- Chapter Eight -

Georgia Mary King

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“No,” I whispered.

Lonnie reached for me; I shrank away, leaning into Conway like I could merge with his body. His grin twitched on the corners. “Come on, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Don't come near me!” I snapped, watching him with one wild eye. The rest of my face was buried in Conway's shirt.

“Guess you kept that spine of yours all these years,” Lonnie said. He bent down, leveling his attention on me. “Can't wait to see it break.”

I'd begun trembling, the shaking so bad that my teeth chattered. No. No, this isn't happening. It can't be real. Lonnie had spent the least amount of time with me out of his whole family, but he'd scarred me down to my bone marrow.

And he was here-just a foot away.

Conway's arm came down, circling my shoulders. “Stop it,” he said, no room for argument in his tone. “You're scaring her.”

Lonnie shot his eyes up at his brother.  Then he stood straight. “That's the fucking idea.”

“You're here to watch, that's all. Remember that.”

“I know what my job is.” Lonnie squinted at me. “I'm wondering if you're the one who's forgotten what he has to do.” Then he backed into the house, making room for us to pass.

My feet were frozen to the wooden step. Conway nudged me; I dug my heels in. “No, please. I can't. I thought I could handle whatever this fucking was but I can't, not with him here!”

To my utter amazement, Conway embraced me. “Shh,” he murmured against my temple, comforting as fresh pancakes. “You have to go inside, Georgia.” Cupping my cheek, he turned me to face him. There was a hint in his sad smile of the boy I used to know. “We both do. We don't have a choice.”

He said we. Stunned into compliance, I let my body go soft. He helped me inside, kicking the door shut with his foot. Through the walls, the ocean and the wind howled. I was shivering as much in here as I had outside.

“I think she's cold,” Lonnie chuckled.

All three of us noticed my nipples standing out against my dress. Flushing, I blocked the view with my arms. “Keep your eyes to yourself, fucking creep.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, oddly polite. Moving from the door, Lonnie approached us. “Say that again. Please.” The undercurrent of a threat was clear.

Conway shifted, blocking me from his brother. “Did anyone come near the island while I was gone?”

“Not a one.”

“Alright, good. I'm taking her to her room.”

“Just like that?” Lonnie asked.

Conway scooped me up, and I was grateful for it. He turned his back on his brother, walking through the barren front room. The walls were all the same sea foam green color. A single hallway led further inside. Behind us, Lonnie called out, “Dad left a message for you.”

Those comforting arms turned into writhing snakes. They crushed me so hard I whimpered in shock; Conway loosened his hold. He didn't stop facing the mouth of the hallway. “What was it?”

“It was short and simple.” A floorboard creaked as Lonnie followed us. “He said to tell you 'Remember Anna.'”

I should have wondered what that cryptic message meant. Instead, I was too busy feeling sick over the fact that their dad was working with them. Would Facile come here? I bit my tongue to keep myself from sobbing.

Conway's heart thudded in his chest and through my skin. Part of me itched to reach up and comfort him without even knowing the source of his stress. Don't pity him, I reminded myself. He's as bad as his father-worse, for betraying me.

He breathed out, it shifted the hair on my scalp. “I haven't forgotten Anna. I never will.”

Lonnie didn't follow us through the hallway. Conway's boots slid as quietly as they could over the ground, the old wood flooring moaning in spite of his efforts.

We stepped into a wide room. All the windows had been boarded up, though the work didn't look recent. Had these brothers done it, or someone else?

A staircase stretched up out of view in the far corner. We passed it, heading deeper into the house, neither of us speaking. I was mapping every turn we took, refusing to accept I wouldn't need that info. If I was going to escape, knowing the fastest way out was paramount.

He took a sharp turn, a new hallway opening in front of us. It faded into blackness at the far end, four doors in matching white paint spanning along the walls.

Conway opened the third one on my right. The sound of the mechanical lock grinding brought acid up in my throat. He set me down inside. The light was already on, showcasing a windowless room with nothing in it but a twin bed. No sheets, no blankets, it was forgettable in every sense.

Except for the mirror up above.

This room... it mimicked the one I'd been trapped in nine years ago.

“Oh god,” I whispered, my voice tight. “Oh god. You can't be serious.”

Behind me, the door shut. It was the second unique 'click' that made me turn. Conway held up a switchblade, his eyes cold.

I thought about a few ways I'd dodge the knife: falling backwards, jumping sideways, ducking low.  But I didn't need them. Instead of stabbing me, he gripped my forearm and snapped the plastic tie off.

Unsure what he was thinking, I stood there numbly as he crouched, cutting off the one around my ankles. Gingerly I rubbed my wrists, fingering the tingling red ring leftover from my bonds. “Why would you do that?”

“So you can take off your dress for me.”

My eyes flew wide—heat spread up my neck until I was glowing. “I'm not going to strip for you. You're insane to ask!”

“I wasn't asking,” he said, and he sounded so tired. He passed the blade to his other hand absentmindedly. “Take it off, or I'll do it for you.”

Maybe it was the result of all of my frustration coming to a head... or maybe I was just fucking nuts from disbelief... but I didn't care that he was threatening me. Looking him dead in the eye, I felt my snide smile and didn't try to control it. “That must make you feel so good, hmm? Threatening someone who doesn't have a weapon?” I did—but I wasn't ready for him to know about it. Conway would slice me up before I could get my mirror-shard out of my underwear.

He stopped moving, not even his throat twitched—he was holding his breath.

I bent my knees. “I can see you trying to figure me out. You want to know how far I'll go, how hard I'll fight you.”

His eyes flashed from black to oblivion. In a smooth motion he closed the blade and stuck it in his back pocket, next to the key I knew he had. “You don't want to do this, Georgia.”

“I do. I really fucking do.”

A half-smile, like he was curious, crossed his handsome face.  Conway didn't brace himself, he didn't even take a stance. He was an imposing figure in front of my only exit out of this prison. He breathed easy... patiently...

Waiting for me.

Jumping forward, I made a reckless swipe with my elbow at his stomach. My arm cut across my body at full speed; I wasn't going to hold back. I couldn't. Not if I wanted a shot at winning.

To my amazement, I made contact. My elbow slammed into his gut, the reverberation shaking my teeth in their gums. He was solid.

Looking down his nose at me, Conway grappled for my wrist. He caught it, and we tangled together, his limbs trying to catch me while I struggled to slip away.

As strong as he was, I was ten times more desperate.

“Fuck!” he hissed, releasing me, staring at the scratch marks I'd left in his arm. Flexing my fingers I dodged around him, squeezing into the gap between his body and the door. My hand brushed the doorknob.  Then he was on me again.

His thick arms coiled until I was crushed from behind. My lungs abandoned all their air; I deflated under his aggressive force. He spun me quickly, throwing me onto the bed. “Last chance,” he said, breathing heavily—more than he should have been. He'd barely exerted himself. “The dress comes off by your hands, or I'll do it for you.”

Sitting up on my elbows, I glared at him. “You're a monster.”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “I know.”

He rushed me as my legs swung off the bed. Smoothly he grabbed my ankles, kneeling on them and the mattress. His weight was familiar—his nearness confusing. I forgot we were fighting and in that spare second I glanced upwards, seeing my pink cheeks in the mirror overhead. With my dress hanging so loosely, exposing my cleavage and nearly my nipples, I looked like someone recovering from a dirty hook-up.

Everything about this was familiar, yet twisted.

Like it had been designed to fuck me up.

“Georgia.”

I darted my eyes back to him. He straddled my upper thighs, the hem of my dress tickling across my sensitive skin. His shirt strained over his chest. I saw how it raised rapidly, his lips half-open, pupils dilated. It was an expression that said “I could hurt you,” but it also said, “I want to fuck you more.”

Conway was turned on by... what? My struggles? I didn't know all the pieces of this puzzle, or what the final picture even was. I just knew that the static energy making his heart pound was affecting me as well.

I placed my hands on the mattress by my head. “Alright. Take it off.”

His eyes widened. He hadn't expected my compliance—surprising him thrilled me. Shifting in place made his jeans scrub my skin. The roughness woke up more of my cells, my heart flexing madly.

Conway was unquestionably sexy. Being under him like this had been one of my fantasies, and now it was real. But it also wasn't.

His hands reached for me, looping around my dress's straps. One thumb caressed my left shoulder as he started to guide the garment upwards. “Ah,” I hushed. That brief contact had sent a whirl of pleasure through my core.

He inhaled long and deep, shutting his eyes. I imagined him trying to get control of himself. This side of him was intriguing... no less frightening. But lust was something I could understand, and I mercilessly ached to understand Conway.

There were flecks of white-hot need in his eyes when he opened them again. “You should have listened to me and undressed,” he whispered, tugging the cloth higher.

“Why? You're clearly enjoying yourself.”

“And you think that's better for us?”

I blinked, trying to grasp his meaning. He yanked hard at the dress. My hands moved from their self-imposed prison, grabbing his wrists. “Stop, you'll just rip it trying to get it up over my,” I stopped myself. I couldn't say breasts. How weird that that, of all things, embarrassed me? “There's a zipper on the back.”

Without another word he flipped me onto my stomach. Sparks exploded in my skull.  I struggled to recover enough to stay in control of my muscles. I was fighting an animalistic urge to rock my ass side to side.  He'd woken up every one of my desires on a fucking atomic level.

Conway resettled himself so that he was straddling my hamstrings. I was acutely aware of his weight and how the hem of my dress was now skirting the roundest point of my ass.

The mirror shard, I thought in a panic. Would he be able to see if from his angle? On impulse I squeezed my legs together, hoping he wouldn't discover what I was smuggling.

His fingers wrapped in my hair, pushing it aside to expose my shoulder blades and the nape of my neck. The zipper purred as he split my dress downwards.

Air caressed my clammy skin. The dress fell open like a white lilac shedding its petals. It would be simple to pull it down my legs now, leaving me naked except for my light pink panties.

So why had he gone still?

“What is this?” he asked, his tone crisp.

Cold fear prickled in my blood. He's seen the shard of glass.

I started to twist around. One hard fingertip pressed into my skin, right on the back of my neck, stopping my movement and forcing my face into the mattress. “This. This right here.”

And I knew what he was talking about.

Conway was looking at an open eye I'd had inked into the base of my neck. It was detailed with perfect eyelashes, the iris the same periwinkle blue as my own.

“It's nothing,” I said quickly, imagining the small design imprinted by multiple needle pricks. How I'd groaned, fighting tears from the pain, ignoring the artist who'd assured me we could stop. “Just a dumb tattoo.”

I couldn't tell him the truth. Not after what he'd done to me.

A single, quick snarl escaped him. The bed springs yawned when he got to his feet. Violently, he snatched the dress down my ankles. I flinched, but I didn't move to get up. I couldn't have if I wanted to; the pressure of the unsaid words between us was stronger than gravity.

His boots told me he was leaving. Finding the strength to turn my head, I watched him vanish through the door. The lock clicked behind him.

It was clear we'd battled. And in a way, I'd gotten what I'd wanted—he hadn't seen me naked. I hadn't been forced to undress for him. I'd even kept my secret blade.

Why didn't it feel like I'd won?