I followed him wordlessly as he walked away from me. He stopped and touched Juliette’s shoulder gently when she stopped in front of him, murmured something in her ear. He was a good father.
Soon we were climbing into John’s car, the doors making a dull thunk as he closed Juliette’s door, then mine. Our eyes caught as he closed my door, and I attempted a small smile. I didn’t know what the hell the outing had been for other than a babysitting gig for John, but I still wanted him to know that I was grateful for the brief reprieve from my apartment. He stared down at me through the car window, and something passed between us. I don’t know what it was or even how to describe it. It was something, though, because all of a sudden my throat was thick, my stomach was doing flips and the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end. Something inside me lit up, and I had to look away.
I shifted my gaze to the sky, watching the clouds on the horizon as they continued to roll in above us. Everything seemed to get colder almost immediately, and then the sky burst open.
It rained so infrequently in Los Angeles that when it did, it was almost magical. Back home it rained often and the land was lush and green as a result. Here, it seemed to make everything spring to life and sparkle. It washed away the dirt and dust that clung to everything, a byproduct of existing in a desert by the sea.
John swore, shielding his face as he circled the car and got into the driver’s seat. I watched him silently as he started the engine and revved it a few times. Maybe he felt my gaze on him, because he glanced up at me sharply. His eyes looked tired. Bloodshot. I wondered when he’d last had a decent night’s sleep. I was betting it was the last time Dornan did. Well before I met either of them.
It was late. John had dropped me off at my apartment and called me three times to make sure I’d activated the code on the door correctly. Seemed he took his job as protection detail in Dornan’s absence seriously.
If only he knew.
I kicked my wet shoes off and walked through the bedroom into the adjoining bathroom, flicking the light on and leaning over the basin, wringing my wet hair out in the sink. I was freezing cold, the water clinging to my skin in tiny droplets that made me shiver.
I caught sight of my eyes in the mirror and cringed. My mother’s eyes, my son’s eyes. Dark blue. When I’d been born, the doctors had told my mother that they’d eventually turn brown, just like my father’s eyes. Because brown was meant to be the dominant gene. But my eyes had only gotten bluer as I got older, bluer and more serious as the innocence of my youth had ebbed away. And now there was nothing in them, nothing but a vast darkness that stretched as far and wide as my empty existence.
I had the sudden urge to call Miguel again and check on Luis. I wrapped my hair up in a towel and padded, barefoot, through my bedroom and into the hallway. I heard rustling and looked for Guillermo, but – wait – Guillermo wasn’t here, was he?
Guillermo was in Mexico.
My heart dropped into my stomach as I realised somebody who wasn’t Guillermo was in my apartment.
Nothing was out of place. But somebody was here.
I smelled it first.
Oranges. The sharp citrus smell stung my nostrils. I never bought oranges. I hated the way they tasted. Yet I could smell, as plain as day, the overpowering scent of freshly sliced orange.
I took a few tentative steps down the hall, suddenly on high alert.
I didn’t have my gun. I’d left it in my handbag, in the bedroom, and now I was here, defenceless, and somebody was in my house. In my fucking kitchen. And then I saw him, hovering in the shadows beside the refrigerator, and as he shifted the streetlight slicing through the blinds cut across his blue eyes.
‘I thought you’d never get back,’ Murphy said, not moving.
I backed up a little, debating if I had time to run back to the bedroom. My entire body was alight, rage and fear humming in a steady vibration. I couldn’t think properly. It was the first time I’d seen Murphy since learning the truth about what had happened to my family.
But he didn’t know that I knew. At least, I hoped he didn’t know.
He stepped out of the shadows, holding his palms up in a supplicating gesture. ‘Did you bring me back a chocolate ice cream?’
I changed my mind. He needed me, and even if he’d somehow intercepted the call I had made to Este’s brother, he wouldn’t shoot me. He couldn’t. I had the keys to the city, as far as he was concerned. I was the co-signatory on every single dirty bank account he’d been stashing money in, in this country and the rest.
‘You look more like a vanilla man to me,’ I replied coolly, rooted to the spot. ‘Boring and weak.’
He laughed, swiping at the drink on the counter. ‘You’re hilarious. Ever since the first time I stuck my finger inside you, I knew you were fucking hilarious.’
‘You’re drunk,’ I realised, a little surprised.
He was soaking wet, from head to toe. The rain that had begun as we were leaving the ice-cream parlour hadn’t eased off, instead it had come down in sheets.
It looked like Murphy hadn’t been here long, judging by how soaked through with rain he was. It looked like he’d taken a bath fully clothed. And he was drunk?
Never, in nine years, had I seen him even slightly intoxicated. High on cocaine, yes, but not drunk. He was always so controlled, so polished. Now, not so much. Something must have happened. Something to make him lose control.
I mean, apart from him killing my entire family and trying to hunt my illegitimate son to use as collateral against me.
‘Have fun with Johnny Boy?’ he asked. ‘Romantic walks on the beach? Did you share an ice cream before he stuck his dick in you?’
Wait. He was jealous?
‘His kid was there,’ I said, still in disbelief. ‘He’s my fucking babysitter, Murphy.’
‘Sure,’ Murphy drawled. ‘Babysitters don’t fuck you.’ He snickered. ‘Well, sometimes they do. But they shouldn’t, nuh-uh.’
‘There’s only one person who fucks me,’ I replied sharply. ‘You’d do well to remember that.’
He laughed again, but there was no joy in the sound. It was a guttural noise that rattled in his chest, full of loathing, full of hate. He hated me, I realised. He hated me because I had chosen to align with somebody like Dornan, rather than somebody like him.
I didn’t move as he reached up and grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey from the top of the refrigerator and tore the lid off.
I didn’t move as he approached, stopping only to throw back a swig straight from the bottle, wiping the excess that dribbled down his chin with his suit sleeve.
I didn’t move, and then he was so close to me, I could smell the whiskey on his breath.
‘Had to get liquored up before you came over here, huh?’
My mama always said it was my mouth that got me into trouble, and she was right. Even after all this time, I just couldn’t help myself when it came to Christopher Fucking Murphy.
He narrowed his ice-blue gaze at me, pushing his black fringe out of his eyes. And then, before I could react, before I could even step back, his hand was wrapped around my face, and I was slammed back into the wall. I saw stars for a second, blinked as I heard something smash against the wall beside me, and then drew in a sharp intake of breath as the jagged teeth of a broken whiskey bottle taunted me. Inches away from my eyes, its sharp edges were still dripping with whiskey.
‘Murphy,’ I cautioned, ‘think about this. You need me. You need me if you want to get your money.’
Fuck!
I struggled to keep my breathing even as I watched his eyes slide from mine, down to my lips, over my chest. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
‘I’m pretty sure there’s a way around it, little lady.’ The whiskey on his breath burned my nostrils. My mind was whirling. This motherfucker had killed my entire family – or at least been directly responsible for it – and it looked like he was about to kill me, too. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn�
�t.
You know what he wants, the rational part of my brain screamed. Give it to him.
No!
Save yourself.
Jesus.
I reached my hand out, moving slowly in case he thought I was on the attack and he decided to stab me with the broken bottle. I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face closer to mine, pulling even though I wanted to push him away, fighting back the rising panic inside me.
‘What do you want, Murphy?’ I asked softly. ‘Because I’m pretty sure it’s not just my cooperation with your little scheme.’
He licked his lips, breathing heavily. He lowered the bottle to his side and seemed to calm down a little, his blue eyes still cold and fucking crazy, but his breathing slower, his urge to stab me apparently in check once again.
‘You know what I want,’ he breathed. ‘I could make your life so fucking sweet,’ he brushed a thumb across my bottom lip, ‘if you just gave it to me.’
Something violent and dark unleashed itself within me.
‘You want to fuck me,’ I breathed. ‘Fuck me already. I’d be so much better than that little bitch you’ve been screwing.’
My words were like a green light to someone who’s been stuck in a traffic jam for almost a decade. I saw the shift in Murphy’s gaze, from predatory but controlled, to completely animalistic. A low growl came from his throat as he fisted a handful of my hair and began dragging me towards my bedroom.
There was a gun in my bedroom. In my purse.
I followed him without fighting. Part of me was screaming inside, trying to convince myself to run, to try and get away, but another part was swiftly concocting a plan.
He threw me towards the bed, where I landed on my side, hard. I rolled onto my back, looking to the left and seeing my purse sitting below the pillow.
I turned my attention back to Murphy, who’d discarded the broken bottle somewhere along the way. His pants were around his ankles and his dick out before I could even blink. I sat up, swallowing back nervous bile that rushed up my throat. I was going to have to fuck him, I realised, my heart sinking at the prospect of him touching any part of me. He palmed his erection, pumping it as he looked down at me.
‘You on birth control?’ he asked, staring at the space between my legs that was still hidden by my dress.
‘No,’ I said, almost too quickly. I was, but he didn’t need to know that. ‘There are condoms in the bathroom. Top drawer.’
He looked pissed, but he pulled his pants back up and held onto the waistband, hurrying into the bathroom. The second he was out of my line of sight, I reached back and into my purse, rummaging around until my fingers touched cold metal. I slid my gun out as inconspicuously as I could, shoving it underneath my pillow with the handle facing me.
The slam of the bathroom drawer made me jump, and then Murphy was in front of me, a foil packet in his hand.
‘Put it on,’ he demanded.
I looked up at him without taking the packet. ‘I think you’ve got me all wrong,’ I deadpanned. ‘I don’t have a dick.’
His fist slammed into my cheek and I tasted blood. I fell back onto the bed, fighting as he grabbed my wrists.
‘You’re a very bad girl,’ he said, tutting. ‘Let’s try that again. Put it on me. You can suck it first for talking back to me.’
He fisted a handful of my hair and pulled my face closer. I took a deep breath, debating my position. Sure, I could pull the gun out now – assuming I could still reach it – and hold it to his balls, but he could easily just drop down on me and overpower me.
‘Open,’ he sneered, pushing his erection against my lips. Reluctantly, and out of options, I opened my mouth.
Bitterness coated my tongue as pre-come leaked from his dick and into my mouth. I fought the overpowering urges to throw up and bite down as hard as I could. Death by penis removal – it’d be a fitting end for somebody like him, but I didn’t like the idea of potentially being shot in the head as soon as I bit down. Instead, I relaxed my throat, letting him slide in and out of my mouth.
‘You like that?’ Murphy asked, squeezing my throat painfully with his free hand. His eyes flashed with excitement as he pushed in harder, hitting the back of my throat. I struggled not to gag as he pistoned his hips, driving his dick deep into my mouth again and again.
‘Oh, you dirty little whore,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘I can feel my cock in your throat. You’re my little whore now. I’m taking you with me when we get outta here, you understand?’ He squeezed my throat harder when I didn’t respond. I nodded, because I couldn’t exactly talk with a mouthful of dick.
My fingertips burned, begging me to grab the gun and shoot him. But I couldn’t reach, and I couldn’t very well just casually lean back, with the way he was holding my head immobile. He sped up, getting rougher as he approached release. Beneath the fear and the rage, I was already getting bored. I’d have a sore jaw after this. It was already screaming in protest.
‘Suck harder,’ he commanded. ‘Suck the come out of me, you dirty whore.’
I didn’t change what I was doing. I refused to make it any better for him. At the moment, as it was, it looked like his dirty little long-held fantasy was doing just fine without any enthusiasm on my part.
He let go of my hair all of a sudden, withdrawing from my mouth. I gasped for air as he palmed his wet erection, giving it a couple of tugs. He was close already, and he wanted to draw this out. For fuck’s sake.
‘I’m about to come all over your face,’ he grunted, ‘and if you close your eyes, I’ll hurt you. You understand?’
I rested back on my elbows and spread my legs open wide, bracing my bare heels on the edge of the bed. ‘You’re not scared of fucking me, are you, Murphy?’
He sneered, snatching the condom up from beside me. ‘Put it on,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t breed with a dirty little slut like you if you were the last woman on earth.’
Well, the feeling was mutual. I fought the urge to fire off a retort, rage burning in my chest. I needed to get the taste out of my mouth. Now. It was so vile, I was struggling not to puke.
Making my face go blank, I took the foil packet and ripped it open. Dornan didn’t wear protection, ever. Murphy didn’t know that, though. Thank Christ.
‘I don’t know how,’ I said.
Eyes flashing with frustration and lust, he took the packet from me and rolled the condom onto his erection. Once it was on, he looked at me and grinned.
‘Turn over onto your stomach,’ he ordered. ‘This will hurt, but I promise you’ll love it, like the little slut you are.’
Wow, he sure liked the word slut. Wasn’t very creative when it came to alternatives.
Again, I thought of the gun. If I laid down on my back, I’d be able to reach it. I wasn’t going to flip onto my stomach, not if I could help it. I’d be powerless then. On my stomach, he could capture my wrists, crush me under his weight and I wouldn’t even have my arms to fight him off with.
‘Don’t you want to watch me come?’ I pouted. ‘That’s Dornan’s favourite part.’
Mentioning Dornan was exactly what I needed to do to set him off. He launched onto me like a goddamn lion, his lips crashing into mine as he tugged my panties to the side and pushed into me in one hard movement. I wasn’t exactly turned on, and my eyes watered at the sudden intrusion.
His skin was cold and damp from the rain. I’d fared better than him, with my umbrella, and so when his freezing cold skin touched mine I jerked back, our kiss broken as he fucked me, rough and fast. He hadn’t even undressed me, he was so impatient. I smiled wickedly at him, pushing my hips up to meet his with every thrust.
He closed his eyes, a sigh of appreciation falling from his lips. I kept my own eyes wide open. I thought I’d feel scared at what would come next, but all I felt was the stark relief of knowing I’d soon have one less enemy in the world.
Thrust.
My fingers itched. Wait.
Thrust.
&nbs
p; Almost.
Thrust.
Now.
I reached up, slid my hand underneath the pillow and curled my fingers around the gun. I located the trigger and kept my index finger on it. Almost.
Thrust.
I rested my free hand on his ass and pulled him deeper. ‘Harder,’ I murmured.
He liked that. His head fell forward as he used every ounce of energy on making sure he’d bedded himself as deep and as hard as possible with every single thrust. I was mostly numb to it now, too distracted by more devious things.
Thrust.
Wait.
Thrust.
Almost.
Thrust.
Now.
I pulled the gun from its spot under the pillow and pressed the end of the barrel to Murphy’s pale forehead. His eyes flew open, ice-blue and full of What-the-Fuck? He stopped everything. Stopped moving, stopped breathing. The only thing that was happening was in his bright eyes.
They were afraid.
‘Pull out,’ I demanded. He didn’t move. ‘Now!’ I cried, pushing the gun harder against his pale skin. He jerked his hips back, pulling himself out of me, and I almost cried at the immense relief from knowing he wasn’t inside me any more.
It was like I’d floated away and was looking on from above. It didn’t feel real; none of it did. I was on the bed underneath Murphy, and his eyes started to become wet and glossy. Tears?
‘Afraid?’ I asked, unable to wipe the grin from my lips. Something had changed inside me through nine years of hate and pain, and that something that lurked in the deepest recesses of my dark soul enjoyed Murphy’s discomfort entirely too much. Craved it. Wanted more of it.
‘Did you kill my family?’ I whispered, and the smile I was wearing faded away. Grim realisation spiked in his eyes, and his entire body tensed. A wave of nausea rolled through me. It’s true. He fucking did it.
He didn’t answer, but the answer was clear as day in his eyes; in the way he looked away for a split second before meeting my gaze again, in the stunned look on his face, in the heavy exhale that came from his chest.
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