Trapping Sophia: Disciples 6

by Sweet, Izzy

  My skin crawls and I try to pull away.

  He yanks me right back.

  Staring into my eyes as if he’s trying to read my soul, he says, “I didn’t kill your father.”

  I want to believe him. Deep down, I want to believe he didn’t do it. That he truly wants to protect me.

  But I’d only be fooling myself.

  He’s a criminal. A thug. A degenerate. He makes a living off of breaking and defying the law. He’s the exact opposite of everything I’ve ever stood for and believed in.

  He’s literally what’s wrong with this world.

  And he has no reason to admit his sin. Not when he’s skated through his entire life without any consequences.

  When men like my father, good men, try to stop men like him, they usually end up in a body bag…

  He pulls back a little, a mixture of surprise and hurt on his face. “You don’t believe me.”

  Why would I believe him?

  “I have never lied to you,” he growls.

  When I don’t respond, he leans closer to my face. “I would never hurt you like that.”

  On the verge of bursting into tears now, I try to knock his hand away. “If not you, then who? Your boss? Lucifer? Or one of the other men? Was it Simon? Andrew? Johnathan? Or maybe it was Gabriel and that’s why you got him released from prison?”

  With each name I say, James looks like I just punched him in the gut.

  And it only makes want to cry even more.

  Cry, scream, and punish him.

  “Or maybe my father was in the wrong place, at the wrong time! He was just… collateral damage!”

  I shove at his chest and he takes one stumbling step back before he grabs me. Grabs me and tries to pull me into him. “No. It wasn’t us, Sophia. I swear it wasn’t us.”

  “Then who?!” I screech and shove at him again.

  “I don’t know yet,” he says, sounding almost sad as he tugs me back.

  Still not believing him, I lash out, slapping him across the face.

  The sound of my hand connecting with his cheek resonates through the bedroom as a loud crack.

  And his head whips back either from surprise or the force I put behind it.

  Panting with emotion, I glare at him as he slowly turns his face back to look at me. I see the deadly glint in his eyes, but it doesn’t affect me.

  I’m too worked up to be afraid now.

  Not satisfied with the flush of red spreading across his cheek and wanting to hurt him more, wanting to hurt him as much as I hurt, I raise my stinging hand, ready to slap him again.

  “But when I do, I’m going to make them fucking pay,” he growls and grabs my hand out of the air in mid-slap, tugging me to him.

  Crushing me in a hug, his arms lock tight around me, so tight I can barely move.

  I try to squirm free, but the more I fight, the more his hold tightens around me.

  “They’ll pay. Their family and future generations will pay,” he grunts while keeping me caged in his arms.

  Unable to break free, no matter hard I try, I give up and collapse against him.

  Crushed by both the constriction and his threat.

  “Hell will feel like a fucking vacation when I’m done with them,” he declares so vehemently, goosebumps break out across my flesh.

  His breath puffs against the top of my head, followed by a tender brush of his lips. “I promise, love, I won’t let them get away with this. I’ll get them all, even if it kills me.”

  His promise cuts right through to my soul, completely shattering me and challenging everything I’ve ever believed in.

  To say this wasn’t what I envisioned going down when I decided to confront him about my father’s death would be an understatement.

  I expected him to deny it, of course. Perhaps even try to slyly convince me there wasn’t any way he could have been involved.

  Not crush me in a hug and promise retribution.

  It feels like my world has suddenly been turned upside down.

  I’m so… disturbed, so damn unnerved by his promise and the way things have turned, I tip my head back and peer up at him.

  There’s this strange light in his eyes. An almost diabolical light, like he’s thinking about what he’s planning to do and how much he’s going to enjoy it.

  “Why?”

  Why would he do that?

  What does he get out of it?

  It’s not like we’re family or even friends.

  His jaw tightens and he grits his teeth, making the expression on his face even more frightening. “Because they hurt you.”

  Breath quickening, his answer causes both fear and excitement to flood through me. A mix of emotions I’ve never felt before I met him, but one I keep experiencing whenever I’m in his presence.

  I seriously don’t know what’s wrong with me. Finding any joy in that…

  Maybe he’s not the only one who’s sick.

  Shaking my head, I try to keep my mind clear so I can stay focused on the issue. “So what? Why do you care?”

  His eyes grow darker, becoming downright sinister.

  “Because you’re mine,” he declares, the word ringing in my ears.

  Then he adds, his voice almost cracking, “My baby.”

  Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath. “Nobody hurts you. Nobody fucks with you and gets away with it on my watch.”

  “What?” I exhale in more confused and excited horror. My heart so conflicted it doesn’t know if it wants to race or stop beating completely.

  Did I hear that right?

  Reaching up, he grabs my face again and rubs his thumb tenderly along my bottom lip, his expression unchanging. “You’re mine and I’ll always protect you.”

  My mind whirls, trying to process all this new information. Trying to process how I feel about it.

  I’m his? Like an object he’s owns or possesses?

  He’s going to protect me?

  Since when?

  Then he kisses me.

  Kisses me like a man who’s both proving a point and utterly desperate.

  When he finally pulls away from me, tearing his lips from mine like it pains him to do so, I can only gape at him.

  I knew he was crazy…

  But this…

  This.

  Oh my god, what am I going to do about this?

  What am I going to do about the tiny dark part of me that’s soaring at his declarations? Practically reveling in them?

  “You’re mine, Sophia,” he repeats like now that he’s said it he can’t stop saying it. Then he tenderly brushes a curl out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. “You’ve been mine since the night we met, and I’ll always take care of you.”

  I don’t know what to do.

  I don’t know what the fuck just happened.

  How did me confronting him about my father’s death turn into him giving me a declaration of ownership?

  It’s like I’ve suddenly slipped into an alternate reality or a fucked-up dimension.

  The tightness of his arm still wrapped around me though is proof I’m still right here.

  It’s truly happening.

  It’s real.

  James stares at me as if he expects me to contradict him. His expression and the set of his shoulders prepared for it.

  I try to work up the will, the energy to fight him on this. To tell him no way, no how, I’m his anything.

  But I just don’t have the energy for it. I don’t have the energy to argue with him over this. I don’t have the energy to deal with this, on top of all the other shit that’s already overflowing off my plate.

  And god only knows what else he might admit if I address it.

  When I only stare up at him wearily, his expression gradually softens.

  “Sophia?” he asks, staring into my eyes, still expecting something from me.

  Gratitude? A fight?

  Simple acknowledgement?

  I don’t know what he expects.

 
All I know is that, “I’m tired.”

  So fucking tired of it all.

  I need to get off this ride before it crashes and burns with me stuck inside it.

  His next words are said carefully, as if he’s worried I might suddenly break and fall to pieces. “Do you want to go bed?”

  I press my lips together, swallow, and nod my head.

  I’m not only tired, I’m disturbed as fuck, and wish to heaven I never asked the questions I asked. I’m only more confused now and fucked up in the head.

  And the longer I stand here in his arms, the harder it is to resist the temptation to accept and believe that I truly am his.

  His craziness must be contagious.

  As if he can’t stop himself, James brushes another kiss against my hair and tucks another curl behind my ear. “Let’s go to bed then.”

  Numbly, I nod my head again.

  I need space. I need time to think about all of this.

  I need to figure out a fucking escape plan.

  Reaching around me, James yanks the covers back then nudges me to get in, finally releasing his hold on me.

  My butt drops to the mattress, my body automatically following his suggestion.

  Once I lean back and lay down, I grab the blanket and pull it over me, burrowing under it for protection.

  Watching me with a scowl, James reaches down and finishes undoing his pants, letting them fall to the floor.

  As soon as I catch a glimpse of his half-erect cock, I roll over and bury my head under the pillow.

  The light clicks off a second later.

  Then I feel him nudging at my back. “Scoot over.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  Not asking a second time, he lifts the cover and forces me to physically move as he squeezes in beside me.

  Realizing what he’s planning to do, I try to escape to the other side of the bed.

  But his heavy arm just drapes over me and pulls me back. Nestling my body up against his.

  Tucking his chin over my head, he wiggles and maneuvers me until he’s spooned around me. My back against his chest, his cock against my ass.

  Squirming uncomfortably, I try to move away, only to be pulled right back.

  His arm locks like a restraining bar across my breasts and he pushes his hips forward.

  “If you aren’t tired…” he says ominously in the dark.

  Oh god, no. We’re not doing that again.

  Instantly I still.

  A second later, James sighs with obvious disappointment.

  Relaxing his body around me, yet another kiss is pressed against the top of my head.

  Then he breathes into my ear, “Sweet dreams, Sophia.”

  11

  Sophia

  We all have our weaknesses. Weaknesses we don’t get to choose and can’t always control. The best we can do is try to overcome them.

  And that’s what I spend the night doing.

  Trying to overcome James and the unwanted attraction I have for him.

  An attraction I never asked for, but exists nonetheless.

  No longer able to live in denial, I accept that it’s been there since the moment we met. And, if I’m being really honest with myself, it was still there when he pushed me away.

  Somehow it even survived when I found out exactly who he is.

  I did my best to fight it.

  I buried it deep, where it lingered under anger and betrayal. Weakened and repressed.

  But never completely vanquished.

  And even more dangerous when pressed up against him with his heat against my ass and his chest warming my back.

  I suppose it was the attraction that kept me from stabbing him in his sleep last night when he spent the night on my couch.

  The thought crossed my mind a time or two.

  And I suppose it’s what has me so conflicted and confused now as I squirm out of his embrace.

  Squirm and wiggle, only to be yanked right back.

  No matter how many times I try to escape, he always pulls me back. Wrapping me up in his arms. Forcing this on me, whether I want it or not.

  And I don’t want it.

  God, I do not want it.

  I refuse to fall for him. Not only because is he the worst possible person I could fall for. I can’t fall for him because I made a promise to myself after my mother passed away. After witnessing her death devastate my poor father, I promised myself I’d never fall in love so I wouldn’t have to go through what he did.

  I’ve never wanted to be weak or exposed like that.

  Yet here I am…

  Exposed and raw in James’s arms.

  Wondering how I’m going to escape with my heart intact.

  James’s starts to relax around me again, his breathing deepening as he drifts to sleep.

  As soon as I so much as I twitch, his arms tighten around me. Even in his sleep, he’s afraid I’m going to slip away.

  Dammit.

  Why did he have to declare his intentions?

  Why did I have to ask the questions I did?

  It would be so much easier to deal with all of this if I could still believe he was a murderous monster.

  But he’s not a murderous monster. He’s not even the villain.

  With just a few words, he’s declared himself my personal hero.

  And I believe him.

  I don’t want to believe him. Lord knows, I don’t want to believe him.

  But I would just be fooling myself if I refused to accept all the evidence.

  I still don’t know who killed my father. Maybe it was the Russians. Maybe it was one of Lucifer’s other men…

  But it wasn’t James.

  And I hate him a little for it.

  God, it’s sick to admit that. It’s sick to even think.

  But I hate that James can’t be the evil man I expected him to be because it gives me one less reason to despise him.

  At this point, I need every reason I can get.

  Pressure builds around my sinuses as my throat closes up and my eyes begin to swell with unshed tears.

  I want to scream. I want to rage at the heavens for everything that’s happened. I want to ask God why. Why is he doing this to me?

  Isn’t he only supposed to give us as much as we can handle?

  This is too much. I can’t handle it… I can’t…

  But I’m not alone so I hold it back.

  Despite not letting my tears fall, my body begins to shudder as each breath I pull in becomes impossibly thick.

  James stiffens, and though his voice is soft, it’s heavy with concern. “Sophia?”

  When I refuse to answer him, he forces me to roll over so that I’m facing him.

  Brushing my hair back like he has the right to be so intimate with me, he asks, “Baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  Planting my palms on his hard chest, I try to shove away from him instead.

  Grabbing me by the ass, he pulls me right back.

  “Sophia… please…” he pleads.

  Maybe it’s the sound of pleading in his voice that breaks me, or maybe it’s simply the fact that he cares so much he asked, but one sob slips free.

  Followed by another.

  And another.

  Until I’m crying uncontrollably.

  The stiffness going out of his body, James tries to soothe me by stroking my head, my back, and my cheeks.

  Telling me everything’s going to be okay.

  He’ll take care of me…

  But nothing’s going to be okay ever again.

  Because despite how good it feels to be held. How good it feels to have someone stronger than me ready to protect me and take care of me.

  I still don’t want this.

  I’d rather have my old life back.

  * * *

  Like so many nights before tonight, I fall asleep crying. But this time, I fall asleep crying in James’s tight embrace.

  My sleep is dark and deep, despite all the shit rolling around in my br
ain.

  Oblivion welcomes me, and I try to enjoy it. Enjoy the nothingness. Enjoy feeling no sadness or pain.

  But in the end, it only leaves me wanting. The emptiness fills me with a strange, growing hunger for something more.

  Something warm and strong.

  In my dreams, I follow the hunger, chasing the pull.

  Longing to be sated and fulfilled…

  Until I’m suddenly awakened by James letting out a deep, throaty groan.

  Jolting with alarm, I open my eyes, but it’s pitch black in the room. And somehow my arms are wrapped around James, my face pressed up against his throat.

  When I fell asleep, I was so cold and full of despair, only James’s body provided any warmth.

  Now, as he groans again as if he’s suffering some terrible pain, I realize I’m so hot my body feels like it’s on fire.

  My hips are also moving…

  Rolling and grinding against his hard erection as I try to ease a pulsing ache in my core.

  I freeze instantly in dismay.

  What on earth am I doing?

  The throbbing between my thighs, however, continues on. Growing stronger now that I’ve stopped. Urging me to keep moving.

  It takes every ounce of self-control I have to remain still.

  “Are you awake?” James asks, voice strained.

  My first instinct is to deny what’s happening. To deny what I’m doing.

  So I tell him, “No.”

  Something twitches against my throbbing sex and it takes me a second to realize it’s his cock.

  I didn’t know they could do that…

  And what the fuck happened to my pants?

  James’s tips his head down and his warm breath tickles my ear as he chuckles. “No?”

  Pulling away from his neck, I lick my dry lips and taste his salty skin. Another jolt of alarm goes through me as realization sets in.

  I molested him in my sleep.

  Oh god.

  “This is a dream,” I insist, though I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more, him or me.

  Grabbing my ass, his fingers squeeze and knead me in a rhythm that makes my hips long to rock against him again.

  “A dream…” he repeats, drawling it out thoughtfully.

  “Yes,” I gasp as my thighs tremble around his waist.

  Unable to peel my skin away from his skin.

  “Whose dream? Yours or mine?”