by W Winters
Her voice called out and broke through the fog of reality.
I couldn’t hear what she screamed, but it was something so urgent, her father put down the wrench. I remember the heavy metallic sound of it falling onto the floor mixing with her sweet feminine pleas for him to help her through the closed door.
I was so close to everything being over, and she saved me. Even if she doesn’t remember it. She never even saw me.
It took years before I let myself think of her again. And of that day.
I almost had an out. I was so close to leaving this life a good soul. Maybe not pure, not perfect, but a better man than I am now and an innocent soul.
She’s the reason I lived and turned into this.
I don’t just want her at my mercy.
I want everything she has.
I’m not going to stop until I have her and her everything.
Chapter 12
Aria
I think it’s been two days since Cross changed the rules. If I’m right, it’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been here. And two full days of not eating anything.
I refuse to eat from his fingers like a dog. I’m not his pet. The way he looks at me like he’d wish for nothing more than for me to kneel between his legs and accept each morsel is riddled with both desire for me and desire for power over me. The combination is heady, and it plays tricks with my mind. I’m addicted to the hunger in his eyes but I’m afraid of what’s to come if I give in.
I don’t want to submit and kneel in front of him. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Each ache I have reminds myself of this. As the loneliness stretches and the boredom makes me wonder if I’m going crazy, I have to remind myself. It’s always a reminder.
The thoughts make my breathing heavy and my stomach rumble. The sickening part of all of this is that I’m looking forward to him opening the door. I want him to come in tonight like he did last night and the night before. With a silver platter of temptation.
I’m starving and I know I have to give in. I know I will at some point. He’s right. I will eat. I’m already praying for him to open the door, even as I curse him and clench my hands into fists, swearing I’ll be strong enough to refuse him.
He’s going to win. I can feel it.
I’m praying for him to come, so I can have something to eat. Whatever he brings, if he were to come right now, I’d accept. No matter how much I wish it weren’t true. I would do anything to eat right now. To eat anything at all.
My eyes lift from the ground to the door as it creaks open. I don’t lift my head and I stay on the dirty ground, stiff and unmoving.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t look at him. The only thing that holds my attention is the tray balanced in his right hand and held at his chest. I can’t see what’s on it yet, but I can smell it.
My eyes close slowly and I nearly groan from the sugary scents that flood my lungs. When I finally open my eyes, cued by the sound of him moving the chair across the floor and closer to me, I see it all. I see the tasty treats that will be responsible for my pathetic undoing.
The tray is full of the sweetest things. Berries and chunks of mango and fresh pineapple.
It’s all brightly colored and arranged beautifully. Like I said, a silver platter of temptation.
“How’s your hand?” Cross asks me and it’s only then that I even acknowledge him.
“Fine.” My short answer is rewarded with him pulling the tray closer into his lap. “I think it’s bruised,” I offer him in an attempt to give him what he wants.
“You were banging your fist on that door for over forty minutes.” My teeth grit at his response.
“Well, you heard me at least,” I say, although I can’t deny that it hurts. I’m so fucking alone. And tired and sore and aching with pains. But so alone more than anything else.
“I did,” is all he says.
There’s a routine that comes with Carter Cross. He likes things to be done a certain way, maybe so that it can appear that he’s predictable but I’d much sooner think it’s so he can force my own behavior to be predictable for him.
In these sessions, the ones where food is offered, he attempts the semblance of a conversation before offering food. And today, I know I’ll talk back. I know I’ll do what he wants. I’m that desperate.
“You’re dirty,” he tells me with what seems like sincere sympathy. “You don’t wash yourself like I’d hoped you would.”
I bite my tongue at the perverted comments, but I can’t hold it all in. “I’m not a dog to be bathed.” I can’t hide the anger. I should fake my tone like he does, but I choose not to. He’ll feed me regardless. I hope. He only smiles at me in response and it nearly makes me back away from him. Not because of the way he’s looking at me, but because of how my body reacts to the smile. How he seems to enjoy it when I don’t hold back. It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous.
“You’re tired.”
“It’s difficult to sleep on the floor.” Even as I answer him, I can feel how heavy the bags are under my eyes.
“There’s a mattress at least,” he quips, and those piercing eyes stare deeper into me like he can see through the wall of defense. Just the way he looks at me makes me question everything.
Time evades me as I stare back at him, feeling those same walls crumble deep inside of me. I try to suppress the hate I have for him in this moment, just so I can get this over with and eat.
“You look weak, songbird.”
“You keep calling me that,” I bite back.
“I’ve never called you weak,” he says, and his answer is just as stern as mine.
“I meant ‘songbird.’ You keep calling me songbird.” My voice cracks. I don’t want him to call me anything. Not my name, not a sweet nickname. It doesn’t reflect how he truly sees me. It’s meant to weaken me, make me soften. “Stop calling me that.”
“No,” he says in a hardened voice. “Now come here, songbird Come kneel in front of me and let me feed you.”
This is the second part of his routine and the one where I’ve told him to go fuck himself over and over again. But today, I slowly move my body and get on my hands and knees. I swallow my pride and it hurts. It physically hurts. I didn’t know pride was a spiked ball until I move one knee in front of the other. My body is hot with embarrassment and shame as I stop at his feet.
I can’t open my eyes until his rough hand brushes against my jaw. I wish I didn’t feel the need to lean into him. Loneliness consumes me every day. If I could pause this moment and pretend I’m somewhere else, with someone else, I’d lean into his strong touch. I’d allow myself to enjoy his warmth and comfort.
But as it is, I’m staring into the dark eyes of a man who’s held me like this before. And then so quickly shown how easily he could hurt me.
Swallowing thickly, I wait for the third part. Only seconds until he tells me to open my mouth.
As if reading my mind, Cross lets his thumb brush along the seam of my lips. It’s a gentle caress that ignites something primitive in me, heating my core and making my heart beat furiously inside my chest. My knees inch forward, obeying the command from my body to move closer to him.
Closer to the man who controls my freedom. Closer to the gentle touch.
“Open,” he commands me, and I feel my lips part of their own accord.
My eyes stay closed until his hand moves away, and his warmth is replaced with the chill of the air in the cell.
My heart flickers with fear until I watch him pick up a chunk of strawberry and lift it to my lips. I’d be ashamed at how greedily I eat the small piece of fruit if only consuming it didn’t make me feel as though I’m starved. The sweetness falls into a pit of hollow hunger pains. And again, my body moves closer to him.
He doesn’t say anything or hint at anything other than his desire to keep feeding me. And I accept every piece with a hunger that only seems to intensify. My hands find their way to his knees, gripping him as I swallow the next piece he�
�s offering me.
It takes me far too long to realize I’m touching him. His groan of approval is what cues my awareness, but as I try to pull away, he does the same to the fruit in his grasp.
“Stay.” He gives me the simple command, and so I do. I cling to him for more.
The part that’s truly shameful though is how much hearing him tell me to stay made me crave more of him. His hand on mine, watching him watch me.
A moment passes where I realize he knows my forbidden thoughts.
My greatest fear is that he’ll voice them and bring them to life. I force my fingers to dig deeper into his leg and I open my lips wider, silently begging for more, so I can hide the temptation that grows hotter between us.
I think he’s doing it slowly on purpose. Picking up the bits of sweet fruit and taking his time before he slips them between my lips.
“Open wider,” he commands me and it’s only because my stomach pains with the need to eat that I obey him, that’s what I tell myself. I close my eyes, holding back every other thought.
“Look at me,” he commands as I swallow the small morsel and his strong hand cups my chin, forcing my head up. The juice from his fingers wets the underside of my chin in his grasp. He’s so close, his dark eyes swirling with an intensity that holds my gaze captive. “You’re so strong,” he tells me, and I hate him for it. “You don’t believe me, but you are.”
The rough pad of his thumb brushes against my bottom lip and I almost bite him, just to spite him. To prove to him that whatever he assumes I’m thinking is all in his head. I catch the broad smile growing on his face as I look back up at him.
He offers me another piece and I take it in my mouth. I have to wait for him to pull his fingers away, but he doesn’t.
My gaze moves back to his and he lowers his lips to my neck, his fingers still in my mouth and the juice of the fruit tasting even sweeter. His short stubble brushes my collarbone and then he whispers in my ear, “See how strong? You’d love to bite me, but you know how to survive.”
His hot breath tickles my neck and sends goosebumps down my body. Shamefully, my nipples harden and my back bows slightly. “Such a good girl, Aria,” Cross says, and I pull away from him, leaving the fruit between his fingers and brushing my ass against the cement as I scoot backward, putting distance between us.
The fear is alive within me, but it’s changed. I fear what I’m capable of and how much I’d enjoy it.
The vision of him pinning me down on the ground flashes before my eyes and cruelly, it only makes me hotter. I swallow thickly, feeling my cheeks heat with a blush.
Cross doesn’t move from his chair. “You’re all done?” he asks me. I can’t look him in the eye. I don’t even trust myself to speak. Maybe this is what it’s truly like to be broken.
“Is it because you’ve finished, or because you’re wet for me?” he asks me in a husky voice that only adds to my desire for him.
“Fuck you,” I say beneath my breath, narrowing my eyes and letting my blunt nails dig into the cement.
Cross lets the trace of a smile play on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he stands up, towering over me. “I told you I wanted you, Aria. And I get everything I want. Just remember that.”
Chapter 13
Carter
She hasn’t eaten, she’s barely moved since she gave in last night. I’ve come in twice since then and both times she’s denied me even though in three days all she’s eaten is a handful of fruit.
I can feel the tension between us. I know she’s at war with it as much as I am. But she spends her nights screaming and barely sleeping. The little bit of progress during the day is erased and there’s nothing I can do about it.
She’s going to cave again and I can feel it on the horizon. I’ve never been so eager to come into this cell as I am today.
I have to hide my smile as she slinks from the mattress to the floor. She never stays on the mattress when I come in. At least, she hasn’t yet.
My heart beats hard as I watch her expression fall.
There’s no tray tonight. No offering for her.
It’s easy to see her breathing pick up as she registers I’m here for something else.
I intentionally let the chair drag along the floor as I make my way to her.
“I don’t have anything to say,” she tells me as I sit down only a few feet away from her. Far enough so that she can crawl to me and kneel. The crawling part I’m not interested in. She decided to do that on her own, but I don’t care how I get her on her knees in front of me. So long as she submits.
“That’s interesting that you would start the conversation then, isn’t it?” She doesn’t respond. Her collarbone looks more prominent today than it ever has. I couldn’t see it on the monitors, but three days of barely eating is starting to show and I don’t like it. Starved is not how I want her.
I should feel remorse, not anger at the observation.
“Why make it harder on yourself?” I question her with a deep tone of disapproval.
And once again, she doesn’t answer.
“You’ll cave again. You can’t help yourself. You realize that, don’t you?” She’s a smart girl. Anyone with any bit of intelligence knows that starvation is painful, and the instinct to survive will kick in over pride.
“Just let me go,” she says weakly, brushing under her eyes and hiding the tears. So close to breaking. So, fucking close.
“I’m getting tired of hearing you make that request.”
“Then both of us are tired,” she says softly, picking at her dirty clothes. I would give her everything if only she’d obey me.
“You wanted me,” I remind her, and she huffs a pathetic sound of disgust.
Her eyes narrow as she looks me in the eyes and tells me, ”You aren’t what I want.”
“What did you want then?” I ask her, leaning forward in my seat so quickly that I startle her. I’m only inches away and so close I can feel the heat from her body. She turns away from me, looking toward nothingness on the blank wall.
“Answer me,” I say and there’s little patience in my voice. My body tenses as I move forward in my seat so I’m as close to her as I can be. I don’t like what she does to me, but even more, I don’t like that I don’t know what to do with her. I don’t want her like this. I need her to break now, her mind before her body.
She looks at me with a stare of contempt before barely speaking the words, “I don’t know what I wanted.”
“You wanted me to fuck you,” I tell her in a voice intended to be seductive. I practically whisper. “I’d feed you, care for you, fuck you and put you to bed used and sated.” She’s silent as I move back to a relaxed position in the uncomfortable chair. “That’s what you wanted.”
“I just wanted my fucking notebook back!” she screams at me with a bite of anger I know must’ve hurt. Swallowing thickly, she looks away from me as her eyes turn glossy.
My heart pounds hard, just once, then stops for a moment as she wipes her eyes.
“You want a notebook?” I ask her, although I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.
Her chest rises and falls steadily as she looks at me. Each breath deepening the dip in her collarbone. “Tell me,” I command her.
“My drawing pad,” she murmurs softly, anger and contempt forgotten. “That’s what led me to the bar where those assholes got me,” she whispers with defeat. “I just wanted my drawing pad back.”
“A specific one?” I ask as my brow raises slightly. It’s not going to happen. I can get her a new one, but I’m not risking what’s already been set in motion to find something she’s left behind.
“Yes,” she whispers and parts her lips to tell me something else, but I can’t and won’t hunt down any of her possessions.
“It’s gone,” I say flatly, cutting off her words.
I watch as she swallows and note the way the sadness returns to her eyes. “Any would do.” Her eyes search my face warily as she sits b
ack against the bed, making it dip with her weight. She’s frail with a look of submission brimming close to the surface.
“A drawing pad. What else do you want?” My fingers itch to trace along her jaw and force her to look at me. To force her to make this easier on herself and both of us.
She peeks up at me through only slits, her dark lashes barely letting me see any of her eyes. But in the small bit she offers me, I see nothing but rage.
“You have something to say?”
“Fuck you,” she spits.
I’ve never felt the urge to kiss her until now. In filthy clothes and all. It’s quiet between us as I imagine gripping the nape of her neck and taking her lips with mine. She’d bite me. I know she would because she thinks she should, and that only makes me harder.
“That mouth of yours. That’s what’s going to get you into trouble.”
“As if I’m not in trouble already,” she answers me through clenched teeth, lifting her chin at me.
“You will be if you don’t obey me.” Each word comes out heavy, making my chest clench with a tightness of what’s to come. My breathing is shallow, and my blood burns a little hotter.
I can see her lips twitch with the need to speak, but she bites her tongue.
This is the version of Aria that I want. The raw anger of knowing and accepting that she’s at my mercy.
“Tell me what you really think, Aria,” I say softly although the words ring out loudly in my ears. My gaze is locked on hers. My blood rushing in my ears. All I can do is wait for her.
One beat. Two beats of my heart before she whispers in a cracked voice, “You’re a monster.”
“And why is that?”
“Because of what you want from me,” she says quiety, but she doesn’t break eye contact.
“What is it that I want from you?” I ask her as I grip the edge of the chair tighter.
“You want to fuck me.” She doesn’t hesitate to answer but the anger in her expression morphs to pain as she rips her gaze away from mine.