Payback Princess (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  “That’s a good idea. You two should go to prom together.” He exhales and turns back toward the window, sliding his cigarette out again and lighting up, making sure to angle himself just right so that the newly installed exterior camera won’t catch him smoking. If Tess—or anyone else—is watching the feed right now, they’ll likely assume that it’s steam from the open bathroom door.

  I hesitate briefly, squeezing Lumen’s note in my hand.

  Another idiom comes to mind: trapped between a rock and a hard place.

  Fuck.

  Parrish gives Chasm an odd look before turning back to me.

  “If Tess lets you go, I’d love to go with you,” I say, my voice breathy and soft. Chasm doesn’t look back at us again, but I can tell that although this is killing him, he’s willing to do it for Parrish. If he is, then I am, too. Parrish has been through a lot; he nearly fucking died. And none of this is fair to him. He didn’t have any say in these matters anymore than we did.

  “Tess will let me go,” he says breezily, waving his hand around dismissively.

  “Are you two going to—” Maxx starts, gesturing at us. “Be intimate with each other this week?”

  Parrish stares at him, then looks at me, waiting for my answer.

  “I hope so,” he adds, voice getting husky, breaking into emotional shards that cut and bleed. “Hopefully right now.”

  “Right now?” I query back, but I’m not against it. I’ve wanted that since I first saw him on the other side of the wine cellar door.

  “If you still want me,” Parrish adds, and Chasm makes a noise, climbing out onto the roof with his cigarette, camera be fucked. He moves to slam the window closed, but not before leaning through and adding his two cents to the situation.

  “The sexual tension between you two is making me physically ill; just bang it out already.” He pauses. “There are condoms in my bag.” He points to its location on the floor before retreating, scooting to the edge of the roof, and continuing to smoke.

  “I don’t really get a say in this,” Maxx says, sighing heavily. “You two decide what’s best for you.” He offers me a look as he moves over to the door and peeks into the hallway again. “Better be quick though. Tess will be down here soon enough to check on you.”

  I study X’s back, all of that tension in his muscles, and I make a choice.

  I can’t please all three of them at once, at least not right now. Parrish has been missing. He almost died. He needs me. I want him.

  All of those things are valid.

  Parrish and I look at each other, and then I bend down and flick Chasm’s bag open, fully aware of how weird—and how strangely sad—this entire situation is. Yet, I can’t get past the elated feeling of having Parrish here with us. I’m not the only one: I have a feeling that Chasm and Maxx wouldn’t be so nice if the situation were any less dire.

  “I want you, Parrish,” I tell him as I rise to my feet, and he releases a deep breath. He grabs my hand, and we slip into the bathroom together. He slams the door behind me, and then his mouth is on mine all over again, his fingers sliding across the side of my neck and leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

  His other hand cradles the curve of my waist.

  “I don’t want to wait even a second longer, but I have to ask … what the fuck is this dress for?” Parrish pulls back, looking over my outfit with undisguised interest. “Also, I’m sorry that I bled all over it.”

  “I would soak everything I owned in blood just to see you again,” I admit, looking down at my outfit. “This was Justin’s pick—we all went to the launch party for his new app tonight.”

  Parrish seems more—rather than less—confused, but then he sets his mouth in a determined line and grabs me by the hips, parking me on the edge of the countertop. He leans in, even as steam drifts around his face.

  “I dreamed about this,” he repeats, pushing the voluminous skirts up my legs and running his palms along my thighs. The soft white steam creates a barrier between us and the real world for a brief moment. It’s all an illusion, but I think we both need that.

  We need to reconnect.

  Desperately so.

  “I dreamed about it when I was tied to that chair, when my vision got blurry and I couldn’t see straight, when my ears rang and eventually all sound cut off. I dreamed about it when my hands were numb from being tied up too long and I thought about just giving up and falling asleep.” Parrish puts his forehead against mine. “I don’t know what you did to get me that bed, to get me untied, fed, showered. Whatever it was, it isn’t unappreciated.”

  “I felt like I was betraying you anyway,” I admit, brushing my mouth against his in a small, heated kiss. “That whole time. I felt sick about it. I still do. I feel even worse knowing that I didn’t hate what Justin made me do with Maxx and Chasm. Everything else was awful. But not that. The guilt I felt for you and Maxine was the only bad part.”

  “If I say I forgive you, does that help?” he offers, as I dig my fingers into his hair again, closing my eyes and letting his addictive scent wash over me. “You forget that I know some of the things that bastard made you do. I know about the typewriter and the car; I know about the theatre fire. I can only imagine it got worse after that.”

  Parrish brushes his knuckles across the front of my panties, and my breath catches sharply. I try to let my head fall back, but he threads the fingers of his right hand in my hair and brings our mouths together again.

  He tastes so damn good. I’m not sure that I’ve ever tasted anything so perfect and so satisfying in all my life. Any and every emotion in the human repertoire lies between us: sadness, anger, trust, hate … love. When we said we loved each other over the video chat, it wasn’t just out of blind desperation and fear, it was deeper than that.

  Parrish adjusts his right hand, slipping it beneath my skirts, and then pulls my panties down my legs and over the Chucks I put on while we were waiting to get him back. He gives the mismatched shoes—one black, one green—a look and a contented sigh.

  “I missed this. Your quirkiness. Your political jabs. The way you barge into everything and destroy all my boundaries, and I don’t even mind.” Parrish tosses the panties aside and slips the condom from my hand. He stands up straight and shoves his sweatpants down, kicking them aside and slipping the condom on.

  The only light that’s on in here is the one above the shower, just a single spotlight that illuminates the stall, but creates twilight dusk throughout the rest of the admittedly very large room. This bathroom is more than half the size of my entire bedroom back home with the Banks.

  Although I may never think of this ice palace as home, there’s something about Parrish that says home. Something about Chasm. About Maxx. The three of them give me that feeling the same way that Maxine does, or the way my grandparents do.

  I embrace that phenomenon as Parrish steps close to me again, his body warm between my thighs. The fact that he’s even here, that he’s even alive, makes me tremble with excitement. Who knew it could be such a turn-on to rescue the guy you love-hated for months, lost to an infamous serial killer, and then rescued in a dramatic, Agatha Christie-worthy fashion?

  “I missed your rude, pouty mouth, and your stupid swagger, and the way you slit your eyes when you’re bothered by something or someone,” I tell him, and he lets out a satisfied chuckle near my ear, making me shiver. The feeling only intensifies when he grips my hip under my skirt with one hand, using the other to guide himself between my thighs.

  He lifts his gaze up, his face limned in white steam and dusky light, and then he thrusts his hips forward, and we both groan in unison. My fingers clutch at his back, scraping over his bandages, as he squeezes my ass in both hands and drags my pelvis tightly against his, pressing us together.

  “Gamer Girl,” he murmurs as our mouths come together yet again, tongues sliding against one another, hearts beating as we sit chest-to-chest for a moment.

  “Pear-Pear,” I whisper, but it’s only half a j
oke. I’m far too wrapped up in heat and ardor to be anything but serious right now.

  “You can call me that. You can call me anything you want actually. Maybe it makes me crazy, but you were the person that I missed the most.” Parrish starts to move, slow at first, but with increasing speed. It’s like he’s drowning all of a sudden, and I’m his only chance at getting air.

  I keep my arms around his neck, my mouth moving against his, murmuring his name over and over again. I wish more than anything that we had all night to be together. I want to touch every part of him, just to make sure that he’s really okay. Trace his scars, memorize him. He might have them for life, but I don’t care. Because it means he made it; he survived.

  The feel of his hips rocking against mine, of his body being inside of me, it’s incredible. I feel so much better already, being this close to him.

  “Tell me you’re still mine,” he murmurs against my ear, and even if I don’t know how things are going to work out, I know this.

  “I’m still yours,” I breathe back at him. “And you’re mine.”

  He makes a sound that could either be assent or denial—you never know with Parrish Vanguard—and then he’s losing himself in me, moving harder, faster. His hands on my hips tense, leaving dents in my skin that make me squirm.

  When he reaches that sweet, hot place of climax, he bites the side of my neck and groans at the same time. Stars flicker beneath my eyelids as I lock my ankles behind him, holding him close and tight as he finishes.

  He slams one of his palms down on the counter, head low, breath fanning against my collarbone, and makes another sound, this one clearly built of frustration.

  “I need more of this,” he mutters. “All night.”

  I grab a handful of his hair and lift his face up to mine. My body feels like it’s shimmering, like I’m on the very edge of an orgasm. I want more, but I’m not sure we’re going to able to finish me off, let alone go all night.

  A knock on the door makes us both stiffen up.

  “Just told Tess that Dakota went in her own bathroom to shower. I took the liberty of getting you pajamas, too. Want to grab them?”

  It’s Maxx.

  Parrish narrows his eyes in frustration, sitting up and then slowly sliding out of me, all the while making eye contact. He slips the condom off and drops it in the trash—we need to remember to deal with that later—and yanks his sweats up.

  By the time he opens the door, my ankles are crossed and I’m affecting the most nonchalant expression that I can. Maxx’s eyes slip right past Parrish to land on me, and I know he can tell. His jaw clenches, but he says nothing as he passes the pile of clothes over to his friend.

  “Thank you,” Parrish tells him honestly, but with a slight strain in his voice that says that wasn’t easy for him. X gives a small wave and then retreats, allowing Parrish to shut the door behind him. “Get in the shower with me,” he says, and it’s not really a question.

  He needs that.

  I hop off the counter and he sets the clothing in my place, standing still and silent as I help unwrap the bandages from his chest, examining the wounds by hovering my fingers over them. Parrish snatches my hand in his and presses my palm against them, even as he shudders slightly with the pain of it.

  “They’re not as bad as they look,” he tells me, but that isn’t true. He nearly bled to death. It’s just that someone—Mr. Volli, I guess—has been cleaning them and keeping antibiotic ointment liberally applied for the last few weeks. “They’ll heal—even if my ink is messed up.”

  It’s true that the slices on his chest have obscured the beautiful art somewhat, but it isn’t less pretty for what it is now, it’s just beautiful in a different way.

  “Let’s see how they heal up and then worry about them later. You never know; they may fade over time.” The first few tick marks are wider and more ragged looking; the new ones have tiny stitches that should help the scarring be less visible. Anyway, since Paul is a plastic surgeon, if they really bother Parrish, maybe his dad can help?

  He takes the first aid kit, opens it up, and then pulls out a roll of what looks like plastic wrap.

  “Here,” Parrish hands it over to me along with a spool of white tape. “I’m not supposed to get any of this wet.” He gestures at himself as my throat gets tight, and I nod, helping him to cover his wounds up and seal off the edges. “That should do it.”

  Parrish nods and releases my hand, shoving his pants to the ground as I unlace and kick my shoes off before turning around and glancing over my shoulder.

  “Zipper?” I query, and he steps forward, sliding the zipper down and then helping me shimmy out of the dress. Because of the corset-like fit of the top, I didn’t need a bra, leaving me immediately exposed. My panties, too, are already on the floor. Now, it’s just me, myself, and I, completely bare to him.

  Parrish’s eyes flare with interest as he studies me, and then he reaches out for the shower door, opening it and waiting for me to climb in. I do and he follows quickly afterward, wrapping his arms around me from behind as the hot water cascades over both of us at the same time.

  “Stay with me all night—even if we can’t have sex,” he whispers, but I have no idea how to make that work with Tess. I decide not to say anything to ruin that moment, closing my eyes and nodding as he kisses the side of my face.

  We stay there for several minutes, the only sounds the pattering of the water and the combined exhales and inhales of our breathing. When Parrish releases me, I grab the bottle of orange Dial soap he has in there—for cleaning tattoos, most likely—and use that to lather up my palms.

  “Want me to wash your back?” I ask and he nods, looking down at the nineteen perfect slices across his chest. They’re in two rows of eight with three ticks on the third and final row. Each one is about an inch in length, and the entire collection of them obscures nearly all of his chest. The plastic-like bandage stretches across the neatly stitched wounds, keeping them dry. It reminds me of the transparent bandages I’ve seen people wear over fresh tattoos.

  Parrish turns around and I glide my soapy palms over him, enjoying the way he tenses and exhales, letting his head fall back in bliss. My fingers trail down to his firm ass, and he tosses a look back at me, not unlike the one from the very first day we met.

  Apparently, I’m not the only who gets the reference.

  “As if, Gamer Girl,” he says with a small smirk. “In your dreams.”

  I throw my arms around him yet again, careful to keep my grip low so that I don’t disturb the wounds on his chest.

  “I can’t believe how much I missed you,” I repeat for the fiftieth time. But it’s true. I did. We all did.

  Parrish covers my hands with his, stroking my knuckles until I finally pull away. I finish washing his back and then switch out the soap for the shampoo, lathering his hair up, rinsing him off, and then adding conditioner.

  “This is the greatest moment of my life,” he murmurs as I knead his scalp and then leave the conditioner to set while I take care of my own hair. Parrish turns around and gives me one of those pretty frowns of his, holding out his right hand in silent demand. “Give me the shampoo,” he commands, all lordly and shit.

  I cock a brow.

  “No.”

  “No?” he queries back, cocking his head slightly to one side, his gaze sliding over my naked body. I shiver under his stare. It’s one thing to be nude and doing it under the covers in the dark. It’s a whole other to be standing under a virtual spotlight—a dim light, yes, but like one that’s right above my head—and having him study me the way he is.

  “You just got home; you’re injured. No extra work for you.”

  Parrish lets his head hang down for a minute, and then when he whips his gaze up at me, it’s resolute. He lunges and manages to snatch the shampoo bottle with one hand, grabbing my right wrist and pressing it into the wall with the other.

  “Yes, your serial killer daddy imprisoned me in a cellar full of very expensive w
ine and tried to bleed me to death. For the next week,” he murmurs, leaning down and pressing a scalding kiss against the corner of my mouth, “I get whatever I want from you.”

  He releases me and stands up, lifting his chin in that haughty way of his and squirting shampoo into his palms.

  “Turn around,” he tells me, but it doesn’t feel like such a simple command when we’re both naked like this. I do as he asked anyway, even if I grumble about it.

  “You should be resting,” I mumble as his long fingers dig into my wet hair, making me groan as he works out the sticky hair spray, rinses me, and then slathers the smooth, pearlescent conditioner through the green and black strands. I make a small sound of surprise when he wraps my hair around his fist and gives it a little yank.

  “What if I don’t want to rest? What if all I want is you?”

  “Then you’re going to be in serious trouble because Tess will come in here, whether you’re naked or not, to check on you at some point.”

  Parrish grunts, but he doesn’t seem overly concerned. Instead, he rinses his fingers of the conditioner and then glides them down my bare belly. My legs start to tremble, and I put my palms flat on the wall.

  He guides them between my thighs, brushing across the heated pulse of my clit and making my knees weak. Parrish’s body presses up against mine, pinning me to the wall. I can feel him hardening against me again, but we don’t have another condom, so we’ll have to look for alternative ways to entertain ourselves.

  He leans down, pressing his lips to my shoulder and then brushing my hair away from my neck. That’s when he pauses, and since his pouty mouth is pressed to my body, I actually feel him frown.

  “Who left these marks?” he asks, his voice ice-cold. I stiffen up, but then he slides a single finger between my legs and pushes it inside of me. My nails scrape against the white subway tile on the walls.

  “Chasm,” I whisper back, and Parrish makes a sound of frustration. His mouth descends over one of the already sore marks, sucking on it and causing me to cry out. Too loud, Dakota. Not only is there Tess to worry about, but I don’t want either of the other guys to hear me.