“Something wrong?”
He plasters a smile on his face, and for some reason it gives me chills. It’s all wrong. The eyebrows don’t raise, and the eyes are narrowed in malevolence.
“Nah. Joe will be home, soon.”
In that moment, he reminds me strongly of Nathan, my psychopathic brother who spent my younger years torturing me. I turn my back on the frightening image and grab the wooden spoon, feeling his gaze on the back of my neck.
He’s been gone so long. Joe told me he was only going to Vince’s house to apologize. Surely, he should be back by now.
Then a knock shatters the silence, and I jump. Red sauce flies as the spoon drops to the kitchen floor.
Damn it.
I grab a bunch of paper towels. Ben gives me a thoughtful glare as he opens the door. I bend to my knees and wipe the floor, looking up at the door.
Joe stands in the threshold, his handsome face frozen and emotionless. A cold feeling runs down my spine as he turns around and looks at me, giving me the exact same smile as Ben’s.
I freeze on the floor. My hand closes over the wooden spoon like it’s a weapon.
Joe’s harsh face turns to Ben. “Get out.”
“But you’ll need help.”
The growl that comes from Joe’s voice scares me. I’ve never heard something so deadly in my life. “I said, get out.”
The younger man gives me a look like a dog denied a tasty treat, and exits the apartment. He slams the door and I feel the tremble of the walls shaking through my heart.
“What’s going on?”
Joe says nothing as he walks into the kitchen, but he smiles that unnerving smile. I stand up with the sodden paper towels and spoon, throwing the towels away and tossing the spoon in the sink.
“Nothing’s wrong. Did you make this for me?”
His smile looks strained on his face. He can barely keep it on his lips. The pot bubbles quietly with the sauce as he looks at it. He’s filled with pain that seems to come out of nowhere.
“Well, not just for you. I’m not that selfless.”
It’s a joke. A poor one, but a joke nonetheless. I expect a smile, at least.
Nothing.
Joe reaches over the stove and turns the burner off.
I touch his hand. “But it’s not done!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The way he says it sounds like nothing matters to him. Coldness spreads under my skin as if my veins are pumped with ice instead of blood.
For a moment we stand there, the ticking of the clock like a bomb. “What does that mean?”
Rough hands circle my neck, his thumbs stroking my sensitive skin. He pulls me in, surrounding me with his protective strength that I’ve come to yearn for. I kiss his chest as his hands trail down my body, anchoring under my ass. I laugh as he picks me up, but the look on his face is no nonsense. I can’t tell if he’s turned on or upset. Maybe a bit of both.
His eyes shine with need. I bend my head, kissing him as he carries me into the bedroom. Joe deposits me on the bed gently and then stands back, looking lost.
“What’s the matter?”
I sit on the edge of the bed and grab ahold of his belt, eager to feel his skin burning under my hands. His hand grips mine and squeezes hard.
I look into his widened eyes.
“I don’t know what to do with you. You weren’t supposed to—I wasn’t supposed to be so into you.”
That makes my heart throb against my chest. If that’s true, why does he sound so upset? He pushes me against the bed and climbs over me, clothes still on. The beat of my heart seems absurdly loud. He places his palm over my stomach and I feel the heavy beat of my aorta jumping into his hand.
The back of my head stings with pain as he grabs a fistful of hair and pulls hard. His lips crash over me, his tongue darting inside. I can taste alcohol on his lips. He tears my shirt off, kissing down my neck, almost biting. The wetness of his mouth sends dizzying jolts of pleasure up my thigh, into the glowing heat between my legs. Fuck, I want him.
Seconds later, he unzips my pants. The very sound makes my pussy clench. Warm fingers dive in. He wastes no time and curves his finger against my clit. I’m already soaking, clenching over the two hard fingers thrusting inside. Oh my God. His mouth closes over my lip and he bites the sensitive flesh.
“Joe.”
“It turns me on when you say my name like that.” He sighs for a moment, fingers thrusting brutally. “You’re so fucking perfect—and mine.”
My fingers rake over his jacket. I wish I were running them over his bare skin. I’m wet all over his hand. He slides out and rubs my clit as I cling to his neck, moaning. I reach down and grab his cock. It’s hard as a rock and his eyes harden. Joe wants me now. The jeans scrape my skin as he tears them off. He rips my panties—the fabric tears as he grabs two edges and yanks. I feel the dampness of his skin through his shirt and my body clenches as cold air stings my wet core. He doesn’t even pull down his pants. I unzip him and he pulls his cock out. It dives right between my legs and he hammers it home as my legs lift over his back.
Fuck.
I’m so loud. My voice bounces off the walls, ringing in my ears until he silences me with his lips and tongue. The pace that he fucks me with is brutal. I can hardly breathe—can’t dwell on any one thing with him enveloped all around me. There are his fingers, grabbing my tits and pulling my hair so hard it hurts, and then wrapping around my throat. Then, there’s his mouth. He finds a spot and bites, and then another, harder and harder until I yelp with pain, and there are the sounds of us joining together filling my ears, along with his guttural moans and my high-pitched breaths. His cock pounds at me like a piston, brutal in his pace, not stopping for anything. He’s never fucked me like this. It feels desperate.
It’s like there’s a gun to his head.
Then the feeling of him thrusting is all I can think about. All-consuming pleasure snarls my limbs, holding me hostage to this man’s body. He always makes me feel so amazing. Every moment in his presence is like being slightly tipsy. Oh, God. The feeling I get when he holds me. It’s just—incredible. I scream and dig my fingers into his back. He comes hard, digging into me as his cock jerks. His legs shake and he opens his eyes, his face twisted in pain.
What’s wrong?
I’m still lying on the bed, feeling like all my bones are shattered, but he rolls off and sits on the edge of the bed. He leans into his palms. His back still heaves with shaking breaths, and for one extremely shocked moment, I wonder if he’s crying.
Joe irons his face with his hands, his face stretched with a grimace of pain. I sit up, heart pounding.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
His back recoils under my fingers. He stands up while he dresses and stares at me, face indiscernible in the dark. “Come with me.”
He wordlessly stalks out of the bedroom, leaving me stunned. What the hell is going on? Then I grab my t-shirt and pull it over my head, following him out. Back in the kitchen, under the harsh lights, he stands like a terrible, dark God. His hair falls in front of his eyes, which remind me of black tunnels. There’s no emotion on his face, nothing that would explain the anguish he felt in the bedroom.
He pulls a chair out. “Sit.”
Fear starts to prickle through my limbs when I sit down.
Joe does something peculiar—he moves through the house, making sure all the windows are shut. Panic blazes inside me. Why? Why is he doing that?
My heart knows something that my brain doesn’t. It leaps against my chest, pounding my ribs, as he moves from room to room. I stand in the kitchen, my legs trembling, and I glance towards the door, knowing that I should run, but not sure why. I trust him, don’t I?
He enters the kitchen and opens a drawer of knives, grabbing something inside.
Then it all clicks together.
“Joe, how could you?”
Sickened, horrified, I back against the chair and fall backwards, cracking my head
on the linoleum. He pounces on me, dead eyes staring ahead as he curls his hands around my shoulder and lifts me up. For once, I don’t feel a thrill from his touch. I just feel cold and empty.
“Please, Joe!”
He forces me into the upright chair, pinning me with one hand as he grabs the roll of duct tape sitting on the table.
“Why are you doing this? Talk to me!”
But he won’t even look at me. Every sound in the kitchen is amplified to the thousandth degree. His biting fingers on my body feel like knives.
You have to run. He’s going to—
No, I can’t accept it. I can’t. I haven’t worked so hard for all of it to come to this. My chest strains for air as if I’m already dying. One by one, he pins my arms and legs, wrapping tape around them so tightly that I can’t move. The tape constricts my skin and my hands swell with redness.
“JOE!”
Dead, haunted eyes finally flick towards me. I feel his soul tremble. He looks absolutely destroyed. Devastated. There’s no lightness in his face. Did all of his victims see this before he murdered them? He touches my face and I try not to flinch from the cold. His face leans in close enough so that I feel his frantic breaths billowing over my face. He’s just as close to losing it as I am. Heat rushes into my skin when he kisses my jaw softly, his hands shaking. The breaths come in and out more and more frantically. Finally, his lips brush against mine and he grabs the back of my head, kissing me as if it’s the last time. I don’t feel any of it, just a cold horror.
Joe pulls away, his eyes wet as he takes the gun strapped to his ankle and points it directly at me. It shakes.
My heart breaks. It’s as if he already shot me.
“I’m—I’m sorry. You were—”
“—Nothing. I’m nothing to you.”
He’s already referring to me in past tense. In his mind, I’m already dead. He ripped my heart out and stamped on it. Fucked me and now he’s going to kill me. What a sick bastard. He just had to have one more go with my body. No, he never gave a shit about me.
The gun dips and then rises again. Joe wipes his face with his free hand. Even if he fired, the bullet might miss. His arm shakes so badly.
“That’s not true.”
I laugh at him. I’m so fucking numb, that I don’t care anymore. I don’t care. The tears running down my face annoy me. “You were going to fuck me and kill me. That’s all I was to you, wasn’t I? Just a great fuck who you could throw away when you needed to.”
“No!” The word sounds violent, strangled from his throat. “I’m in love with you.”
I can’t even laugh. It’s ridiculous, but it’s not funny.
“You’re sick in the head.”
His face screws up in pain, and he clutches his chest as if it actually hurts him. “I love you, but I can’t keep you safe. They want you dead. If I don’t do it, they will—and they’ll—it won’t be as fast.” Tears burn down his face.
It’s like an avalanche. My body is hit with huge blows, one after the other.
But Joe is showing even less resolve than ever. The gun trembles in his hands, moving up and down my body. He turns his head away as if he can’t even bear to look at what he’s about to do, which is end my life.
I’m going to die.
Then I cry. The strength I had to snap at him dissolves and I can only think about how shitty my life has been, and how little I accomplished while I was alive. Will my siblings even care? Jessica, maybe.
Chances are, they will never find my body.
My high gasp bounces off the ceiling. “Please, don’t do this! I don’t want to die!”
“I told you,” he says through his teeth, looking deranged. “Don’t expect anything from me. I’m not what you think I am.”
“You’re not a monster. That’s why you can’t do this. If you do, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself.”
“I know,” he says in a small voice.
I lean forward so that the tape cuts into my wrists. “Kill me, and you’re no different from that man who killed your sister.”
For a moment, rage thickens his features and the gun rises to my head. I want to squint and turn away, but I force myself to stare at him.
“You’re not my sister. You’re not exactly innocent, Marisa.”
“Fuck you. What the fuck did I ever do to deserve this?”
“They know about the sale, Marisa.”
Anxiety shoots through my chest. “Sale? What sale?”
“Worlds Casino. You met with your board members and made the sale to Lences Holdings.”
That is what this is all about? Fury explodes in my voice. “And how the fuck was I able to do that with you watching me day and night?”
He wants to kill me. He has to kill me.
But he can’t.
The gun drops away and he slams it on the table. “You called them while I was gone.”
“Why don’t you fucking ask your friend outside if I made any phone calls before you blow my head open? Or better yet, check my phone. See if I’ve made any phone calls in the last week.”
He glares at me suspiciously as he disappears for a moment to get my phone. He cycles through the list and his face softens. The phone hangs limply in his hand as he stares at me. All the energy seems to drain out of him. His hand clenches the head of a chair as a look of dawning comprehension falls on his face. “Oh, Maddon.”
The chair topples to the floor, but he ignores it. He grabs his hair in his fists and makes an unhinged sound, his eyes white all around.
I have no fucking idea what’s happening anymore.
“What is going on?”
“Your brother—your fucking brother.” He strides to the kitchen counter and grabs something that looks like a knife.
I struggle in my restraints as he comes closer, convinced that he’s going to sink the blade in my stomach. He sinks down to his knees, his expression pained, and he quickly snips through the restraints.
Have I been granted a reprieve?
Tears flood down my face and Joe takes me in his arms, nearly crushing me to death as he clutches me to his chest. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cries.
He made me think that I was going to die. Joe is red-faced and ashamed, but I can barely make him out. Tears blur everything together. “I—I can’t—”
“We need to go,” he says urgently. “I think I know what happened, but I need proof from your brother.”
The relief from being granted a reprieve from death still has me breathless. I can’t think of anything else, except how glad I am to be alive. “Proof?”
I’m still swimming in tears, the sting of his betrayal buried deep inside me.
Now’s not the time.
He kisses my stunned face. “Yeah. I think everything will be okay.”
* * *
Family. They’re important, right? They’re supposed to be there for you, stick up for you, bail you out of jail, care for you when you’re sick, and all that jazz. Maybe it’s cause I’m Italian, but I always put so much stock into family. Blood’s thicker than water. Family, family, family. It was practically beaten into my head as a kid. Ironic, considering my parents divorced. People who knew us thought we were the picture-perfect family. Such happy kids. Then Mom left, and we were alone for a while. The image wasn’t as perfect. Nathan had one less person to keep him in check.
My brother really doesn’t live that far away. We drive there in silence as I nervously count down the minutes. Even though I know my life is depending on it, I hope he’s wrong. I hope both my siblings didn’t go behind my back to sell the company. We’re a family. We weren’t supposed to be like this.
Lately, though, it seems like my father was the glue holding all of us together. Makes perfect sense, really. The moment he died, it all fell apart. The stitches holding us together were never that strong, but this is so much worse.
He parks in front of Nathan’s brownstone and I get out, looking up at the intimidating architecture as if m
y brother stands over me. Joe’s presence creeps up behind me and his palm runs up my back. I can’t fucking bear his touch.
I cross my arms and move out of the sphere of his arms.
Fuck him.
Murdering psychopath.
“Do you think he’s home?”
It’s late in the evening and I know Nathan usually goes out to eat, but there are lights on in the house. All the fucking lies, the backstabbing, the betrayal—I’m sick of it. Sick of him. I’ve accepted it now before I’ve even spoken to him. Nathan did this. Of course he did.
My fist slams on the door. The door rattles as I reach up high and pound the motherfucker, imagining Nathan and Joe’s faces. He takes my shoulders and pulls me back.
“Easy, killer. You’re going to tip him off.”
I send him a withering look and he has the grace to look ashamed. He does not get to use pet names for me or be sweet. He does not get to pretend like he just didn’t try to kill me. The door cracks open and a sliver of Nathan shows through the door.
“Marisa. I’m afraid I’m occupied at the moment—”
Joe motions me to step back and then he slams his body into the door, the flimsy chain holding the door closing breaking off. Nathan yells in outrage as Joe flies into the foyer and grabs his neck, slamming my brother’s head into the wall. Heart pounding, I step inside and shut the door.
“Shut the fuck up,” Joe hisses.
Nathan’s apartment is an upscale place, filled with the most pretentious furniture you could imagine. Antique desks and vases, a long, white slab for a couch, and prints hung on the walls that he thought could probably pass as real paintings. It’s all too deliberately color-coded, as if he expected someone to walk into his apartment at any moment and critique it. There are no personal effects. No photographs save for a small one of Dad in the living room. Just to keep up appearances.
End Game (A Dark Romance) Page 20