask what you’re doing but it’s fairly obvious.” The words are tight.
Her joyful expression fades. “You’re angry.”
I’m not angry. Not exactly. I just don’t fucking know how I should react right now. I’m not good with change and this drastic change is not something I’ll ever be good at. I like routine. I like being alone. Having her in the basement was a close second to having my own space.
My gaze snaps back to hers when she speaks. “It’s the kidnapper thing, isn’t it? The kidnapper code says I can’t make breakfast. I should be tied and hidden away in the basement. I should be terrified,” she teases and her eyes twinkle. She’s laughing at me because I’m being an ass. “Am I getting close?” she asks with slightly pursed lips.
She has no idea. “I’ll grab my pants,” I say to avoid where this conversation is heading. I walk from the kitchen expecting her laughter to follow. She never does the expected and whistles instead. I fight a fucking smile.
A few minutes later, I head into the kitchen dressed in slacks and a shirt. She’s placing our breakfast on the table. There’s something entirely fucked up with this picture and I scowl. I say nothing as she serves me and then sits on the opposite side of the table. She looks down at her plate and remains quiet. Why the hell does it even bother me?
The food smells delicious, I think grumpily. “I’m not accustomed to someone cooking for me.” It’s my white flag and she takes it by handing me a plate of bacon. I enjoy cooking for myself. After I turned eighteen, Cindy cooked for me only on rare occasions. I preferred to cook my own food and eat in my room.
I scoop eggs onto my plate along with two slices of toast. I watch her closely as we begin eating.
“What?” she finally asks.
“You’re going back to your brother in five days.” And why the hell did I need to remind her? Her expression changes completely and I swear the fucking light goes out of her eyes. What the hell did she expect? Fucking her doesn’t change my plans.
Without looking at me, she calmly stands and walks to the basement door. She opens it and descends the stairs. I look down at my food. We shouldn’t have had sex. I have no idea what came over me last night. It was a mistake. Probably the biggest fucking mistake in my life.