by Sabre Rose
And then I kiss her.
Not a gentle kiss, not a pleading kiss, a kiss of desperation and savagery that stirs reckless desire within.
“I know it is selfish,” I say. “I know I shouldn’t be doing this, that I’m only hurting you more, but I can’t stop.”
Locked in each other’s gaze, I fight the raging urge to kiss her again. But everything about her is so perfect, so forbidden and so tempting, the floodgates open and I push her to the ground, crawling over her body and kissing her as though I could pour all my emotions into that one action and make her understand.
“Please,” she begs, but I don’t know whether she is begging for me to stop or begging for me to keep going. It’s her actions that answer for her as she tears my clothes off and we become a feverish tangle with our lips locked together as though our kiss could save us from this hell we’re in.
And then I push inside her and the world stills.
“You are everything, Mia. Everything.” My words are truth and lies. I push deep inside her, wishing I could remove any fraction of distance that separates us.
“We can’t keep doing this,” her words come out as a whimper, but I ignore them, silencing her with my mouth trailing across her skin, devouring her and committing her to memory.
“It’s not safe.”
My mouth lingers at her neck, tasting her, inhaling her. “I know. But I want you. I need you.”
At my words she cries out, her body rising off the floor to greet mine as a wave of pleasure washes over her. I want to watch her but the clenching of her muscles is too much and I too come undone.
Rolling away, I look up at the ceiling, my heart pounding, my chest heaving with exertion. “Letting you go would be signing your death warrant. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”
Her hair is in disarray, her body covered in red marks from where I’ve gripped her skin. “I know.” She rolls onto her side, turning to look at me. “What happened to Marcel?”
The image of his body lying in the hole as I shovel dirt on him, eyes unblinking as they stare at me, comes to mind. The red light blinks in the corner. Fuck. I forgot about the camera. Panic blinds me as I get to my feet, the thought of Senior of Junior standing in front of the monitors watching us slicing through my mind like a knife. But it’s the middle of the night. There shouldn’t be any need to fear. But even still, I’ve been foolish, putting both Mia and Everly at risk to sate my need.
“You don’t have to worry about him hurting you anymore.” I lean over to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I walk out the door, my heart pounding at the thought that we may have been caught but no one is there. The hallway is clear, and I watch the screen as Mia walks into the bathroom, chanting something at her reflection in the mirror. Turning the camera off, I rewind the footage, watching us fuck in reverse until it’s back to before I entered the room. And then I press delete and start recording again, all evidence erasing with each second.
She’s sitting on the bed when I walk back in, tears rolling down her cheeks without a sound. I kneel between her legs, brushing her tears away.
“Don’t cry. I will figure this out. I will keep you safe.”
More lies. I want them to be truth. I would do anything for them to be truth, but I’m not even sure I know what that is anymore.
I’m searching her face, looking for any sort of understanding, or maybe it’s forgiveness I want when the cold metal of a knife blade presses to my throat. There’s almost a peace that descends over me. I’m not surprised. I’m not angered. She could be the one to take my torment away.
“You know I can’t just let you leave,” I whisper hoarsely. “If you walk out that door, they will find you. They will hunt you down. They will destroy both you and me.”
Part of me is begging her to do it. Take that knife and slice it across my throat. I would be done then, no more worry, no more pain. But she would not. My sister would not. I would be leaving them alone in this world.
“Let me go or I’ll use this.” Her voice wavers and indecision floats in her eyes. I push against the blade until warmth trickles down my neck. I feel as though someone has torn me in two, grabbed two sides of my heart and yanked them apart. Maybe that’s why the memory of the stain on the floor is so vivid in my mind. Maybe it’s not a memory at all. Maybe it’s a premonition.
“I won’t do it, Mia. I won’t let you die.” I swallow, and it exaggerates the feel of the blade against my Adam’s apple.
“I’d rather you be with him than die.”
Because a world without Mia isn’t a world I want to be in. I can’t be the one responsible for her death. I can’t be the one to let her go.
“This time,” she leans close and the scent of her invades me. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and willing myself the strength to stop her. “You’re not the one who gets to decide.”
“You won’t do it. You can’t,” I say hoarsely.
“Let me go.”
“No.” The word rips my throat, causing more pain than the blade.
The heat that sears my shoulder is my first realization of what she’s done. I fall to the ground, unable to move, my hands and my legs refusing to work. The edges of my vision start to fill with darkness.
“Mia,” I croak.
But she’s already gone.
requestor
CHAPTER ELEVEN
REQUESTOR
The taste of her is still on my lips. She’s sweet like honey. She coats my mind as a thick glaze, spreading herself through every crevice until I can think of nothing but her. The memory of her voice echoes as I remember the feel of her hand pressed against my hardness, gripping onto it as though she can’t wait to be mine, her fingers tightening and stroking, hungry and desperate.
It’s all for you, my songbird.
But then my thoughts turn to him. I don’t want her there with him for a moment longer. She responded to him too eagerly, too quickly and there was something about the way his expression softened when he looked at her that made me nauseated.
She isn’t his.
She is mine.
I jerk the steering wheel, the tires screeching across the tar-sealed road as I turn the car around. I need to see her again. I can’t wait any longer for her to be mine. I don’t care if Father doesn’t think I’m ready. He does not understand the connection between my songbird and me. He is an imbecile, not capable of comprehending the depth of our bond, content with his whores that suck his cock and sate his sexual appetite. He is nothing more than the simpleton I was somehow born to.
The light has faded from the sky and the moon has risen. It’s full tonight, as though it is spurring me on, lighting the way to my love. After dinner, after seeing Everly off, I tried to go to sleep but it was pointless. I kept thinking of her. Of my songbird. Needing a distraction, I slipped into my car, wanting to numb my brain with the dim and blurred landscape. I didn’t intend on going to see her, but the desire is too strong. Pressing my foot to the floor, the car surges beneath me like a tamed beast.
The desire to see her again pulses through my veins as desperation. I need to see her, to feel her, to taste her. I want those plump lips, lips made for sin to drag across my flesh, bite me, taste me, devour me. I imagine her kneeling before me, eyes cast to the ground, me towering over her in splendor. I would tilt the angle of her chin to gaze up at me and there would be lust in her eyes. Deep-seated lust that would pool in the depths, wanting me, longing for me, craving me. But I wouldn’t let her touch me. No. Not the first time. The first time would be all about me and what I wanted. I would do whatever I desired to her body, taking what was rightfully mine.
My thoughts have distracted me from the road and something flashes out of the corner of my eye. I slow the car, pulling to a stop, curious. Winding down the window, I look out into the night. The light of the moon has drenched the branches of the trees in silver. There’s a faint breeze which whispers over the blades of grass making them danc
e.
But I do not see any movement, any flashes of motion. I wind the window back up, sighing with the knowledge that my brain played tricks on me. It does that from time to time.
Pulling back onto the road, I keep driving until the outline of the stables is visible. The moon rises above the roof, nothing more than a silver circle in the darkness. Slowing to a stop, I cut the engine and listen to the sounds of the night. A bird taking flight. The rustle of leaves in the wind.
I could almost feel peace right now. Almost. If I had my songbird at my side, or locked away in a gilded cage, knowing she was safe, maybe then I would feel it. But right now, staring at the outline of the stable, the hum of my blood starts to increase. I picture Ryker again and the way my songbird’s head tilted toward him, subservient and submissive. I rip open the car door and the soles of my shoes crunch on the gravel.
The stairs are difficult to find in the darkness and a wave of anxiety washes over me when I find the door to the rooms below open. The silence inside is deafening. There’s a single light bulb illuminating the hallway that makes a buzzing sound, amplifying the hum of my blood.
“Hello?” I call out and my voice strikes me as small and pathetic in the emptiness. I clear my throat and try again. “Hello? Ryker? Are you here?”
I suppose he is asleep, so I glance around, hoping to see the entrance to his room and demand the code to her door. It infuriates me that I don’t already have it. That’s when I notice the door to her cell is open.
Striding across the space with urgency, I push the door open, scared what I will find on the other side. Is he in there with her? Is he touching her in ways he shouldn’t? There’s a small part, just the smallest part that hopes to discover that he is. It would give me the allowance I need to wrap my fingers around his neck, or even press the cold metal of my gun to his temple and pull the trigger. I can almost taste the scent of his blood as it sprays over the walls.
But when my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, it is not Mia I find. It is Ryker, spread awkwardly on the floor, a pool of blood dampening his clothes.
“Junior?” he croaks.
Even in death, he insists on humiliating me.
“Help.” His voice is faint and weak. “I can’t move.”
I stride over to him, not caring when my shoes leave marks in the blood. “Where is she?”
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?” I repeat, not comprehending the word. “What do you mean gone?”
“She stabbed me.” His breathing quickens. “She escaped.”
Rage begins to bubble in my blood, heating it to excruciating levels. My songbird has flown the coop, set free by the halfwit spread over the floor.
“Call your father.” His words are hissed between clenched teeth. The pool of blood that surrounds him spreads further across the floor and I wonder how he survived this long with so little blood left within him.
His death would be no loss to the world. The only person who would mourn him would be Everly. And she would get over it. My father too. He thinks that Ryker is someone worth having around, someone worth saving, but I know better. He’s simple and uncouth with not one ounce of passion within him.
To save his life all I would need to do is call my father. Just a quick press of a button and a doctor would be on his way.
But no one knows I came back to the stables. No one knows I am here. All I would need to do for Ryker to leave my life forever would be to walk away.
mia
CHAPTER TWELVE
MIA
It feels like I’ve been running for hours, guided only by the light of the moon. I follow it like a road, hoping it will lead me to safety. My body aches, my thighs are tired and weary, my feet sore and bleeding. And I’m cold. So dangerously cold. Even though I’m covered in a fine sheen of sweat from the physical exertion, the breeze that dances around me freezes it to my skin, turning my blood to ice.
But the beat of my heart is steady, pounding in my chest like a drum, urging me to keep going. I stumble and fall, each time pulling myself back to my feet and forcing myself to keep going.
I don’t think of Ryker. I don’t picture him lying on the concrete floor, blood seeping from the wound inflicted by the knife stuck in the flesh of his shoulder.
Or, at least, I tell myself I don’t. But I have been known to lie.
At first, I think I’m imagining the lights in the distance. They are so faint, just a glimmer of pale yellow, but the closer I get, the more they solidify. They are from the windows of a house. A small farmhouse with a circular driveway and an old truck sitting near the front entrance, the driver’s side door flung open as though the occupant has left in a hurry. Crouching low, I hide behind one of the tires, poking my head around to stare through the windows. A shadow passes and my heart beats rapidly, not knowing whether the person inside means safety or danger.
What if it is him?
What if my requestor lives close to the stables and is waiting behind those walls?
The lights illuminating the interior of the house switch off, leaving only the blue hue of the television to see by. I creep closer, hovering under the sill of the window and pop my head up, hoping that no one is watching. There’s a sole occupant inside. A man sitting on an over-stuffed chair, beer can in one hand, the other hand stuffed down his pants, eyes glued on the motorbikes racing across the screen. He shifts, moving back into the chair, forcing it to recline and reaches down to flick the handle on the side, releasing the footstool.
I stay, watching him like that until my body screams in protest at the awkwardness of my position. I think back to all I’ve discovered about my requestor and decide the likelihood that it is him is very slim. But that still doesn’t stop the welling nausea in the pit of my stomach as I approach the door. It still doesn’t stop the thud of my heart as the volume of the TV gets muted and the man waits for my knock again, uncertain it was what he heard so late at night.
His footsteps echo through the house as he approaches the door. Conflicting emotions pulse through me, my body jerking with indecision. Run or stay? Expose myself for the possibility of safety or stay hidden with the risk of danger. And then suddenly the door is flung open, and the man looms in the frame, his eyes scanning over me curiously.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
“Can I help you?” He crosses his arms over his chest and the movement causes the light behind him to blind me for a moment. “Jesus,” he says irreverently. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I try to imagine what he must see as he looks at me. A naked girl covered in bruises with wild hair and fear in her eyes.
“Help me.” The words are only squeezed through my throat faintly. I’m leaning against the wall of his house, ready to collapse. The concern in his eyes spells safety, not danger and I long to sink into it. Let go. Slip into a sleep without trepidation.
He sees I’m about to fall and reaches out to grab me, sort of grunting when I fall into his arms. He pulls me inside, scooping his hands under my legs and carrying me over to the couch.
“What happened to you?”
I don’t answer. Everything that I’ve experienced over the last couple of weeks washes over me like waves crashing against rocks. There’s a darkness pulling at me, begging for oblivion, for peace.
Something heavy gets draped over me and I feel a little warmer. I pull the blanket close to my chin, hiding my marked flesh from the man standing wide-eyed over me.
“I’m calling the police.”
He talks in hushed tones, giving his address, telling them to hurry. And then a small voice floats through the darkness.
“What’s happening, Daddy? Who is that girl over there?”
I’m able to blink open my eyes long enough to see the girl watching me from the doorway. She has a pink cotton nightgown on and blonde curls.
“She’s just someone who needs our help, darlin’.”
Even in my exhaustion, there’s something about the affection i
n his tone that comforts me, in the way he said darlin’ that makes the remaining shreds of worry fall away.
I am safe.
I am free.
It overwhelms me and I start to cry violently, not caring as my body convulses with sobs, or as tears and snot run down my face.
“She’s cryin’, Daddy.”
Through my tears, I watch as he scoops the little girl up, much like he did with me earlier, and puts her down on a stool in the kitchen. “She’s hurt.” He passes the girl the kettle. “We need to help her feel better. Do you think you could make her a cup of tea? I think that would help her feel better, don’t you?”
The man keeps glancing over at me, unsure how to respond to my outpouring of grief and relief.
“The police are on their way. You’ll be safe soon. They’ll get you to a hospital, get you cleaned up.” His eyes move down to the blood covering my feet. “You got anyone you want me to call?”
Another wave of uncontrollable crying consumes me, but I manage to croak out the number to my parent’s house. He hands me the phone as the ringtone sounds over and over.
Please pick up.
They will be in bed.
Please pick up.
They will be sleeping.
Please pick up.
“Hello?” the voice holds an urgency to it, an expectancy.
The relief that washes over me when I hear her voice is almost painful. “Mum,” I manage to sob.
“Mia? Mia, is that you?” Her pitch has risen, choked with tears. “Samuel!” she yells, turning away from the phone. “Samuel, Mia is on the phone! It’s Mia! It’s Mia!” An excited breath crackles down the line. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you, just tell me where you are.”