Deep

by Skye Warren

  Tyler’s eyes were red as if he’d been crying. He met my gaze, terrified.

  Drew and Rose had been behind me, but there was no room for them to come in. And they had been silent, so I prayed that they had sneaked away to call the police.

  And probably an ambulance. We wouldn’t all be getting out of this tunnel alive.

  Marco continued, “Well, and there’s the fact that she would have recognized me. Even if she wouldn’t have known we were related, it would have been something out of the ordinary.”

  “How dare you,” I said, my voice shaky. “He had nothing to do with this. He’s innocent.”

  “Well,” Marco said, looking smug, “he was innocent. Not anymore.”

  Which meant that Marco had raped him. My brother. I felt sick. “And for what? To get back at Philip? He didn’t even know Tyler!”

  A faint shrug. “I just wanted an audience with my dear brother. It’s so hard for him to find the time, isn’t it? But I really had to insist.”

  “You’re sick,” I said.

  His smile faded, and I saw in his dark expression the man who had planned and executed the kidnapping of an innocent teenage boy. “I’m sick of being ignored. Sick of being cast aside like there’s something wrong with me, just because I was born from the wrong fucking whore.”

  “You must have known I would kill you,” Philip said in a low tone.

  “Fine,” Marco spat. “At least then you won’t forget me. Fuck, the way you looked at me. Like I was the dirt underneath your expensive Italian leather shoes.”

  “Your funeral,” Philip said with a casual nonchalance that chilled me—then he lifted his gun.

  Marco tightened his hold on my brother and twisted his body to take the hit.

  “No,” I shouted, stumbling forward, my hands out. “He’ll hurt him.”

  Philip looked pained. “The bullet will go through him. This is why you shouldn’t have come.”

  My eyes widened. “So you can shoot my brother? No.”

  “It’s okay,” Tyler said, his voice hoarse. “Do what you have to do.”

  “See,” Philip said pleasantly. “Your brother understands. Now you need to leave.”

  I couldn’t believe he thought I’d do that. “How dare you? God. You’re just as bad as your brother!” I thought I saw the faintest flinch from Philip, but I was too far gone to stop. “You hurt people. You hurt me.”

  Philip’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s your point, kitten? I made it clear what kind of man I was, and you still asked me to handle this for you. You still wanted my help.”

  “That’s right,” I said, desperately latching on to that. “We made a deal. A deal that you would pay the ransom and get my brother back. That’s it. Not risk his life. Not get him killed. And I know you’re a man of your word.”

  Philip looked enraged, but he pulled his gun back, palm up. “Fine. Is this what you want? The money’s in that bag.” He gestured to a dark satchel I hadn’t noticed before, tossed against the floor. “You think that’s what this is about? Money?”

  “Everything’s about money,” I said breathlessly. “That’s what you taught me. Money and violence. Power.”

  “And now I have them both,” Marco said, pointing his gun at Philip.

  “No.” The cry was torn from my throat. I launched myself at them both, catching his arm and falling with them as a shot rang out. There was a loud thud and then a rain of pebbles around my head as I landed hard on a jumble of bodies.

  A hand grabbed my wrist, and I was yanked away. I tumbled to the ground, the smooth concrete floor hard against my knees. I rolled to the side, struggled to make out who was where. They looked so alike—Philip and his brother. So alike.

  Then Philip stood, and I knew it was him—by the way he stood half in front of me, protecting me with his body. He pointed his gun at Marco.

  My brother launched himself forward with a cry of denial. “No!”

  But it was too late. A shot rang out, blasting our eardrums and shaking the whole cavern. Red bloomed on Marco’s white dress shirt. He fell in slow motion, right into Tyler’s arms.

  “Marco,” Tyler whispered urgently. “No, no. Please no.”

  I couldn’t make sense of his concern for a man who had hurt him, who had raped him. I could only fall back in relief that it was over.

  Except it wasn’t over.

  Philip looked at me, and his eyes were savage. “Is that what you wanted to see? Me killing my brother? Spilling my own fucking blood?”

  I was shaking, clutching my arms around myself as if I could hold myself together that way. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. That hadn’t been what I wanted, but it had also been necessary. There was no payment I could give him for that, no way my body could be recompense.

  And then I saw the worst thing of all, glittering in Philip’s dark eyes. Tears.

  He was crying over shooting his brother. This man who was nothing but steel bars.

  My heart twisted painfully. I reached out for him.

  But he was already gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  A FAINT RUMBLE was the only warning we had. The rocks came down on our heads in a flurry of dust. The ground tilted sideways, and I was falling. A sharp pain in my shoulder told me I’d been hit by a large rock, and I gasped.

  Then a warm body covered me, strong hands grasping my arms.

  The world shifted as I was pulled to the side. I landed with an oomph on hard stone floor. A heavy weight shielded me. Rocks fell on the floor around me, but the body above mine caught the blows.

  Silence rang in my ears, and I heard a low animal sound.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered, already knowing who was with me.

  My skin always felt electric when he was near me—and when he was touching me? God, I burned.

  He pushed to the side, rolling off me. “Fine,” he said roughly. “And you?”

  “In one piece. Are we alone?” I stood up and felt along the wall—cool to the touch. It was too dark to see. All I could make out was dust falling in front of my eyes, more of a feeling than sight. I couldn’t hear anything but the tumble of small rocks. They had separated us from Tyler and from his Marco’s body.

  Philip’s voice was a low vibration in the dust-filled air. “I pushed us deeper into the tunnel to avoid the rocks. Everyone else went the other way.”

  “Tunnel?”

  “It was a part of the underground railroad a long time ago. Now it’s just a fucking hole in the ground.”

  “Oh.” I squinted my eyes against the dust, struggling to see down the tunnel—away from the pile of rocks blocking our path to the church. “Can we just…follow this? It must lead somewhere.”

  “No. It’s not structurally sound, and more importantly, the ground is uneven. We don’t have a light. Our best bet is to wait here until they clear the rubble.”

  I was afraid of that. “Rose and Drew probably went for help. They’re the ones who brought me here.”

  “I know,” he said curtly.

  I pressed my lips together, feeling the clench of panic again, the way I had locked in his bedroom. My chest got tight—filled with dust instead of air. I clasped my hands as if that could keep me calm. I couldn’t curl up on the ground again. Couldn’t fall apart again. Not in front of him.

  “Philip,” I whispered. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  Silence. “He wasn’t right in the head. I saw that from the first time I met him. I tried to get him help but…”

  My heart clenched at the thought of a younger Philip, hustling to make his way in a harsh city, trying to win custody of his sister but still worried about a brother he’d just met. “You did all you could.”

  “You have no idea what I can do,” he said sharply.

  That was probably true. I hadn’t thought he would lock me in his bedroom, alone with no one to watch over me. I hadn’t thought I would feel like I was suffocating on his floor while he was miles away. I hadn’t thought he was a monster,
even though he told me he was again and again.

  “I know you saved my brother,” I said softly.

  A longer silence this time, one that seemed to grow tighter and harder as the seconds ticked by. He shifted slightly, his body moving against rock, a whisper of strength against strength.

  “I did save your brother,” he finally said, and there was a disturbing lightness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, as if his pain had evaporated, leaving only sharp and shiny crystals. “And I think I’d like to collect now.”

  “Collect,” I echoed, a hollow pit in my stomach—as dark and cold as this caved-in tunnel.

  “On the debt. Your debt.”

  A shiver ran through me. “Now?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Did you think I wouldn’t require payment on delivery? Those have always been my terms, from the time I sold pot on the street corner and solved problems in back alleys.”

  Sex. He wanted sex. “We’re in a tunnel that almost came down. We almost died.”

  “It’ll hold up a little longer,” he said, unconcerned. “The shooting is over.”

  This was insane. And terrifying. “Philip, for God’s sake. We’re in a church. There’s a dead body on the other side of that rubble.”

  “Which one of those things bothers you more?” he asked, sounding amused.

  Deep inside I began to shake, trembling as hard as the rocks that had fallen around us. “Look. We don’t have to do this now. We don’t have to do this here. You’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m simply trying to collect.” His voice got dangerously soft. “Unless you’re trying to get out of paying.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just … Why does it have to be here? They’re going to come for us.”

  “Not for an hour. I’ll be finished with you before then.”

  The words hit me like a slap to the face. The past few days he had taken me for hours, moving my body into every sexual position I knew about and many that I hadn’t. Even though I should have known better, I believed that he would keep me. I’d wanted to believe he would let me in, emotionally.

  Except no, he wouldn’t. He wanted a quickie in a cold dark cave, and then he would be done with me. He wanted his debt paid on delivery.

  “You’re crazy,” I said, my voice shaky.

  “Am I?” he said in a mocking tone.

  “Because I left the house. That’s why you’re doing this. You’re punishing me.”

  A rush of air and then he was on me, pushing me up against the wall. His hands were around my wrists, pinning my arms to the cold wall. His breath was against my temple, harsh and heavy. “Punishing you,” he repeated slowly. “Is that what it feels like when I touch you?”

  “No, I—” God, I hadn’t meant it like that, but it was. It was how I felt—punished and cherished all at once. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’ve taken it easy on you,” he murmured.

  That was easy? I imagined him moving me, invading me, surrounding me. It had been overwhelming, so much more than I had ever thought sex could be. Not simply a kiss. Not merely intercourse. He had become my breath in those hours. He had owned me.

  His zipper echoed loudly in the dark cavern. Then his hand fisted in my hair. He cocked my head to the side, and I waited, staring into the darkness, panting in fear and illicit arousal. We were under a church!

  He patted my cheek, and I flinched—it wasn’t a slap, not really, but it was harder than a caress. Something in between, somehow both tender and harsh. That was Philip, a contradiction.

  Then the hand in my hair tugged me down, and I sank to my knees. They landed on rough pebbles, and I cried out softly. He didn’t let up, instead guiding my mouth to his cock.

  It came to me in a burst of salt flavor, in the velvet silk of his skin.

  I couldn’t see. I could only taste and smell and feel, the sensations so much stronger because of it.

  I sucked him as if I could apologize—for saying that being with him was a punishment, for breaking free of his bonds to come here, for pulling away and for wanting him all at once, using every ounce of skill I didn’t have. He tasted of salt and of the earthy dust swirling around us. He tasted of man and danger, and I pulsed with a primal desire to please.

  “Take me,” he murmured. “Oh fuck, take me deep, kitten. I need to feel your throat.”

  And then I didn’t have a choice. He pushed deeper, until the head of his cock pressed against the soft flesh at the back of my mouth. I gagged once, and he pulled back—only to push forward again. I sucked in a breath, and then he was there again, pressing into my throat. It was all I could do to breathe and swallow, the muscles of my throat clenching around him until he groaned.

  He kept his cock in my mouth, my throat until I fought him—pressing his thighs with my hands, pushing him away, yanking my head back in a desperate panic. Only then did he let me go, and I sucked in air, my eyes watering. This was like the panic I felt sometimes, unable to breathe or think…but also completely different, because this didn’t come from inside me. It came from him. And this wasn’t a weakness, a helpless response to some ancient trigger. This was strength.

  “That’s right,” he muttered. “You’re so good for me. You feel so fucking good. Put your hands behind your back now. Hold your wrist for me.”

  I did it, taking one wrist in my hand, feeling the cold wall against my back where I knelt on the floor. The muscles in my arms protested the position; my knees ached from the floor. My throat was already sore, and he’d only been there a few seconds each time. My whole body hurt, but the place it hurt the most was between my legs, covered by panties and jeans, protected by my closed thighs. It hurt there, deep inside me, an ache that wouldn’t be filled.

  And he wouldn’t fuck me; that was the punishment. Not making me suck his cock, not forcing it deep. Refusing to fuck my sex, where I clenched around nothing—that was the pain.

  I made a low sound, a moan, despairing, and his cock flexed in my mouth.

  “Fuck yes,” he murmured. “You’re getting it now. All those times you let me fuck you, let me come in your pretty little cunt without a condom. Because you thought you could change me. You thought you could fix me, didn’t you?”

  I shook my head, mouth still full of his cock.

  “Yes, you did,” he said, low and sure. “With your sociology bullshit, your textbooks, your studies. Like you can figure me out with a fucking statistic, solve me like a puzzle. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, kitten?”

  And it was the worst possible thing, what he was saying—this was the true punishment. Not his cock in my mouth or the ache between my thighs, it was those words raining down on my head, and I was unable to deny them.

  Because he was right. I wanted to figure him out, not just the men in ill-fitting suits and shiny bald heads, grown-up frat boys. Why had they seemed so innocent out in society when they were really monsters?

  Except that wasn’t the hard question to answer, not really. Because they were acting in their own selfish interests, contorting themselves so that people would trust them—and then taking advantage when they could. But Philip…

  God, Philip.

  He presented himself as a monster. He wanted people to be scared of him. Except when he’d had me in his study, my body bared to him, he hadn’t taken advantage. Because I was a broken little girl, he’d said—except why should he care? Shelly was beautiful, more beautiful and glamorous and knowledgeable than I would ever be. But I saw in Philip’s eyes that day a lust that went deeper than beauty and glamour, that longed to take me as I was.

  Even the broken little girl had recognized it that day.

  And then, without knowing it, I’d constructed my entire life to find my way back to him—never dating or getting close to a boy, never having sex or even a kiss. I was always prepared for this moment, to find him again, to be able to fix him, even knowing that was impossible. And the most shocking part of finding him outside my door t
hat night had been his injury, weak and half-conscious condition.

  The rest had been relief, because he’d come. He’d come back to me.

  His large hands locked behind my head, and he flexed his hips forward and then back. I closed my eyes because I couldn’t see anything anyway. I could only feel him, wide and invading. Only taste the salt he left on my tongue every time he pulled away—more of it now. His thrusts grew faster. His words came out on harsh staccato breaths.

  “You want a white-picket fence with a low-down thug. You want a garden in the middle of a fucking war zone. Tell me, kitten. Tell me.”

  I wasn’t even sure what he meant when he pulled me off his cock. I gasped with sudden emptiness, my mouth almost longing for him as much as my sex. “Want you,” I said, struggling to form the words. It felt like my mouth was only made to suck him, to hold him, a conduit for him to feel my throat.

  “No,” he said fiercely.

  Tears were streaming down my cheeks now, because he was only going to fuck me and then leave, because this debt would be goodbye. “I don’t want to change you,” I said brokenly. “I did before. I thought—I thought…but not now. I understand now.”

  He bent low, his face inches from mine. “What do you understand? Tell me what the fuck you understand now.”

  “That it would break you,” I whispered. “Because deep down…deep down you’re…”

  He moved with terrifying care and slowness, twisting my body so that my palms landed hard on the stone floor. I cried out as my knees twisted on the stone carpet, skin breaking, blood spilling. Then he mounted me from behind—at least that was how it felt when he hitched my hips high so they would align with his cock, when he braced one foot beside me, the other knee on the outside of mine. “Deep down, I’m what?” he asked softly.

  I shuddered, grasping handfuls of broken rocks in my hands, fisting my hands against the stone floor. Deep down he was both brave and scared, both sated and starving. “You want the same thing I do,” I whispered, and it was so crystal clear to me now. “A family.”

  The layers of him, hard and impenetrable—they hadn’t been built up overnight. They’d been built up through eons, through his father’s abuse and his brother and sister being threatened, his baby dying. But inside, underneath it all, was pure longing. Like mine.