Chapter Ten
Mia
I lay flat on the bed, on my stomach, my wrists still bound over my head. Julien climbed from the bed and switched off the TV. I heard water running and when he returned, he sat back down and cleaned me with a warm washcloth. He didn’t speak — neither of us did — and his touch was gentle.
When he was finished, he unlocked my wrists.
“Lift up.”
I did and he pulled the blankets out from under me. When our eyes met, I looked at him, trying to understand what had just happened, how I’d come like I had, how I’d been so thoroughly aroused by him, my captor, the man who would deliver me to Jason. The man who would have killed me if it hadn’t been for Jason. I wondered about that. It seemed so impossible.
But there were no answers in his eyes, only more questions. The hardness that had been there all along had made space for something else, allowing for an almost imperceptible hint of vulnerability. Perhaps of confusion.
“Lie down, Mia.”
I did, and he pulled the blankets over me.
“I’m not going to cuff you, but if you try anything, I will punish you. Understand?”
“Would you have killed me if those men hadn’t come into my apartment when they did?” I asked as he stood. “When you figured out I might be worth something?”
He rubbed the palm of his hand over his mouth, watching me. Then he reached to turn off the lamp by my side of the bed, but remained watching me from the dim light of the other lamp.
“I don’t know if you want me to answer that.”
Lowering my gaze, I shook my head. “No, I guess I don’t.”
I already knew the answer.
He walked over to the other side of the bed and when he climbed in, I scooted away, gripping my pillow hard.
“Now, that’s not very nice after what we just shared,” he taunted, an arm wrapping across my belly and pulling me back toward him.
“What are you doing? Let me go.”
“I guess I’m a cuddler after all,” he said.
“Let me go!”
His grip tightened and he brought his mouth to my ear. “That’s no way to act after I licked your pussy and made you come.” He squeezed as if to make his point. “Was it like you imagined? Was it as good as when you watched?”
“Fuck you, Julien. I hate you.”
“You’ll pay for that tomorrow,” he said, lying back down but keeping his arm around me. “Get some sleep.”
I closed my eyes, crying a little, trying to do it as quietly as I could. If he heard me, he didn’t comment. What I’d seen in his eyes after he’d cleaned me had been an unexpected glimpse into a side of him I imagined he didn’t show very often. I wondered if he knew I’d seen it actually, that vulnerability. He wasn’t a nice man. I didn’t fool myself on that account.
He was a hit man. I had to remember that.
I wondered how many women he’d killed, how many men. Would I someday ask? Did I want to know? Of that I wasn’t certain.
The room was quiet, and if there were any cars passing, I couldn’t hear them. I’d planned to make my move that night, to try to get away from him, but with his arm around me, he’d know. He hadn’t nodded off yet; his body was still tense, and his breathing wasn’t that of a sleeping man.
I tried to think, to weigh my options. As far as I could see it, I had two: either manage to escape him, or tell him about the million, see if he would help me if I paid him. It would be double what Jason was offering. Would he do it? Would he help me? Well, he was a mercenary. He would help himself and half a million was better than a quarter of a million. On that logic, the answer was yes. I knew Jason would hurt me, there was no doubt of that. He was consumed by hate and vengeance. I needed to do whatever I could to stay out of his grasp.
I didn’t fight sleep when I started to drift as Julien relaxed behind me. I closed my eyes and let it come. The clock wasn’t on my side of the bed when I woke to a strange sound, my mind still fuzzy from sleep. It took me a minute to figure out where I was in the dark room, but when I felt movement beside me, I remembered. Turning slowly, I watched Julien from the slight light of the moon that slipped through the slit between the curtains. He had tossed the blankets off and was covered in sweat, his lips moving, mumbling words I couldn’t make out. He was speaking in a mix of Italian and English, and his brow was furrowed. He tossed, turning in my direction, and when he opened his eyes, I gasped. But he closed them again quickly, still asleep.
I looked around for my clothes, for his clothes, and slowly climbed out of the bed. He didn’t notice, still tossing and turning, becoming more agitated by the minute. Part of me wanted to help him, to wake him out of this nightmare, but the logical part of me told me to run. I opened one of the drawers in the dresser, keeping one eye on him as I slid it out as quietly as possible, but it was empty.
“No!”
I jumped, clutching my chest, thinking I’d been caught. But he was still asleep, even as he cried out. Forcing myself to open the second drawer and ignore him, I found it, too, empty.
“Leave him alone!”
This time, there was violence in his words and I froze, unable to turn away from him.
“Charlie! No!”
I watched, hesitating. He kept thrashing about, calling out again, his voice angrier and angrier, and something made me go to him.
“Julien.” I whispered.
Mumbling in Italian, he called out that name again. Charlie.
“Julien, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.” When he wouldn’t, I touched my hand as lightly as I could to his arm, but as soon as I did, his eyes flew open, their blue depths bright, wild, shining in the dark of the room. His hand closed around my throat and he leapt from the bed, pushing me into the wall, the force of it knocking the cheap print that hung there to the floor, making the glass crack.
“Wake up! It’s me. It’s Mia. Wake up, Julien!” My hands fisted around his forearm but it was impossible to pull him off as he raised me off my feet, cutting off my breath.
“Julien!” I tried one last time, struggling, unable to breathe.
He stilled, finally, staring at me, and I watched in terror as he slowly registered who I was, where we were. He let me down, his eyes still on me while I sucked in air, clutching my throat. He looked so strange. I couldn’t read what was in his eyes at all, but he kept them on me, staring at me as if really seeing me for the first time. He touched a hand to my hair, keeping me pinned to the wall all along, my breathing still uneven as my heart pounded.
He didn’t say a word, merely watching me as he caressed my hair, his hand heavy as it ran along the side of my head, making me wonder if he wasn’t at least partially still asleep.
“Julien?” Fear made a quaking whisper of my voice.
He tilted my face up to his, closing the space between us until our chests touched. Confused emotion flashed in his eyes, and I watched them, watched him, but when he pressed his mouth over mine, I made a sound, unsure myself what was happening. My hands went to his chest and pushed, but they made no impact at all, and after a moment, I yielded to him, surrendering, my lips softening, his grip relaxing as he kissed me, my mouth opening to his tongue, my body responding to his touch, his kiss. He moved his hand from my hair to cup one breast, fingernails scratching at my nipple, the sound of my cry swallowed up by his kiss. His cock pressed against my naked belly, the hard length making me want him, and I found myself reaching up to his shoulders, one hand wrapping around the back of his head, pulling him to me.
At that, he turned us, breaking the kiss, leaving me gasping, wanting more. Laying me on the edge of the bed, he pushed my legs up and spread them wide, my knees bending on either side of me. One momentary glance at my pussy was the only instance his eyes left mine and when his thick cock penetrated my too tight passage, I cried out, the pain startling. But he only closed his mouth over mine again, kissing me, eyes open as he fucked me hard, with calculated thrusts that penetrated deep, stretching me to make me take him, my clit rubbing against his belly, the rough hair there, his cock thickening.
My breath hitched and I couldn’t kiss him back, but realized he’d stopped kissing me. Our mouths touched, breath mixed, heat and the sound of fucking, of his cock slamming in and out of my wet pussy, the intimacy of a fucking so savage, so ferocious, arousing me to heights I’d never imagined possible, and when he throbbed inside me and pushed my arms over my head, his hands over mine, our fingers intertwined, I came. I came at the same time as he stilled, his eyes even bluer, if that were possible, as orgasm consumed him and he emptied inside me, sweat dripping on me, mixing with my own when he laid his weight on me, his mouth at my ear, his breathing heavy and hard.
We lay like that for some time, neither of us speaking, until I felt him slide out of me, his cum slippery on my thighs as he stood, looking down at me, his eyes unreadable.
He turned away then, opening one of the dresser drawers and pulling out my clothes. He tossed them onto the bed without looking at me. “Get dressed. We’re going.” His voice was hoarse and raspy. He gathered his own things and walked toward the bathroom.
“Can I wash?” I asked.
“No.”
He closed the bathroom door and I stood there, looking at the space where he’d just been, watching the closed door, hearing the water run.
I could have run then. I should have. But I didn’t.
Instead, I took the sheet off the bed and wiped the residue of his seed off me before gathering up my clothes and putting them on, noticing — but not caring — that my panties were missing. A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom fully dressed. He’d run water through his hair and once again he looked like he usually did — hard and unfriendly. When he saw I was dressed, he nodded, then took me by the arm, leading me out the door toward the stairs. We went out the side entrance and straight to the car. I climbed in and fastened my seatbelt. He didn’t cuff me this time and we resumed our drive.
It wasn’t until the sun rose over the horizon some time later that he finally spoke — though he still refused to look at me.
“Why didn’t you run?”
“I… don’t know.”
Silence again as a deep sienna burnt the sky.
“You didn’t use a condom,” I said.
His mouth tightened. “I’m clean. I always use condoms. This was the first time I didn’t. Are you clean? And protected?”
I paused and he glanced at me with raised eyebrows.
“Yes.” I was clean and I wouldn’t get pregnant if that was what he was worried about. “Who’s Charlie?” I asked, ready for his wrath.
But it didn’t come. Instead, he sighed and glanced at me once before returning his attention to the road. “My brother.”
Brother?
I couldn’t imagine him having a brother, a family.
“He’s dead. He hanged himself when he was fifteen.”
“Oh, God, Julien.” I reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched and I pulled back.
He looked at me then. “I don’t need your pity.” The way he said it was flat, without spite, devoid of virtually every emotion.
“It wasn’t pity.”
He didn’t respond to that, driving in silence.
I wanted to know more. I needed to know more. This man who terrified me was suffering. I didn’t know if some sick masochistic side of me wanted to help him or what, but I needed to hear his story, to understand his pain.
“Are you taking me to your childhood home?” I asked, knowing it then, knowing we weren’t going to an airport.
He glanced at me as if surprised I knew. He nodded once, his lips tight. I wasn’t going to get any more answers now, but what I’d learned was more than I ever imagined I would. This man, this beautiful, deadly man, was three-dimensional, had layers of pain just like the rest of us. But I still had to remember that he was a ruthless killer. I couldn’t romanticize him, make him out to be something he wasn’t. I had to remember that he wasn’t the good guy. He wasn’t the hero.
In fact, he was the villain.
But my mind refused to reconcile that last part. He wasn’t really that villain, not quite. I knew that somehow. As strange as it sounded, I knew it.