He takes everything I have, because he’s larger than me, larger than life. He’s larger than my self-control. When he fucks me, he makes me forget everything. It’s only now, relaxed and sated in his arms, that I realize we haven’t used protection.
Cupping my head, he makes me look back at him. He starts moving again while his finger traces the seam of my ass. I squirm when he applies pressure on my dark entrance. I moan when he breaks the resistance of the tight ring of muscles. His finger sinks deep, and undiscovered nerve endings pulse to life.
“Do I need to stop, Lina?”
Yes, and no.
“Do you want this, angel?”
No, and yes.
He moves his finger. “Like this?”
Yes, and yes.
“Do you want me?”
I’m beyond words. He starts fucking me with his cock and finger like he knows this. I’m falling apart, inside and out.
“Tell me,” he urges. It’s the seductive words of an experienced lover who knows how to get what he wants. “Tell me you want me.”
I want him, and I don’t. He pushes my limits to extremes. He stretches me until my heart and mind splinter like a piece of wood axed in two, until I’m torn up inside. He pulls me until my grip slips, until I lose my hold and fall from grace. When I have no place left to go but down, he catches me and mends me.
Over and over, the pattern repeats, but like a tormented soul that dies only to reincarnate and live the suffering from scratch, I’m unable to stop. I’m unable to resist him. I come for him every time, no matter if he fucks me hard or commands me gently. He creates this weakness in me so that he can exploit it, because only in weakness is my body his. We both know this, but he wants it to be different. This is what he’s looking for so hard in my face. He’s looking for a fissure in my soul, the first crack he can exploit. I hold back the feelings and cry out my orgasm, collapsing in his arms. In this very weakness lies my only strength. He takes me by seduction, manipulation, and trade. Nothing I give is given freely. My love still belongs to me.
Chapter 18
Lina
Even monsters can be kind.
Damian holds the power over my money and decisions, but he’s not unaffected by my behavior. After the jelly bean incident in his study, he makes himself vulnerable by giving me power over his body, and by letting me know how much I hurt him when I helped set up Anne’s failed seduction. He goes down on his knees to bring me to orgasm as often as he can, and he brings the healed bat home. He looks into my eyes with raw passion when he climaxes inside of me, and he pays for my driving lessons. He lets me hear how much I turn him on with growls and grunts, and he tells me how much he loves the little sound I make when I come. I’m a slave to his touch. I’m not counting the days between my periods and ovulation. What’s the point? I’m never regular. I want the knowledge of my easy surrender to shock me, but it doesn’t. Maybe, subconsciously, I want this to make up for the past. It’s wrong, but what am I if not sick in the head? What is our situation if not insanely twisted?
Zane says Damian will grow tired of me now that he’s gotten what he wanted, but Zane isn’t there when Damian takes me several times in the middle of the night. My husband is insatiable. Sometimes, his needs leave me with an ache between my thighs and sore muscles all over my body, but I’ll lie if I say I don’t enjoy being used. It’s a coping mechanism, an addiction, and if I tell Reyno about it he’d tell me it’s sick.
We both are, Damian and me. In our own different ways, we’re sinners. We’re both lost and doomed, driven by needs that will never redeem us. Those needs are the axle around which our actions are spinning, and it fills this house with the deviant energy of our desires, of hunting revenge, and chasing closure.
Damian is trying to take away the pain he suffered the vengeful way. An eye for an eye. In his life, there’s no turning the other cheek. Harold took from him. He took that back and more. He took me. He took my freedom and my most basic human right, the right to make decisions. As for me, my soul won’t rest until I stand over the remains of the baby I never held in my arms. My heart won’t find peace until I put an angel on his grave to watch over him. Only then will I be free to mourn and let go. Our destructive ways run from days into weeks. Like planets bound to orbits, we’re stuck to our paths, unable to break free.
I find my own routine in our unhealthy environment. A warped kind of stability dawns, giving me time to think. True to his word, Damian gives me patience. He never asks about my baby or Willowbrook again. He waits for me to tell him I’m ready, and many times I’m tempted. Many times, I get close to giving up, to forsaking my oath of a white angel tombstone on a black heap of sand, but then I wake up in a cold sweat and shame, and I go back to the mundane tasks of living.
Physically, I’m thriving. I picked up weight and filled out. Besides going to the gym three times a week with Damian, I swim every morning. I have a driver’s license test booked for the end of the summer, and I see my shrink every Wednesday. I work secretly for Reyno, transcribing his recorded notes. We make progress. I can close a door behind me without completely freaking out, and I’m not collecting bread rolls any longer. The walls still get too much sometimes, but a walk in the new natural garden is always the right remedy.
I don’t bring up the issue about money again, because I’m earning mine under the table. While Damian gives me vulnerability and truth, working hard on building trust, I give him lies and my body. Every day, it gets harder. Every day, my reasons muddle more, until the day Zane corners me at the pool after his run.
He wipes his face on a towel, regarding me with open hostility. He still hasn’t forgiven me for driving his grandfather and Anne away. “Looks like you’re settling in to stay.”
I get out at the shallow end and wrap myself up in a towel. Brink isn’t far away. Zane can’t hurt me, but I don’t like the way he looks at me.
Zane drops his voice so Brink can’t hear. “Do you still want the evidence?”
I don’t trust him. My answer is wary. “What do you want in return?”
“Disappear from Dami’s life. Forever.”
The offer works in the favor of my own plans to get Reyno to restore my mental status, and to save up a bit of money so I can escape when I finally have the evidence. I’ll give copies to Harold, and he’ll tell me what I want to know. The only price I have to pay is Damian.
A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated, but now he’s shown me that monsters can be kind. He’s fighting for me, for my trust, and it gets tougher to imagine a life of fleeing from him. Damian is my solid rock. My captor is the only man I believe. He says what he means, and he means what he says. I know exactly where I stand with him. He told me he would punish me for the move I pulled with Anne, and even if he risked our newfound peace, he kept his word. He made me kneel on the jelly beans I’d collected in the jar and suck him off while the candy dug into my knees and the color rubbed off on my skin. He took his time to come, until I was crying around his cock from the pain the little candy pebbles caused.
I can have a lifetime of punished pleasure and truthful captivity, or a lifetime of running alone in fear, constantly looking over my shoulder. Or I can let the past go. I can grieve without a gravestone and carve the eulogy in my heart. I can give up and let Damian take care of me. I can even take the last leap of faith and tell Damian what he wants to know. I can believe he’d give me the anything he promised and ask him to find the grave. The only price will be my freedom.
Two very different lives. Two very different gains. Two very different sacrifices. In one, I remain a pampered captive at the price of my freedom. In the other, I gain freedom at the price of loneliness and unequalled fear.
Either way, the price seems too high.
“Lina?” Zane frowns. “Maybe you should sit down in the shade.”
I hate that everyone thinks I’m as fragile as when I arrived here. “I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”
“What’s with the he
sitation? Getting used to a life of luxury?”
I don’t bother to answer.
When I get back to the house, I change and ask Brink to drive me to the church in Brixton.
While Brink and the other guards wait outside, I walk into the depressing darkness. In front of the painting, I stop. I stare at her face, the doting face of a mother. How did she feel when Jesus was arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane? How much pain did she suffer when they nailed him to a cross? I’m not religious, but I kneel on the hard floor, folding my hands together.
“Please tell me what to do.”
I stay for nearly an hour, and when I leave, I still don’t have an answer.
Hesitant, I pause on the sidewalk. What now? Big, fat raindrops start plopping down on the concrete. They hiss when they hit the warm tar road. The smell of rain mixed with soot fills the air. Brink unfolds an umbrella and holds it over my head, but I push it away. The rain feels good. Clean. It runs in rivulets down my back and arms, washing away the stickiness of my sweaty skin. I look down the street, toward the sad apartment block, and it’s as if my feet carry me there of their own accord.
My bodyguards follow. Their order is to protect me, not to pose questions. In front of Harold’s building, I stop to look up at his window. The drops sting my eyes and tickle my nostrils. Visiting Harold is against the rules, but surely Damian won’t punish me if I explain my reasons.
My footsteps echo on the stairs. Away from the rain, the dirty smells assault my nose and cling to my wet clothes.
I don’t have to wait long after knocking. The door opens, revealing Harold in surprisingly clean clothes.
“Well.” He looks over my shoulder at the guards. “Where’s Damian?”
I push past him. “I need to talk to you.” Turning to Brink, I say, “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you go in alone.”
“I’ll leave the door open. I only need a word.”
I move toward the far end of the room. The place isn’t tidy, but it’s cleaner. Harold seems to be getting his act together.
“Where is it?” he whispers.
“I don’t have it.”
“Then why are you here?”
That’s when I know my answer. “To tell you I’m not doing it. I’m not getting you the evidence.”
He sneers. “Don’t you want to know? Not so long ago, it was all you lived for.”
“Damian will find it. He’ll do it for me. You may as well save yourself the torture and tell me now what you did with his body.”
He scoffs. “What about your freedom?”
“It’s not important, anymore,” I lie.
“What about the murder? If I talk, you’ll be locked up, again.”
“I’ll tell Damian everything. He’ll get me a good lawyer.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles. “No, you won’t.”
“You don’t know me. I’m not the starved, weakened woman you fetched from Willowbrook.”
His gaze slips over me. “You’re making a big mistake, Angelina.”
“Goodbye, Harold.”
“It’s not goodbye,” he says to my back as I walk through the door. “I’ll have the last word yet.”
Damian
Work takes its toll. There’s always too much of it and too little time, but when my guard, Drew, calls to say he’s found something on the security recording, I drop everything and go home.
Drew waits in my study as instructed. He stands on attention when I enter.
“Sir.”
I go around the desk and push the play button on the laptop. It’s the night of the business dinner. Lina is dressed in her diamonds and cum-stained gown. She walks to the stairs like a crab with her back to the wall. She’s halfway up when Zane comes down. He stands in front of her, blocking her face from the camera, but when she takes another step up, it’s obvious she’s upset. They’re having words. She bends backwards over the rail as far as she can, but he reaches out, fast like a snake, and fastens his hand around her neck. My vision washes out until everything goes white. Static noise crackles in my ears.
I can’t formulate more than a clipped question. “Sound?”
“I can get it, sir.”
“Do it. Now. Anything else?”
“Not so far, sir, but I still have a couple of weeks’ worth of watching left.”
“Watch everything, every second.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where’s my wife?”
“Out, sir.”
“Out where?”
“Brixton.”
I still. “What is she doing in Brixton?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Disappointment stretches ugly, black wings in my chest. “How many guards?”
“Five, including Brink.”
I nod. “You’re dismissed.”
He’s scarcely gone when I dial Brink. I bark out my question when he answers. “Where’s my wife?”
“Brixton. She’s safe, sir.”
“Doing what?”
“Visiting her father.”
Anger burns through my veins. Why does she insist on defying me? Just when I thought we’re making progress she takes us right back to square one.
“Sir?”
“Bring her home.”
Hanging up, I throw the phone down on the desk and drag my hands over my face. I don’t look forward to what I have to do, but I’ve never shied away from making good on my promises. My priority is Zane.
Going through the house, I find him in the kitchen, preparing a sandwich.
“Dami,” he says when I enter, clearly surprised.
“Where’s Jana?”
“Picking up supplies. Want me to fix you a bite? I didn’t expect you home for lunch.”
With a swipe of my arm, I clear the counter. The half-made sandwich and utensils crash to the floor. The plate cracks in two. Mayonnaise splatters the tiles.
Zane doesn’t move as I advance on him. His expression is sober. He took a risk and knows he’s been caught. He’s not going to deny it.
“Why?” I ask, my voice not betraying the violence sweeping through me.
“How?” he deflects.
I bang a fist on the counter. “Does it fucking matter?”
“You spied on me.” His tone is bitter. “Of course, it matters.”
“I trusted you.”
“She’s playing you.”
“What are you doing, Zane? Playing me, too?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “I love you, Dami.”
“I’ve been clear from the start.”
“I hoped you’d…” He looks away.
“You hoped I’d what? Turn bisexual?”
He bends to pick up the mess, but I kick the plate away.
“Is that why you hate Lina? You’re jealous?”
He straightens. “I don’t hate her.” Anger flickers in his gaze. “You’re losing your shit over her. You’re turning weak. I’m doing you a favor.”
Lina didn’t lie. The one person I trusted did. “Is that why you cuffed her and fed her a sleeping pill?”
“I cuffed her to prevent her from jumping out the window. Her screaming kept me up. That’s why I gave her the pill.”
“She screamed because she can’t be tied up or locked in.” I get into his face. “Do you know what they did to her in the institution where she spent one whole fucking year? They strapped her to a bed and isolated her after pumping her full of drugs. I think you can cut her some slack for freaking out.”
He blinks. His face is blank. No remorse.
“What happened to her hip, Zane?”
“I told you. I found her snooping.”
“You hurt her on purpose.”
“It was an accident. She provoked me.”
“Why did you strangle her on the night of the dinner party?”
He gives a cynical laugh. “Is that what she told you?”
“That’s what I saw. She hasn�
�t told me anything. Lina is no tattletale. Unlike you, she has some honor in her.”
“Honor?” His lip curls. “You’re so smitten with her you only see what you want to see. You so badly want to believe she’s a good person, that she cares.”
My patience is running out. I fold my fingers around his neck, just like he did with Lina. “Say what you mean and make it fast.”
“She didn’t tell you, because we have a deal.”
My composure dents. I give a fraction, but I don’t remove my grip. I shouldn’t ask something that will destroy the fragile relationship growing between my unwilling wife and my obsessive self, but I can’t stop. “What deal?”
“I get her the evidence. She disappears.”
The fight leaves me. I let him go. It was an idle dream. She’ll never come to me freely. My love is tainted and one-sided.
More pieces come together. That’s why she went to see Dalton, to share the news. “Did you give it to her?”
“Not yet.”
“When were you going to?”
“I’ve almost cracked the code.”
“Why tell me?”
“This is the end, isn’t it?” His eyes beg me to deny it.
My tone is cold and dead, like my heart. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt over Lina. You made a fool of me. You betrayed me.”
“I did it for you.”
“You did it for yourself. I gave you friendship, but it wasn’t enough. You hurt an innocent woman for something she didn’t choose, just because you couldn’t have it.”
“Dami, please.”
“You saved my life.” I take my cheque book and pen from my inside jacket pocket. Scribbling a figure, enough to set him up comfortably, I sign it with a flourish and finality. “I won’t forget you saved me from being raped. It’s the only reason I’m not bashing your head in and breaking every bone in your body.” The cheque tears smoothly on the perforated line, a clean break. I push it over the counter toward him. “We’re even.”
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