“Morning, sleepyhead.”
I jerk up at the sound of her voice, my eyes wide and head thrashing as I try to understand where I am.
Fuck.
I’m on the couch and I feel like some fucker hit me around the neck with a damn baseball bat.
“I made you breakfast,” she smiles widely, drawing my attention back to her.
“Shit,” I throw back the blanket and swing my legs until my feet land on the floor. “How are you this morning?” I yawn widely, waiting for her to answer.
“Better,” she smiles, biting the corner of her mouth. “I still ache like a bitch, but, hey,” she holds her leg up a little wiggling it in front of me. “Got these things working again.”
“Good,” I say, placing my hands behind my head, stretching out my achy body. I can’t help but notice her wide eyes fixed on me, her mouth a little slack.
“Wow,” she mumbles.
“What was that?” I ask, knowing full well what was just said.
“Nothing,” she replies before pointing to the plate full of food on the coffee table in front of me.
“Well, dig in,” she urges, dropping down beside me, brushing her arm against mine as she does. Unfamiliar warmth spreads through me and I’m a little taken back by my body’s reaction to this chick. I swallow down hard, reaching for the plate and resting it on my knees.
“You know you didn’t have to,” I mumble as I push in the first forkful of eggs.
“When was the last time anyone cooked for you?” She quizzes, her head to the side, resting on her hand.
“I’ll have you know that Jackie cooks for me at the diner all the time.”
“She’s cooking because she’s being paid to. I’m talking about someone doing it because they want to.”
“In that case, this is a first. Well, as an adult.”
“You miss your mom?” She asks, her voice quiet and her tone sensitive.
“Fuck, hell no!” I almost choke as the laughter catches in my throat. “That bitch is dead and buried and I’m glad.”
“Oh, Brax,” she strokes my arm. “I’m sad that you feel that way.”
“I’m not. That woman tried to make my childhood a misery. She wasn’t a mother to me. The bitch only cared about her boyfriends. You know, the ones that beat the fucking shit out of me.”
“I should never have said anything,” she shakes her head, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
I lift my arm, exposing the skin just below my armpit. The abundance of scars that I normally hide are all on show. “They’re the same on the other side. The bastard burnt me where no one would see.”
She reaches forward, the glisten of pending tears in her eyes as she reaches out her hand, running the pad of her thumb over the red raised area, the scars a constant reminder of the piece of shit that took his anger out on me.
“Fuck,” she whispers, her eyes trailing up, focusing on the scar that runs right down my left cheek. “Did she do that, too?” she asks, her voice wavering as she points her index finger at the scar on my face.
“No,” I snap. “This scar came from something else, something much worse; something I won’t ever fucking talk to you about. Got it?”
She drops her hand away, resting it on her lap. I lower my arm and continue eating my breakfast.
We sit in silence for what feels like a lifetime, sadness etched across her otherwise pretty face.
“Don’t feel sad for me. I don’t need your pity,” I say playfully, nudging her with my elbow, hoping to break the tension that has filled the room.
“I just don’t understand how a mother could be so cruel.”
“Those scars might be a permanent reminder of the bitch who called herself my mother, but they’re also a reminder of the girl who dressed my wounds and picked up the pieces. Every. Damn. Time.”
“You really loved her, huh?”
“Still do,” I say, stepping up from the couch and throwing the plate in the sink. I rest my hands on the counter, slumping my shoulders.
“I can help you,” she whispers, dragging her soft hand across the planes of my muscular back. “Just like you helped me.”
I push myself off, spin on the spot and place my large hands on her tiny waist. I lift her, dropping her ass down on the counter.
“We gotta get one thing straight, sweetheart. I can be friends. I can fuck you. But it can never be anything more. I don’t do relationships; I don’t do hearts and fucking flowers. I do real fucking, and I do it real good.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” she says with a shrug. “Show me?” Her plea comes out as a whisper.
“It’s too soon. I might not be prince fucking charming, but I ain’t an asshole either.”
She leans forward, wrapping her arms around my neck, gently guiding me toward her. I place my hands beside her on the countertop to steady myself. My heart thuds at the close proximity and I can barely control the need that my cock is displaying.
She grazes her soft lips against mine without applying any pressure. I allow my eyes to wander down, focusing on her as she continues to tease. For someone so young who claims to be inexperienced, this chick is far from innocent. It’s fiery, yet sensual; passionate, yet demanding. I want to pull away, I know I should, but I can’t. My senses are being seduced and as I allow my eyes to flutter shut, I can barely think straight. She presses her lips against mine; my mouth opening to allow her access, her minty fresh breath invading my senses. Her hands work their way around my body, feeling each crevice, each line along my toned physique. I allow my hands to wander as we continue to deepen the kiss. We separate, momentarily, staring deeply into each other’s eyes. I’m not sure what she sees in my eyes, but I recognize the look in hers. She’s full of curiosity and wanting. I rest one hand on her back and the other on her chest as I push her back, lowering her onto the counter. I watch as she takes shaky, shallow breaths and I know not to push this. I lean over her, running my lips across the smooth skin of her neck, my hand cupping her breast. She tangles her arms around my neck; soft, sultry moans escaping her. I feel the strength of her heartbeat as I trail my lips down toward her breast. I pull on the neck of the oversized shirt, exposing her, taking her hardened bud into my mouth. She grabs at my hair, working her fingers through roughly.
The sound of an unexpected bang on the door causes me to jolt upright, and out of the haze of desire. I look down at Tara, her brown eyes boring into me.
“Who the fuck…” I sigh, turning and making my way over to the window. I roll my eyes when I recognize the figure at the door.
Carter.
Fuck.
Great timing, asshole.
“It’s Carter,” I call over to Tara and watch how she slides down and throws herself down on the couch. I watch as her chest rises and falls, her breaths are jagged.
I stroll toward the door as another knock echoes through the house. Turning the key in the lock, I open the door, Carter barging inside.
“Don’t you know how to answer the goddamn phone,” he growls. I slam the door shut, turning and following Carter into the living room.
“I’ve been busy,” I respond, my eyes darting over to Tara on the couch.
“You have a fucking phone, so use it,” he says, stubbing his finger against my bare chest.
“Sorry, man,” I sigh, “What’s the fucking emergency?”
“Are you fucking shitting me right now, Brax? The club are asking questions. A lot of fucking questions.”
“They’ll get over it,” I say, with a loose lift of my shoulders.
“Nah, man. That guy you killed was Jeffries’ right-hand man. Jeffries is on the warpath.”
“He left. We haven’t seen him since last night. What’s the big deal? We are not incriminated here,” I say, trying to get him to see reason.
“Jeffries is adamant that he wouldn’t have fucking left without him. I was worried they’d done something stupid. Especially when you didn’t answer your cell, you motherfucker.”
“Maybe we just tell Jeffries the truth. Tell him that we found him raping YOUR cousin. Tell him shit like that doesn’t happen on our turf.”
“You for real?” he taps the side of my head, but I pull back, narrowing my eyes at him in warning.
“Don’t fucking do that,” I glare at him. “I respect you like you’re my brother, but don’t ever lay a fucking finger on me, Carter.”
“I need your head in the game. Lives are at stake here.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I snarl.
“Guys, stop.” Tara shouts, standing between us and resting a hand on either of our chests. She gently pushes and I step back a little, putting some distance between us.
“Jeez,” Carter exhales loudly encompassing Tara in his arms. “I’m so fucking sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry that I ever invited you to my place, but you have to believe me when I say, I never thought you were in danger. Not once. I’ve worked with these guys for years and, uh, well you know. I thought I could trust them. I thought we had an understanding.”
“It’s not your fault,” she swallows down hard, her eyes flicker to me and a sad smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“I called your mother. I told her you were staying with me. Do not, under any circumstances, tell her what went on last night. I don’t mind going to war with the damn MC, but I refuse to go to war with your mother,” he chuckles a little as he holds Tara’s face in his hands.
“She can’t know,” Tara rushes out. “I will never be allowed out of the house again. You know what a control freak she is…”
“Not a control freak, she cares,” he cuts her off, his eyes wide and his jaw tense.
“I know, I know,” she repeats, her words falling out as a mumble.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m good. Being here with Braxton has helped,” she says coyly with a shy smile.
“He’s one of the good, bad guys,” Carter replies.
“A good, bad guy,” I snort, “talk about a contradiction.”
“I mean it,” he chuckles, patting me heavily on the back. “I left you a message, but I’m guessing you didn’t get it,” he says, his eyes roaming the room as he tries to locate my cell phone. He strolls over to the coffee table, picking up my cell phone, checking the screen before thrusting it against my chest. “Charge your fucking phone. We have a meeting with the investigator in an hour. Don’t be late.”
I feel my heart pace pick up as the adrenaline surges through me. I stare into space, trying to gather my thoughts. A sudden pang of guilt flares through me as I think back to just minutes ago. I was tempted. I gave into desire, my body betraying me.
Carter bumps shoulders with me. “Are you listening?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
Carter hugs Tara, kissing her noisily on the cheek before making his way out of the door. I tap my cell against my chin, thinking about Isabelle and what the detective could have possibly found out.
“Are you okay?” The soft voice asks, her hand resting on my arm. “Do you need me to come with you?”
“No,” I say, furrowing my brow.
“Well, what is it?” She questions further.
“Nothing that concerns you,” I say with a scowl before charging toward the stairs. I need to shower and clear my head. I need to prepare myself mentally for what I’m about to find out, no matter how good or bad that may be.
* * *
It’s been hours. Hours in this place feel like days, and I have no idea of the time. It’s like this is some kind of punishment, like the silence and the unknown is the ultimate mind game.
I’m dressed and have applied a light amount of makeup, hoping that I can somehow win my way into his good books. I’ve barely had a wink of sleep because I’ve been waiting.
The light in the room is bright so it must be at least midday. I sit down heavily on my bed; the sound of footsteps increasing puts me on high alert. I jump up from the bed, brushing my hand over my clothes, frantically trying to make myself look immaculate. I know that’s how Sir likes it. I stand still, my legs trembling, my eyes fixed on the door.
The few seconds of anxious waiting feels like a lifetime. My breathing picks up pace and I work hard to not let it get out of control.
The door opens and the panic rises to an overwhelming level. Sometimes, in moments like this, I just wish he’d put me out of my misery. The heaviness in my chest is almost too much to take.
“Isabelle,” my name rolls off his tongue as he accentuates it.
“I’ve been really worried,” I tell him, gulping down the bubble of nerves.
“And so you should,” he growls, rushing over to me, grabbing a handful of my hair and tilting my head back as he pulls painfully hard.
“I trusted you,” he snarls, his nostrils flaring and his breathing is erratic. “I fucking trusted you, you stupid whore,” he repeats.
“I’m sorry…”
“You are sorry, are you?”
“Yes, I don’t even know what happened,” I reply hastily, regretting it as soon as the words leave my mouth.
He yanks my hair, dragging me until I’m beside the bed. He releases the handful of hair, pushing me back against the bed, straddling me and wrapping one hand around my throat. I watch as he pushes his free hand inside his suit pocket, pulling out a pocket knife. “Let me shed some fucking light on the situation here,” he says, his voice a little calmer than before and the blade pointed toward me. “You couldn’t have eyes for just me, could you?”
“I did, I tried…”
“Not hard enough,” he yells until his voice gives out. He places the tip of the blade against my forehead, just above my eyebrow. “You know you got that man killed yesterday. His blood is on your hands, all because you couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I stutter out. He slides the cool blade down across my cheek.
“Please don’t do this,” I whisper. My words come out so quietly, I’m not even sure he can hear. His body towers over me, his grip tight around my neck, the tip of the knife still moving across my face. Moving it slowly, he circles my lips. I lay there completely still; one wrong movement could be disastrous. I try to control the tremble that comes from deep inside, but it’s out of control.
“I didn’t want things to be this way, Isabelle. But I have no choice.”
I try to speak, I try to tell him no, but nothing comes out. He trails the knife down to the strap of my top, sliding it beneath and slicing the knife through the material. Effortlessly, he cuts through the strap, moving to the other side and doing the same. He tugs on my top, exposing my whole chest. He hisses as he takes in a sharp breath, the tip of the knife works across my breast, using the end to flick my nipple.
“The danger excites you, doesn’t it?” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on me, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “You need to accept you are mine. Everyone needs to know that you belong with me.”
I want to fight back. I want to scream, but I know that it will only make it worse. I bite down on my tongue, desperate to fight back the words sitting on the tip of my tongue.
“I will be better,” I try to appease him, my eyes glued to his hand and that damn knife that could end things here and now. “Give me another chance,” I say sweetly.
“Oh, you will get another chance,” he smirks, resting the knife heavily on my left shoulder. He presses harder and I yelp at the stinging sensation as the blade pierces my skin.
“No, don’t,” I exclaim, trying to get him to stop. Glancing down, my stomach dips at the sight of blood trickling across my chest and down my arm. I grit my teeth at the feeling of him cutting into my flesh. I buck up but it doesn’t stop him. He rests a knee on my stomach as he continues to etch into my skin.
“There,” he breathes out, dropping beside the bed and darting his tongue out. Holding it there, he uses his tongue to clean the blade, switching it from side to side.
“What… what…what have you done to me?”
“I said you were mine and I meant it,” he smirks. “I branded you, Isabelle; I branded you, so you wouldn’t forget that you belong here, with me.”
I frantically touch the area, blood covering my hands as I glance between the evil bastard and the blood. I jump upright, sliding from the bed and racing into the bathroom. I nervously peek at the mirror, turning on the tap and splashing water onto the wound. I clamp my teeth together as I try to breathe. It stings like a bitch. I blink wildly at my reflection in the mirror and almost stop breathing. I lean forward, unable to believe what I’m seeing. The letters M A are etched into my skin. My mind swirls and my breaths are staggered.
“How dare you walk away from me,” he growls, pulling on my shoulder, spinning me on the spot. I jump, startled by his harsh voice. I allow my eyes to search the room, refusing to meet his dark, evil eyes. I wonder if there is anything in here I could use to disable him, to hurt him so badly that I might manage to escape. But it’s no use. It’s like the room has purposely been stripped of anything I could use to defend myself. The internal struggle of fight-or-flight kicks in and I dart toward the door.
“Don’t fucking fight this,” his words are spat at me with an unprecedented amount of venom. Grabbing my arms, he holds me in place. “You don’t get to run from me, Isabelle,” he says looking at me with hungry eyes. Eyes that want to devour me. Not in a sexy kind of way, but with an ‘I want to hurt you’ glare. I swallow the acidic bile that has risen, the sting almost numbing the back of my throat. It was becoming a familiar feeling. Every time he speaks my name, accentuating the word, I get the same reaction to him.
“For such an innocent looking girl, you really are nothing but a little cock tease,” he taunts, pulling me from the bathroom and back over to the bed.
“You can’t possibly think that your friend groping me had anything to do with me. I did nothing wrong!” I roar, the anger getting the better of me, regretting it almost immediately.
Grabbing my jaw, he swiftly tilts my head back, holding it there as his face inches closer to mine. His dark eyes stare into mine causing me to shiver with intimidation. I hold his stare, searching for something, for some kind of redemption from this evil man who holds my whole life in his hands. But the longer I stare, the more I realize that behind those dark eyes he’s empty. They often say the eyes are the window to the soul, and every time I looked into Braxton’s eyes, I saw everything I needed to see. It truly was the vision of love that stared back at me. Warmth, love, passion, and protection. But here, in this monster’s eyes I see nothing. Nothing but a rotten core beneath his ungodly body. Those eyes held nothing but evil.
“You have fire,” he purses his lips, narrowing his eyes on me. “I kind of like it when you fight me, Isabelle. It gives me the perfect excuse to punish you.”
I bite my tongue, fighting back the need to verbalize my anger. I smirk at him; his hard stare turns to a confused one as he looks at me with intrigue. “What? What is so funny?” he quizzes, tilting my head a little further, my hand covering his to try to stop me from losing my balance.
“Do what you want to me. You can violate and torture me if that makes you feel like I belong to you. But I never will,” I say, smiling widely, shaking my head. “I might be forced to stay here, forced to do the sick things that you fantasize about, but know this, my heart belongs to one man. One man only. Braxton… And nothing you can ever say or do will change that. So, do your worst, Sir,” I exaggerate his name. In this single moment, I feel more empowered than I ever have. A deep satisfaction resonates within me. He can own and dominate every part of my body and mind. But my heart will never be owned or controlled by this monster.
“Braxton, huh?” He smirks at me.
I widen my eyes in shock as he says his name, his lip curled as he taps his lip with his forefinger. “Would it shock you, Isabelle, if I told you I know Brax?”
“I wouldn’t believe you. How would you possibly know him?” I ask, trying to remain strong but the emotion bubbling deep inside rises to the surface. I cannot control my natural reactions to his comment.
“Only time will tell, my sweet girl, won’t it?”
“What does that mean?” I press, desperate to unravel the mystery behind his words. Before I can understand what is happening, I feel my body falling face down onto the bed, my hand covering the patch of skin that stings. I brush my hair away from my face.
“You don’t get to question me. You may think your heart belongs to another, but here, with me, you are mine.”
He slowly walks around the bed, the pocket knife held in his hand once more. He drags the knife along the frame of the bed, the metal on metal sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard. I wince at the intensity of the sound, my captor leaving my sight.
I jump at the feel of his hands behind me. He slices the knife through the back of my dress, completely removing it from me, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. I shudder as I feel the blade entering the seam of my panties. In one swift movement, he tears through the material, ripping them from me. I freeze, unable to fight back. Unable to do anything to stop this man wielding a knife. My whole body trembles with fear, despite my lame attempts to stop and stay strong.
“I should fuck your sweet tasting pussy with my blade,” he growls, “you should pay the price for disrespecting me,” he sighs. “But I’m not done yet,” he says, his voice fading and the sound of footsteps echoing through the silent room.
It’s funny how silence is something that holds so many bad memories for me, how it is the one thing that I fear above anything else.
I lift my head discreetly, just enough to watch him reach into what looks like a gym bag besides the door. I think back to when he arrived and don’t remember him bringing the bag with him.
Casually strolling back toward the bed, I notice the thick brown rope in his hand, wound into a small loop. In the other hand he holds a wooden cane. Walking around the bed, he takes my hands and pulls them behind my back. I let out a cry as he winds the rope tightly around my wrist. He yanks on the rope forcefully and I can feel it being wound around my ankles.
“What…what are you doing?”
“Getting you just where I want you Isabelle. You’ve caused me a great deal of displeasure. It’s time to rectify that.”
“Please… please don’t…”
“Please don’t what?” he growls tugging on my hair. I let out a sob, a single tear rolling down my face. “Not so brave now, Isabelle,” he taunts before letting go of my hair with a shove. Every muscle in my body aches as I’m tied in the most uncomfortable position, ankles almost touching my hands. I’m powerless as I lay here bound.
Powerless to defend myself against this monster.
“You are going to do exactly what I tell you to. Exactly how I want it to be done.” He trails his rough hands across my naked body as he moves around the bed. I crane my neck, looking at him as he stands in front of me. He has a look of accomplishment on his face. His wide smile reveals his aged, crooked teeth. Even when he smiles he manages to look every part of the evil bastard that he is.
Hooking his finger under my chin, he lifts my head, straining my neck to look up at him.
“Please, just let me go,” I plead, looking him deep in the eyes. “They hurt so bad.”
“And, how would I be teaching you a lesson if I just took away the punishment? Your father should have taught you better,” he says with a lift of his brow.
“Don’t bring my father into this,” I try to snap my head from his hold but it’s no use. He squeezes harder, keeping it in position.
“Oh, so touchy,” He scoffs, dropping into a squat position right in front of me. “Were you a Daddy’s girl, Isabelle? Uh?”
His eyes search mine for an answer and I can’t help but scowl. “My father kept me in total isolation for the last six years. He was a psycho and a control freak. I hate him for what he did to me.”
“And now you are here with me,” he smirks. “I would say things are looking up, Isabelle.”
I narrow my eyes before allowing them to flutter shut. I know he’s goading me; trying to get a reaction out of me. My senses are telling me to keep my mouth shut and just obey. I don’t know whether that reaction is driven by fear, but in the back of my mind, I don’t want to piss him off more than he already is.
Grinning, he stands up and quickly drops his pants, exposing his erect penis. I swallow down hard as I realize this punishment will be sexual, that he is getting off on this. He starts to stroke his length all the while looking at me.
“First, I’m going to fuck your mouth, deep.”
I can do this, I say to myself over and over in my mind. I have to do this. I have to survive. Before I can respond, he grabs my jaw, forcing his dick inside my mouth. Without hands to guide or control the movements, I am totally dominated by this man. His hands land heavily at either side of my head as he starts to thrust into my mouth, hitting me at the back of my throat. Tears stream down my face as the gag reflex kicks in but I desperately try to control it.
Plowing into me over and over, I clamp my eyes shut praying that at some point this torture will end.