He closed his mouth with a snap, though his nostrils flared with his sharp, uneven breaths, and his fists clenched.
“I need to get myself out. I let him...” I gulped in a deep breath, curled my lip at my own hesitation, but squared my shoulders. It wasn't like this was new information for any of them. They'd all pointed it out at one point or another. “I let Carl get away with too much. Because he was stronger than me. Not just physically, but...mentally, I don't know. I bent to what he wanted, even when I didn't want it. I will not do that again.” I willed him to understand. “I will not bend, Vic. Not to him, or you, or anyone else. Ever again. This is my battle. You can't fight it for me. I won't let you.”
“This is what I do. Let me—”
“No!” Why wouldn't he listen? I had a sudden flash of memory of Carl telling me what I wanted, when I knew perfectly well he was wrong, telling me he would do what he wanted to me, I'd like it, it would be okay. It hadn't been. Nothing anyone could do would ever change that, any more than it would bring Lil's brother or any of the others back. But this, this had happened to me. I was still here, and I'd be damned if I would let anyone else tell me they knew what was best for me.
“This is my life, Vic. Let me live it.”
“Or lose it?” He was so close. I didn't remember either of us moving, but he was right in my face. “You don't know what he's capable of.”
“You don't either. He didn't start out a killer!”
“But that's what he is, Paul. A killer. A rapist.”
Blood drained out of my face to pool in a churning mess in my gut. I couldn't move.
Vic lifted my hand, held my own bandaged wrist in front of my face and shook it. “Cold blooded. Pitiless. Ruthless. Everything you're not. You can't do this.”
I ripped myself free of his grip, ignoring the searing pain of opened scabs. “He won't hurt me.”
Vic's brows drew together. “He already has. Why can't you see?”
“I know him. I know—”
“Do you want a body count? Do you want to see the pictures? You do not know what he's capable of!”
“Don't I?” Frustrated, I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and yanked it off over my head. “Look at me!”
He didn't. He pinched his lips and looked to Lil, as though hoping to find support there.
I snatched at his arm and wrenched his attention back to me. “Look at me!”
Finally, he forced his gaze down across my torso. He was about as pale as I felt.
“He did this to me.” I glared at him, at his beautiful eyes focused on my bruises and full of that unnameable emotion. “He did this. He—” I snarled, and my entire body clenched with fury at him for making me say it out loud. “He raped me, I know. This is my life. I have to take it back.”
At last, his gaze drifted up my body, across my face, and he looked into my eyes.
All that anger just bled out of me, like he'd lanced it away.
“If anything happened to you...”
I stepped back into his space, finding the solace I'd hoped for when I'd first come in the room. I dropped my shirt and touched his cheek. He vibrated with tension. I wished there was some way to ease his mind other than backing down. “Just make sure nothing does. Be there. But don't deny me this. I have to take my life back, Vic. Please. Tell me you understand.”
His eyes closed, denying me that oh-so-frustrating and confusing glimpse into his thoughts. He leaned forward, and this time I didn't back away. His forehead contacted with mine.
“I hate that you're right,” he whispered.
I ran my hand along the fuzzy hair of his arm toward his chest, closed my eyes, and basked in the warm, sizzling strength and nearness. “I'm not particularly thrilled about it, either, believe me.”
My hand rested on one broad pec, and I felt his heart beat under my palm. After a stretched pause, Vic's hand covered mine. His breath wafted warm over my face. Now I was the one vibrating. I very much wanted him to stake a claim, even though I'd just finished telling him I was my own man. When his lips did touch mine, they weren't tentative. They didn't have the hard, bitter taint of frantic possessiveness I was used to, either. I wondered if I'd ever been kissed like that before, or if I just didn't remember.
“All right.”
When we broke apart to Lil's comment, we found him waving his hand in front of his face. “Get a whiff of that testosterone. If the two of you are done with the whole horn-butting thing...?” He lifted an eyebrow at us, but the look he leveled at me was one I'd seen him give Brian when he was especially pleased with his man.
A little, crooked smile passed over my face at the thought Lil might actually be proud of me. I guess Carl's true personality wasn't the only one I'd come to understand through all this. I squared my shoulders a bit and turned to Sanders. “You have a plan?”
* * * *
A loud bang startled Carl awake—so loud it sounded close. Too close. He jolted forward, gaze darting back and forth, behind and in front. A cab idled at the curb ahead, the occupants too far away to see clearly, but something about the front passenger brought Carl's mind to full attention.
Paul stepped out onto the path, paying the driver through the window then glancing up and down the street. He looked tired, panicked even, and rushed toward the building, head turning left and right before he disappeared inside.
Carl's stomach muscles bunched at the sight of him, and his heart hurt. Shit, he loved him. Knew that now more than ever; the thumping of his pulse and stinging of his eyes more proof. He waited for long moments, then, quickly, a surge of excitement coursing through him, Carl exited the pickup and went inside. Paul would be in his apartment by now, what with the elevator indicating its descent by the glowing green triangular light on the side panel. He jabbed the button, impatient, then changed his mind and took the stairs. Tiredness fled, and he made it to Paul's door in record time, knuckles rapping the wood below the peephole with three short, sharp knocks.
Carl stood to the side of the door and waited.
“Who is it?” Paul asked. Even through the door, his voice sounded...tight.
Do I answer as me or...?
“Gas man, sir. Report of a leak in the building.”
Fucking lame. Like he's going to believe—
The chain rattled, and Carl readied himself for a hasty entrance, dependent on whether Paul's features showed shock or pleasure at seeing him.
They showed wide-eyed shock. And horror. And repulsion.
Carl stuck out his foot, wedging it between the door and frame. Paul's mouth worked, but no sound came out, his eyes wide, his fingers curled around the door edge as he tried to push it closed. Carl shoved the door, both hands flat against it, and Paul let go, staggering backward and crashing into the wall. The sight reminded Carl of their last meeting, and he smiled, shutting the door and snapping the deadlock down and the chain across.
“Hey, baby,” he said, arms out, waiting for Paul to step into them. To realize he wasn't anyone to fear but someone who loved him to distraction.
“What are you doing here?” Paul sidled along the wall, gaze darting, then dashed across the hallway and into the kitchen.
Carl rushed after him, catching Paul yanking open the utensil drawer and bringing out a knife. He held it before him and backed away, foot catching on the table leg.
“What the hell's all this about?” Carl asked, incredulous. This wasn't happening. He was seeing shit due to being tired. Paul wasn't standing there with a damn knife and fear plastered across his face.
“Get away from me,” Paul said, knife hand shaking. “Get the fuck away.”
“Get away? Oh, yeah. We'll be getting away all right. We'll go someplace, yeah?” Carl moved forward. “Go someplace nice and quiet where no one knows us. We can start again. We don't need anyone else, do we?”
Paul frowned, swallowed hard, and shook his head. As though what Carl had said was stupid. “Start what again?”
“You do want that, right?” Carl
stepped closer, knife in his peripheral vision, main gaze fixed on Paul's eyes, which flicked from side to side, stilling on the doorway behind Carl. “Ah, I see maybe you don't.” Carl stifled a sigh of frustration. “Still, it doesn't matter. It's what you're going to get. We're made for each other, you know that. No point denying it.”
The knife wavered, and Paul raised it, exposing his wrist. Carl lunged forward, gripping that wrist with biting fingers, digging his nails in the soft underside, twisting the bandages against raw skin beneath. Their gazes met, and a battle of wills ensued, one Carl knew he would win. He always won.
Paul's fingers splayed, the pain in his wrist drawing a sharp gasp from him, and the knife clattered to the floor, spinning across the tile and coming to rest in front of the cooker. Carl spun Paul, securing his wrists behind him, and marched him toward the bedroom, Paul struggling to get away the whole time. Paul didn't speak, instead issuing noisy exhalations that showed his anger and frustration, and as they neared the foot of the bed, he jabbed his heel into Carl's shin. Pain bloomed there, but nothing Carl couldn't handle, and he bit back the curse tormenting his tongue. He didn't want to hit Paul, he really didn't, but he raised his fist and cracked it against the back of Paul's head. Paul yelled out, and Carl released him, flinging him onto the bed where he landed heavily with a battered grunt. Carl quickly rummaged inside the wardrobe for a belt. With Paul disorientated, he dragged him up the bed and secured his wrists to a pole, going back to the wardrobe for another belt to tie his ankles.
This wasn't what he'd intended. Wasn't how he'd envisaged it to be, but Paul needed time, that was all. He'd come around. Hadn't he always in the past?
“It's a shame I have to do this, but I need some sleep, and by the looks of things so do you.”
Paul twisted and blinked at him. “Let me go.”
Was he less angry? His voice had lowered, the edges of his words blurred together, like they sometimes did when he was softening to the point of truly submitting. That hadn't happened in a long time.
Carl climbed on the bed and snuggled up behind Paul, the feel of him like a balm, like he'd come home. “We'll rest awhile, yeah? Then when we wake up we can discuss where we're going. We'll be all right, so long as we've got each other, baby, you'll see.”
“Carl.” Paul squirmed against the tight grip of Carl's arms around his chest. “You shouldn't have come back.”
“I had to. I came back for you, babe.” He squeezed and nuzzled Paul's neck. “It's all been for you.”
“No,” Paul whispered. But he stopped squirming. Stopped trying to get away.
Carl pulled the comforter up to cover Paul and stop his hard shivering. “It'll be all right. Promise.”
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* * *
Chapter Thirteen
* * * *
Sanders had had a plan, all right. And the second I laid eyes on Carl at my door, it went to shit. In the abstract, I maybe could have handed him over. Seeing him there, looking ragged and desperate, even for that split second before the usual mask of superiority slammed down, I felt myself unraveling. I let him in, because that was the plan. He'd expect me to. That was also the plan. Do what he'd expect and nothing else. Don't let him get suspicious.
The beard threw me off. I couldn't read his face. Every time I opened my mouth, the wrong thing came out. He just got edgier and edgier, and I knew what happened when he tipped over. My body still ached from the last time. I snapped. Plan or no plan, he wasn't going to touch me again.
Whatever possessed me to pick up a fucking knife fled about six seconds after I had it in my hand. I would never be able to use it, and Carl knew that. He could have talked it out of my hand. Once, he was a good talker. He'd been able to talk me into just about anything. Now, he just forced the issue with pain. Whatever feelings I had left for him began to crumble apart as he dragged me back to the bedroom. That dissolution of my connection to him was the one thing I could never let him see. I saw it in his eyes; as long as he thought I loved him, he'd keep me. The minute he understood I no longer wanted him, I was nothing.
I'm not sure when the shivering started again. Sometime after he hit me and tied me, before he got into the bed too, my body just began to shake. Despite his arms around me, the heat of his body against my back, I couldn't stop the cold chills racing through me.
“You shouldn't have come back.” I could have kept what little of you I had left...
His arms tightened around me.
I closed my eyes, remembering when I'd loved the feel of him around me like this.
“I had to. I came back for you, babe.” His beard scratched as he nuzzled against my neck.
I wanted us back. For that moment, before he spoke again, I wanted to go back in time, to see how to fix him before he turned into this...
“It was all for you.”
“No.” Don't say that. Please, don't say that. But there it was, said, and true. Somehow, I hadn't loved him hard enough or well enough, and now...
He pulled the blankets over me, wrapped himself around me, and I let him whisper in my ear about how it was all going to be all right. But nothing was right. I wondered if Vic and Lil realized how badly I'd failed. This entire mess, all those dead men, came down to me not being what Carl had needed me to be. Maybe he was right, and we did belong together. I couldn't imagine Vic wanting me when he figured out I'd somehow led Carl down this path.
I suddenly wished I could roll over, hold him, tell him how sorry I was. But he wouldn't let me go. He wouldn't believe me if I told him I'd stay. It was impossible to give him what he wanted now. He wasn't stupid. He knew this was the last time for us. Didn't he? And he spent it holding me, loving me, like I hadn't felt from him in so long, instead of fucking me.
Which made me wonder where he thought we would be able to go together and be safe. That thought catapulted me beyond shivering straight into icy terror. What if he didn't ever expect either of us to leave this flat?
* * * *
Sleep clawed at Carl, and his voice slowed in telling Paul how their future would be. He'd explained them being together—always—never apart with what he had in mind. They didn't need anyone else. Didn't need the trappings of life to spend eternity together. Giving up speech, he thought about what came next, but he needed a nap in order to progress to the next stage. A meal together—and if it meant Paul being manacled still, so be it—and conversation, the kind where they got everything out in the open so they could move on with a clean slate. No good harboring grudges or holding emotions inside. No, it all had to be laid out there for them both to see and deal with. It wouldn't be long and they could put this silly business behind them, go to a better place.
His body sagged into the mattress, and his muscles relaxed, his mind floating at that in-between stage before sleep fully grabbed him. Paul would have plenty of time to think while Carl slept, to remember the good times they'd shared, and Carl hoped when he woke everything would be back how it was. Before life had turned to shit.
An irritating knocking jabbed at his nerves. He ignored it, thinking Paul was working to untie the belt. He wouldn't be able to—not the way Carl had secured it—so it wasn't a problem. Except it went on for a long time, or seemed to, and a thought streaked through his mind.
The door? Someone knocking on the door?
He jerked upright, disorientated, and stared through the bedroom doorway and out into the hall. The sound came again, insistent, louder. Carl sighed and climbed off the bed, a little unsteady on his feet as he walked out of the room. He paused and glanced back at Paul, who lay with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling as though in a deep sleep. Carl longed to join him, to sleep away the last few hours and wake refreshed, ready to begin the next phase. He rubbed his gritty eyes, the sting of them harsh, and drew his palms down his face.
The knock came again.
Damn inconsiderate fucking jerk.
Annoyed, Carl moved to the front door and peered through the spy hole.
No one stood in the outer hallway, and he grimaced, turning to go back to the bedroom. Christ, he needed sleep badly. His body felt so heavy, and his mind, though alert, wasn't firing on all cylinders. A sharp rap had him jerking around and back at the door in seconds, eye pressed to the spy hole. Still no one there. Usually, he'd have swung the door wide and given whoever hid beside the door a piece of his mind, but he couldn't be bothered. Kids, probably skipping off school, had dared one another to knock and run. Yeah, that's what it was.
Back in the bedroom, Carl got onto the bed, careful not to wake Paul, who looked so at peace, so right. It had been worth it, doing all...this. Risking everything to show Paul how much he cared. Not every lover killed to show their devotion. Not every lover was prepared to go to such lengths. Paul would see that once Carl explained. He'd understand why and be thankful he was adored so fiercely, then act the way he should have all this time, giving Carl what he needed inside the bedroom and out. No more resistance. No more Paul wanting things all his own way.
He closed his eyes, letting the pull of sleep take him away.
Another knock startled his eyes open.
“Right, that's it. Fucking had enough now.” He jumped from the bed, lethargy gone, and stalked toward the front door. “Whoever you are, fuck off!”
Whoever it was tapped again.
Jesus fucking Christ! If I open that door...
Would he be faced with a kid or the cops? He couldn't risk seeing either. Cops being there, well, it was obvious why he couldn't answer, but a kid? Shit, he'd wring the little bastard's neck. Not something he wanted to do with where he and Paul were going. So far the deaths had been justified. He'd compartmentalized them away from everything else in his mind, telling himself that those he'd killed deserved it for a variety of reasons. A kid didn't deserve what he'd dish out, and he didn't think, if Heaven really existed, God would be pleased at an unwarranted death.
He leaned on the doorjamb and positioned his mouth at the frame. “Look, we're trying to sleep in here, all right?”
Something scuffled outside—feet shifting?—and Carl held his breath, hoping the visitor was walking away. He stepped to the spy hole and looked through. A guy stood on the other side, and Carl jumped back, leaning against the wall beside the door. Was it a cop? He couldn't be sure. It hadn't looked like the guy wore a uniform. Then again, if they were after him for murder, it stood to reason they'd send a plain-clothed officer around. Wouldn't they? And wouldn't there be more than one?
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