by Celia Crown
“You’ve made the wrong choice,” I surmise from her silence. “You’re a sneaky little girl, aren’t you? You knew I’d forgive you if you misbehaved. That’s fine; I love you too much to hurt you.”
Be nice; the familiar voice comes back after days of peace.
“I expect you to make it up to me, Jenny.”
Chapter Nine
Jenny
Remo, I learned, was not released early due to overcrowding or for good behavior.
He told me the details of his prison escape as he helped me into a leather-seated Aston Martin, soaking wet and ruining the expensive material. He explained about his meeting with the man who had a massive Anubis tattoo on his back.
Jackal, I tell myself dully, not Anubis.
Remo recounted the terrible things he had done, speeding up his plan because he missed me so much. Bragging about how he made a name for himself as soon as he was free.
Within a year, he had brutally murdered the chief of the Jackals and hung his body from a bridge. It wasn’t personal, Remo told me; it was just a means to an end. He needed money, power, and influence because his pretty girl deserves the best.
Remo wants us to leave the island as soon as possible. A typhoon is headed this way, and the lockdown has been extended.
The warrant for his arrest that Interpol has put out is not the reason for our departure. Nor is it because he poisoned the island with methamphetamines that have already killed one hundred people so far.
No, we’re leaving now because he doesn’t want to get his clothes ruined by the filthy water in the flooded streets.
He took me to the spectacular bathroom in his penthouse, shower running down my naked body as he told me about a botched deal between the Jackals and a drug syndicate.
He had learned a valuable lesson: slaughter the other side whenever a deal falls through.
Apparently, taking petty revenge does not mend one’s bruised pride.
I didn’t ask what he did to them, too overwhelmed to care at that point.
He held my hand as he maneuvered me to the bed, hair still wet from the shower. He said he’d pamper me with all his love when we arrive home.
“Run and hide,” he had said. “If I catch you, I get to kiss you.”
So, I sprinted around his massive penthouse. My bare feet hitting the marble floors gave away my location before I got to an enormous rug in the center of the room. His white shirt covered the black lingerie I was wearing.
Raw nerves had me on edge as I looked up to the balcony on the second floor. His muscled body leaned arrogantly against the railing as he smiled fondly at me.
All I could think about was how much I hated him, hated Audrey, hated everything about my life. Still, I held onto the hope that Audrey didn’t do it willingly. Remo manipulates, intimidates, and threatens people into doing things.
It’s a big house, and I ran for thirty minutes, trying to hide from him. He found me within minutes but didn’t try to catch me. He let me run until I was exhausted and surrendered to his unyielding hold.
A flash of lightning hit the sky, followed by the low rumble of thunder. Rain struck the windows, heightening the ambiance in the penthouse.
Why was I playing this game with him? Why did I not run to the front door or climb out a window?
Ah, that’s right. There is a massive pool below the only accessible window, but I can’t swim. Beyond the front door stands a man with the same jackal tattoo on his back.
A couple’s mark, I realize. His tattoo mirrors Audrey’s, explaining why I never saw her back despite the hot days.
Audrey wasn’t the friend I confided in when I was at my lowest, nor was she the older sister I had come to rely on. She was the spy who followed me and fed information about me to Remo the whole time I lived with her. I blindly trusted her.
Shaking my head, I pushed open another door and was assaulted by a nauseating smell.
My eyes water at the copper scent as I squint to see what died and is rotting inside—
Death had left the shell of a human being, someone I used to know.
Mr. Maja: the father of a young boy I used to tutor.
His eyes were glazed over, dried blood on his face, and his body was twisted like a mannequin.
I sensed movement, a silent shape hunched in the corner. I recognized Audrey immediately when she stood up, holding a red-stained sponge.
She glanced at me but quickly turned her attention to the form towering behind me. Remo’s thick arm circled my waist, fingers splayed over my hip as he gently kissed the back of my head.
“You’re not supposed to be here; I didn’t get a chance to clean up yet, pretty girl,” he whispers lowly.
He turned my shaking body towards him, nuzzling my face into his chest with a hand on my neck.
Remo chuckled. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Finish,” he commanded Audrey.
“Yes, boss,” Audrey responded.
“Leave when you’re done,” Remo coldly says while pulling me away from the horrid scene.
The door closed behind me; my senses were dull, almost nonexistent.
With a wary glance around the room, I realized I was in his master bedroom.
“When you’re ready, we’ll go home,” he suggested, returned to his earlier position at my side.
“Home?” I mumble.
I should have been panicking from frustration and fear, but I can’t muster any feelings at all.
I wanted to talk to my therapist; this wasn’t normal.
Now Remo is nudging my shoulder with his hand, whispering, “Lie back, pretty girl.”
My back hits the silken sheets that smell like him.
“I’ve always wanted to see you like this,” he muses to himself, desire in his cerulean eyes.
The lights aren’t on, but the massive windows allow enough ambient light from outside to see the shadows on his handsome face.
Remo grins as he gathers both of my limp wrists with one big hand, holding them over my head and knocking them against the headboard.
“Under me,” he says mockingly, “Letting me do whatever I want. You’re too good to me, Jenny, so good.”
His chest swells under his black shirt, emphasizing the grooves of his muscles and his dangerous dominance.
“I’ll be nice,” he utters, and my stomach churns.
Cold metal snaps around my wrists, pulling my hands toward the cushioned headboard. I tilt my head back, studying the chainless cuffs and realizing he has a magnet behind the headboard.
This isn’t the usual bedroom décor. It’s custom-made, and it’s intended to be hidden.
“No—!”
His big hands fist my shirt, squeezing my breasts as he tears it off me. I try to twist out of the cuffs, but they are unyielding.
The pretty lace lingerie matches the intriguing black ink on his skin.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, smiling lightly.
I stifle a moan as the delicate fabric scrapes across my nipples when he cups my breasts. His hands are unbearably hot, driving chilling sensations up and down my body. Nimble fingers unclip the hooks at the front and on the straps; he chose this lingerie for easy access.
I swallow, lips tightly closed, and focus on the flashes of lightning in the sky.
Stop him, the voice of logic commands.
I part my lips, catching my breath when his blue eyes glare at me. A silent accusation of disobedience floats in the air, forcing my words to vanish as his calloused fingers tweak my rosy nipples.
“I wanted to wait,” he says, humming. “I thought that since I’ve already lost four years, a couple more months wouldn’t hurt. I was wrong, and it hurts not to touch you.”
“And, you,” Remo sneers and clicks his tongue, “You just couldn’t behave, forcing me to change my plans.”
He’s beginning to lose it; the battle between his conscience and obsession is an unfair fight when the object of his desire is under him.
�
��I have run out of patience,” he declares, flicking my nipple harshly. “I’ve been good to you, so it’s fair that I get something out of this.”
“That’s a good business practice,” Remo grumbles, lips closing around a nipple to suck hotly.
I stifle a groan as my spine arches. His tongue swirls, flicking the bud teasingly as my hips twitch. An embarrassingly hot drop of slick leaks out of my wet pussy, the tiny hole fluttering desperately.
I shiver as he releases my nipple, cool air tightening the wet bud more. He places an innocent kiss on the dry pebbled bud, a pure gesture in a filthy act.
Remo runs his hands down to my waist, toying with the lacy band and aggressively ripping it from my hips. My legs clumsily knock against his broad shoulders, and his hands graciously support my knees to place them on the bed, wet pussy spreading with the movement.
“Remo!” I cry, humiliation rolling in hot flashes across my skin.
He tuts and glares, shoving the wet panties into my mouth as he rubs the juices on my tongue.
At this moment, my brain reminds me of the sadistic power and murderous strength he holds in his massive body.
“I know you’re scared, but you don’t need to be,” he says, shoving the panties deeper into my mouth. “This won’t hurt at all.”
He leans forward, kissing my crinkled forehead, and stares at me for an uncomfortable moment. His gaze follows the teardrop rolling down my temple, and a cruel grin crosses his face.
Then, he settles himself on my trembling thighs and crushes them to the bed. His intense eyes shoot tingles to my little hole. I see his expression softening as his thumbs peel open my wet folds.
His touch is gentle, but his eyes are stormy. His teasing tongue swipes from my twitching hole to my puffy clit. In an almost curious way, he does it again with a firmer touch.
He keeps my pussy spread lewdly, the small quivering hole on display and vulnerable to his unblinking gaze.
He stares for a moment, silently taking in the view of my glistening clit and drooling hole.
I’m a virgin, and part of me knows he’s aware of this.
His hot breath ghosts over my pussy after a sharp intake of breath, no doubt to humiliate me, but all thought disappears when his lips crudely suck on my clit.
My thighs jerk in his grasp while his fingers sink into my supple muscles. I bite on the panties, screams muffled as thick saliva mingles with my juices and slither down my throat.
His lips pull on the swollen bud and kiss it teasingly before dipping his tongue into my aching pussy. It doesn’t breach the tight, pulsing muscles. He curls his tongue and scoops the dripping juices, swallowing them with a heady groan over my exposed cunt.
A thick forearm comes down on my thigh, holding me there so he can use his fingers to rub my soiled clit. His fingers, long and thick, tap my throbbing hole as a warning before slipping inside at an angle that makes me keen.
His thumb brushes my quivering clit in powerful circles, curling his fingers to press up the spongy spot. There isn’t a burn, only slight unease at the unfamiliar feeling. I like being filled by his fingers.
It feels good.
Pinching my eyes shut, I shudder. What is happening to me?
He fucks my pussy roughly, scraping his calloused pads along the squishy walls and spreading them just enough to make me say his name through the panties. My stomach coils as I rock my hips and swallow his thick fingers to the knuckles.
Dirty squelches echo loudly, his fingers reaching deeper with stringy slick coating my tight hole as he digs them into the spongy spot.
He eats my pussy with the vigor and desperation of a starved man. There will be bruises on my thighs from his powerful grip, but that pain won’t compare to the chafed skin around my wrists.
I see something like stars behind my eyelids as pressure builds in my body. Remo thrusts his fingers inside me and twists them, sending waves of pleasure to my racing heart.
My squishy, drenched walls tighten and coil around him, despite my neglected clit.
Remo hums, praising me and sensually saying my name, making tears leak from my eyes. A choked whine leaks from my mouth when he pulls his hand back. My slippery pussy aches in protest as he spreads my thighs further apart.
He kisses my swollen clit.
“You said a kiss,” he chimes, laughing at my frustration after being denied the sweet release. “I am kissing you, pretty girl. I just never said where.”
Remo traces meaningless patterns on my inner thigh before turning back to the tight bud.
“This is a part of you, isn’t it?” he asks without expecting an answer.
His massive body lifts, desire in his straining muscles as he fumbles to open the magnetic handcuffs. My arms fall to the satin pillows as the cuffs are placed on the nightstand.
“Are you happy with me?” he asks, his hand going back to harshly circle the sodden bud.
Luck, fear, irrationality; they mute my drumming hesitation faster than the fork of thunder soaring across the sky.
I’ll never have a happy ending.
He sneers like a madman in love, “Until I’m satisfied with the answer, you don’t deserve to have it.”
The return of my ruined orgasm or being with him; I don’t want to think about it right now.
If I had closed my eyes faster, I’d miss the way his expression darkens with a flattened smile and calculated cruelness in his eyes.
Maybe it’s a good thing to live under an illusion shrouded by edging violence.
I almost ignored the subtle kiss, the brushing of his lips against my cheek that burns with possessive ownership.
He lets go of my clit, running his rough fingers up my wrist to longingly graze my stiff fingers before wiping away my tears.
This is a second chance, I think numbly, a chance to get away from this monster.
I don’t let myself think much further than that. Otherwise, I’ll see his true intentions—something my fragile mind can’t handle.
He wants a chase, a final judgment, and a gratifying verdict to crush any hope in me like the unforgivable monster that he is.
He’s going to try again. And again. And again. And again, again, again—
A second skipped heartbeat lurches into my throat, and I scramble back.
He’s faster. Always have been.
Stronger, too.
Epilogue
Remo
Four Months Later
She’s so beautiful, and I tell her often. I shower her with pure love and expensive gifts, but she seems hesitant about the undivided attention. Jenny always smiles and accepts the presents, her small hands clutching the boxes until they threaten to collapse.
Does she think I’m trying to buy her love? How could she believe that?
Insulting, absolutely audacious of her to think I need material things to make her love me.
Sometimes, when her mood is a bit sour, she says harsh words I will not let her repeat.
The first month after returning home with me, she made it her mission to test my patience and forced me to show my notorious temper.
She was just stubborn.
She should consider herself lucky that I understand something about decompressing and familiarizing oneself with new environments.
When the second month rolled around, she flat out ignored me; I hated that the most. I had apologized for not giving her time to gather her belongings, say goodbye to people on the island, and search for her passport.
We were tight on time. We departed just before Interpol was alerted, and the typhoon hit the island.
Our home is spacious, filled with beautiful things I knew she’d like, and it’s private. Why does she miss that dingy apartment with disgusting tourists sleeping on the grass?
I thought she had had enough time to adjust by the time the third month hit. She spent her time roaming the massive house, browsing the web with spiteful curiosity that sent her to questionable sites.
I have remarkable security,
so our IP address was hidden when she explored the dark web once and scared herself.
She never mentioned what she saw, but she had extreme nightmares that night and refused to touch electronics for the rest of that week.
There was a phase of shopping sprees; purposely searching for the most expensive items, purchasing them with my credit cards, and trashing them when they arrived.
A waste of money, but it helped relieve her stress. It was easy to overlook when one shipment of drugs brings in double what she spent.
One thing that appeased her throughout those four months was my touch.
After a difficult day at work, I would come home and get her on her knees to work my thick cock down her rippling little throat.
Her tiny pussy gushes when I praise her for being good to me, so I shower her with praise while my fingers roughly fuck her tight hole.
I don’t like waking up with her waist only reddened from my constricting arm because I want to mark her smooth skin with bruises. Yet, I’m forced to be nice when the voice of reason persuades me to go along. Her glazed eyes don’t help anything, and something inside me just snaps.
She’s stunning when she’s crying, shaking, and begging me to be nice as her hands spread her soft thighs.
“It’s our fourth anniversary, pretty girl,” I mumble, smiling against her sensitive pussy.
“What?” she slurs, glassy eyes trying to stay focused on the mirror.
Reluctantly, I move away from her luscious thighs and adjust her limp body on my lap.
“I still remember how shy you were,” I say, my lips grazing her cold ear despite the throttling heat of her pussy around my fingers.
When she first handed me the coffee long ago, her foam heart was already mine; a bit crooked, but it was her way of telling me to mold her into my little girl.
She moans softly, squirming on my lap as I grind my palm against her drenched clit. Her quivering pussy tightens, sucking my fingers deeper while I bring her closer to another sweet release.
I like to think I trained her body to be receptive, addicted to my rough hands.