Mortal Siege

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  “All this time, you’ve hated Lexi. You hated her even before everything happened. Now I see why”—I always did, actually—“and it’s pathetic. No wonder it was always her and it couldn’t be you.” Many would call me a monster for how I’m tearing her down like this. For what I’m pushing her to do.

  That’s fine. I’d remind them all that this monster was brutally separated from the love of his life, that she was imprisoned and victimized for years, and that this thing at my feet had a part in it. That a part of her reveled in knowing Stephen was making Lexi suffer in such heinous ways.

  “Drew, without you I have nothing.” Her wild, cornered eyes are already focusing on the drop behind her.

  Experience tells me what’s happening in her mind. How those merciless tentacles of putrid devastation are rising, slithering up her spinal cord, working their way into her damaged mind.

  How that entity, that careless voice that overrides self-preservation, is starting to whisper to her.

  Three times this girl has attempted to overdose on pills during her life. She hasn’t even tasted tragedy like Lexi and I ‘till now. She was just never equipped to handle any kind of stressors in life.

  I can practically hear the countdown above her cries.

  Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

  “I want nothing to do with you, Kaylee. You disgust me. I can’t believe I ever thought we could be friends. That I thought I could have you back in my life. I never want to fucking see you again.” And with that, I turn my back on her, my final strategic, mortal blow.

  She screams out to me as I walk away.

  I very much plan to return to her and push her over that edge my fucking self if she doesn’t do it soon.

  There’s no need to worry though. I’m right by the entrance to the doorway by the time I hear her final scream.

  “I loved you, Andrew! I really did love you! You’re going to realize that one day!”

  Oh, please.

  Looking over my shoulder, the last thing I see of her is her hair flying wildly in the wind—

  As she throws herself to her own death in order to escape the shame of the fate she brought down upon her own cursed self.

  chapter 52

  t he crawling sensation in my brain never eases.

  They say it’s withdrawal. That the instances of sudden and violent psychosis are just my brain malfunctioning as my brain chemistry readjusts.

  They say it’s not just that. I’m detoxing off weed and alcohol, as well.

  There’s whispers of undiagnosed conditions triggered by childhood traumas.

  If the only knew the half of it.

  My physical rehabilitation? It’s going much better than my mental and emotional ones, I’ll admit.

  I took my first few steps yesterday, four months after the accident, three months after coming out of the body cast. Yes, it’s been sheer determination. I told myself I would stop hurting Mom.

  That I’d get my shit together, learn to walk again even though the doctors doubted I ever would.

  And for a few months, it worked. I pumped every bit of my desolation into my recovery. Ignored the physical agony of both the withdrawal and this imprisonment in this rehab, where I’m not allowed a single tool needed to search for her.

  The memories are sharper than ever. Even more detailed now without the drugs in my system.

  I didn’t understand how much they were numbing the poignancy of the recollections until now.

  Even high and drunk, she was all I saw. All I heard. The taste of her a phantom presence in my mouth, her scent even more powerful in my nose.

  Now? Every aspect of what I’m missing is constantly hammering at me.

  Maybe the withdrawal is part of the reason this hole seems larger than ever, the rumored black hole at the end of the universe slowly sucking up every aspect of existence into its depths.

  Or maybe it has to do with the fact it’s been nearly two years without her.

  Two years and I have no idea where she is.

  Feel her, though. As powerfully as I miss her. In the pits of that black hole, I can sense her agony. Her hatred for me.

  I could never blame her for feeling it, either. I’ve failed her. Every single moment of my broken life, every moment I’ve loved her since I was like eight, has been nothing but one spectacular failure after another.

  Had I never touched her on her eighteenth birthday, none of it would’ve gone down.

  Had I just not been a selfish, self-entitled bastard, consumed with the idea of having some part of her, I would’ve never scammed her into helping me.

  Would’ve never lied to her and taken her to Stephen’s uncle’s gym, of all people.

  How could I have ever trusted any of them even a little bit? When I was busy trying to recapture the fragile, glorious beauty of her presence in my life.

  Months ago when I awoke, I told myself I’d remain for her.

  That I’d fight for her.

  And I’ve tried. If there’s a God, he knows I’ve fucking tried.

  Yet how can any man be expected to live with this yawning emptiness in him with no remedy in sight?

  As of Mom is going to help me locate her. I’ve seen her hatred for Lexi. See it every day as I struggle to put the pieces of me back together.

  And my father? I refuse to think about him. Won’t even discuss him during the therapy sessions.

  Which I’m sure it’s how they figured out a lot of my “root” issues started and end with him.

  None of this matters anyway. Today is the true end of it all.

  I might’ve failed in that car crash four months ago, but I won’t be failing today.

  I’ve hidden most of my anguish well enough to have gained trust. Too much of it, if the surgical blade in my hand is any evidence.

  A well-aimed compliment here. A seemingly genuine smile there.

  A “yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am”, combined with all the effort I’ve put into walking again, and I became their model patient.

  Sure, the effects of the withdrawal are there. The dilated pupils, the spacing out, but for the most part I’ve dealt well. No breakdowns. No rage attacks.

  Not externally, at least.

  It was so fucking easy to pilfer the keys from one of the nurses when he was distracted. Too easy. Guess I can add thief to my long list of pre-programed flaws.

  And sneaking into the medical supply room? The hallway was empty this time of night. Sure, they’re catch me on the security cams, but by then it’ll be too late. I’ve already barricaded myself in this even smaller supply closet.

  Or so I believe.

  Something slams into the door, making me jump. “Open up right now! Someone is already on their way with the keys. Please open!”

  It’s a woman. A voice I don’t recognize.

  Fuck, she must’ve seen me come in here and in my revelry, I took too long to do what was necessary.

  No matter. If I’m quick enough, it’ll be over by the time they get here with those fucking keys.

  She slams her hand into the door in rapid successions. “Please open this door!”

  I line my left forearm up with my bent leg. A map of pink dots and scars meets my gaze.

  Ignoring it, I line up the sharp end of the scalpel with my wrist.

  I’m not stupid. Doing it sideways will only buy them time to save me.

  No one will be saving me this time.

  For the second time, I send a final goodbye to Lexi, hoping beyond hope and possibility that the force of my love can find her from afar. That one day she’ll wake up and know somehow that this broken husk of a man adored her until his very last breath.

  I press down with the scalpel, my heart beating as loud as the knocks on the door.

  Blood wells, red, full of life.

  It’s one of the last things I’ll see.

  That and Lexi’s face.

  Drawing the scalpel vertically up my arm, I don’t even feel the bite of the cut as skin parts like
butter under a hot knife. I make sure to press down hard enough to severe the veins, to erase any chance of them being able to fix anything before I’m done bleeding out.

  Didn’t really eat all day so it’s no surprise I’m lightheaded within seconds as blood continues to rush out the wound, trickling over my arm until my pant leg.

  “Hurry! The door won’t open and I’m sure I saw someone come in here!” the woman shouts on the other side of the door.

  I ignore everything outside, focused on the blood starting to soak my pants and now leak onto the floor. The world continues spinning, darkness already threatening the edges of my vision.

  Fuck it. I don’t need to see this.

  Leaning my head back against the wall, I close my eyes, allowing one of my most painful memories to take control again.

  Lexi by that cherry tree outside the school the day I finally worked up the courage to talk to her again after a decade of separation.

  The light jeans she wore. That cute, pink cardigan over her white shirt. The matching pink converses and pink glasses.

  Those curls. Always those curls.

  The way her eyes widened with surprise when she realized that, yes, I was approaching her.

  The tremulous, hopeful smile that parted her luscious lips as I said hi.

  It’d been like a car slamming into my gut, the realization that she’d been waiting for a chance to speak to me once more.

  Like I’d been starving for the chance to be close to her again.

  That first conversation, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear nervously.

  “God, I fucking love you,” I whisper, feeling the weakness seep in deeper. “I always loved you. It’ll never stop.”

  There’s a commotion outside the door.

  Doesn’t matter.

  Giving into the call of the darkness, I let myself fall, holding onto the image of her as long as I can . . .

  And it’s another betrayal of her. Even as I’m pulled utterly under, her image that last thing I see, I’m not blind to this weakness and what it’s driving me to do.

  That once again I’m choosing to leave this world while the love of my life is still in it.

  I’m sorry, Lexi. I’m sorry. Please hear me. If you do anything else, please feel me.

  Even if she does, she’ll only welcome my voice, my feelings, with that torrent of hate.

  It’s no less than I deserve.

  More than leaving her behind, that’s the final thought that breaks my heart one last time. That no matter how much I suffered for her, bled this love for her, in the end she loathed me so much that her only solution was to run away.

  Perhaps when the day comes that she hears of my death, she’ll find it in her to understand why I had to run away too.

  chapter 53

  w here is Lexi?

  Stepping out of the stairwell on the ground floor, my eyes bounce around in search of her. Outside the massive windows, there’s mountains of construction equipment and supplies littering the unfinished plaza.

  Just outside the doors, the body lies on its side.

  No. Not the body. She’s still twitching, back shuddering with forced breaths.

  Look at that. She survived the fall.

  Might be best Lexi’s nowhere in sight. I’ll have a chance to finish her off before my girl arrives and gets more blood on her hands.

  Not that Lexi minds. I’ve learned she thrives on the violence as much as I do. While as we aren’t like our enemies, gorging on the misfortune of innocents, we do get a certain nourishment from reaping revenge on the bad guys.

  Making my way outside, I tilt my head.

  Still no sign of Lexi. No sounds.

  Far off down the block, life continues in the city.

  Here on the pier, however, it’s just the wind and the small, gurgling sounds leaking out of Kaylee.

  Walking around her, I take in the pitiful sight she makes. Blood leaks from her ears, nose, and mouth. Upon further inspection, it becomes clear she didn’t survive this fall. Her ribcage might be twitching with her struggle to move, but from the neck down she’s immobile.

  She probably damaged her spine on impact.

  Glassy eyes flicker up to me, her lips parting with a feeble, blood-drenched gasp. “A-are y-you happy now? St-Stephen will be as well.”

  “Oh, please,” my girl’s voice rings out, followed by that sexy click-clack of her heels.

  My head jerks up. I’m starved for the sight of her, as if I haven’t seen her in hours, and watching her sashay her way out the doors towards us does crazy ass things to me.

  Lexi’s wearing her business attire from earlier, that deep purple skirt and white silk shirt. Her heels match her skirt, sky-high as always, and I wonder if she ever became aware of how she can kill men simply by waltzing past them.

  She comes around Kaylee, joining my side, and stares down at her with a dispassionate yet gloating smile. “Stephen had nothing to do with this one, little girl. He was actually innocent this time around.”

  How a woman in her last moments can experience such a level of horror in her broken body is proof of the mind’s tenacity. The soul’s will to live even as death encroaches. Kaylee’s lids peel back in a nearly grotesque display, her shaking intensifying.

  In response, Lexi twirls on the tip of one heel, facing me, her hand running down my chest in an unmistakable caress. “See? This is what happens from now on to any bitch that thinks she’s going to help keep me isolated from what’s mine so that she can have it for herself.” That hand moves lower, gliding over every ridged ab.

  I’m tense, fists shaking, struck mute by disbelief. My girl can’t be thinking what I think she’s thinking . . .

  Her finger bumps along my belt buckle and continues its torturous glide downward. Pressing against me, Lexi wraps one cool hand around my nape. Her lips press to my ear. “I want you to show her who this belongs to.”

  I bite down on my inner cheek as her hand wraps around my dick, squeezing tight, and choke out her name. “Lexi.” The fight is starting to leak out of Kaylee’s eyes. Not that it stops that virulent hatred and jealousy from pulsing within those orbs.

  Lexi eases away to meet my gaze, her own flashing with anger. “What’s the matter, Drew? Afraid to show her who it is you truly want?”

  She’s goading me, jerking my erection, and doubting me all in one breath.

  My hand flies up and snaps around her neck, her chin tucked into the space between my thumb and index finger. “I just destroyed her for you,” I hiss.

  Another whimper leaves Kaylee.

  Ignoring her, I tug Lexi closer. Her eyes lock on my lips immediately and my own drop to hers, the connection between us igniting. Sparking. The darkness of what we’ve just done is slipping around us again, uniting us, feeding the strange, ungodly lust between us.

  Lexi leans closer, licking her lips, and I know it’s game over. She’s about to get what she wants, although my mind is screaming once more, warning me that we continue sliding further into this illness. “Then do it, Drew. Take me. Right here. Show her.”

  Fucking hell, she’s so sexy when she speaks to me in that tone.

  My mind might know this is wrong, but my black soul snaps free, taking control.

  Not to mention that there’s nothing in the world this girl could ever want that I wouldn’t rush to give her.

  Groaning, I tug her by the neck and fit my mouth over hers. First touch of her lips and a sharp pulse of pleasure ricochets in my system. Tongues tangling, I twist her blindly, searching out that waist-high crate that was near us.

  Kaylee isn’t forgotten. That’s the most fucked up part.

  As Lexi comes up against the crate, her hands clawing at me, our kiss turning frantic, we’re both fucking high on the knowledge that one of our enemies is dying feet from us.

  That she’s watching us.

  Spinning Lexi around, I run my hands up and down her body, grinding my dick into her ass like a horny animal. “Remember a
fter we killed Shane?” My breaths race along her ear, down her neck as I lick and suck. “How you made me pound you from the back?” I drag her skirt higher. “Or the night of the gala? On my hood?”

  She rocks back into me. “Holy fuck, yes.” Catching onto my meaning, she leans over the crate, forearms flat to the surface.

  Lexi must understand how fucking glorious her ass looks when she bends over like that. She’s always so eager to do it for me. So needy.

  All thoughts of restraint, right-and-wrong, what’s healthy and what’s not, flee my mind. In my periphery, I see her, our victim, but she’s lost to the blur. The laserlike focus that overcomes my vision everytime Lexi is near, offering herself up to me like this.

  Forcing her skirt up over her ass, I bare those perfect cheeks to the night and my gaze. Her plump pussy lips are barely contained by her thong.

  White. Just like the night of the gala.

  Soaked. Always fucking soaked.

  The string does nothing to cover her puckered asshole and I bite my lip at the sight.

  I haven’t dared, not yet. She hasn’t confessed that to me, but I’m convinced Menahan abused her there, too.

  Which is probably why I’m suddenly fixated, starving to give her pleasure there. To erase all memories of pain.

  Not tonight though. Not here. I’ll just have to settle for playing with it.

  Easing her thong down her legs, I slap one cheek and kick her legs apart. “Hold on tight, baby. As usual you’re about to get what you want from me.”

  chapter 54

  w ith my palm flat on her back, I press her down on the crate, cheek to the surface, my cock fisted in my other hand. I tease her with it a few more times, pressing the tip to her pulsing little hole just enough to give her a taste.

  The way her body tries to draw me into that wet heat gets me every damn time.

  “Hold on, baby,” I rasp, sliding a hand into her curls. “Hold on fucking tight.”

  She mewls my name, arching urgently—

  Gritting my teeth, I slide the tip in, withdraw, slide it in a little more. I repeat the process a few times, holding her down as she struggles, panting, wanting, straining.